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wannab-urs · 11 hours

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Bared Teeth

Pairing: Dave York x f!Reader

Summary: Biting the hand that feeds you OR Dave doesn’t know how to accept domesticity and care.

Warnings: Softness and affection, stark descriptions of domesticity, food, brief reference to past injuries, arguments, me fucking with canon, nonsexual slapping, weird smut. WC: 2.1k

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @atinylittlepain, @pr0ximamidnight, @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, and @beskarandblasters for reading this, for hyping me up, and for generally being amazing human beings. This is the first thing I’ve written in like two months and I’m decently proud of it. Plus, I missed these two a lot. They’re my favorites (don’t tell AGOY!Dieter, he’ll cry).

Dave York Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

His back is pressed against your front, your arm wrapped around his torso, leg between his legs. He holds your hand against his chest, pressed over his heart. You press a kiss to the back of his neck, just under where his too long hair curls against it. You feel him wake up, his body shifting against yours. He presses a kiss to your knuckles before extricating himself from your tangled limbs.

He goes to the bathroom, takes a piss, brushes his teeth. You watch him through the open door. He goes to the kitchen and puts the kettle on. As he waits for the water to boil he rummages in the cabinet for a tea bag and the jar of honey. He makes your tea and sets it on the table. You get out of bed, take the tea off the table, and take a sip through a smile. He makes it just the way you like it.

You slot two pieces of bread in the toaster, crack eggs into a pan and scramble them, dish everything up onto two plates. You eat in comfortable silence, sip your perfect tea, watch Dave shovel eggs into his mouth.

He clears the table, hand washes the plates while you gather your clothes for a shower. You go to the bathroom, strip your clothes off and toss them in the hamper, turn on the water in your shower. He slips in behind you just as you get your hair wet. His ribs are no longer bruised, but some of his movements are still halting. You trace a finger over his scar and he backs away from the tender touch.

You squirt shampoo into your hand and reach for him, burying your hands in his thick hair. You massage the shampoo into his scalp, work it through his hair just starting to curl at the ends. You like it long, like having something to grasp. You tug hard at the back of his head, just to keep him from getting skittish.

He shies away from soft touches, too used to hard ones. He seems to lean into your hands anyway. You run your fingers through his hair as the soap washes out and down the drain, press your lips into the hollow of his throat, let him wash your body with a softness he doesn’t himself deserve.

You have to go to the grocery store. Dave has to stay hidden in your apartment, away from anyone who might be looking for him. He isn’t comfortable sitting still since his body has mostly healed. He strips your bed and carries everything down to the laundry. Back in your apartment, he puts your clean clothes away. He gets furniture polish and an old rag and dusts your dresser, your nightstands, your kitchen table. He puts away the now dry dishes from this morning. He goes back downstairs and switches your bedding over to the dryer. He sweeps and mops your floor, scrubs the toilet, wipes down all the counters, scrubs the grout in your shower. He retrieves your bedding and makes the bed army style.

He has never, even with Carol, done anything so domestic as clean an entire apartment for someone. He feels awkward sitting in your clean apartment, waiting for you to come home with groceries he will help you put away, help you turn into meals. He doesn’t know if he can do this anymore.

You carry the bags into the kitchen and set them down on the table. You put away all the cold stuff while Dave stands stiffly behind you in the archway. You hand him a bag and he asks you what’s in it. He’s doing your chores and you’re buying him things at the grocery store and it’s all a little bit too much.

“What is this?”

“Well I know you prefer coffee to tea and all I had was that shitty instant coffee.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t buy things for me.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t.”

His whole body is taut with tension, a coiled spring that will either snap or lash out under this much pressure. You snatch the bag from him and pull out the body wash and shampoo you bought him, carrying them to the bathroom and setting them next to yours.

“What is that?”

“I thought you might want to stop smelling like flowers? I got you sandalwood. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. Why are you doing this? Why are you buying me shit? You don’t need to buy me shit. It’s not like I live here.”

“Then what is it we’re doing Dave? You sleep in my bed and you eat my food and you’re doing fucking chores. Your toothbrush is in my goddamn bathroom for fuck’s sake. What exactly are we doing here?”

“I don’t know, okay! I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’m not staying. This isn’t that.”

He grabs his still unpacked duffel bag, pulls his shoes on, and leaves, slamming the door behind him. You throw it open and chase him into the hall.

“David.”

He turns and pushes you back through the threshold of your apartment. He stalks off down the hallway and you watch him go.

The reason he’s been holed up in your apartment is not because he wants to play house, not because he even wants you necessarily. The entire reason, the only reason, he’s stashed himself in your apartment is because no one knows about you. It’s too dangerous for him to go anywhere, the risk of being seen too great. He killed Mac, meaning Mac knew who and what he was. There would be others.

Before he came back to you broken, nearly dead really, it had been an abstract concept that he could get seriously hurt. That he could die. Now, though, you’ve seen him nearly dead and you can’t bear the thought of him being gone.

You stand in your doorway for a long time, willing him to come back to you. Finally, you close the door and slip into your bed. You hardly leave it for days, needing to have eyes on the door he’d eventually walk through. He has to come back, he will come back.

He pounds on the door. You open the door a crack and he shoves it open. You stumble backwards with the force of it and he snatches your arm and kicks the door shut behind him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growls.

“What’s wrong with me?” Your voice high pitched and breaking on the last syllable. You yank your arm back from him and shove him in the chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Dave?” You shove him again, and his back hits the wall. “You fucking left! You were gone for days.” You wrap your hands into his shirt, pulling him toward you and shoving him away over and over. “I didn’t know where the fuck you were. Do you not fucking get it? Do you not understand how it feels for me when you walk out that door? I never know if you’re coming back. If I’ll ever get to see you again. You can’t just fucking leave like that.”

“Why the fuck not?” Dave shoves you away from him and you hit the ground. You look up at him, tears pooling in your waterline. Chest heaving, hackles raised, eye wide and locked with yours – he’s like a prey animal about to meet its death. He’s terrified.

“Because I love you.” He recoils at that.

“No you don’t,” he whispers before stalking further into your apartment, away from you. You scramble to your feet and chase him into the kitchen.

“Yes I fucking do, David. Maybe you aren’t capable of love. Maybe you have too much blood on your hands or you’re too fucked up inside and full of shame too feel anything else. Maybe you’re a disgusting, dirty, defiled person who doesn’t deserve to love or be loved.” You cage him against the counter, one hand on either side of him, body trembling with rage. “You were always going to lose everything because you never deserved to have it in the first place,” you spit at him.

He slaps you then, hard, a stinging hot pain blossoming across your cheek. You slap him back, just as hard, watch his head snap to the side with it. You grab his cheeks in your hands.

“But I’m a terrible person too, David. I must be. Because I love you so much, it’s like I’m caving in on myself. I feel this fucking rot in my chest, this dark thing that is slowly consuming me and it’s you. I love you and it’s fucking killing me because you won’t ever let me have you – not really. You won’t ever stay.”

He hangs his head and it looks like shame, his shoulders slumped like your love is a weight he can barely carry. You snag the curls at the back of his head in your hand and drag his face up to look at you.

“When you aren’t here, all I can think about is losing you. When you aren’t here, my whole body trembles and my chest aches. I can’t work or eat or sleep. Do you understand me? I am so afraid of losing you..” He squeezes his eye shut, face scrunching up in something like pain.

“No,” he whispers.

“The only thing that could destroy me is never touching you again, do you understand me?” He shakes his head. You kiss him then, soft at first but quickly devolving into more teeth than tongue. He bites your lip and you jerk his head back so far he starts sinking to the floor with it. You follow him down, straddle him as he sinks against your kitchen cabinets.

He pulls you as snugly against him as you can get, savoring the feeling of your body pressed against him. He slides his hands under your shirt and lifts it off of you before shoving you off of him. You land sprawled out on your kitchen floor. He dives forward and rips your shorts and underwear off of you in one go. You sit up and tug his pants down, his hard cock springing out and bobbing against his stomach.

You want to tear him apart, but you need him inside you. You grab his shirt and pull him down on top of you, slamming your mouths together again. He thrusts his hips against your core, the head of his cock catching your clit.

You growl and reach between your bodies, guiding him inside you. You hook a leg around his hips and pull him close to you, bury him inside yourself. He sets a brutal pace, your back sliding on the floor. You brace a hand on the cabinets and drive your hips up to meet his. He fucks you fast and hard and it hurts. He’s tearing you open and making room for himself inside you. You drag his shirt off, needing to feel his skin. He doesn’t even slow down. Your nails sink into his shoulders. You feel the powerful muscles shifting beneath his skin.

He grabs your right leg and throws it over his shoulder, leaning forward enough that you feel the stretch as he pounds into you. It almost hurts, the way your muscles pull, and you dig your nails in deeper. You can feel his skin gathering under your fingernails. You pull your leg back and kick him in the chest. He sprawls on the floor much like you had earlier. You dive for him, crawling onto his lap and settling him deep inside you again.

You lean forward until your face is over his. He plants his feet on the floor and fucks you just as hard and fast as before. You grab his jaw, forcing his mouth open, and spit onto his tongue.

“Mine,” you snarl. You let go of his jaw and he swallows.

Whatever reservations he had before are gone, at least for the moment. As you clench around him again and again, your eyes rolling back into your head and your body going limp on top of him, he realizes he is completely and utterly yours.

He marks you as such, coming deep inside you, fucking you until his cock goes soft. In the aftermath, you lay with your head on his chest. He traces soft lines up and down your spine, his lips pressed against your hair. .

“Will you stay?”

“For now.”

#Dave York #Dave York fics #Dave York fanfiction #Dave York x reader #Dave York x f!reader #Dave York x you #Equalizer 2 fanfiction #pedrostories

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utilitycaster · 2 days

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Re: villain stans, I really do think you're conflating two groups of people and I feel the need to point it out because the art of haterism deserves pinpoint precision. The thing is that I would consider myself, broadly speaking, a villain stan and I also can't stand the people you're complaining about in that post because I think they've missed the point entirely. They've ruined the entire villain-loving ecosystem. I can't even facetiously say "they've never done anything wrong, ever, in their entire life" about characters that may as well be called Murders McWarCrimes, and whose death or comeuppance I am eagerly awaiting alongside everyone else in the fandom, because some of these idiots actually mean it when they say things like that -- and usually about some of the blandest, most disappointing villains I've seen in a long time. It's like passionately defending the storytelling equivalent of a slightly offensive shade of beige.

Look, some of us see the "time to boo and hiss" signs the narrative is putting up, but I'm not looking to experience every story like it's a children's pantomime. Maybe sometimes I want a wrestling match instead. I know the heel is going to lose. That's their job. It's what they're for. But if imagining that they might win is outside the realm of possibility... well, it's probably not a very good story. The stakes are not compelling. There's a reason that I would describe, say, c1 Briarwoods as delicious and c3 Delilah as overstaying her welcome. A good antagonist is a vital part of the story ecosystem and I enjoy seeing that role played well.

But I don't get to relish in characters being terrible people who do terrible things anymore, because now villain fandom is always overrun by people who read one Wikipedia article on moral relativism and want to have debates about what if Murder McWarCrimes is good actually? No! No, they are not! And if they were, that would be stupid and boring!

And so I reach across the metaphorical aisle to you that we may share in one of the hater's greatest delights: the knowledge that no one likes those idiots, and everyone wishes they would just shut up, even the people they think are on their side.

Hey anon,

I will admit usually when I get a long ask telling me I am conflating things I roll my eyes and wait for someone to say "i am feeling uncomfortable when we are not about me" but, the truth is, I very much was, and you are correct to the point that I think we are fully in agreement.

To be clear: I am pro people enjoying themselves in, as you say, the wrestling fan enjoying the heel way! I agree - a good story needs a villain who feels like a genuine threat. I can appreciate a villain for what they are and enjoy them very much as a character! I am personally unlikely in most cases to root for them but people who look at the story, analyze it, and say "this will be a fun guy to care about, even though I know the victory's probably going to the heroes, and I will be normal and not terribly resentful" are entirely valid and my post is not about them (except to say carry on as you were). It sounds like you're in this latter category and so: carry on as you were, you guys are great.

But I am definitely conflating two flavors of annoying villain stan:

the first is, as you very eloquently put it, the Person Who Read One Wikipedia Article About Moral Relativism and ooooooh what if Mr. Murder McWarcrimes was sufficiently sad about bad things in his life such that the murder and war crimes are correct actually.

The second is the person who does understand that they are looking at a villain who is a bad person but seems actively confused that like, a largely hopeful or heroic narrative will probably not end with Mr. Murder McWarcrimes stabbing everyone to death and then evil laughing against a red lightning-filled sky and seems mad that people are like "actually I like Kit the Heroic Hero". Actual Play D&D is not a place where you'll find these people because a TPK is technically possible regardless of the existing themes! But like...for example, I have to imagine theatergoers in 1983 who weren't idiots did not walk into Return of the Jedi like "oh man I think Darth Vader's gonna win the whole thing and he'll blow up everyone and institute more Space Fascism over the nuked out husk of Endor." Like, as you say, the villain needs to have some bite to be worth my time, but deep in my heart, there are stories where I know that victory is assured by the nature of the plot and it's much more about how it will be assured and what sacrifices will be made, and so it's weird when someone seems to be existing in a denial that that's the story and is like NO Mr. Murder McWarCrimes is NOT going to get a comeuppance and everyone is going to DIE at his hand.

#answered #Anonymous #anyway ty anon #i did have to kill one of my darlings (dunking again on otohan's lack of personality) in my response here but. needs must

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bridgertonbabe · 2 days

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Signing off.

I never really thought I'd ever write a post like this and to be perfectly honest I feel a bit cringe for even making a thing out of this but I felt it necessary to address those of you who follow me and my writings.

In the last month I have been suffering severely from anxiety, waking up to what feels like a ball of dread clutching at my heart and being unable to shift it for the better part of the day. It's all come to a head as of late because I've reached a crossroads in my life where I've realised just how unhappy and unfulfilled I am. Truth to be told I really don't have any aspect in my life that I am happy with and for years I've dismissed myself and my own desires for the sake of others to the point where I have no self worth, no self confidence, and I just feel like a shell of a person. Realising that I can't go on like this, that I can't live the life I aspire to without sorting my mental health out, I've taken the first steps in getting counselling and in going to the doctors to be put on anti-depressants.

While I'm already starting to feel better, I've decided it's in my best interests to take some other steps going ahead; which is I'm logging off this account.

Don't get me wrong, this account has brought me fulfillment in the last two and a half years and I've had so much fun interacting with so many of you but as of late I've become very disengaged with Bridgerton. It's one of several of my hyperfixations which I have become anxious with in the last few weeks, in part because they are what I used to immerse myself in as a means to distract myself from a dissatisfying existence, but now I've decided to make a change in my life for the better, everything that I once used to bury my head in the sand has now essentially given me the ick. Bridgerton is just now one of several things that I feel the need to distance myself from in order to fully focus and concentrate on bettering my mental health as well as getting what I want out of life.

As much as I've taken pride in writing because of Bridgerton, my dream has always to one day publish a book of my own and I need to refocus my energies on writing my own original stories to have the chance of maybe being able to make that dream a reality. I would have so dearly loved to have been able to complete a whole host of WIPs (would have also loved to have been able to just focus on one story at a time but c'est la vie) and I can only apologise to anyone who's been hoping for an update from any of them.

You will still be able to read all of my works on AO3 (plus I've restored a couple I had previously hidden from view), and I won't be deleting this tumblr so all of my drabbles and various posts will still be here for you to browse and read at your leisure.

Though I'm stepping away from this account, I don't necessarily know if this will be forever. I might well end up in a better place mentally at some point and return with a healthier state of mind where I can enjoy Bridgerton again, and I would never rule out contributing writings again - however as it stands, I don't want to promise anything and taking care of my mental health is my main priority for now and the foreseeable future.

I also just wanted to take the opportunity to thank every single person who has ever liked, reblogged, and interacted with me since I joined. I had never previously shared any of my creative writing online and thought it would be nice if even a single person somewhere vaguely liked anything I had to share - but over the last two and a half years I've been given such a boost from the amount of people who have reached out and commented on any one of my silly writings. I don't think you'll ever understand just how much it has meant to me and the love and appreciation will stay with me forever.

That about does it, so thank you all for everything. I wish you all a lifetime of health and happiness.

Signing off,

Shinnie

xxx

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yesimwriting · 2 days

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I agree that Art and Patrick need each other.

How do you think their dynamic would change (if at all) if they were in a throuple with someone?

I want to know your Challengers opinions on EVERYTHING but I suck at coming up with things to ask

this is such a fun ask!

sorry if i'm all over the place, i just had so many thoughts :)

disclaimer: this is based on my interpretation of the plot and characters, so it's very opinion based,, and if you see them differently that's totally okay bc room for interpretation and analysis is what makes an artistic work art :)

okay so i think some of the dynamic changes would depend on the personality of the third person, if that person is similar to tashi (and they actually managed to get into an official relationship) i think everyone would be happy but still a little toxic

this isn't me fully blaming tashi for all their issues btw!! i think fully assigning blame to one individual ruins the point of the movie and oversimplifies their relationships, but i digress

i think part of the reason that the plot of the movie worked out the way it did is bc tashi helped bring out the "hubris" of both art and patrick--patrick's pride and art's ability to trap himself in his head

to me, these are the main traits capable of ruining their relationship

wanting someone like tashi drove patrick's desire to be the "best", i see him as someone with a slightly obsessive personality,, and having someone so desirable, strong willed, and talented kind of becomes an ego thing

however, wanting someone like tashi works the opposite way for someone like art,, he wants to prove himself "worthy" so bad it traps him in his head and actually makes him more insecure

so with patrick constantly working to maintain his improved ego and art struggling to keep up the way he sees himself, ofc things get a little toxic bc even though they care about each other, it's more about their headspace than actually wanting to compete with each other

also i think tashi wanted to want art more than she wanted patrick, but she just wasn't there, which brings me to the dynamic i think would work best

patrick cares about art sm, idc argue with me if u want but i will never be convinced that patrick wasn't in love with art that the entire movie would have been maybe 20 minutes long if art said he wanted to fix their friendship/relationship

this isn't to say that art doesn't love patrick, i just think that they express love in different ways

patrick is so open in his affectionateness, and that's ideal for keeping art from getting stuck in his head, and art loves in a way that emphasizes consistency, which is ideal for someone like patrick, who places sm emphasis on external factors when it comes to his self worth

bc of this i think that the ideal third person for them would be someone that prioritizes art a little more,, i'm not saying someone that would love art more, but someone that'd take care to focus on art's feelings to make sure that art feels like he exists at the center of things

that might sound like a reach, but if you think of the moments in which tashi and patrick connected most, i think it makes sense, for example:

in the dorm room scene when tashi and patrick are about to hook up, they're literally talking about and complimenting art, when tashi and patrick hook up in atlanta it's after finding out about tashi's engagement to art (which 'proves' that tashi loves art), and they hook up in the car after tashi explains why she'd want patrick to throw the match, which implies she still cares about him

also the conversation in which patrick accuses tashi of hating art is arguably one of their least connected moments, even if he's flirting a little, that moment kind of felt like patrick was probing, trying to see where tashi was at

if they were in a throuple, i think they'd be happy, especially with someone that balanced out their pride and insecurities

patrick would become even more affectionate, he's definitely the type to pull in a s/o and kiss them mid sentence and then say he just couldn't help it

art would be even more open about his feelings, he's the type to mention how much he loves his s/o so casually it actually knocks the wind out of you

#ask #challengers x reader #art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson x you x patrick zweig

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farfromstrange · 2 days

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Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 26: Seven Devils All Around

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: When you arrive at your apartment, you notice that the door isn't locked. You make the mistake of entering without calling the police first, and you pay dearly for your recklessness.

Warnings: ANGST, blood, violence, break-in, mentions of suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: It took me a while to get this done because I just wasn't happy with it, but I finally got it done. We're starting to get knee-deep into the next angst arc, so I hope you're prepared for some tension, twists, and turns!

The view behind the windshield blurs through your tears as you navigate the streets of Dublin, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turn white.

You push your foot down on the gas. You want to go home, but you also don’t. Your apartment hasn’t felt like home in a very long time. After meeting Michael, and everything was still somewhat okay, he became your home, but even that seems like a distant feeling now. Your feelings toward him haven’t changed, of course, but the pile of shit you have to deal with keeps getting bigger, and you can’t catch up. You don’t know what to do. The helplessness adds to the pain of being in love—of worrying about the man you love and the family he was born into who seems to only want the worst for you and him—and that makes feeling at home a sheer impossibility.

The motor of your car roars, but you keep going at a speed that might cost you your license until you pull into the dark street of your neighborhood and finally manage to park the car before you break down.

Your sobs echo through the small space. Every hiccuped intake of oxygen rumbles in your chest, burning through every quarter of your lungs. It’s getting significantly harder to breathe.

Leaving was a spur-of-the-moment decision that seemed right at the time. You had to leave. You were drowning, but the hand Michael offered was too far away and too high up to reach. Miles stretched between you; if you had tried swimming toward him, you would have never reached the end alive. You had to save yourself.

Leaving was the right thing to do—at least that is what you kept telling yourself on the drive home. Now, though, you're starting to question what you were thinking, breaking apart at the seams after desperately clinging to a life buoy of paper.

You used to be such a rational person. Perhaps it was the constant ignorance of reality—the lying to yourself and pretending all was well—that made everything easier. You became complicit with your trauma’s need to forget everything and move on because facing the truth was just too painful, and you tried telling yourself that you could barely remember most of it, anyway. The things you could remember, you swore to take care of once you had it figured out, but that was a foolish lie you concocted for the sake of your peace of mind.

After meeting Michael, reality only started seeping in again. Because his reality and your reality have both turned out to be brutal in their essence. Though after all this time of pretending and being eaten alive by the things you knew and couldn’t share—didn’t want to share, even because you knew the consequences could cause your entire life to fall apart—reality has become a weight you forgot how to carry. Now, your world is falling apart anyway, and there seems to be no way out.

You knew this would happen, but you didn’t want to face the truth. That is the problem. And that is, you think, on you entirely. You should have been more careful, knowing your delusions would become your downfall eventually.

And you can’t blame Michael, no matter how badly you want to. You can’t hate or degrade him, not even in your mind. He was worried, he was upset, and he was angry because he had to find out that even after trying so hard to stay on the straight and narrow, his chances of getting custody of his daughter would remain lower than the deepest parts of the ocean. He ran against an invisible clock and still lost, even after making it on time. You tried to help him, and he tried to help himself, but your attempts were futile. Now, after everything, he is scared of losing you, too.

He gave you one condition; stay home and don’t do anything stupid. You couldn’t even do that, and the worry made his fuses blow. That’s not his fault.

You don’t know why you did it. The nagging feeling wouldn’t leave you alone, and you acted on your feelings rather than common sense. You were angry at the world; Frank coming over and confronting you with the pictures that weigh heavy in the pocket of your jeans was merely your last straw in a game you felt like you were going to lose right this second if you didn’t do something other than sit around and wait.

You faced your fears today and hated what you saw. You couldn’t stay, not when your lives are starting to pull you in different directions. Sticking together is a dangerous game, one you no longer know how to play without either one of you—or those around you—getting burned. You’re no good for each other, especially not now, and maybe you have never been.

You couldn’t stay, but right now, crying alone in your car as you’re falling apart, you can’t help but wish Michael was there to hold you through the earthquake that takes you under.

Pushing people away is your defense mechanism as much as it is Michael’s. You should never have let him this close in the first place, knowing the past you’ve been hiding from the world. You were so focused on yourself, playing down the risk behind it that you turned yourself into a fool.

You can put a butterfly bandage on his forehead; you can love him, and you can accept the love he can give you, but none of that will fix something that has been broken from the start. None of that can fix your broken family or bring your sister back to you.

Love, bandages, not even a nail could solve the issue you have been grappling with for years, and it won’t magically condemn your father to a lifetime of torture like the one he subjected you to. Saving yourself comes at a cost, and sometimes the leftover debt becomes too high to pay with an empty bank account. What do you do then? What do you do if you don’t have the means to pay the cost, not even to fight?

You slam the car door, locking it with the press of a button. You’re not thinking straight, you try telling yourself, but your body has a mind of its own.

The stairs leading up to your apartment creak under your footsteps. You take two at a time. Last-minute flights are more expensive, but you have some emergency cash stashed away in your wallet; that should be enough to pay for a flight to London. This is wrong. This is beyond reckless, and if Michael knew, he would move mountains to make sure you would never make it to the airport without opening your eyes and rethinking your decision, but it’s not rationality that drives you.

Every time you breathe, the hourglass loses another grain of sand. Every time you move without a purpose or care, another second is wasted into oblivion. You can’t run fast enough, but you have to try.

Hot tears continue to stream down your cheeks, staining your skin with a mixture of sweat and salt. When you finally reach your floor, you search for the right key on your chain with shaky fingers. It has to be somewhere.

You approach the lock. When you left, you locked it. You know you did. You wrote a note in your phone, just in case you were to wonder if you turned off all appliances and locked the door on your way out. You can never be too careful. Michael’s family plays a huge part in your newfound care. It’s no secret that monsters are no longer just lurking in the dark shadows of an alleyway or under your bed. They are in your head and the people around you, and they are even part of your family—your own flesh and blood. Monsters are everywhere but in the places you expect them to be.

You insert the key, and you stop breathing. The door budges under your touch. You locked the door when you left. You closed it. All windows are shut, and one of your neighbors would have noticed if you had accidentally left one open. They would have called you about any suspicious activity because the old lady in the apartment above yours likes to watch. You’re certain you took the necessary precautions, and yet you push against the wood once, and your door opens completely.

Your ribs are starting to hurt from how hard your heart is pounding against the sturdy bone. “What the—” you mutter under your breath. It’s a warning sign you expertly ignore.

Anyone else would have called the police at the first sign of foul play, but you can’t bring yourself to pull out your phone. If someone played with the lock, or if someone broke into your apartment, there are many things they could have taken, and you have never felt so sick to the pit of your stomach—not even when you were beaten senseless or had to confess to your father that you got a bad mark on a test, knowing he would make sure the injuries no one could see would hurt a few days longer, perhaps even scar so you could never forget what he did to you. But even without the scars, the memories are fresher than daisies on a spring morning.

The floorboards creak. Blood rushes to your cheeks. You reach into your bag, fingers wrapping around the small bottle of pepper spray you ordered online one night after a few glasses of wine and a scary encounter with a stranger on your way home from work in the dead of winter. You clutch the small bottle so tightly, you wouldn’t be surprised if you end up spraying yourself.

The silence is deafeningly loud. It screams into your ear. You’re met not with darkness but with a faint string of light streaming into the hallway from the direction of your living room. You should call the police, you really should, but you don’t. Instead, you breach the doorway and step inside.

Documents line the floor like a thin carpet. Some pieces are torn while others are still held together neatly in the corners by fragile paper clips.

You swallow. After Michael accidentally found the file in one of your drawers, you learned from your mistake and hid them somewhere they couldn’t be found. You thought you did because, between the two of you, you are the only ones aware that it even exists. You tried everything to make sure something like this wouldn’t happen. Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve, but nothing could have prepared you for this.

The blood freezes in your veins. Your hands run cold. Your desk is tipped over, and your couch has been ripped apart at the seams, probably by a sharp blade that cut into the fabric to check the filling inside. You don’t keep any money in the apartment, but the paper trail tells you instantly that whoever did this was not looking for valuables.

Only a handful of people would profit from that file: those who want to hurt you, and the one person who would take it to protect himself—the Kinsellas and your father.

Tears spring to your eyes. The fear that spreads through your body at a speed faster than lighting works as a paralytic. Your father isn’t a criminal mastermind, but he’s ruthless and who knows what he would do if he found out what you are doing behind his back. He wouldn’t just let out all of his anger and frustration on you, he would kill you. If only he knew what you were doing, he would make sure another gravestone would be added next to Ellie’s. He is that kind of person, but not the kind of person powerful enough to orchestrate this. At least that is what you would have believed a few days ago. Now, you’re not so sure anymore what to believe.

The Devil likes to hide in plain sight.

You can only stare and pray to the heavens above that you’re just dreaming. That this isn’t real. That you’re not standing in ruins. You were so careful…

Again, the floorboards creak, but you didn’t take a step this time. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your skull burns as though someone is glaring daggers into the bone. You can feel another presence in the room, breathing down your neck. Your thumb brushes over the trigger.

The light switch on the other end of the room cracks under the weight of a heavy fist. This is it, you think. You’re going to die. But—and even if it’s just for a moment, it still crosses your mind—maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Your ragged breaths break the silence in the sudden darkness. Without warning, a pair of strong arms wraps around you from behind. You cry out, but a gloved hand finds its way over your parted lips. The taste of the leather makes you gag.

Fear takes over in a storm, but your mind refuses to let you curl up and die. You throw your head back, arms flailing as you scratch at his forearms. DNA is crucial, and no matter what happens, you must fight back.

You fight back with every ounce of strength left, but it's like struggling against a force of nature. The masked man is relentless as he crushes you against the wall.

With a deafening crash, the wooden shelf next to the still-open front door topples over as he backs against it with you pressed to his sturdy chest, sending shards of glass and ceramic crashing to the ground.

The pain explodes like a dirty bomb at the side of your skull. He smashes you against the bricks that hide behind the white wallpaper you chose not to paint over after moving here. In the darkness, you can’t see the crimson stain that forms underneath, but the shadow glistens in the moonlight.

You hit the floor hard, the man tossing you to the floorboards. The impact pushes all the air from your lungs. You gasp, and it burns, but you can’t get the oxygen back where it needs to.

Desperation claws at your throat as you reach out, grasping for anything to defend yourself. You are okay with dying, but not without putting up a fight. And is the easy way out really what you want to take to your grave after making it so far? You doubt that. Survival moves to the forefront of your mind. Before you can even muster a coherent thought, the masked stranger is on you again, hands locking around your throat.

You choke, trying to pry him away, but it’s useless. You kick your feet up and forward, desperate for air, and finally knock him off balance. With a growl of frustration, he releases his hold on you.

In the dim moonlight, you catch a glint of porcelain on the floor next to the scattered shelf. It’s the vase that held the flowers Michael gave you on your first date. You didn’t throw them away when they started to wither because you wanted to hold onto that sliver of happiness for a little longer. The sharp piece scratches the inside of your palm, but you continue to reach for it, your teeth gritted as you struggle against your attacker. Eventually, your fingers wrap around the sharp edges, and you try to jab it into his bicep.

The man leans in close, his hot breath ghosting over your ear. “Just stop…fuckin’ fighting,” he hisses. You don’t recognize his voice. It doesn’t even cross your mind to try and do so; your only motivation is to get out.

He catches the shard before you can hurt him though. You half-expected him to keep choking you until you pass out or die. Instead, he turns your makeshift weapon around on you.

Time slows to a crawl. With a primal scream of defiance, you lunge forward, trying to get it back. Yet, it's too late.

The glass pierces your flesh, tearing a gash into your side. The pain knocks the remaining air right out of your lungs. You can’t scream. You can’t cry.

Blood wells up against your skin. With a final, vicious twist of the glass, the stranger wrenches the shard free from your body. The walls start caving in. You’re trapped in a box, and the water is rising in your lungs.

The floorboards from the apartment above that make up your ceiling start to creak, and the man sits back on his heels, chin tilted up. He curses under his breath.

You try to catch a glimpse of his face, but the darkness is overwhelming. Again, the floorboards above creak. You want to beg for mercy, maybe even scream for help, but nothing wants to come out.

The weight on your chest disappears. Your eyes flutter, but you force them to stay open, patting along your trousers. Where is your phone? You hope to God you didn’t leave it in the car. You should have called the police. You should have…

It was foolish to think you would stand a chance against an intruder with a mere bottle of pepper spray. It seems as though he was trained for this very moment. He destroyed your apartment, and now he is reaching for what you were trying to preserve. You don’t know who he is, but he seems to know exactly where to find your little secret, and that makes you sick. The pain makes you sick.

How did he know?

Through blurry eyes, you see the masked figure playing with the file in his hand. He passes by you, the mask moving where he’s smirking.

“No,” you choke out. “Please…”

He sighs a condescending breath. “Little girls shouldn’t stick their noses into issues that don’t concern them.”

‘What does that even mean?’ you want to scream back at him, but the only sound that passes your lips is a gurgled moan as the tip of his steel boot starts to dig into the wound on your side.

You reach for him, but he disappears as soon as the light outside turns on and the stairs creak under the weight of your upstairs neighbor—the old lady who once introduced herself as Lilian after you helped her carry her groceries.

The invisible noose around your neck tightens. You haven’t been this scared in a very long time. If you’d stayed; if you and Michael had talked it out, and if you’d tried to be more rational instead of letting your heart take over, this wouldn’t have happened.

You fumble for your phone, your fingers slick with your blood. They tremble against the surface of the screen, leaving crimson fingerprints behind. The screen doubles and distorts before your eyes, the numbers dancing mockingly out of reach.

You manage to hit the speed dial for Michael—yes, him, not the police, and that little voice in your head is baffled that you continue making such bad decisions. Your voice is a hoarse whisper as you plead, “Please pick up, please pick up, please…” But there's no answer.

Panic claws at your chest. The phone slips from your grasp, clattering to the floor beside you, into a pool of blood and the remaining shards of the vase.

Lilian calls out from the other side of the door, her footsteps hurrying down the stairs.

With a last, desperate surge of strength, you reach out, fingers brushing against the cold floor. “Help,” you croak. Your head pounds. It sounds as though you’re screaming.

The door doesn’t budge. Didn’t she hear you? You press the call button again, desperate, but again, Michael doesn’t pick up. You can’t hold your eyes open much longer. You can’t…

The world spins dizzily around you, the darkness threatening to claim you and drag you toward the light.

You sob, reaching for the throbbing wound in your side. It’s time to accept it for what it is, you figure. Lilian pounds on the door, but the sound is starting to fade as your heartbeat pounds harder and faster against your ribcage and your throat, trying to catch up. You realize it won’t. Not in time. Your heart will grow weak soon.

You’re unsure how long you lie there, floating in a weird middle space between consciousness and a depth you have never been in before. You dip in your toes, but it won’t quite accept you just yet. You want to jump in. You want to learn to swim, even if you have to drown first. The pressure is taking you under. God, you want it to end. It’s too much, and you hate that you can’t do anything.

Denial works until it doesn’t.

The door breaks off its hinges. It couldn’t have been Lilian. You feel a hand on your cheek, and the man it belongs to slaps your skin rather roughly. Your eyes flutter open, weak and sensitive to the light.

The old lady must have alerted your other neighbors. Their voices overlap, grow louder, and then disappear. You can only hear your racing heartbeat in your throat.

Someone applies pressure to your wound, and you cry out. At least you think you do. Your fingers twitch, reaching for the man’s arm. He’s looking at you softly, trying to keep your attention on him, but it’s not him you care about.

Michael.

It comes out as gibberish.

“Save your strength,” your neighbor says. “Help is on the way.”

But you fear that the help he mentioned might not make it on time as your eyes close and you decide to succumb to the darkness. You put up enough of a fight for one day. You’re tired, and so you decide to let your eyelids flutter shut and fall into blissful oblivion.

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocksstarlight @ebathory997

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella x f!reader #michael kinsella #kin amc #kin rte #michael kinsella angst #x reader #charlie cox #chaos theory

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clemblog · 1 day

Text

Caine’s Lesson - Part 12

•

All the residents of the ranch were tucked up in bed sleeping. It was a quiet night. Initially. Around 3am, thunder would cut through the quiet night, heavy rain starting to patter down on to the buildings. It would get harder and harder, slowly starting to seep through the cracks in the building.

Pomni woke up to the feeling of rain dropping down the side of her bed frame.

“W-What..?” She grumbled, rubbing at her eyes as she woke herself up. She wasn’t the only one awake. Several Candy Kingdoms sat awake, doing their best to deal with the rising amount of water. She didn’t think it was supposed to rain in this part of the Candy World..? It was always so dry and desert like- Well. As dry and desert like a candy based world could be-

Something was wrong and her gut feeling told her it was something to do with Caine. Hopefully this storm would pass.

It didn’t.

She had to watch as all the small progress the citizens had made get washed away. She had to watch as moral over all dipped and all the progress she’d helped everyone make disappeared like that. It sucked.

Pomni was upset.

She was angry.

She was frustrated.

Again.

So, she got on Jingle and she went for a ride the next morning. She wasn’t sure where she was going, she just needed to think.

But she forgot one thing. She had a strong varied community of friends who cared for her and her well being. So, if a certain gator was a mere few steps behind her, it wouldn’t surprise anyone in the slightest.

“Poms! Poms!” Called out Gummigoo, finally getting a look at her.

“Gummigoo?! What are you doing out here-?” Murmured Pomni.

“I could ask you the same thing Y’know~“

“Right- I’m just thinking- Caine… He caused this, I know he did- I just- wish their was a way I could get to him to make him stop-“

“Hey, hey. We’ll figure something out, alright?”

“…I guess.”

The two would continue on in their short adventure out, Pomni not quite ready to turn back and head home just yet.

They’d almost reached the edge of the place, Gummigoo about to suggest turning back when Pomni abruptly stopped.

“Hey- Ya all good?” Frowned Gummigoo, gently, watching as she jumped off her horse.

“Yeah- Y-Yeah- Just thought I saw something.” She murmured, squeezing inbetween some rocks nearby.

“Wait up Poms!” Called Gummigoo, running to catch up with her.

Gummigoo rounded the corner to find Pomni stood in what looked to be a crack in the horizon. It was bleeding a dark pixel blue aura into the atmosphere and it seemed like something was behind it. But that must’ve been impossible- Right?

“P-Poms? What is this-“

“I-I don’t know- But I think this might be our only chance to try and get to Caine-“

“…Are ya sure that’s a good idea-?”

“…No, it’s an awful idea but if we don’t, who will?”

“…In this together?”

“In this together.”

The two held hands and pushed forward into the entity. It began to crack like glass but it was squishy and flexible, suddenly engulfing them in the blink of an eye.

•

“When do you think Gummigoo will be back with Poms?”

“I’m not sure- But I trust them both to be back soon enough.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Whatever happens, they’ll be okay-“

•

Pomni blinked and found herself back in the fake exits Caine had created. But wait- Gummigoo was here too! He seemed a little off, blinking for a few moments before looking down at her.

“P-Pomni..?” He whispered.

Pomni gasped at this, eyes widening slightly. “You remember?!”

“I-I do- A lot of memories crashing together- But I do-“

“Oh gosh, maybe you should sit down for a second-“ Frowned Pomni, glancing around before pulling out one of the office chairs for him to sit into. He carefully plumped himself down as she did so. Pomni noticed his skin was still candy themed and gummy but it was less smooth and more scaly now that they were in a realism based adventure.

“A-Are you doing alright?” She asked, eventually after a few moments of silence, listening to Gummigoo take deep breaths.

He looked down at her and smiled gently.

“Alright as I can be Poms. Give me another few minutes and I’ll get moving so we can kick some [—-]!”

Oh. He could swear now-

Pomni snickered at this.

“Wow- Never thought I’d hear that from you-“

“Well, strange things happen when your reality breaks Poms~”

“Right, right-“

The pair soon stood up and began to push their way through the many exit doors. Instead of the first panicked atmosphere it had had when Pomni first charged through this place, it felt safe, relaxed knowing that she was walking through with a friend. They were off to confront someone a little insane and even more terrifying considering what had happened to Gummigoo the last time the pair had interacted. But they were doing it together so that made it better.

They eventually found another crack which was also leaking a blue pixelated aura. The blue reminded Pomni of the asset room herself and Gummigoo had fallen into all that time ago. She turned to Gummigoo.

“I-I’m gonna be honest- I have no idea what’s gonna happen once we enter this-“

Gummigoo chuckled at this.

“I figured, but hey! In this together. We’re in this together, what ever happens we’ll figure it out. Alright?”

“Y-Yeah. Alright!”

The two once again linked hands and stepped forward to push through the crack.

•

Pomni opened her eyes to the sound of smooth jazz playing along with the pater of rain. Things were a lot darker here than they’d been in the candy adventure or the circus. She glanced to look at Gummigoo whose cowboy hat had been replaced with a fedora and now had a loose tie around his shoulders.

“Uh- Where do you think we are-“ He frowned, glancing around.

“If I had to guess, some kind of office?” She shrugged. There were three desks sat around the room with a varying number of papers and office equipment on it. The one in the centre had a typewriter and a rotary phone on it. The windows in the rooms all had shutter blinds on it which were half open. Before she could take anymore details of the room, the door swung open.

“Rookies! There you are, you better have finished those files I told you to do-“ He grumbled, staring the pair down. He was certainly an older man who was seemingly made of clock parts. His face resembled a pocket watch, the hands stuck in the position of a moustache whilst the rest of his face was made of scrambled numbers to make a set of eyes, a nose and a mouth. He too wore a fedora and instead had a detectives jacket and bow tie in replace of a tie like Gummigoo.

“Uh- We did it sir!” Eeked Pomni, quickly pointing to a random pile of papers and hoping that was correct. He moved over slowly, giving Pomni to take a look at his badge.

Head Detective Pockatch.

What a unique name.

Though, Gummigoo was also kind of a unique name if she thought about it-

“Indeed you have.” Tutted the man, standing up with the files in hand as he turned back to the pair. “An excellent job indeed. Now, if you could just-“

Detective Pockatch was interrupted by the door flying open again!

“Oh! Detective Pockatch! It’s horrible! It’s awful!” Cried out the voice of an elegant sounding lady. She had the figure of an antique record player. Her head being the horn itself with small record eyes and huge eyelashes. The rest of her figure was covered by a big flowy red dress, which matched the small hat she had strapped around the top of her head.

“Madam Tick! Whatever is the matter!” Frowned Detective Pockatch. “What on earth has you bustling in here like this!”

The poor lady became inconsolable as she told her story. Apparently she’d turned up to work at the local jazz club and had found her boss dead on the main stage.

“Alright rookies, rest time is over, you’ve got to get investigating!”

This… was going to be interesting…

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theamityelf · 2 days

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Thinking about the mini senpais and how that affects the order of deaths (a little like in the mini THH au). Chapter 1 with Sayaka will probably be the same as canon and as you described. My main big first difference I think will be a change in Mondo and Taka’s relationship.

Like Taka is learning to be gentle with Mikan, and is also protective of her in general. And Mikan will probably find Mondo to be scary as well. On Mondo’s side, while Fuyuhiko and Mondo will buttheads, the yakuza is gonna be on Mondo’s side when it comes to anything Taka says, so their initial rivalries will probably be way worse influenced by their senpais.

There’s also Chihiro deciding to train himself. I think he would talk to Kazuichi about it, and the latter is like “There’s no way you can train with Mondo!! He’s a super scary guy and has got that Yakuza whispering in his ear!” I think Kazuichi convinces Chihiro to talk to Taka instead, mostly so that they can get help from Nekomaru (who has since been adopted by Taka) but I think Kazuichi would argue that the “moral compass” would never murder even if he can be annoying.

Toko tells Byakuya about Genocider Syo like canon, but also to ask him if he can look after Gundham if something happens to her. I’m not sure how Gundham would feel but I’m sure he would be concerned for Toko’s wellbeing. And Sonia would be so excited to meet THE Genocider Syo (sort of).

I’m not sure who would kill in chapter 2. Mondo could still have his break down and accidentally kill someone again, it just might be a different target. (Shit what if it’s Fuyuhiko?! He accidentally gets squashed!!)

This could all be different if Nagito gets the idea to share the secrets and tells Makoto to suggest it. But it’s Nagito so rather than to prevent deaths it’s more to see if the ultimates can overcome the despair of their secrets. So everyone gets to find out that Makoto wet the bed until 5th grade. Nagito’s reaction to that might be funny. Though sadly I don’t think it gets anyone else to fess up cuz everyone else’s are all a lot worse.

Anyway thanks to reading my gasbagging.

This is all golden, yes!

As much as I love Ishimondo (both as a platonic pair and a romantic one), I gotta agree that they probably wouldn't fall together as easily during this.

Although! I just imagined a version of the sauna scene where, in addition to asking Makoto to witness, they also have him hold their senpais for them (so, Nagito's on one shoulder, Fuyuhiko's on the other, Mikan's standing in the palm of his hand, and he's holding Taka's basket with Ibuki, Peko, and Nekomaru in the crook of his arm), and I find it really funny to imagine. Some of them are really invested in the endurance contest (Nekomaru asks for a higher vantage point, and Makoto only has so much shoulder space, so he's placed on top of Makoto's head.), and Ibuki is really affectionate toward Makoto because she feels bad about what happened with Sayaka.

And either Taka and Mondo end the contest early because Makoto has to go to bed so they have to take their senpais back, because the senpais are their responsibility, or, when Makoto says it's nighttime and he wants to go back to his room, Nekomaru shouts "SLEEPOVER!" and Makoto cares for six miniature people that night.

Either way, I agree with you that Taka and Mondo wouldn't get as close, at least not as quickly, as they do in canon. (I just had to include the sauna thing because the idea was fun for me, lol.) They're on more of a gradual enemies to friends or enemies to lovers track, which may or may not have time to reach its destination, because killing game.

Mikan doesn't like to be around Mondo, but Peko wants to be near Fuyuhiko and so advocates that they spend more time with Mondo, and Taka cares about everyone getting a voice, so when it's Peko's turn to choose, he offers to let Mikan hide in his pocket or back in the terrarium in his room. But she wants to stay with him.

Just to set some stuff up, in the social landscape of Chapter 2, Hifumi has been making little outfits because Celeste is now coping by living vicariously through Chiaki. So, she has Chiaki playing dress-up for her, styling after her, etc. Chiaki insists on continuing to wear her cat hoodie with the gothic lolita dresses, but other than that she's a pretty good sport about everything.

(Hifumi was given Celeste's sewing kit to do this, and he gave her his tool kit in trade. There was probably some joke about him being dominated, or giving away his manhood, or something like that, because I can't imagine Danganronpa would pass that up without comment.)

Aoi also asks Hifumi to make some tiny clothes, because she's worried that Akane's clothes don't fit her right. (When she asks Akane about it, Akane agrees that they don't really fit but basically says that they've always been like that so she's used to it.)

And since Hifumi interacts with both of them really respectfully and works really diligently, Mahiru is praising him for being reliable, and basically Hifumi has been swimming in female attention this chapter and does not know what to do with himself.

When Mondo accidentally upsets Chihiro, and Taka mentions that Mikan is scared of Mondo, Hifumi probably makes a joke about how some guys just don't know how to act around women.

(And there's no "ironic coming from you" response, because Hifumi is genuinely doing pretty great about that.)

Mondo blushes, but he's also like, "Hey, shut up! F you!" and stuff.

Byakuya is isolating himself from the group because he doesn't trust them, but Sonia is so bored with this. She is way too social to just be going straight from his room to the library and back every single day. As a result, Byakuya is more lenient with letting other people talk to him, for her sake.

This is mostly Makoto. He talks with Makoto, and Sonia with Nagito. Nagito talks with Sonia about the killing game, and how there's tons of historical precedent for royalty enjoying blood sport, and how the group is reaching their potential. She knows there's something off about him, but she's starved for social interaction and also this talk of royals and blood sport does appeal to her, in a perverse way.

It's an interesting vibe, because Makoto is bringing Byakuya slightly down to earth, and Sonia is slightly softening Byakuya's edge, but Nagito is making Sonia slightly less down to earth, and Byakuya is sharpening her edge. They're reaching a weird middle ground where Byakuya is less of a jerk and Sonia is less kind.

As a result of this, Byakuya orders Makoto to come sit with him every day. Sonia needs conversation, and also Byakuya has decided that he wants Makoto to make it out of here with him (to be his servant, of course), so he wants to keep Makoto close. Makoto still takes meals with the group, still mediates the sauna thing for Taka and Mondo, but he spends a lot of time in the library with Byakuya, this chapter.

He's still barred from the archive room, or whatever that room was called.

Then we do get the motive about revealing secrets.

Yes, Chihiro trains with Taka. Wholesome workouts for them!

Toko does tell Byakuya about Syo. Obviously, she waits for a time when Makoto isn't around, but Nagito finds out because Sonia is buzzing next time he talks to her, and while she of course doesn't tell him Toko's secret, her explanation for why she's excited gives him all the pieces to figure it out. He might sprinkle her with pepper, like I mentioned last time, which might cause a killing, if he gets a chance to explain to her that her secret will be revealed otherwise.

I think Mondo would seriously be considering killing someone to protect his secret. Like, I imagine him pacing in his room, not wanting to kill anyone but thinking about what would happen to the Crazy Diamond if it got out.

Fuyuhiko puts aside his prickly demeanor and fully becomes both the older student and the professional criminal. "Okay, so you want to kill someone. Are you ready to seriously follow through? You think you can cover up a murder, if it means everyone in your class dies? If you fail, and you die, what happens to your gang then?"

Mondo decides he definitely shouldn't kill someone. Whatever happens when the secret is revealed, he'll face it like a man. Because he's strong. He's a man, and he's strong. (He's hanging by a thread, but his commitment to specifically not killing someone is strengthened by his talk with Fuyuhiko.)

Optional zag, which isn't entirely in character but just the outline of a murder that can happen:

Little does he know! During the senpais' sleepover with Makoto, Nagito planted some seeds by bringing up Fuyuhiko's sister, the "mysterious" circumstances of her death, and just generally musing that the senpais aren't really a part of the killing game in the same way the others are. Fuyuhiko's trying to be there for his kouhai, but lowkey he is also pretty riled up.

So maybe he suggests that Mondo let out his frustration by (non-lethally) punching that guy who insulted him in front of everybody. After all, Hifumi "looks like he can take a hit", and it's been a long time coming. (Fuyuhiko might have said something like "You gonna let him say that sh!t to you?" when it happened.) If Mondo is keyed up about the motive, then just punching someone who deserves it should make him feel better, and then he can move on.

(Fuyuhiko isn't really aiming to kill Mahiru, at least not consciously, but if Hifumi does fall over and crush Mahiru to death by accident, then that's not a murder in terms of the killing game; Hifumi broke the rule about losing his senpai, but Mondo and Fuyuhiko aren't guilty of anything.)

In this situation, I'm imagining Hifumi brings Mahiru to Taka, hoping Mikan can do something to help her, and Hifumi leaves Mahiru with them and gets killed while he's away. So, Taka shows up to breakfast the next morning with Hifumi's senpai, not knowing that Hifumi is dead. The killer could be Sakura or Toko. Technically, it could also be Hiro. It doesn't feel in character for it to be Hiro, but I also don't have anything else for him to do.

(If Toko is the Chapter 2 killer, then Byakuya takes Gundham once she's executed; Sonia wanted him under their protection.)

But hey, the headline is, Chihiro and Mondo probably survive Chapter 2! And maybe Mikan can help Mahiru. But everything I said after "optional zag" isn't set in stone, lol.

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shewhowas39 · 2 days

Text

here - have a horny vampire bite scene

we're still a couple chapters away from this in my fic, Juniper & Starlight, but i'e already written the bite night scene (because of course i have) and fuck it, i wanna give a sneak peek.

so here - have an unnecessarily horny vampire bite scene. (or part ofit, at elast. gotta save some for the actual fic lol)

***

“Okay,” June says. “Just…be careful.”

“Really?” His mask drops again. He’s genuinely surprised by her trust. But just as quickly, he recovers and smiles sweetly at her. “Of course. I won’t take a drop more than I need.”

That isn’t what June had meant by ‘be careful,’ though. That thought she has had several times over the last few days slithers into her mind again: the feeling that her blood itself is rancid, cursed by some unknowable darkness. She wonders if it will taste as terrible as it feels. She wonders if it will hurt him. Maybe that’s part of why she has agreed, so that she can find out if her blood really is as vile as she believes.

“Let’s get comfortable, shall we?”

Scratch growls again, moving to stand protectively in front of June before Astariion can shift closer to her.

“It’s all right, boy,” June assures the dog, reaching out to give him a pet. “He ain’t gonna hurt me. Not real bad, at least.” Scratch whines and leans into her hand as she scratches his ear. “Go on, now. Go check on the others.”

Scratch looks between June and Astarion for a moment before giving one final growl in Astarion’s direction and then bounding off toward the fire and the circle of sleeping party members.

Astarion watches the dog go with clear fascination. “The mutt has taken a liking to you rather quickly, hasn’t he?” He turns to look at June again, a flirtatious smile curling his lips. “Though, who could blame him? You are a…captivating creature.”

“Captivating?” she repeats. “Really? That’s the word you’re gonna use for why a dog might like me?”

“It’s the word I’ll use for why I like you.”

Lie, lie, lie.

But June doesn’t have the energy to call his bluff tonight. Instead she just sighs and asks, “So how do we do this?”

“You lie back,” he says, his voice a low purr as he shifts closer to her. “And let me take care of the rest.”

June resists the urge to roll her eyes as she unfolds her legs and lays down on the bedroll. She wills the tension from her muscles as Astarion moves to hover over her, crawling up her body until his face is only a few inches above hers. One of his hands moves her curls away from her neck before sliding beneath her head and cradling it gingerly.

“Just relax,” he whispers. But June can’t help feeling like he’s talking to himself, not to her, when he says this.

This thought is quickly chased away by the sudden, icy pierce of fangs in her neck. June gasps and her back arches, but this only serves to press herself closer to Astarion. The pain fades soon enough, overwhelmed by a rush of adrenaline. June’s heart races, her body trembles. She finds herself clinging to him in an effort to hold herself still, one hand in his hair and the other on his beck, clenched in the soft fabric of his shirt.

Astarion’s chest rumbles against hers as he makes a noise of intense satisfaction into her neck. His knee pushes between her legs as it presses down into the bedroll, and the hand beneath her head tightens in her hair. His other hand rests on her ribs before it begins to make slow, soothing caresses along her torso.

June’s breathing becomes deep and slow as the trembling eases as she begins to relax against him. This is the first time she’s been touched since waking up in that pod. She hasn’t realized how starved she is for physical contact - for tenderness - until now.

It’s so much more than that, though. She can feel her blood flowing into him. It’s a connection unlike any she could have imagined. She doesn’t know when the last time she had sex was - or with whom - but she can’t imagine it compared to this sort of intensity. This intimacy. This is what it feels like to become a part of another person. This is what it feels like to sustain someone.

This is what it feels like to be consumed.

#bg3 fanfiction #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfiction #durgestarion #astarion x oc #astarion x durge #astarion x female oc #juniper & starlight

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enbydindjarin · 2 years

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Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac characters being each other

(part two)

#pedro pascal #oscar isaac #poe dameron #din djarin #steven grant #javi gutierrez #javier peña #santiago garcia #marc spector #frankie morales #hayden’s posts #marcus like #I feel like I might be reaching on some of these but who cares just enjoy😂#yes I many have overused Steven but I just love him so much ok???#and yes I’ve posted the shirtless ones twice already but🥵🥵 so I can’t be blamed

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scarletcomet · 18 days

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scrolling through instagram and it's making me want to die

#i know instagram doesn't represent ppls real lives #but that doesnt change the fact that i don't have many friends who care about me #and almost everyone my year is graduating and celebrating #i am so fucking lonely. i don't think any of my school friends miss me #24 days self-harm free but i might say fuck it and relapse tonight #why though? i guess i just need some way to express how im feeling inside. or maybe it's to punish myself or because im feeling worthless #it's been over a year now since i first reached out to professionals for help for this depressive episode #over a year and im still as lost as ever. i know im doing so much better than i was but i still feel so awful every single day #i feel like i still need to be doing a lot better before i can go back to school #i feel so stuck and hopeless. i know I've made so much progress but i don't feel as if ill be able to make anymore progress #i feel like I've hit a wall and ive tried everything #my therapist told me to just keep eating sleeping and getting movement in everyday and be patient #ive been going on walks every day for like 2 weeks now and i dont feel any difference #seeing my psychiatrist wednesday and im hoping she will have an idea of what to do #i hope it's not just slightly adjusting my meds or even just trying a different antidepressant (not many left i haven't tried)#i also worry that im not bad enough for more intensive treatments like ECT or ketamine #if she tells me that i just need more therapy or another group i might just fucking end it #idk like i kinda feel like im fine and there's nothing wrong with me but at the same time i always am feeling so fucking depressed #i have had so much improvement but honestly part of me wishes i was still actively suicidal #idk what to do

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skrunksthatwunk · 28 days

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found out that rascal's owner took him again while i was out, and he's probably not gonna be back since the semester's almost over. i don't even know if his owner's coming back next semester, if i'll ever see him again. if he'll ever see me again. why do they wait until im not around to do this? why do they never let me say goodbye to him?

#i didnt really get to process it bc i found out when i was hanging w a friend but. im processing it now #sigh.. i dont know. i dont know.#at the end of the day he is and has always been someone else's cat. i can't control what she does with him #no matter what i think of it. she can always take him away. but every time it happens im just. im tired yknow?#it's worth it to me to have him around. i love him dearly and i want him to be in a home where he's actually cared for (which i have done my #best to provide) but he's just. not mine. and every time it happens i back up and think man. im such a sucker.#i don't think people manipulate me often. not in an ongoing way i mean. i don't think ppl see me as valuable enough to most of the time.#but damn. she really found my weak spots didn't she. free petcare courtesy of one chump who can't live without animals around. sigh #he deserves stability but he deserves love more. this weird shared custody thing is better for him i think. and frankly i also love him.#im not the priority here but my feelings are like. there. him being taken away without even telling me first hurts. i'd like to be able to #say goodbye to him. im not saying he has to stay or this has to go on but couldn't they just.. consider my feelings a bit more?#just bc you're fine with dropping your cat off somewhere for weeks not knowing when you'll see him again and not visiting doesn't mean i am #and i kind of feel like my roommate is part of this. after all it's not like his owner can just break into our room and take him #and if im always out when they do it there's a chance roomie's just shipping him off whenever she gets sick of him.#she's done it before. even after she agreed so vehemently with me about never wanting him to go back to such treatment and stuff early on.#she's been spraying him for little reason lately too. and i mean i get being a little more cautious with some things bc her neck's broken #but she's really fixated on how much he smells and bites and stuff and talks about how if i wasn't around she'd consider eating him #and then other times she's like that's my pookie. i don't get it. like yeah i tell rascal to fuck off sometimes bc he hurts me but it's not #like a hateful thing. i dont resent him for it i'm just annoyed sometimes bc he's maiming me a little. he's my baby. how could i loathe him?#so it makes me think that roomie might be blaming his transfers on his owner bc she doesn't want me to judge her #and like. this is her room too. it's not her fault she's more bothered by the smell than me. if she doesn't want to be bitten and clawed all #the time i can sympathize. i don't wanna force her to house him. but i wish she'd just be honest with me i guess #like. what if his owner decides to give him away without telling me? i'd take him in in a heartbeat. even though i know it's a bad idea.#but i'm worried he'll fall out of my reach completely. and at the very least I'd like to be able to say goodbye first. that's all.

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jade-curtiss · 9 months

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Tfw you participate in some contest, don't maintain shit, hardly give any visibility (I mean did I tell anyone?) and still get 648 out of 1148. I mean that's the thing, I don't have to do much, they're really, really loyal.

#and also why I couldn't care less about numbers and reception #i mean the saddest examples are donation posts that make numbers only to find out upon clicking that the person barely made 50$#also to people to give to donation posts and charity #piece of advice #don't brag ever #not for the bad look but because it might make it backfire #it's extremely fucking annoying when people do that #because it fucks the whole thing for the person who start it and also the donators because the cash doesn't always go back #also if you don't know the person anon that shit #the people starting these things are already feeling guilty enough as it is #adding a name unless you know the person to make it clear they can reach out is just adding an extra stress on already overwhelmed people #it's not like some virtue and validation shop

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literaturebf · 2 years

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stop bcs sometimes i start thinking abt how much ive grown over the past year like that's actually crazy...

#i finished my 2021-2022 journal beginning of this month and my entries from jan21 were so fucking Sad...#and i keot hoping and wishing and now its like im in 2022 and im older now (not by much tho . not old) and i have everything i hoped for #kind of . or at least im happy enough 2 feel like it #and i want more i always want more but its so much better now and rhe fact that i can recognize it. shut up ill cry #like i just talk to people now and i dont overanalyze every interaction and i text first and i reach out and i care! like wow thats crazy #im more comfortable too and im at least a little more aware and grounded in who i am and my identity . and its just crazy #diary entries #sorry that post just awoke smth in me and the reason i didnt put in my journal is bcs 1) a version of this post has been written in that #at least 4 times and 2) i think some of u might need to hear this #obviously im not life expert im literally a high school student i just think its cool #nd i want tonrecognize that!

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kentopedia · 6 months

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ HOME COOKED MEAL — nanami kento

you bring itadori home for dinner & he gets to see a different side to kento

contents. aka you dig up some teenage photos of nanami, fem!reader, husband nanami, fluff, yuuji being your adopted son, i haven't watched the new ep (& i won't) but there is enough nanami angst so i am here to fix that — 1.7k

when you got ready to leave the school, your jacket on and bag tugged over your shoulder, you passed yuuji itadori in the halls, his expression suspiciously similar to a kicked puppy.

yuuji perked up a bit as you walked by, offering you a small smile and a wave. and though you considered heading on home for the night, eager to see your husband, you slowed, hesitant to leave the poor kid all alone.

“everything okay, yuuji?” you asked, frowning as he rested his elbows on his knees, studying a stain on the floor of the school.

“hm?” the teenager glanced up, eyes bright and wide. his sweet smile was back on his face, so innocent and kind. for someone who had been through so much already, he was more caring than many people that you’d met in your life. “oh, everything’s fine. everyone’s just out on missions, so i feel a little…” he pulled up one shoulder in a shrug. “useless.”

you knew it must have been hard for him, being a student that wasn’t quite like the others, having to train a little differently, adapt differently. but yuuji took it in stride, and he handled it better than any normal person would.

with a nod, you secured your bag around your other shoulder, shifting your feet. “it’s just going to be you here tonight, then?”

he hummed, sticking his hands in his pockets as he leaned back against the wall. “i think so. some of the others might be around, but they’re resting up.”

“oh.” though you were certain yuuji had no qualms about spending an evening on his own, the thought of it made you feel like you were leaving a kitten out in the rain. almost pitiful.

yuuji waved before you could say another word, smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “have a good night! i’ll see you tomorrow.”

the car ride was spent listening to yuuji tell you story after story, the boy opening up to you in a way that he hadn’t quite related to any of the other sorcerers, even gojo.

you smiled to yourself, enjoying his stories as you wondered how to tell kento that you were bringing your student home for dinner.

there was still a bridge to cross between them, and though you knew they both liked the other more than they let on, kento hadn’t quite connected to the boy like he wanted to.

you hoped that by inviting him over, yuuji would see that kento, truly, wasn’t as intense as he let on. he was sweet, caring, and he did have a sense of humor… even if gojo didn’t really believe that.

you led yuuji into the house, and stopped him when you heard the sound of kento in the kitchen. his mission had ended earlier than yours, and he’d offered to cook tonight; there would be more than enough food for the three of you.

“i’ll be right back,” you said, tapping yuuji on the shoulder. “let me go tell kento you’re here.”

you’d considered letting your husband know before you arrived, but you hadn’t wanted him to protest. kento would try to make a fuss of having a guest over, even if it was only yuuji, and he certainly didn’t care about formalities.

your heart skipped when you reached kento, his back turned, finishing up the meal that was steaming on the stove. even just standing in the threshold of the kitchen, you were overwhelmed with all of your love for him.

but it didn’t take much… it never had. you’d always been sickeningly in love with nanami kento.

your footsteps were soft as you snuck up behind him. “kento,” you said, just above a whisper, snaking your arms around his waist. you kissed the muscles between his shoulder blades, listening to the steady thrum of blood pumping through his body.

“hi, sweetheart.” he’d heard you approach, and he turned, eyes softening when he glanced at you over his shoulder. “everything okay at the school?”

you nodded, squeezing him tighter. even though you’d seen him just a few hours prior, it felt like a long time—time apart when you were battling curses always dragged as you worried for each other’s safety. “did your mission go okay?” you asked.

he took your hands from around his waist, bringing them to his lips softly. “everything went fine. dinner’s almost ready so—” then, he noticed your guilty expression, one that you were clearly horrible at hiding. “is something wrong?”

you smiled innocently. “no! i just… brought a guest.”

kento’s eyebrows raised, his smiling falling quickly. “well, you could’ve told me before.” he sighed, shaking his head as he turned around to face you.

“sorry, i thought i’d surprise you.”

kento’s lips drew into a thinner line. “honey, please tell me gojo satoru is not in my house right now. he’s not welcome here anymore, because the last time he almost destroyed our fucki—” kento glanced up, his words falling away as he glanced over your shoulder. “itadori. hello. i didn’t realize you were there.”

you turned, releasing kento as yuuji gawked back at you. he’d caught in such a loving embrace with kento. yuuji’s normally stoic teacher was in the middle of swearing, blonde hair tumbling over his forehead. kento had replaced his suit with casual wear, and his contacts had been taken out. in place of them were wire-rimmed glasses.

“nanamin!” yuuji gasped. “you look so different.”

“yes, well, i apologize for my apperance.” kento sighed, looking at you from the corner of his eye. “i wasn’t aware we were having guests.”

“one guest. its just yuuji,” you said, poking him in the middle of the chest as his professional tone returned, so easily taking over. “i don’t think he cares what you’re wearing.”

“no, i don’t!” yuuji backtracked, eyes wide as he shuffled forward. “no, you look cool, you don’t look so…”

kento raised his eyebrows, amused, even if yuuji couldn’t detect the humor in his expression. “so what?”

the boy’s cheeks turned pink, embarrassed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “um—”

“you don’t look like you’ve got a stick up your ass.” you said, voicing yuuji’s obvious thoughts as you kissed kento on the cheek with a short laugh. of course, it was only to embarrass him further in front of his student.

kento feigned a scowl, but didn’t push you away, his gaze firmly planted on yuuji. “that’s because i try to keep my relationships at work strictly professional.”

“really?” yuuji grinned, stuffing his hands back in his pockets, his posture relaxing as he grew more comfortable in your home. “not very professional to marry someone you work with, is it?”

you laughed loudly, already caring so deeply for the boy that you’d known for such a short period of time.

“that was certainly an accident,” kento muttered, but his fingers lingered on your spine, tracing each of the bones. “i’ll have you know we were not working together when we got together.”

“really?” yuuji’s curiosity spiked. “how long have you been together, then?”

you thought back to when you were teenagers, when kento had a haircut that he had since regretted, and smiled mischievously. reaching into your pocket, you pulled out your phone and scrolled through old photos, back from when you were just kids, the images grainy and of much lower quality than the ones from your recent vacation.

“hey, don’t show him those!” kento protested. he reached for your phone, but you scrambled under his arm, stretching your hand out to give yuuji the device. “itadori, don’t—” kento’s voice held a hint of panic, his cheeks hot with embarrassment as he grabbed you around the waist, trying to stop you from giving yuuji the phone.

but it was already in yuuji’s hands, and you laughed loudly, knowing that while you looked a little more awkward than you did now, your appearance had changed near as drastically as kento’s.

yuuji squinted his eyes at a sixteen year old nanami, blond hair long enough to reach his eyes, dressed in an all black ensemble, an earbud in one ear. kento was hardly smiling, but you beamed next to him in the photo, dressed more childishly than you were now, but just as pretty. the image from when you still fumbled around each other, unsure how to admit that you were both in love.

a roar of laughter left yuuji as kento’s expression fell, and he released you, snapping the phone out of itadori’s palm. “that’s you, nanamin? no way. how did you…” yuuji glanced between you, squinting his eyes. “well, i guess looking at you now it makes sense.”

“i know,” you agreed, covering your smiles with your palms. “we looked a little silly together back then. i saw the potential in him, but satoru certainly loved to make fun of us, didn’t he, ken?”

“i have absolutely no desire to relive those days.”

yuuji laughed. “you were just like fushiguro, i bet!”

“scarily similar,” you agreed, as kento rolled his eyes beside you, putting your phone in his pocket to keep you from scavenging any older photos to share with the kid. “and he still loves to listen to—”

“don’t finish that sentence or i’ll save this dinner all for myself.”

yuuji eyes flew up to his hairline, but you just snorted, knowing that kento’s threats were about as scary as a puppy.

“he’s still sensitive about it,” you whispered to yuuji. “gojo and his friends made fun of him all the time.”

“oh really. just me?” kento retorted under his breath.

“you must have been pretty popular, then!” yuuji grinned. “if you were friends with gojo. he said all the girls in school loved him!”

kento made an irritated sound, stirring the spoon roughly against the pot. “well, satoru is the last person you should listen to. he has an ego bigger than the sun. and my wife is leading you astray. she was not similar to satoru, she was painfully shy, and it took weeks for either of us to talk to each other.” kento took the pan off the stove, peering over his shoulder at you. “and she is very lucky i love her too much to dig up any embarrassing stories of her.”

“well, stories about me aren’t that interesting anyway.” you laughed, pointedly turning your back to kento. “yuuji, the good news is, i’ve got some more photos in kento in the old photo books. let’s go see them!”

#i hope this shows up in the tags bc i’ve been fighting with tumblr ugh #kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #kento nanami x you #nanami x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

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shmpxx · 7 months

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CURSED SPIRIT — y.o

⛤ curse! yuuta okkotsu x fem! reader

yuuta okkotsu being your one and only curse.

cw. smut. unprotected sex. creampies. multiple orgasms. groping. dry humping. public sex-ish. fingering. slight oral (f. receiving). overstimulation. thigh fucking. somnophilia. possessiveness. yandere tendencies. mentions of violence. +18!

wc: 1.2k

a/n: inspired by @deviants-forest work! etc. (go check it out) also happy kinktober! :)

Curse!yuuta who creeps up your back, his hands finding your waist and his lips tickle your ear as he’s whispering how much he needs you on a subway train to home. “Not now…” you whisper over your shoulder to him trying not to be noticeable by others who crowded you and payed no mind, too busy on their phones. You bit your bottom lip when he presses himself against your ass in one movement already having your blood rush like crazy. You try to keep your composure like nothings bothering you but yuuta’s hard on humping into you desperately, whining in your ear and his cold hands reaching under your shirt to grope your boob. “need you ‘s bad” he was always touchy, could never keep his hands off you.

Curse!yuuta who doesn’t mind your sorcerer friends as long as they don’t get too close. Your friends can sense the heavy weight of cursed energy from you, even if they got close it was too much to bare sense yuuta was around, the air would fill thick and negative. You could barely go out with them to eat without his fingers buried in your cunt and playing your clit. They would ask you if you were okay when your head is down on the table but you just excuse it as you were not feeling well for a second but yuuta is grinning ear to ear, amused how your well your taking his slender fingers, curling them inside and you can’t help but squirm in your seat acting like your stomach is just hurting though you were about to orgasm. “Please yuuta..” you whisper to him “Come on you can cum on my fingers..” his raspy tone sending you shivers down your back.

Curse!yuuta who watches an “old friend” hug you, his hands in places that shouldn’t be. After you would praise yuuta for staying calm but yuuta would give shake his head only because you would be upset if he did anything and simply gave you a warning “Next time I’ll break his arm” “You can’t be serious” you sigh, you always knew he was.

Curse!yuuta who clenches his fist watching some prick try to flirt with you in front of him knowing he can’t be seen. Even the second time you reject him you can feel yuuta’s anger grow by the second that in any moment he would take action. “I-i have a boyfriend-“ praying yuuta doesn’t get violent “I don’t see him?” His hand coming up to touch your shoulder now he’s on the floor shouting in pain, blood from his broken nose all over his hands, shaken up that he didn’t see anyone hit him? Was he going crazy? “Pathetic” Yuuta mutters luckily he held back a lot, he could do so much worse and this wasn’t the first time.

Curse!yuuta who gets anxious that you might hate him when you get into arguments. He feels like he can’t exist without you, he’s nothing without you and the thought of you hating him makes his heart sink and scared that he’ll be all alone. He didn’t care about anyone else he just needed you. The amount of times you got tired of telling him not to hurt people and you could handle the situation yourself. He’ll plead you not to hate him and apologized excessively. “We can talk about this tomorrow” his stomach sinking by the tone of your voice that it will all end up to you hating him. He couldn’t stand the feeling.

Curse!yuuta who wants to let you know how much he loves you and how much he needs you, praying you don’t leave him or hate him. He glares at you in your sleeping state though he can’t wait til tomorrow he needed you to know now. “Please don’t hate me” “i love you so much” as he’s softly kissing your neck on each side, peeling your panties off. The cold air makes your cunt clench at his sight. He’s kissing the inner of your thighs sweetly and his lips makes contact with your pussy and a small whimper emits from your mouth. “Yuuta” you utter half sleep thinking it was only a sex dream, you were a heavy sleeper at that. he’s burying his lips between your folds trying to get more like he was so starved. If he can just make you feel good you won’t be mad at him and you can forgive him.

Curse!yuuta who can’t wait any longer, his dick pulsating through his pants even how much he gets drunk off your pussy, he loves the taste of it every time but he’s rutting against the mattress. Brings your thighs together to slip his cock between, throwing his head back letting out quiet moans as his cock is rubbing against your clit between your thighs. Your eyelids almost twitching open. He spreads your legs apart and sinks his dick into you watching your pretty lashes flutter at the sudden pleasure of you being spread apart. “Yu..?” You begin to stir awake, he kisses your lips before you start to fully take consciousness. “I don’t want you to hate me” “forgive me please” as he’s thrusting harsh inside you and swallowing your lips. By the time your walls were the shape of him every time he used you so it was easy for him to slide right in, you were made for him and he was made for you was the thought that brought him comfort. His fingers entwines with yours, his cock continuously rubbing hard in your insides. “Yuuta!” You moaned beautifully in his ear, your hand clawing at his back, yuuta loved it, it didn’t hurt him because you could never hurt him he didn’t mind it.

Curse!yuuta not wanting to stop, he’ll never get tired of cumming and filling up your pussy. You’ll be overstimulated begging him to stop it was awfully much to handle, you couldn’t cum anymore but you did as he’s plunging his cock in your abused cunt. The choke sobs and sounds of squelching filled the room “Need you-need you tell me you love me…please f-forgive me..ah!” Rubbing your clit increasing more nerves. “I-i love you yuuta! Ah-I really do! I could never be mad at you” Your words lifting weight off his chest still pounding into you. Holding you in a warm embrace to finish inside you. When he did filling up your womb one last time with his string of cum, your nails dig into his back letting your last orgasms crash into you. You let out a cry into his shoulder, your body trembles.

Curse!yuuta who needs constant reassurance you’ll never leave him, placing gentle kisses on each part of his face. Even though he’s nothing but a curse to you, being invisible to the outside world, Has a hard time showing remorse it’s just what he does to protect you, he somewhat doesn’t know that but knows he can be a bit possessive he just can’t help the urges of anyone getting close to you or worse even laying a finger.

Curse!yuuta bending you over the counter in the morning as you were trying to make yourself breakfast, last night was rough you were a bit sore but yuuta still misses your pussy. “Just a quick one I promise! I miss you so much! I’m just displaying my love for you—“ he pushes himself inside your worn out cunt from last night once again, you whimper at the feeling each time he rolls his hips when his balls slap against you. His hands reaching to your tit, massaging it in his palms. You don’t think you could ever break the curse from yuuta okkotsu.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuta smut #yuuta smut #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu smut #jjk x you #jjk yuta #yuta x reader #yuta x y/n #kinktober #yuuta okkotsu smut

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oceantornadoo · 2 months

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bad day (simon riley x reader, best friends to lovers)

honestly, you should have seen it coming. staying in a safe house with four men who have never ending stomachs? but today, it was the last straw.

“you ate my last cookie?”

soap’s face dropped, jaw open. your voice was on the verge of breaking, tears forming in your eyes. you never showed this much vulnerability in front of the team, and he was flabbergasted. he shot a look at gaz, who was equally as confused. “‘m sorry, bonnie, i didnae ken-“ you pushed your hands on the table, shoving your chair back and out. “it’s ok. gonna take a nap.” you were wiping your eyes furiously, feeling unstable. first you got your period four days early (asking price to add pads to the shopping list was something you never wanted to experience again), then you couldn’t find your heating pad, and now your cookies were out? maybe it was the hormones, but you were done.

“oof.” you had ran into a thick wall. scratch that, the wall was moving. your vision was blurred by tears you refused to shed that you didn’t even realize it was your closest friend ghost. “dove?” you hiccuped. why did he always have to be so nice to you? gruff and mean-sounding to everyone else, but an avid listener and sweet talker when it came to you. “jus’ trying to get to my room, didn’t see you. sorry l.t..” you tried to maneuver around him, but unfortunately a 6’4 machine of a man did not move easily.

“why you cryin’, baby?” shit, simon did not mean to call you that. he did not want to have this conversation right now, especially when you looked like you were about to break down. you were always so strong, having to work ten times harder as a woman in the military, and he was always careful to not undermine you or your struggles. unfortunately, that landed him firmly in the friendzone for the past year, unable to confess his feelings without breaking your trust. he maneuvered you to the closest room, which happened to be his. he sat down on the bed, intending to sit you down next to him, but instead you still stood, walking in between his parted legs.

“‘m sorry, just on my period and everything hurts and it’s all hitting at once.” your eyes were red, avoiding his. he could see you were in pain, and as someone who had endured enemy torture and the hardest forms of training, his heart never hurt as much as it did now. he reached a gloved hand towards your face, brushing away your tears. his other hand came to your lower belly, rubbing circles over your clothes. “shhh, ‘s okay. you wanna sit down?” you shook your head in disagreement. you felt like a child, but you were never allowed to be weak outside of your own room. for some reason today, you let simon riley see you weak.

you walked around his body and laid on top of his covers, curling into a fetal position. he let you get comfy, finding a way to lay down that lessened your cramps. finally, you were done moving. “si?” you never called him that unless you absolutely needed him. he got up and locked the door, not wanting to disturb your peace. “yeah, baby?” might as well use it now, you hadn’t complained. if anything your face softened when he said it, and simon riley would die a thousand deaths just to see a moment of relief on your face. “will you lay with me?”

he eagerly stripped out of his gear, climbing on top of his bed to lay down with you. he placed a hand on your arm, letting you choose where you wanted him. you dragged his hand under your sweatshirt, using it like a heating pad for your cramps. you let out a soft moan of pleasure and he answered it with a low growl, pulling you into him by the stomach. his thumb caressed your bare skin with small circles, memorizing every dip and valley. he strived to commit the moment to memory, not knowing if you’d ever be this vulnerable again. “feel better, dove?” you nodded, finally succumbing to sleep that had evaded you the past night. he smiled under his mask, placing a small kiss to the back of your head.

finally you were at peace, and all because of him.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod 141 #fluff #ghost call of duty #tornadothoughts #best friends to lovers #period cramps #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price

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