#i am beating the shit out of all of them with hammers

[randomwriteronline]

"Pohatu!"

Huh.

Lewa sounds... Worried?

Something must have happened. Hopefully it wasn't a Makuta attack. It'd be weird if neither Krika nor Pohatu were there to fight with their siblings - although the Toa have no reason to believe their brother of Stone has any business with the Brotherhood beyond knocking their masks into the bog water with a roundhouse kick, so really there's nothing to worry about. If he mentions he met a Makuta they'll likely assume he simply came across one and was briefly busied with not being pummelled into protodermis hummus against the nearest tree.

He touches down bouncing once, twice, to slow his momentum before he comes too close to that coward's trap; his Le-brother lunges for him to wrap his arms tight around his neck in a nearly suffocating hug.

His own limbs encircle the other's back in a lukewarm embrace, half stunned, half puzzled.

Alright. Something has happened.

The question now is, frustratingly: what, exactly?

"Where have you been?" Onua, for once, is quicker than him and gets to ask first. He sounds almost... distraught.

Pohatu turns to him with the unpleasant feeling of being in the dark about something squirming familiarly around his heartlight: "Swamp?" he replies a little dumbly pointing behind himself. "There aren't that many places to be down here, I met a big bugger-"

"All these years?" Gali continues. She is not talking about the swamp. She is worried, heartbreakingly worried, just as much as her brothers. "What happened to you? Where were you?"

Kopaka says nothing, but he looks at him. His eyes seem guilty.

Pohatu looks back at him in earnest confusion.

"The Codrex," Tahu visibly struggles as he searches for the correct string of words in his choked up throat for a moment, torn between reaching out with his hand and holding back.

The fog clears instantly.

"You weren't in the Codrex," he tries. "You weren't with--"

Pohatu shoves Lewa off of himself with a stiff thoughtless movement: "Ah," he says. "Good."

The other five blank.

Something shifts in the world around them and tilts it all askew, paints the air with a strange imperceptible color that makes their heads light, their footing unstable, their eyes unfocused. Their Stone brother is the same - his silhouette has been changed by the adaptive armor but he looks the same, they recognize him, they know him, right? He is still their sibling, he is still the same, the exact same, in his usual body with his usual gaze and his usual voice, but then why - why does this Toa look nothing like him?

Tahu flinches when his shoulder is grasped.

"Do you remember the energy storm?" Pohatu asks, sounding the exact same and yet completely, impossibly, horribly different.

"What?"

"Do you remember the energy storm?"

"Pohatu, I - you - where, how did you-?"

"The energy storm, do you remember it?"

"You weren't with us, all this time- how did you get to-"

"ANSWER THE QUESTION!"

They recoil.

Pohatu doesn't shout like that. Pohatu doesn't speak like that, quick and far too straight to the point. Pohatu doesn't grind his fingers that hard into what little of a shoulder a piece of armor might expose. Pohatu doesn't stare that harshly. Pohatu isn't that furious.

"The energy storm!" he insists, snarling - Pohatu doesn't snarl - "Do you remember that!"

"Yes," Tahu spits out.

"Good!" and his tendons hurts when they are released.

Pohatu doesn't stand like that. Pohatu doesn't look at his siblings like that - with a growling scowl so sour it almost makes their stomachs twist. Pohatu doesn't look like Takanuva does since a shadow leech bit him, he doesn't look like the Shadow Matoran, he just looks like himself; but Pohatu doesn't act like that.

He gives them all a quick glance, looking for confirmation on their faces beyond the stunned concern. The storm's mention and his cold eyes seem to do the trick as he catches small affirmations.

"Call it a feeling or a hunch or what you will, but something tells me there's going be another one coming down soon," he tells them with that voice that is his own yet doesn't sound like him - to them, at least, because they had yet to hear this facet of it which he's allowed to stew silently with the rest of his bitter fury. "And it'll turn Karda Nui into a nice big open air common grave, if you five keep sitting around this chunk of metal waiting for our little siblings to get fried out of the air like Nui-Rama."

The information takes a moment to sink in.

He watches their eyes widen, understanding dawning within them. They know now as they knew then what an energy storm is, what it means, the destruction it brings.

They begin speaking, they ask him how he knows - he answers harshly, flippantly, relishing in how they wince back as if stung or bitten each time he responds to their kind tones with hisses and growls that are so deeply wrong to their audio receptors - they start planning, and he retains no information whatsoever of whatever Tahu starts prattling about (a strategy, of course, because he is the leader, and a leader makes strategies and plans escapes and runs away when the ship begins sinking) because he sees his foot shift, he sees his hand beckon the rest of them towards him, he sees him make his way toward the inside of the Codrex, and white hot rage bursts out of him in a shout that he can't hear himself.

He can only tell he's shouted because his body is tense as it leanse forward, his lungs are empty, and his disgustingly spineless siblings are shaken and terrified as they turn to him.

He's not letting them escape on their own this time.

"None of you will be doing anything until we get the Matoran out of here!" he roars again. "Especially getting into that thing!"

"It could hold answers - helpful tools," Onua speaks in his warm enveloping tone. A hand reaches out for him, to soothe him, to try and calm him, return him to his normal self--

He's swatted away sharply, so hard that his wrist hurts.

His brother glares venomously: "It doesn't," he decides snapping back at him, "You're just trying to escape again, aren't you?"

"Again?"

"Don't play dumb with me! You said you remembered!"

"But it wasn't--"

"We're doing it my way this time! And you'll better comply or upon the name of the Great Spirit I swear I'll crack that infernal machine open like a Pokawi egg if you try to set a single foot in it!"

"Pohatu!"

He has no idea who is speaking: the voices and masks and colors melt together, his head spins, the heat of his anger turns his thoughts into a tangled mess that starts wrapping tight around his lungs to squeeze every breath of air out of him; so he flies away, diving briefly into the swamp, terribly close to the water, before rising back up along one of the trees, towards the stalactites.

(Somewhere far away a chunk of stalagmite blows up, scaring the wits out of Bitil. As his heartlight flashes madly the Makuta curses the Toa of Stone under his breath.)

Someone calls for him.

He ignores them and continues flying.

He's so furious that he nearly crashes through the branches.

A sense of nausea builds up in his throat like vomit.

The voice reaches him, shouting his name almost right in his audio receptor: his arm is grasped, wrenched up, his body unbalanced and turned upside down. He twists in the air aimlessly for a few seconds before he manages to stabilize himself again and regain his bearings enough to search for whoever jumped him.

Gali floats slightly above him, her eyes disbelieving and hard behind her mask: "What is happening?" she demands to know.

Pohatu glares at her. Then, out of nowhere, his brows unfurrow, his face softens, he breaks into his easygoing smile: "Nothing," he blatantly lies with his playful tone and no intention of masking his rage nor his sarcasm behind it, "Nothing ever happens. Didn't you know that, sister? This afternoon we're going to have a tea party with the Makuta and wait for the energy storm to decide the air is a bit too brisk to come down this week, and then tomorrow we'll all attend a nice Kohlii match the Av-Matoran are setting up with the Piraka as the referees."

"Stop it!" she shouts. His little show unsettles her immensely, and the fact only makes him glad. "What's happening to you?"

He laughs: "Nothing, I told you," and he does a little loop to keep from shattering a fallen stalactite in half, "Nothing ever happens to me! Why would anything happen to me?"

It scares her even more. "I said stop it! You're not like this!"

Oh, he isn't?

He isn't like this?

If she knew. If only she knew.

She would hate him as much as he hates her again.

"What's wrong with you, brother?" she cries. She really does sound like she's going to sob. "What happened to you? What is making you act like this?"

Oh, but didn't she say she remembered?

Didn't they say they remembered?

Liars. Liars. Liars. The bile surges back to cover his eyes, to coat his mouth with its horrid taste. He can barely breathe.

"Nothing!"

"It can't be 'nothing'!"

"I said, it's nothing!"

"Pohatu, please!"

He thinks of driving his hand right through her heartlight.

Gali watches her brother stutter, suddenly frightened by something she cannot see nor hear not imagine, she watches him lose height for only a moment in which he seems to plummet into the bog below: before she can fly down to his rescue he spins up again, twirling away from her. She follows his trajectory until he lands, heavy and tired, on a sturdy enough branch.

He hears her touch down a few steps away from him much more gracefully. Keeping his eyes shut at least spares him from having to look at her.

He is a Toa. He has a code to follow. Even when it's hard.

Even when it would make it all so much simpler.

Even when it would be so deserved.

But he is a Toa.

Not a Bohrok.

Not a Rahkshi.

A Toa.

And he doesn't want to kill.

"Pohatu," she calls again, so gentle, so sweet. Her hand sits on his shoulder, pulls away slightly when he flinches at the contact, lays once more with an even lighter weight. "Brother, I'm begging you. Speak to me. Share what hurts you."

You know exactly what it is, sister.

All of you do, and you pretend otherwise.

You left me. You planned your escape and went through with it.

You left me to do the work of six Toa alone because you were too scared of dying like the Matoran you didn't care for.

It was your plan from the beginning, wasn't it? It must have been. Otherwise it makes no sense. I was never part of your escape either, was I now. Because I was never as good as any of you.

You left me. You left me, and you planned to leave me. You didn't tell me anything. You didn't care if I would have looked for you while I was dying. You didn't care if our little brothers would have called for you. You left us all to die and you planned for it. From the start.

You disgust me. You left me. You left me. You left me.

"I'm worried," he says, because that too is true.

Gali's arms embrace him kindly, pushing his head to lay on her shoulder. He'll let her believe the shiver that courses through him is out of a need for comfort instead of repulsion.

"We'll get them all to safety," she whispers. Her tone is soft, almost lulling him to sleep.

"When?" he asks. He feels so tired. "Is there even enough time?"

"There will be," his sister reassures him as her hand cradles his nape. "I promise they'll all be on their way to Metru Nui before the storm can start forming. We'll make sure of that. Me, our brothers, and you. United, it won't take long."

It wouldn't have taken long back then either, he thinks, but the bite in his thoughts is too weak to voice them. He is so tired. So exhausted from his anger. Gali is so comfortable. So kind.

It's a trick.

It's all a trick.

He has to remember that.

Anger helps him remember that.

His siblings hate him.

It's all a trick.

Just a trick.

The stuttering sound of a pair of rockets approching them has his sister turn slightly. Her grasp on him loosens, and he pries himself away from her hold despite some traitorous speck of his mind begging to be allowed to lean on her. It's a trick, he chastises it as he finally opens his eyes to see who's coming: just another dirty trick.

Lewa touches down almost next to them, jittery and anxious. He looks at Pohatu with a certain fear behind the goggles of his mask.

His brother replies to his frightened gaze with silence.

He and Gali speak - of what, Pohatu can't tell. He's so tired. When at last he forces himself to be mentally present to the conversation, it seems they have reached an agreement.

"I will reassure our brothers, then," she says. "We'll be there to help you before you know it."

"Heartthanks, Watersister," Lewa nods relieved.

They watch her disappear downwards again. So it seems they will be handling the first few evacuations on their own, and then the others will join them.

It's good to see they have a bigger sense of duty than they used to.

Or at least, that his rage scares them more than death.

Fingers grab him before he can lift off, in an unsteady grip: "Pohatu," his brother calls with a trembling voice.

When he turns to finally face him fully, Lewa looks at him no different than he did when he first arrived on the branch: frightened, concerned, jittering. He grasps his forearm with both hands, like he's afraid he'll slip away from him.

"We need to go," Pohatu tells him simply. He is so tired.

"You," his brother begins softly, but it takes him another moment to word his thoughts properly: "You... How... Are you?"

"Tired."

"Are there - offvoices, like the mindkraana, in--"

"I am just tired. Let's go."

He winces hard at the harsh words, but he holds onto him still: "Stonebrother - you were... You weren't with us. In..."

"I wasn't. Let's go."

"Wait - wait, please..."

He sighs. He feels so tired. So tired. Why is he so tired.

"If you weren't... If you..." Lewa struggles. He is deeply worried. For him. "Where... What... Happened, to you? During all this time?"

His legs ache and twitch to kick him off this blasted branch. His body screams at him to knee the Air Toa in the torso hard enough to cave his armor into his lungs.

But the building bitterness hemorrhaging from his every joint after he allowed his tightly compressed rage to blow out of him is eroding his strength the more poisonous it becomes instead of fueling him as it has so diligently done for the past one hundred thousand years, and he is so tired.

"Now isn't the time to talk about this," he snaps.

"But it will be?" his brother insists.

He is so, so, so tired.

"Later." he concedes. "Once all this is done."

"Heartpromise?"

Somehow, he manages to fake a convincing smile: "Heartpromise."

Lewa smiles back at him, heartlight a little lighter.

They lift off together.

#bionicle #pohatu #gali #lewa #onua #tahu #kopaka #random writing #orpiment au #(dancing a merry little dance) pohatu is FUCKING PISSED #i hope the progression of his anger and its intensity through the chapters feels natural #and i hope it comes across that the way he handles it (keeping it hidden and then releasing it explosively) is so strong and unhealthy #that it actively physically makes him sick. which is why he is so tired by the end #in all of this the nuva have no idea what is happening to their brother and are honestly afraid for him #theres so many ways to get mind controlled in the matoran universe - whos to say somebody took hold of pohatu and turned him against them? #they want to help him so very earnestly and hes so stuck in the narrative hes spun where they hate him and he hates them #i am beating the shit out of all of them with hammers

[bakugoushotwife]

born sinner (part one)

pairing: crime boss!suguru geto x fem!surgeon!reader series content: blood, gore, realistic descriptions of surgery but like as accurate as someone with access to google has, angst, slow-burn, eventual smut, anxiety as a heavy theme, no curses!au, violence, guns, gang mentions and typical violence, religious imagery, etc. words: 8.5k a/n: omg omg happy new year! the gojo writer takes on suguru geto!! he's so challenging for me in the best of ways and i hope that his characterization is at least tolerable LMFAO!! i got this amazing idea from a gorgeously detailed outline from @antizenin who trusted me to bring her outline to life. i hope you love it!! part two //

the lights are entirely too bright in the meeting hall. it’s nothing compared to the lights in the OR that illuminate the vessels of a heart as you slice into it—finding the clot that caused the fourty-one year old mother of two to collapse in the middle of making breakfast. you saved her life, you save lives. you’re a cardiothoracic surgeon–and a top one at that, though you spent your residency flirting with general and neurosurgery, you ultimately landed on the heart of it all–literally. it was riveting work. it was satisfying work. you got to play god, holding the lives of everyone that came through the hospital doors in your hands. you got to be the one to repair the tear in their aorta, the one to physically pump their heart with your own grip. it was thrilling. until it wasn’t. until you couldn’t stop the bleeding or make the heart beat again. until being god of the emergency room meant sending some people to the afterlife, and realizing that you are no god. you’re just a woman with a degree and a scalpel and a crippling fear that you don’t know what you’re really doing at all.

that’s what got you here. the clock in front of you is just about the only thing to look at in this section of the hospital. the board meets here—the people that convene to discuss fates. it’s almost comically just that the long hallway before the meeting room was barren and hopeless–only the clock’s hands to tick loudly by in mock of you. 7:55 am. just five more minutes until you went from the god above it all to a simple beggar praying to be spared. you were no different from those you operated on. you’re suddenly very aware of how scratchy and hard your chair is, making you adjust and readjust to try to find some semblance of comfort in the last five minutes before judgment day. as a surgeon, you know just how out of whack your vitals are. as someone with a diazepam prescription, you know exactly what’s causing it, regardless of the MD at the end of your last name. shit, you forgot to take your pills again this morning—

there’s a faint sound of heels clicking against the cold tile floor in conjunction with the loud clunk, clunk, ding dong ding! of the clock that signals the top of the hour. it’s time. the secretary calls your name as if you’re not the only person waiting out here, and you nod without meeting her eyes. you know without lifting your gaze that hers is judgmental–like everyone’s lately. 

the problem with being god is that you can’t make mistakes without feeling the wrath of the people that once loved you and championed your name.

millions of thoughts race inside your head simultaneously: if you can’t handle the hardening stare of a measly secretary, how on earth would you be able to function under the eyes of the council, the real gods amongst men. they have the authority to revoke your license if you don’t figure out how to answer to them. the one case, the one incident, the one person’s life that ended because of your inability to handle such racing thoughts drives you to clutch at your chest now as you rise from your chair, back aching. 

“right this way.” she says without another glance, and you’re thankful for that reprieve. she turns, loud heels click clacking their way back down the hall at the same pace of your hammering heart. you love being a surgeon. you can’t lose that. you have to fight for it. saving lives is important to you! you just have to convey this. it’s not hard. swallow your fear and finally fight for something you want, put one foot in front of the other, you tell yourself. breathe in and breathe out—you have to get your sinus rhythm back to normal if you have any hope of getting through this. but it’s so hard when all your senses lie to you like this, the clock’s ticks still rattling across your brain—the long and dark hallway only stretching to be longer and darker before you. you know it’s impossible–just your mind playing tricks. or, more aptly, part of you knows that. but the other part starts to break out in a cold sweat once you finally approach the door. on the other side of the heavy oak were the group of people who would decide what your life was worth: do you get to stay a god amongst men, or will you be cast out like the devil himself? 

you can hear the different voices speaking in low whispers before the secretary has even pushed into the room. you know they must be speaking about you from the way their eyes dart all over your timid form in front of them as they shuffle their papers—reports of every mistake and triumph you’ve ever had laid out in front of them, reducing you to a datapoint. it’s a medical license hearing, but you feel like a freshly hit opossum standing before the vultures just waiting to pick your bones clean. maybe being roadkill was more freeing than this. 

this room is much darker than the lobby you waited in, dimly lit by reading lamps positioned to the right of each panelist–five total. three men and two women would decide if your mistake was enough to ruin your career. their desk towered above you, so much so you had to tilt your chin back to be able to take in their disgruntled, disappointed, and disapproving stares. your saliva feels like liquid cement when you go to swallow it down—though it tastes like bile.  

“good morning doctor.” the man on the furthest right says. he has the kindest eyes of them all, though your brain catches his deception. he’s just acting. the other panelists give you tight lipped smiles of greeting and head nods of acknowledgement. you clear your throat a little and give them a bow. 

“good morning, board of internal medicine. i’ve…prepared a statement?” you clench your jaw at the shakiness you can hear in your voice. it’s the older of the two women that nod at you this time. 

“you may present it.” she says, a drawn-on eyebrow raised expectantly. you swallow down that bile-cement flavored spit again, training your eyes on a hairline crack in the tile under your toe. it’s fitting. as time passes, this crack will widen and cause that tile to erode and crumble away. this meeting could be the crack in your foundation. the decision made here today could be the first domino of events to ruin the picture perfect life you’ve carefully put into place. 

“..hiroshi nakamura entered the emergency room on november twenty-third at 4:57 pm. he was suffering from an aortic aneurysm. as many of you are former surgeons yourselves, i know you’re familiar with the diagnosis. many of these go unnoticed. symptomatic pain is brushed off, and many times it’s too late to save them, the silent killer.” you shift your weight, doing your best to maintain eye contact despite the haunting memory. “nakamura-san was a patient of mine previously. he was diagnosed with arteriosclerosis three years prior, the exact date escapes me. it was in the summertime. july maybe. later that day i performed an endarterectomy to reduce the atheromatous plaque in his carotid artery. we kept him for the next three days for observation, his vitals improved and he was discharged with instructions to receive regular checkups. when he was brought back in…i knew immediately that the buildup must have returned, making it harder for blood to travel until it turned into a clot. when i opened him up, his pressure started dropping. he had an aortic dissection, which i’ve run into many times. but the size of nakamura-san’s was significant. i hesitated, deciding between a graft or a stent for treatment. i took too long to choose, and nakamura-san…bled out on the operating table.” you grimace, looking down at that cracked tile again. the line was shaped like a lightning bolt, its jagged curve leading straight under your shoe. you can feel your chest tighten, so you close your eyes and try to push back against the wave of emotion sitting in your throat. “i had to tell nakamura-san’s family what happened. his wife of forty years, his thirty-four year old son, thirty year old daughter, and twenty-eight year old son as well as his young grandchildren. i’ll never forget what my mistake has done to their lives, and i believe it is punishment enough.” 

you step back once you’ve finished speaking, heart still hammering away in your chest. the members of the board nod, seemingly unaffected by your words. the man in the middle of the massive mahogany table picks up his stack of papers, licking his forefinger before flipping through them. “how long have you been prescribed diazepam, doctor?” 

your blood stills. your anxiety was clearly well documented, and you knew it would be on their list of questions. “since i was a teenager, sixteen i believe.” 

he hums, eyes focused on the paper before him. “and how would you say it helps you manage your generalized anxiety disorder?” 

you would do anything for that ticking clock right about now, for this room is so quiet you swore they could hear your thoughts. “it helps considerably. i’ve stayed on it for over ten years now.”

“your prescription history is spotty. were you trying alternative therapies?” the younger woman asks, manicured red nails clutching your entire life between them via vulturous paper reports. 

you open your mouth to answer–no, argue–but realize that won’t help you anymore than the truth will. “no. i…had not.” 

she raises her brow just like the other woman did, except her eyebrow was real and also well taken care of. “so what happened? it seems like you’ve forgotten to pick up your medicine three times this year—one of which was during nakamura-san’s surgery?” you are a cardiothoracic surgeon, one that was considered proficient enough to pick her specialty. you are no fool. you can see the trap she’s laid before you even unmedicated. 

this is the end. all because of your busy schedule and long hours at the hospital. sometimes you missed pharmacy hours, other times you just forgot about it altogether, mind racing with diagnoses and cases that wait for you the next day. but that won’t matter now, you can feel it before you even answer. they knew what they were going to do before you ever walked in this room. “my business hours are usually reserved for saving lives at this hospital. sometimes i’m not able to make it to pickup.” 

“how long until your death toll matches that of your successes, doctor?” the final man at the left asks, punctuating their line of questioning. he shuffles the edges of his papers against the flat top he sits behind. “i think our decision has been reached. you’re no longer licensed to operate in this hospital or any other, effective immediately. take your medicine.” 

he has his doubts, but he supposes that is his nature. it feels strange to organize a meeting between two warring sides, hoping for a somewhat amicable and fortuitous outcome. hope is a foreign concept in this world, in suguru geto’s reality. he runs the west side of tokyo—keeping businesses running and funding local projects as well as controlling the streets with his biggest means of profit—guns for hire. he was a local historic monument. a ghost–everyone knew of him but pretended not to. everyone from bar owners to bakeries, lawyers and school teachers alike all under his influence, his pulse on the town. that’s how he knew the rival eastside head planned to make a move on his territory, and he’s been able to orchestrate a negotiation between them based on the opinion of his mentor and right hand man. 

traditionally, suguru would eliminate his problem at the source. there’s no need to play politics when you make your own rules. but he trusts wholly in his sacred few, the ones who have been with him since the beginning of his reign, and even before then. suguru’s best friend, satoru gojo was his best assassin and loudest mouth. choso kamo was a younger pup, but loyal and hardworking—very protective. and then there was toji fushiguro, the most valued of all. he’s shown suguru the ropes of this industry while still respecting and protecting him. geto entrusts his life to toji. if the man believes a meeting would be wise, then they’ll have the meeting. 

besides, there was no arguing with his logic. if they were able to pull this off, then his men will have free reign in the east, able to expand their territory into shinjuku, and have a working alliance with their only competition. so why was he having second thoughts? he blames satoru and his creepy blue eyes staring at him in the mirror he’s checking himself over in. 

“do you not trust me?” he asks the other man, tugging the top half of his too-long black hair into a neat knot. it reveals the long dragon tattoo that creeps up his neck, eyes glowing with anger at whoever looked. his own golden eyes flicker with unease as they survey the only person in the room. suguru hated how opinionated satoru could be at times, and valued it in others. though he usually didn’t know which way he felt until after the fact. 

the arctic-haired boy scoffed, kicking himself into stride from his previous position leaning against the wall. “oh i trust you. i just think it’s weird. i mean–toji’s so gung-ho, let’s slaughter ‘em all, and now we’re supposed to believe he’s become a diplomat?”

“i didn’t know you knew what diplomat meant.” suguru comments drily, sidestepping his friend’s critique of their teacher.

satoru shoves his round sunglasses back up his nose to conceal his eye roll. suguru was technically his boss—though he could get away with more than most. “hey, you asked. i just…have a bad feeling about this.” he shrugs–a knock at geto’s door causing both men to go on high alert immediately. satoru reaches for his weapon, always expecting an ambush. such is this way of life. 

“geto–sama, the car is ready.” the driver says from the other side of the wood, and satoru relaxes at the realization that it was just ijichi–a man so weak and cowardly that an ambush at his hands would be impossible. suguru releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding onto. he fastens the final button on his shirt, glancing over himself in the mirror once again. he wanted to appear polished and professional in his all black attire—and it worked. he seemed larger than life and as intimidating as ever. 

“perfect. i should get going.” he nods to his best friend–who, due to his abrasive and blunt nature, will not be attending this meeting. suguru adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves, strapping his guns to his torso and giving satoru a tight lipped smile. the latter gets the door for him, mockingly saluting. 

“i’ll hold down the fort until you get back, boss!” he chirps, nodding to ijichi before making his way back to the data room. 

toji meets them in the car. it’s a bulletproof black bronco, a fitting vehicle to cart around a high-profile crime boss. suguru’s confidence is bolstered at the sight of his most trusted companion, and he genuinely smiles as he ducks into the backseat with him. 

“hey kid, big day.” the older man says gruffly, his gravelly voice making it sound like he were sixty years his senior instead of a mere fifteen. suguru was no child, and didn’t appear to be one either. the twenty-eight year old man towered over six feet, thick with muscle and riddled with scars of experience, but to toji—suguru was a helpless kitten. 

suguru hums, eyes already scanning for potential danger as the car rolls out of the garage. “big day indeed. you’ve spoken to him already this morning?”

toji claps his broad hand down on suguru’s even broader shoulder, chuckling. “we wouldn’t be headin’ out if i hadn’t. sukuna’s ready for us.” he assures, noting how strong and steady suguru looked. toji was proud, geto has grown quite bit from the scrappy little boy he once was. if he was nervous, he was keeping that close to his chest. 

“good. i think he’ll find my proposal beneficial for us both.” he nods, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. sukuna’s crew mostly pushed petty crime and even pettier drugs—suguru’s bunch could elevate their product and offer more riches for the notoriously greedy ‘cursed king’ ryomen sukuna. 

toji snorts a little, amused by his arrogance. “let’s hope so.” he nods, checking the rearview and windows before they fall into silence. 

the ride is smooth due to the expensive tires and ijichi’s careful nature, leaving geto plenty of peace and quiet to brainstorm all of the ways this could go down. he’s doing a genuine good for japan–sure, he has to break a few laws to do it, but the people of tokyo—well, his half anyway—are prospering. he hopes that even the arrogant man that ryomen is can see what banding together would do for them both. then, it could be just a matter of time before he can branch out into the rest of japan. 

there’s that word again. hope. he feels silly each time he catches himself using it. it’s akin to faith to him. something ideal in entirety, hardly true to the touch. he only believes in what he can see–things like optimism and god are lost on him, they are only fantasies. 

“ijichi! watch the right side—” toji commands gruffly, sitting up straighter in his seat to get a better look. suguru is grounded with a shot of adrenaline, leaning over to peer at the black suv hot on their tails. this highway is busy—civilians in their own cars without a clue in the world littered all over the roads at various speeds. it could be nothing–except geto knows better than to hope that the tinted windows on the car were meant to block out the sun instead of concealing identities. the large suv switches into the left lane, speeding up to catch them. “idiot! step on it!” he calls, and suguru draws one of his guns to be prepared ahead of time, a lesson he learned from the man sitting to his right. 

“is it one of sukuna’s?” he asks aloud, cocking his .45 as the first shots ring out from the vehicle beside them. they bounce right off his armored car, but one knicks the tire. geto curses under his breath, cracking the window enough to pop off a few returning shots of his own. the cadillac is impenetrable too–though he had hoped to flatten one of their tires in return or even get one under the hood. 

ijichi starts to lose control on the vehicle as the tire blows—just the metal rim scraping against the concrete with a deafening hiss. the bronco starts to fishtail, the car beside them only furthering the inevitable by nudging the rear quarter panel into the median ahead. “i’m losing it! we’re gonna flip!” ijichi cries out in panic, prompting suguru’s eyes to widen. 

there’s a loud crunch of metal on concrete before they’re airborne. geto feels a sense of finality wash over him as they turn, his seatbelt the only thing keeping him from breaking his neck. there’s another gross sounding scrape of the driver’s side scraping on the road briefly before they rotate again—heartbeat erratic. this is it. all of his hard work would end in a fiery car accident. he can’t even feel it as his head bounces off the window, only thinking about how satoru was right. he should have appreciated his friend more—he’s probably the only person who will mourn him when he’s gone. the roof caves in when they fall onto it this time, shrapnel scratching his face and making him realize they had stopped. they’re on their back–he’s hanging upside down, but he’s alive. he can smell oil and gas and the inevitable smell of fire, so his numb fingers fumble for the seatbelt’s release button. the car alarms are going off—and he knows if he doesn’t get out soon, the relief of being alive won’t even have time to sink in before it’s ripped away again. he looks around the car—toji’s door ripped off in the accident and his body nowhere to be seen. 

“goddammit–” he growls, clicking the button on his seatbelt over and over, unable to get free. there’s a million alarms going off—the car’s sensors, the airbags, the bitter hum of gunshots ringing in his ears still, maybe even faint police sirens heading this way. none as loud as the one in his head telling him that he had to get out soon–fighting until the button finally releases him and he lands with a thud on the sunroof portion of the now mangled bronco. he crawls toward the only exit, toji’s exit, grimacing at the sickening sound of crunching glass digging into his side as he drags himself through it. he thought dying would be more peaceful—that he would be ready for it, even if he hadn’t finished his work yet. in this business, there is no tomorrow, yet he found himself fighting for one. this wouldn’t be the end of him, some sort of voice in the back of his head told him so. it wasn’t his own, in fact he didn’t recognize it—but it made him take the pain and push forward, out of the car and onto the street beside. 

the sunset would be prettier under better circumstances, but he’s grateful to see it irregardless. his head hurts, and he can’t look around as fast as he wants to without getting dizzy, that ringing deafening his senses. he sees the cadillac–still on the scene– with a group of men huddled outside of it talking. 

he sputters out a cough, clearing his lungs of some of the debris he’s inhaled. it catches their attention—and all geto can process is a pair of dark boots stomping over rubber scraps and glass shards until they’re inches from his face and the legs attached are squatting down to get a better look at him. 

“eh, shoulda known you’d survive it if i did.” he grumbles, a voice so unmistakable suguru’s blood stills in his veins. the sole of the man’s boot shoves into suguru’s shoulder, kicking him to his back. “you trust too much kid. why would sukuna negotiate when he could just take from you instead? shame. you coulda been great.” he says, fumbling behind his back for a 9mm piece, the sobering click of the safety and familiar cock of the gun clearing out all the other noises. geto’s too devastated to speak—though he knows there’s nothing he could say. he lived through the accident just to die with the truth: his mentor betrayed him. 

bang!

getting shot doesn’t feel like you think it does. it’s white hot and instant, a blistering intensity that tells you you're dying. suguru’s hand flies to cover the damage to his chest, eyes wide in disbelief still. he must have already died and gone to hell. he can’t hear anything now but the ringing of the gun and toji’s sigh. 

“meh–just to be sure.” toji yawns, scratching his head with the barrel before turning it back to suguru’s chest. 

bang!

it hurts to breathe, but he has to gasp for air either way—bleeding out on the pavement below. the ringing in his ears is replaced by tires spinning out—signifying that the rival crew had left before the cops could arrive. suguru holds his crimson soaked hand up above his face, clenching his jaw. the pain was hitting him in waves, the clawing feeling of glass embedded in his skin mixed with the burn of being shot, the inability to take a deep breath and his growing weakness, he really was dying this time. 

no. 

that voice again. he’s annoyed by it, but intrigued. why? why not give up? he asks himself, coughing despite the excruciating pain it puts him in and the wetness that seeps out of his mouth—something even he knows is blood. 

there’s so much life to live. fight. revenge, love. there’s more for you. 

he stares up at the pale outline of the moon hanging in the sky, growing brighter as the sky darkened. revenge. that was something he’d like to see. he didn’t know about the rest of it–but was confused by this…guardian angel of his. is this god? he was a born sinner—far away from anything holy. this must be an imagination of his—yet it was motivating enough to get him to move again. they wrecked just outside of harajuku. he knew of a dive bar under his business portfolio that he could try to get to–he could hang on until satoru found him and got him to the hospital, though that was a whole new set of problems. he had to get moving, the ringing of sirens getting closer by the second. 

his vision is blackening and he doesn’t even know how close he is to the bar. his breathing is ragged, everything screaming and aching, body telling him to give up but that voice urging him to keep going. night has settled in fully by now, and he’s thankful for that cover. this area of town is avoided by anyone with good intentions, hence its emptiness at this hour. it couldn’t be too late, 8 pm at the latest, but the only traffic moving through this district are giggly college students and no good drug pushers meeting up with customers in the dark. but it’s reassuring to him, it means he’s getting closer. that’s when the reminiscing hits him. he’s able to see some bright flashing lights—a telltale sign that the bar was just ahead. the shelter of the alleyway gives him some reprieve. maybe if he stops just stopped for a second to catch his breath he’d be able to get to his feet and walk inside, or just getting a phone call in would be enough to save him. he thinks about satoru, how he’d come running as soon as he picked up the phone all while cursing him out for not listening to his warnings sooner. he feels embarrassed that the only person he has to think about is his sarcastic best friend, left to wonder if things would be better or worse if he had a family to think about instead. the last thing he thinks about is that mysterious voice calling out to him to stay awake—but his body is done fighting. all is black. 

what better way to end the worst day of your life than getting shitty at the shittiest bar in town? there were probably lots of better options, like conserving your money since you didn’t know where your next source of income would stream from—but that was tomorrow’s problem. tonight’s problem was drinking your sorrows away next to the attractive man buying all your drinks. he was tall and his hair was spiky to look at but you knew it would be soft to the touch–or maybe that’s the vodka talking. his smile was more akin to a smirk rather than a genuine grin. he was trouble. but trouble was buying, so you’d keep batting you lashes and whining about your sorrows so the shots kept coming. the top-shelf vodka the man offers each time is working to its desired effect, numbing the ache in your heart and the bickering thoughts in your brain. it almost cloaks the mildew scent in the air—rose-colored glasses making the nasty blue carpet and hideous wood paneled walls of the bar look like a dream come true. you finally feel light. you almost forget about the man eyeing you like a predator in wait to your left, consciousness floating high in the clouds. 

you used to hate drinking. as a surgeon, you need a clear mind at all times. who knew when you’d be called in for an emergency case. well, needed. plus, you’ve always been an angry drunk, overly emotional and yelling constantly. it wasn’t a pleasant sight. not to mention the hangovers, ugh—your long-term psyche had always beaten out the short-term pleasure, but tonight you owed it to yourself to feel as bas as possible tomorrow. that’s why the clouds clear—your light-hearted joy short-lived as the bartender slides you another shot before muttering. 

“that’s your last one, doctor.” he tilts his head down, used to serving your fellow surgeon friends when you did have a well-timed night off, though he’s never seen you drunk as the most responsible member of your group, you were always designated driver. not anymore, you’d be lucky to get a text back from any of them now that you were disbarred. maybe that’s what actually makes you mad instead of being cut off. it’s the realization of all the things you’ve really lost–-including the right to drown your sorrows out with a swollen liver. 

“what the fuck?? and i know ya heard me talkin’...not a doctor anymore!! so let me have my vodka, i deserve it!” you whine, stretching your upper body over the scratched and chipped wooden bar keeping you from jumping across at his dumb stupid fat neck—

“no can do, miss. you’re over served as is, ‘s my job on the line.” he shakes his head, eyeing the man next to you to get you under control, assuming he knew you better than a few hours of tipsy talking. you scoff at his insinuations–both that you’re too drunk to handle yourself and that this wallet has any sway over your motor-mouth. 

“don’t look at him—fucking look at me! i’ll kick your goddamn ass, you know that?” you’re fuming. this is the proverbial straw that broke the hypothetical camel’s back. after the day you’ve had, you’re surprised it took this much to get you this rowdy. how much was one person meant to take anyways? venting out your anger would help you plenty, you think to yourself as you lift your knee up, prepared to crawl over that wooden plank saving that man’s life. 

“security!! come get ‘er. she’s wasted.” he scoffs, taking your shot away and making your blood boil even more. “they’ll get an uber for ya. take it easy, doc.” he shakes his head, making you feel remarkably judged all of a sudden, every eye in the place was on you as a guard even bigger than the man next to you drags you off the bar as carefully as he can. you don’t make it easy, kicking and screaming out despite the burning sensation in your cheeks.

“you’re scared of a girl? that’s fucking embarrassing!” you bellow to cloak your own, getting tossed on your feet gently— outside of the dingy building. 

“come on, little lady. let’s get you a ride home.” the security guard says, another one of them making their way outside as some sort of backup–like you were some genuine threat. you scoff, folding your arms. 

“fuck off—don’t need your shitty help, i’ll get home on my own!” you kick his shin, throwing your hair over your shoulder before marching off into the dead of night. 

in one of the worst parts of town. 

the cold shocks you awake, the fear putting you on edge and pushing back the drunkenness that fought so hard to claim you. every rustle of the bushes, each twig snapping has your head on a swivel. you just need to make it to your car, though it was daytime when you foolishly parked it a few doors down to avoid the traffic of drunk people leaving later in the evening. you’ve already made half the distance, the connecting alleyway just up ahead. 

you don’t make it two hundred feet before everything hits you again—and you’re bawling at your own stupidity. you should have made time to pick up your pills. you wouldn’t have to be worried about being kidnapped or murdered in the middle of the night if you had just taken your medicine. your life if over—and you couldn’t blame anyone but yourself. you’re a mess. you’re nearly gasping for breath already—the dark alley mocks you with long shadows reflecting from the moon and stray cats that hop out of the dumpster just to make you fear the worst. you wipe at your cheeks, desperately sniffling to try to regain your senses, eyes aching from the downpour. you’re constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure you’re not being followed, entirely too focused on what’s behind you to notice the log in front of you—you’re sent flying over it and towards the pavement. luckily you take the impact on your shoulder, nothing more than a shocked, “ow–” leaving your lips before you realize you’re not hurt at all thanks to your coat absorbing the brunt of it.

it’s just another strike of your famous luck then, something annoying enough to inconvenience you on a day chock full of them, but not enough to take you down. you push to your hands and knees, looking back towards the offending log—only to realize it’s breathing and has long dark hair strewn about its head. you gasp–the fog muddying up your senses clearing instantly at the realization that this was no log, but some severely injured man! you can hear his struggling breaths, springing into action immediately. it’s nearly second nature to you as you push his hair out of his face and away from his neck. it’s much too dark for you to make out specifics–but his chin shines with something you can only imagine is blood, the same wet liquid pooling in front of his torso, the man laying on his side in an almost fetal position.  

“sir–can you hear me?” you try, placing your fingers where his heartbeat should be. it’s weak and much too slow, but it’s there. you can save him. “sir what happened to you? what’s your name?” you ask loudly, trying to get him to wake up. you groan when he doesn’t respond, blindly fumbling around for the wounds. your heart is racing, any slowness from the alcohol was killed by the adrenaline consuming you now. you gasp out again when you feel glass shards and bullet holes, a good fifteen minutes away from home even if you step on it. you’re not sure if this man has fifteen minutes left in him—the reasonable part of your brain telling you to call the emergency line to get him helped. though, they’d take just as long to show up despite how serious his wounds are. “you’re gonna have to help me a little, big guy.” you groan even louder, trying to put him on his back. it would jostle him less and was the only shot you had at getting a man of his size back to your vehicle on your own. 

you swear you hear him chuckle, but perhaps you were still a bit tipsy. you grab his hands, trying to be careful of the one riddled with glass, situating them in your own at the best leverage point. you’re strong—you can do this. you need to feel useful again–and this man needs to be saved. he’s so heavy, nothing but dead weight as you tug him along behind you. you have to bend a little and pray that your legs can make it to your car, just a final push to get to safety. 

you’re grateful when you see your mom-mobile waiting for you. this was your ambulance, and you were running out of time and the strength to keep pulling, gnawing nervously on your lip. what if he died anyway? what if you couldn’t save him at all, and were only chasing highs you’d never feel again? 

no. you’re skilled. if you couldn’t save this man then… the truth was that no one could. so determination overrides your anxiety for the time being, and you pop the trunk of your sporty suv, looking down at the man with a heart sigh. “okay–i can do it. what are ya, 200, 220?” you muse, squatting down and fixing him over your shoulders as best you could—a fireman’s carry of sorts. your hips and thighs should support you more than your exhausted arms, so you heave up with a strangled grunt. you throw him in a little harder than intended, grimacing. “sorry!” you huff, circling to your driver’s side. at least he’s in, even if your arms are jello and you know you’ll have to get him in the house somehow. you aren’t even thinking about how his blood will stain your tan interior—the rush of saving a life quieting any background noise in your mind. “you gotta hang in there. hang in there, please.” you mumble, weaving through traffic. 

you back up as close to your garage as possible, trying to think ahead for anything that could make this easier on yourself. you throw the car in park, hurrying to get him out of the back. he’s running out of time, and a surgical god you may be–but there’s only so many miracles you can call in. you get him in the same hold from earlier yet you let his feet touch the ground, muscles burning at the exercise. you have to breathe in short bursts, crushed by his heaviness, adrenaline helping you accomplish something you normally wouldn’t be capable of. you stumble with him, still half dragging him. it’s a battle you’re worried you might lose, but you get him on your dining room table, splayed out like a gurney. then you’re prepping your OR, getting the lights on, all the tools and dressings you would need, and most importantly—scrubbing in. infection would kill him if you weren’t careful now. 

“you stumbled into the right hands, mister. or well…i guess i stumbled over you–but you get the point.” you roll your eyes at yourself and glove up, stretching the vinyl over your fingers and flexing them, all part of your pre-op routine. you get your first good look at him then. he’s terribly hurt, it really is even worse than you thought. bullet holes and all this blunt trauma–he must have endured something horrific. but beneath all the bruising marring his olive skin, you can tell that he’s a beautiful man. his inky hair gleams under your bright dining room lights, somehow looking silky despite the tangles bunched up throughout the mane. you sigh, turning your attention to the blood soaked shirt he had on–two perfectly round entrance piercing his front, but no exit wounds. in his case, it was probably saving his life, those bullets possibly lodged in important arteries—scary, but better than bleeding out. he’s already lost quite a bit of blood–and it’s not like you have any history on him to know what type he is. there’s no time to worry about tests–you’d have to get your emergency stash of o negative. it was universal–your own blood that you kept on hand in case of the worst. it looks like this is it. you flawlessly install the iv, watching the slow stream shoot through the clear iv catheter and into his body. it helps with his paleness after a few minutes, and you smile in relief. this was a good sign. you rip his shirt with the last remaining strength you’ve got left, buttons flying to expose extremely bruised ribs and those gaping bullet wounds. “this isn’t gonna feel great, i’m sorry.” you grab your cheap bottle of house vodka, taking another shot from it to steady your nerves before pouring a decent amount over his chest. “i have to get in here—i’m happy you can’t feel it–now, anyway.” you take a deep breath and reach for your scalpel. you decide to perform a sternotomy—cutting between his breast plate to the web of arteries beneath. “i can see the bullets. you’re gonna make it.” you whisper, more encouragement for yourself than for him. your retractors keep his chest open for you wide enough for you to get your forceps in, aiming to pull out a bullet out of a vein close to his heart. “it missed the aorta. you’re actually really lucky.” you chuckle humorlessly.

you wedge your forceps in and take a deep breath. it’s not the aorta, but it will spew blood anyway. “not my preferred method of grafting—no catheters here but. i gotta fix it somehow.” you growl a little in annoyance. you have to squint and move slowly, but you’re able to repair the first leak with a shifty little graft. you’re onto the next one, dropping the offending metal into a bowl—complete with a little clink. “we’ll get you to the hospital just to check my work, yeah?” you sigh, hoping that this would be good enough to save his life. your hands steady over the second bullet, and you repeat the same motions as before. you’re relieved at the sight of his heart literally beating underneath your working hands, knowing that he’s still fighting for his life. you remove the second one and get out of his body—sewing up his chest, letting the blood bag refill his own supply until the bag is drained. you push some saline to clean out the line before hanging a bag of morphine, the pain this mystery man would wake up to would be excruciating. 

once you’re done with the intense life-saving measures, you sit in a chair to pluck the glass from his skin and apply ointments to the road rash on his face and arms. it takes another hour or so of work, but you don’t mind. it’s strangely relaxing to feel like you’re doing your job, and it’s so rewarding when you check his pulse every ten minutes to find it getting stronger and stronger. you hate that you hadn’t invested in a stat monitor, having to check his blood pressure the old fashioned way, but that looked like it was perking up too. you grin, proud of yourself. losing your license didn’t mean you lost your touch. you decide to get the glass and rubble out of his hair, pulling it back away from his face for a second time tonight. you take another lengthy look at the man you’ve saved, still grimacing at the ugly bruises and scrapes when something else catches your eye. the man had several tattoos that seemed unremarkable at first, different dark lines tangling into patterns you didn’t recognize. but the dragon creeping from his collarbone to peek over the collar of his shirt—it’s a yakuza trademark. this man wasn’t a poor soul caught up in a tragic accident—this was a dangerous man. you just saved the life of a war-monger, countless lives ended due to his line of work. part of you wants to open his chest back up and make your grafts fail—but the other part of you wants to feel the success course through your veins when he wakes up. besides, what makes a surgeon and what makes a gang lackey? is it a good childhood? morals? options? who’s to say this man had killed anyone? god knows you wouldn’t want to be judged based off of a few sneak peeks. you sigh, piddling off to your room to get him some new clothes. 

it’s invasive, changing a stranger. but you’re at fifth base already right? saving his life gave you a get out of jail free card, even if he was in the most dangerous crime syndicate in japan. you get his matted jeans off, making yourself look up at the ceiling in modesty and respect. you shimmy the plaid pajama pants up his body–thankful that your ex never came back for his stuff. you decide against wrestling a shirt around all the bandages on his arms and chest—knowing you could hurt him just as much as you’ve helped. you decide to try your luck one last time, pushing your table the short distance to your living room to let him rest on something more comfortable than the cold marble slab. it’s an easy shove to get him onto the couch, and you finally take a deep breath and sigh it all out. success is sweet–surgery is exhausting. you pull a little blanket over him, setting hourly alarms to check on your patient until he wakes. 

he wakes up to the smell of something cooking. the light pouring in from the curtain makes him squint–definitely a sharp adjustment from the darkness that consumed him before. he hears a woman humming a few rooms away, only furthering his confusion. he didn’t die? but how…he didn’t call anyone, and he knows no one in that area would willingly bring the sirens in to help him–and where exactly was he? all of these things hit him at once, but nothing harder than the deep ache in his bones. he couldn’t describe it, something so sharp and throbbing he could hardly get his body to obey his mind’s orders to move. 

sitting up is pure hell. every red flag and stop sign goes off, making him grunt in agony. but he knows he has to get going–get out of whatever trap he’s got himself into. he doesn’t recognize the room–for all he knows, sukuna’s men followed him and have him here to torture. 

but that woman’s voice, he knows it. that doesn’t mean this isn’t a trap still. the humming stops, and footsteps pad closer until a bright face pokes into the room, an ‘o’ shape forming on her face before she enters–complete with a plate of food. 

“you’re awake–” you gasp in surprise. you had just come to do your rounds, deciding that eating with him would help you better watch out. you weren’t expecting him to already be up and at ‘em, he must be very strong. though you still notice how rigid he’s holding himself. “you really should lie down, you…” he cranes his sore neck, flashing you a glimpse of that black ink. you suddenly remember just how dangerous he is, and he looks like a dog backed into a corner, narrow black eyes sizing you up—distrust all over his feline features. 

“who do you work for?” he tilts his head to one side, and your brows furrow in confusion, oh–he was worried you worked for a rival. you shake your head, eager to defend yourself. 

“n-no one, no one right now!” you blurt out, anxiously shifting your weight foot to foot. you look down at the breakfast in your hands, holding it out for him to take instead. “here! eat, as a sign of my goodwill.” 

he analyzes the plate, then looks back up at you–peacocking his shoulders back and hissing at the pain the stretch brought him. now you know just how weak he is—and he can’t make another target out of himself. “i hope you know i will have you killed if you’re lying.” 

despite the way his glare makes your skin crawl and the hair at the base of your neck stand up, you can’t help but laugh at that. “i wouldn’t lie. i saved your life, why would i waste my time?” you shove the plate out further, basically putting it in his hands–one still heavily bandaged from dragging himself through the wreckage. 

he takes the plate from you. if he’s shocked by that, he doesn’t show it. he only watches you as he eats your food, grunting in pain every so often. you took the iv out while he slept, not sure how he’d react when he woke up to wires. “i uh…i have medicine…for the pain.” 

“who are you?” he returns without a second passing. he takes another reluctant bite of food, stomach growling in thanks. 

you tell him your name, stealing a few glances at the heavy furrow of his brow. “you were badly hurt. i am a doctor..so i helped repair what i could. you should recover. i imagine you need to lay low?” you ask with a raised brow, betraying your intellect. he knows you must have some idea of who he is. “you can stay here as long as you need. you might want to shower–but you’ll…probably need some help.” 

his expression shifts before your very eyes. his clenched jaw and steel brow relaxes into a soft look of…gratitude? truthfully, he was baffled. a doctor stumbled upon him, realized that he’s a criminal, saved him anyway—and now offers her home? he almost worries about how naive you really must be—but he owes you a debt he can never repay. you have given him a second chance—made revenge possible when he had given up completely. “thank you, little ebi. i will take up your gracious offer.” he nods, smiling kindly. 

you smile, heart going awol inside your chest. it was the right thing to do, he was injured and needed to be cared for. you’re a doctor who suddenly has a lot of time on her hands. it means nothing–but that you still have empathy left in you. you know you’re close to shaking, but you turn to leave before it can show. “i’ll grab you a change of clothes. don’t move too much until i get back.” you hum, and he hums in acknowledgement. 

he’s rather polite for a yakuza, his refined calmness even in the most dire of situations rubs off on you easily—you hold your head high as you pilfer through the tote of clothes your ex left behind, trying to find something for the big scary man in the living room. you finally decide on a plain black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. you even nab some of those painkillers you offered earlier, hoping to ease that stiffness he carries himself with to mask his suffering. 

but when you get back to the living room the only thing waiting for you is the empty breakfast plate and a few hundred dollar bills—your curtains blowing in the harsh wind. your heart sinks for an unknown reason, and you tell yourself it’s because your patient wasn’t dressed for the cold.

#jjk x reader #kyleewritesjjk #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto #jjk geto #geto suguru #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto x reader #crime boss geto! #doctor reader #fem!reader #jjk x fem!reader

[suuuupernovaaa]

Pierced - Hobie Brown x f!Reader

You've been seeing Hobie for a while, and he's just now finding your surprising piercings.

Mature. Smut. 18+.

Walking side by side down the street, I know that Hobie and I look a little odd together. Sunshine and rain. Day and night. Darkness and light.

Hobie is all sharp elbows, piercings, raised eyebrows, tattoos and piercings, shit-this and fuck-that. He's loud and aggressive and somehow always relaxed.

I am none of those things. I am crisp, anxious, soft-spoken, small, always dressing modestly and in muted colors, afraid of my own shadow, of any attention.

Except his.

When we're alone, there's no difference between us. Lying on my couch, Hobie's head rests on my stomach, and I watch it rise and fall with my heavy breaths.

He is laying between my legs, and I feel... warm.

His hand, large and calloused from years of playing guitar, travels slowly up my side, under my yellow sun dress. The air conditioner in the window hums, blowing cool air over us as the temperature outside climbs.

His hand leaves a trail of goosebumps wherever it goes. He lingers on the side of my breast, gently stroking, and I gasp. He chuckles.

"What's this?" he asks, and lifts his head up to look at you. His deft fingers have just brushed across the hard metal bar through my nipple. My one rebellious act, something just for me. And now for him.

I blush and try not to smile. "A nipple piercing."

He is almost too stunned to speak, which is truly a miracle for Hobie. "May I see them?" he asks, his words strung together in one lump. He's lost his breath.

I bite my lip and nod. He rushes to his knees, kneeling between my legs, and grabs the hem of my dress. Slowly, he pulls it over my thighs, my stomach, and finally reveals my pale bralette.

Sitting up on my elbows, I allow him to pull the dress over my head. My heart is hammering in my chest. This is the furthest we've gone, and even though I've desperately wanted to, I've been nervous - nervous to disappoint Hobie.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his fingers teasing the straps of my bra. All I can do is nod, there is a large lump on my throat, and gooseflesh covering every inch of me. My nipples stand erect as he pulls the bra over my head, and his hands quickly return to them. He runs his thumb gently over one, then the other, and I fall back onto the couch, letting out a soft sigh.

"Fuck me, Y/N," Hobie whispers. "That's the hottest thing I've ever seen."

My blush deepens, reddening not just my cheeks, but my neck and my chest, as well. I can feel my body growing hot.

Without hesitation, Hobie leans down and takes one nipple into his hot, wet mouth. Involuntarily, my back arches off the couch, and I put a hand in his hair.

"Hobie!" I gasp, but he doesn't stop. He swirls the piercing around his tongue, tugging my sensitive bud with it, and I throw my other arm over my eyes, beginning to pant.

He releases my nipple with a soft pop, and immediately brings his mouth to the other, groaning as he takes it in.

"Oh, god," I moan. Heat pools between my legs, and I can feel my panties growing damp already. As if he can sense it, Hobie's hand drifts down my side once more, and tugs at the waist band of my underwear. He releases my stiff peak, and brings both hands to my panties, pulling them down, over my knees, and off.

I am completely exposed in front of him, and he is still fully dressed. I reach out for his shirt, and without missing a beat, he yanks it over his head. We repeat this dance with his belt, and his pants, until only Spider-Punk themed boxers are left.

"Really?" I ask flatly, and he shrugs and smirks, and then positions himself between my legs once more - but he's no longer paying attention to my nipples.

He presses a soft kiss just above my mound. "I want to taste you," he whispers.

"Yes," I reply immediately, my hands already in his hair as his head moves further south.

If I thought his mouth was magic on my nipples, it's nothing compared what he does with my pussy. He takes my clit into his mouth, sucking and swirling, humming to create a beautiful vibration that makes me turn my head to the side, moaning loudly into the back of the couch.

He brings two fingers up as he continues his assault on my clit, teasing my entrance, and I open my legs as widely as possible, beckoning him in.

He enters agonizingly slowly, and his thick, cold rings are a surprising treat. His fingers curl upwards, finding just the right spots inside of me, and I grind down onto him, desperate for more.

"Oh, fuck, Hobie," I say with a loud groan. Something tells me I should be embarrassed about how loudly I'm reaching, but I just can't be; I've never felt anything like this before. His long fingers stoking inside me, his mouth on my clit, and his other hand twisting and pulling at my nipple.

I cum with embarrassing speed, arching my back and screaming his name as I do, and he never lets up, wringing more pleasure out of me, until I have to grab him by the shoulders and pull his mouth to mine. I can taste myself on him, and it makes my pussy clench again.

He pushes my hair out of my face and pulls away, just enough to smile down at me. "I'd like to fuck you now," he whispers, and I take in a sharp, fast breath.

"Please, fuck me," I say, realizing how empty I feel, how satisfied and yet unsatisfied I am.

"Are you sure?" he asks. "I don't wanna... go too fast. I was going to wait. The piercings, Y/N. My cock is so fucking hard."

I reach down, pulling his boxers off as far as I can, and he finishes the job, then settles between my legs, looking at me again.

"I want you so bad," I say, almost crying with the desperation of it, unable to think of anything else. "I want you inside me."

He reaches down and positions himself at my entrance, teasing me, and I thrust my hips up, crazy and desperate for him.

"Now, Hobie," I demand, and he listens.

He thrusts into me, and I gasp with a sharp pain, and an unimaginable pleasure. He's large, and he stays still, allowing me to adjust for just a few moments, before he starts to move.

His fingers were incredible, but this is something else altogether. Jesus Christ, it's magic.

I grip his back, digging my nails in, as he thrusts in and out slowly, stretching my walls around him, hitting exactly the right spot. I can feel another orgasm building already.

"Fuck, Y/N. You're so tight. So fucking ready for me," he whispers in my ear, his hot breath on my neck.

It's only a few more strokes before we cum together, and he moans my name in my ear while my pussy clenches tight around his cock, taking every drop of him into myself.

When we're finished, he collapses on top of me, his head in the crook of my neck, and we pant in rhythm together.

"I thought I loved you before today. Now I'm fucking sure," Hobie says.

I am so blissed out, and so tired, I almost don't catch what he's saying to me - for the very first time.

He looks up, and gives me a true, genuine smile. Something that is rare from Hobie.

"I love you too." I lean down, and press a gentle kiss to his nose.

"Got any hidden tattoos or anything?" he says with a laugh.

"You'll just have to wait and see."

#Hobie brown smut #Hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #Hobie brown fic

[undercoverpena]

i. to fix a porch

joel miller x f!reader | chapter one of honey stained hands

chapter summary: it’s why he allows himself the chance to look, to admire. His hand slides in yours all over again, as you offer your name—dutifully exchanged. and all he can think is, you’re a pretty thing. He’s seen pretty, laid with it lifetimes ago, but there’s something different in you.

wordcount: 3.5k warnings: typical canon-angst. my spelling. joel trying to fit in and be good for ellie. an: i am so nervous about this. i hope you like. huge thanks to @guyfieriii + @thetriumphantpanda for holding both my hands.

The world had gone to shit, but the world hadn’t gone to shit.

It still grew, expanded—and changed.

Just as it once had. The grass didn’t stop turning green. The trees didn’t stop rustling, the flowers didn’t stop pollinating between bones and disintegrating fabric.

Nature, in all its immensity, didn’t bow to the cordyceps that stole minds and whispered destruction along roads and grass. Nature didn’t allow the rot to take the seasons, as it had done with so many other things.

The end of times wasn’t allowed to touch the moon’s schedule. It didn’t have an impact on how the daylight grew shorter and the night span longer. It had no bearing on the way leaves turned golden, the dew appeared on tall grass, or how both danced under amber-rising and lemon-setting suns.

The outbreak took souls, but it didn’t rid the craved scents of stews and freshly baked apples—two aromas that flooded Jackson's roads.

Mostly, even if something else thrummed along the ground, and spoke in claimed lives, it couldn’t try and claim to have any effect on the way frost made the morning path glitter—or how it made the world still feel magical.

Fungus had stolen a lot. Had spread its poison across state lines and once happy towns. But it couldn’t thieve the natural beauty that shifted in three monthly turns.

He wakes in a sea of sweat, panic and desperation. Forehead clammy. Salt and pepper hair clinging in thin spider-leg lines against the creases of his frown.

Each morning, since Joel has been here, has followed the same pattern. The shadowy nightmares were still there, ever-present—swirling and twirling, not ready to stop their dance. Even if the sun is blasting through, informing them it’s morning—it’s the time their claws should retract and allow him to experience a new day.

They never really do. They remain, hanging in the edges of his thoughts, his eyes—even as sleeping thoughts diluted into the present day.

Just the same as he did yesterday and the day before, his closed fist rubs in gentle circles against his chest—right over his heart. Where it thumps and beats, hammering quickly. Fingers and palm attempting to soothe it, half-wishing he could weave under milk-white bone and release the guilt-wrapped tendrils around it.

It doesn’t matter what his routine involves, it’s all in vain.

Little to nothing alleviates it. Not the circles of his hand over the bobbled t-shirt he sleeps in or the way he wills himself to breathe, to fill his lungs—advice given against his will.

Joel has attempted a lot of things, but the tightness always remains. The imaginary vines forever constricting, all stemmed with thorns, digging in, tightening their hold as he struggled to gasp, never mind breathe. It’s like a fungus of its own, a thing poisoning him, ruining him, blackening what’s left of his soul.

All because he made a choice—one he’d make a thousand times (if given the chance).

Blinking, he slowly sits. Back aching, body groaning as the honeyed sun coats the place he calls his. It flutters over the set of drawers, the flannel draped over the handle of his closet, and the strings of the guitar, gifted by Tommy to keep him busy and out of trouble.

It’s a good place he’s found himself in. A normal place—one found in the centre of moving on and trying to live life. Something he gives enough of a shit not to let it be torn from him and a thing he worries is being tugged from his grip all the same.

One wrong move.

That’s what he hears, even if no one says it. It never leaves their lips, but instead is etched into the faces of everyone he has been introduced to. It was discernible on his sister-in-law's face when he and Ellie appeared; it was poorly concealed by his brother when he’d handed him the instrument.

So much so, that he’s become worried all of this—the safety, the future for Ellie—will be taken from him if he breathes wrong. If he makes eye contact a little too quickly, a little too sternly, too forcibly and not followed quickly enough by a half-smile.

He tries. Not for him, but for her. The same person he keeps his jeans close by and his t-shirt on for—the one that makes him sleep on the side so his good ear can hear a scream of his name—just in case. The same person who manages to shift off the worry, dusting him down without knowing the impact she has on him—the young person who forms him, shapes him into someone half-decent, who is willing to try, who is willing to do things with his hands that isn’t fighting or shooting.

The only time Ellie has shouted for him since being here, though, is for breakfast.

Now, the house is silent—too silent. A smile almost appearing all on its own. An image bubbling, appearing, blanketing over the nightmares that tried to linger. One of her, in her new bedroom—the one she keeps talking about painting—all asleep, mouth open, catching flies.

Joel snorts, swallowing it back. All of the darkness that is weaved inside of him. Focuses on the little flecks of dust that glitter in the glow of a new day, how they fall absently in the space between light and dark—making a choice, one he makes each day, to be here. To try.

His hand slides from his chest, landing on his wrist. Sighing, he closes his eyes and lets his thumb slide over the broken glass of his watch—the one he never removes—another thing he does daily. Another thing that has become a routine.

He knew what Jackson was when he arrived the second time. A communal, a place where everyone chips in.

Joel had expected something more to be requested from him. Almost braced to be told he would be stationed on the other side of the gate—in a more permanent role than others. But, he wasn’t.

If anything, he was given tasks.

Menial things, but tasks all the same.

Little jobs, all reminiscent of a handyman back before things to fungus and rot. Oddities, bits and bobs. Projects half-finished or never begun at all—assigned, handed to him, chosen for him because he’s there and capable. And not, as Tommy explains, is because no one trusts him.

The first had been his own porch. The wood split, cracked, creaking—an accident waiting to happen (a thing he’d muttered to Tommy when he’d first walked up the steps of it), more so as the days became shorter and the nights loomed closer.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find a toolbox placed at his feet the next day. A smug look on his younger brother’s face: think it’s time y’fix y’damn porch, brother. A clap on the back to cement it, a promise silently exchanged—that he could ask more of him when he was done.

And Tommy did, just not how he expected.

His breath mists the same as Tommy’s when he sighs, the weather biting as the two hovered on his newly repaired porch: got something else for you to do.

Maybe he should have said something when the silence filled the air when Joel suggested after. That he’d be good on patrol, that he could help in ways that weren’t repairing porches, front of shops and whatever else he brought to his door. If not for the fact he was grateful for the chance, for her—for the girl who is slowly making friends, who is beginning to smile—he may have done. The old Joel would have. He’d have pointed out that his skin isn’t stained with scarlet, that his hands are worn, but not smeared with the guts of those who’d crossed him. That he’d hung up as much of the former demons as he could.

He suspected, deep down, that Tommy could still see them haunting him. Knew that they kept him awake when the world went silent—that Joel didn’t sleep until the moon was at its highest, and woke with them jeering at him, perched on his shoulders, poking holes into his soul.

Joel also presumed that Tommy could see the way guilt had looped itself inside of him, strangling, making truthfulness harder to spill. Even if Tommy had no idea. Even if Joel hadn’t whispered to even the animals, never mind a person, what happened before he and Ellie had arrived.

So, he doesn’t argue, not as he’s handed another task, and another, then another. Days seep into weeks, weeks ticking into another month. Each time, his jaw grits, and his head nods, all well-versed, practised, as he picks up his toolbox and heads where he’s needed.

Except, today, when he’d finished up the fence that contained the sheep, a request came from someone else—a person he had spotted, but never spoken to. They were weary, guarded—approaching with caution as though bracing for him to snap, to become the callous individual they’ve likely heard through the whispers of gossiped stories.

In time, they approach, asking, burying their hands into their pockets as they do, before they continue with their reasoning for the request—one not for themself, but another person in Jackson.

A person Joel realised was his neighbour.

He’d been a good neighbour once, almost a lifetime ago.

Had hoped that it would come to him when Tommy had introduced him to you the following morning after he and Ellie returned. Your hand in his, smaller, but warm, a smile that was inviting, but slid over to Ellie upon Tommy’s introduction.

You usually rose early, that he had learnt when he’d begun to watch the sunrise before the leaves not just changed, but began to litter the floor in an array of shades. A pattern of habits he had picked up when he’d descended his own staircase, finding you already passing his home or your lights were on, already busy ticking off the hours of your day.

Today, he’d spotted (thankfully) the latter. His coat was thrown on, boots stepped into, toolbox in hand before he closed his door behind him and headed over. Your name on the tip of his tongue, all heavy, thick—an array of unsorted letters he’s hoping will shift into something as he climbs the steps to your front door. The syllables there, desperate to form, but in no order when his hand lifts to knock.

Air is what greets him, as the door rips open before his knuckles can even make contact.

Now, he’s standing in front of you—again. Your eyes land on him, brushing over in thick strokes of warmth, and all he can focus on is how you don’t step back in fright or stand a little taller. If anything, you don’t react, don’t move, as though it’s normal he’s there standing, talking to you.

“Oh, hi? It’s Joel, isn’t it?”

It’s kind, sweet, your tone. Eyes wide in a way that reminds him of a surprised, small animal—except, you’re grinning, not spooked. No sign of fear or question sketched across your features, or into the rest of your face, not as he stands, hovering.

It’s why he allows himself the chance to look, to admire. His hand slides in yours all over again, as you offer your name—dutifully exchanged.

And all he can think is, you’re a pretty thing. He’s seen pretty, laid with it lifetimes ago, but there’s something different in you. Something that has remained, that has weathered the storm of whatever it is, and however you came to be. Your smile rises, sliding into your cheeks, as his brain snaps a Polaroid of it and stores it somewhere less dusty in his mind.

“I just have to nip out, do you need something?”

Your hand sliding a jacket—one he’d just noticed in your hand—around your frame. It buries you, smothering, hiding yourself into it as you pull it around, watching, studying him as he does the same to you.

Shaking his head, he glances at your porch. “No, ma’am. Jus’ here to fix your porch.”

Sighing, you roll your eyes. “I make one comment and… anyway, I don’t want to trouble you. You don’t have to.”

“Maybe I want to.”

Looking down, you stare around at the porch. Him waiting, watching. “Guess it’s lucky for you, I wasn’t planning on taking it with me.”

It tugs from him, not forcibly pulled, but rather rolling from his mouth willingly: a laugh. It’s gruff, covered in cobwebs and sheets. It’s different, laughing with an adult compared to a pun book in the hands of a child.

“Well, definitely makes my life a bit easier that you’re not.”

Smirking, you lick your lips—a thing he spots, and finds makes his cheeks burn. “Yeah, guessing that following me around the animal pen wouldn’t be your favourite thing… after the other day.”

His eyes narrow, attempting to follow—until it dawns. Until it slams into him.

“You saw.”

“I did. Roscoe is a very boisterous sheep, though. So, it’s more on him than you.”

Cursing under his breath, he dips his head. Trying to stifle the embarrassment, the one rising in him like a phoenix, swarming up.

“Anyway, do you need any tools…”

That’s when he notices how your voice dies, your smile fading. Your words all fall from existence as the warmth around the two of you suddenly chills, as though he’s been plunged into a snowstorm. Your eyes had dropped, landing on the box in his hand.

It’s long, too long.

Almost prolonged, the quietness shifting into awkwardness until you’re blinking, head lifting, chin rising, determined and full of insolence.

“I’ll be back soon, yeah?”

Nodding, he swallows. Ignoring, for your sake, that your voice cracks before you’re hurrying past him. Watching, and staring until you’re a blip, a little figure in the distance of the cold morning—unable to forget about it, the look, the one that unhooked something in him.

Because it made him question—made him want to ask.

His hand shifts around the handle of the toolbox, staring down at it—the one he suspects belongs to someone you knew, someone you were close to. One that is in the hands of someone you don’t know, someone you live next to, that you know nothing about.

Except stories.

And fuck, Joel knows the stories can’t be good.

Joel had maybe made an assumption that you’d never speak to him again.

Sarah’s voice, barely discernable, wafting around his mind, assumptions make an ass of you and me, dad. He blamed it on being bitter, tired—or grumpy, as Ellie liked to call him. The kind of qualities he’d rather be known for, than the ones he sees reflected in the eyes of the people living here, wondering the kind of man he was to go back out there and then return.

He’d made the assumption based on the way your eyes flicked to the toolbox when you’d eventually returned home—him halfway done, waving away your offer to help. You barely spoke, and skirted around him, only placing a glass of lemonade on the welcome mat as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

He drained the glass, and hated how good it tasted. Keeping in mind to leave the toolbox outside when he rapped his knuckles on your open door to bring the glass back in, inform you that he’s done. You call out to him, eventually coming into view—apron on, doused in flour, cheeks and smile smothered in it.

For a moment, he could almost forget an outbreak had even happened with the way you looked at him—the way you looked in general. Something out of one of those cooking shows that play at ridiculous hours of the night; a thing that’d had a street talking about with sweet you sounded.

“I bake—sometimes,” you announce, hands down your apron, leaving flour-finger strokes against the navy blue.

He could see that. Placing the glass on the side, thanking you—watching you glance around him, likely for that. He almost tells you, informs you it’s outside, left on your porch. But, he waves himself off as a beeping begins, that he’ll get out of your hair, because you’re busy—knowing deep down it’s the right thing to do.

That’s how he left it.

Nothing more, nothing less.

His thoughts sliding to you when he saw you talking to others; his mind unable to rid himself of the way you’d looked at the box he’d been given to be a helping hand.

So, it surprised him when he watched you climb the steps of his porch from outside Tommy’s. Something in his chest narrowing—different from the way it does when he wakes up in the morning. Observing how you’re nervously shaking your free hand, moving from one foot to the other—a thin t-shirt covering your frame (no coat or jacket on your arms) as you try to stand still in the chill at his dark doorstep.

It’s only as he nears that he sees what your other hand is holding. A bottle, the contents from appearing amber in shade. The hesitancy woven into your figure is more prominent as he reaches his own boundary, unsure whether to clear his throat—and only doing so when you knock.

“Heard he’s out fixing more porches.”

Turning, he finds you smirking. Spinning around on your heels, slowly taking a step down—still above him—before your hand gestures for him to take the bottle. “A thank you.”

Thank you, he thinks, staring at it. His thumb catches your fingers as he tries to ignore the twist and knot of his stomach when he eyes the label. It used to help, for all the wrong reasons. It’s why he’d tried not to drink since arriving here, still able to remember how it used to scratch an itch, how it smothered over scabs—ones that never healed.

It unlocks that part of him that worries that they’ll become inflamed again. All raw, hot to the touch.

“Y’didnt need to.”

“Well, it was alcohol or baked goods—and you strike me as a drinker over shortbread.”

Snorting, he lifted his head, swallowing. “I do like shortbread.”

Your face lights up—shimmers—under the slowly setting sun. A part of him wishing you’d brought him a tin of those instead.

Because the main reason he hadn’t been to the Tipsy Bison is that he preferred the version of him that didn’t drink. The one from before all of this happened—the one with a clearer mind. One that isn’t trying to run but rather settle and live—the one that comes out when he tastes something akin to what he shared with Tess.

The bottle in his hand demands his attention—a note attached to it that reads the same as your words. Gratitude humming, rolling from you, all in plenty. The entry at being neighbours suddenly ajar, the door taken from the hinges so it can never be closed again.

“Next time, then?”

You say it purposeful, full of genuine nature. And, it makes him roll his jaw, biting the inside of his cheek. Palm and fingers still clutching the bottle—unsure if he likes this. The neighbour thing—the pretty neighbour thing. Especially one who looks at him with a sweet smile and who makes lemonade just because.

“I should go, don’t want to interrupt your evening—”

“Well, the only thing you’re interrupting is whether or not I should open this now or wait.”

You stop moving at that, coming to a stop in front of him, smile broadening, almost turning into a smirk. “

Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighs. “Got another job in the morning. Be a lot on my own.”

“What problems to have, ay?”

He snorts.

But then, he finds you nodding, licking your lips. “How about this, for the safety of the porches of Jackson, I’ll help you with your problem.”

“And what’s my problem?”

“You don’t wanna drink alone—likely worried about what it means if you do.”

You say it nonchalantly, as though seeing through him was a relatively easy task. Your body is still not moving; the cold either not bothering you, or you are faking it all so well.

“Alright.”

“Alright,” you say, slightly more chipper than him.

CHAPTER TWO ->

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #pedrostories #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[tightjeansjavi]

Sing me a Lullaby Darlin’

Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: I have no words for what I have created. I am a monster and I blame The Civil Wars for this one. It’s all their fault.

Summary: You soothe Joel’s constant nightmares of his daughter dying, and his fears of losing his younger brother Tommy, by singing him a lullaby.

~word count : 1.5k~

Warnings: so much fucking angst. Literally I have tears streaming down my face from how much angst is in this. Triggering themes of child loss, trauma, depictions of graphic violence taking place in the mind. Dark thoughts, depression, mentions of using alcohol, drugs, sex to cope. Nightmares, emotions, comforting themes, some fluff at the end. (+18) minors dni !!

Song used:

“You Are My Sunshine” cover by The Civil Wars

Joel Miller never knew how to evade his endless nightmares till he met you, his sunshine. For the years after Sarah’s death, Joel suffered day in and day out. He found himself lying awake at night, imagining himself crafting a sledge hammer with his worn, damaged hands. He pictured himself cutting his chest open, right down the middle, and wrenching his broken, bleeding heart from his chest. He would smash his heart over, and over again. Broken sobs eliciting past his lips as he would beg a higher power to make the pain stop. Make his daughters gasps, and screams of anguish cease from his mind. He begged that for every time he would close his eyes, he would no longer see her body tumbling in the dry grass. He would no longer see the blood pooling through her shirt, or her lifeless, cold eyes staring up at him.

He begged, and begged, and begged. No one would listen. There was no higher power to hear his cries, his pleas to make his suffering end. The grief, aguish, and turmoil would continuously crash into him, like waves on a rocky shoreline. He often found himself struggling to breathe, clutching at his chest as tears blurred his vision. He’d let out a wail, punching his fist into the wall, feeling his knuckles split, the skin raw, and bleeding. He’d punch the wall over, and over again. Sometimes, on the worst nights, he’d bite down on his fist to block out his heart wrenching sobs. When his tears were spent, and his voice raw, and broken, He’d wrap his arms around his chest, hugging himself tightly as he would rock back and forth, his mouth open, with no sound coming out, just a wheeze of a struggled breath.

He’d find himself turning to copious amounts of drugs, and alcohol. Whatever he could fucking get his hands on. He’d risk his life smuggling this shit into the QZ because it was the only temporary solution to numb his heart, and his mind. When the drugs and alcohol would wear out, he’d turn to sex. Burying himself into a body felt good in the moment. That high would soon pass and leave him in his filth. Joel Miller believed that there was nothing in this fucking god forsaken, shit-hole world that could ever keep his nightmares at bay. Then he met you, and everything changed.

Now, when he closed his eyes at night, he was met with peace. There were no screams, no bullets, no images of his daughter’s tumbling body. There was no blood, no lifeless cold eyes looking up at him. Now all he could see was you. You’d hold each other every night, legs and hearts entwined. Breaths in sync and heart beats slow, steady, calm. You had pacified his nightmares, drove them deep down into the cold dark earth. You soothed this broken man with soft touches and words of love.

Joel nearly lost you one Spring. You nearly bled out in his arms but he would be damned if he’d lose you too. He couldn’t possibly fathom it. He had the chance to save you and he fucking took that opportunity swiftly. He vowed to never leave your side, and you kept his words like an oath. Deep in the caverns of your chest, where your heart laid, beating for him.

Joel’s younger brother Tommy not responding to his radio calls is what finally broke him. The nightmares had clawed their way out from the depths that you had sent them. They tore up the dirt, the flowers that you had implanted into his soul were shredded to nothing. They turned to fucking dust as the darkness encased around his heart once more. You spent years sewing your man back together. Since that day, the moment you met him, you were subconsciously healing him. Needle and thread in hand, you had taken the bits and pieces of his heart that were left and sewed them back together. The pieces, and fragments that were missing, were regrown. Stems sprouting and flowers blossoming. You had turned this man’s soul into a garden where he was safe to flourish. All your effort, all your hard work was turning to dust before your very eyes.

You refused to give up on him when he needed you most. Yes, he had grown cruel. Yes, he had fallen back into his old patterns, his old ways. Yes, he didn’t hold you on most nights, but you knew that your Joel was still there, hidden behind a vast expanse of thick, putrid thorns.

You’d poison yourself over and over if it meant that you’d get him back. Joel was too deeply entwined into your soul for you to not care. When he was suffering, you suffered with him.

So when your sunshine awoke one night in a cold sweat, calling for his daughter, as he looked around in a frantic state. His eyes were wide, his body trembling, hands shaking.

He kept sobbing Sarah’s name as you were knocked out of your dreamless state. You heard his sobs as you sat up, slowly bringing your arms around his shaking form, your touch was gentle, tender.

“Joel. Hey, Joel. Baby, you’re okay. You’re safe, I'm right here. I have you.” You spoke softly, your tone soothing and low, afraid to startle him anymore than he already was.

He was clawing for you immediately, his hands grasping your arms tightly as you held him. His sobs continued to rake over his body, leaving him a blubbering mess.

“Darlin,’ she–she—Sarah–my baby girl!” He gasped, struggling to breathe as you slowly slid your hands under his shirt, rubbing soothing circles into his sweat soaked skin.

“You’re safe Joel. You’re safe. I’ve got you baby and I'm not letting go.”

“They took her from me–they fuckin’ ripped her from my fuckin’ arms!” He wailed.

“Joel, shhh. Baby, I know. I’m so sorry.” You had gently grabbed his face in your hands. He had tears streaming down his face. They were hot and heavy tears, flowing like a river. His vision was blurred as he looked at you.

“Why’d they fuckin’ take her from me. Why? My baby girl..and Tommy. Where’s Tommy?”

You had kissed away his free falling tears. Your lips were soft on his skin as his eyelashes fluttered shut, his grip on your arms loosened as you soothed him.

You couldn’t stomach giving him the answer as to why the government shot his baby girl. You couldn’t give him the answer because he already knew why; you both did.

“Joel, what can I do to help you? Please, tell me. I’ll do anything for you baby. I can’t stand to see you suffer like this every night. It fucking tears me up inside. What can I do to make it go away? There must be something–”

He let out a broken chuckle because you, his sweet girl shouldn’t have to deal with him. Not when he was a shell of the man you once knew.

“Sing me a lullaby, darlin. Sing to me, sweet girl please.” He rasped while you gently cradled him against your chest.

He was clutching your shirt between his fists, his breathing jagged as his tears continued to flow.

It was a simple request for you to sing to him. You’d do anything for this man that you had learned to love so deeply, so unselfishly, so openly.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.” You began to softly sing to him, your own tears beginning to stream down your cheeks, while you threaded your fingers through his sweaty hair, gently scratching his scalp.

Joel’s eyes slowly fluttered shut as he listened to your soothing voice. He could hear your heartbeat against his ear, where his tear stained cheek rested against your chest.

“The other night dear, as I lay sleeping. I dreamed I held you in my arms. When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken so I hung my head and cried.”

You could feel his breathing grow steady, his body went slack in your arms as you continued to cradle him.

“You have such a pretty voice, darlin’” You heard him whisper. “So pretty, so sweet.”

You glanced down at his face, casted by the soft moonlight. For a brief moment, you saw his features soften. The permanent furrow between his brows ceased to exist. You couldn’t help but admire him in these tender moments. Seeing him in a peaceful state for once. The thorns that were wrapped tightly around his heart, building a thick poisonous wall, were rotting away and being replaced with new green stems that would soon bloom again. The thorns would be replaced with flowers, beautiful, pure, flowers.

You brushed your fingers against his forehead, sweeping away a stray, sweaty curl as you leaned down and whispered, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. I won’t let them take my sunshine away..”

“I promise.” You whispered.

You held Joel in your warm embrace for the rest of the night. He did not have another nightmare, with you by his side. You protected him from the darkness that once consumed him entirely. You were his sunshine, and he was yours.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller blurb #joel miller imagine #joel miller the last of us #tlou #joel miller fic #tlou fic #the last of us imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader

[808airsoftbros]

Under The Red Hood (S) (BXG) (Natty)

Author: This one is hella long just so you know and I just love Red Hood. Also if you want to check out more of my fics have a look at the Masterlist.

Y/N's POV

People say they know the definition of suffering... But what they don't know is feeling the end of it. I was abandoned by my parents and the one I looked up to as a father figure for that clown to torment and use me as his ragdoll.

I was left rotting in that abandoned wing of Arkham City for a damn year with that bastard. He beat me, stabbed me with a hot iron to mark that I forever belong to him, you name it.

Foolishly, I kept faith that Bruce would someday come to rescue me someday but that day never came.

"Tell me kid what is your name?"

My name is Jason Todd...

"Who do you hate?"

Batman

"Hahaha... Good... You hear that Bats? The kid is not yours anymore!"

"Hey, I never asked... Who is the big bad bats?"

Of course sir... His name is-

*bang*

That was the day Joker put my lights out and I thought finally after all that hell he put me through, it would be all over. But no. There was more.

After my death, the League of Assassins recovered my dead corpse and took me back to their underground lair.

Ra's Al Ghul has always used the so-called reviving gooey shit, the "Lazarus Pit, " which allowed him to live for over a thousand years, but he had a theory...

The Lazarus Pit doesn't just revive or recover an hosts injuries but it also has the power to bring life to the deceased.

However, when I was dropped into the pit, I wasn't myself, I was confused, forgotten who I am, and all I felt was agony. I became a monster.

I killed and destroyed everything that came my way, but eventually, I regained my composure and my memories and came back to a city absent of the so-called hero Batman.

To my surprise, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne were all gone too. Curious to find out what happened to them, I interrogated Gotham's street criminals and did some research on the internet.

Breaking News: Bruce Wayne Confirmed Dead in Fatal Car Accident

Turned out that the others were apparently with him during that accident but I knew better... It wasn't a car accident that killed them. It was something elise.

Luckily, I managed to get some information from Harley who was working at an adult entertainment restaurant and she didn't bother resisting since her beloved Mister Jay is dead too.

"You live under a rock or something? Bats and the whole gang were going all out in Ace Chemicals and Mister Jay as a result blew the whole facility taking not only his life but everyone present in the plant." She explained and I sighed.

"Thanks alot, Harleen," I thanked her and she rolled her eyes.

"Just the hell out. I don't want to see you again," She replied and I chuckled.

"Don't worry, you won't be seeing anytime soon," I assured as I got up from the table and exit the restuarant.

With that clown bastard gone, crime actually plummeted and the GCPD was able to finally handle themselves without Bruce assisting them everynight.

There wasn't much for me to do besides just watch over the city as my new identity the Red Hood. I don't exactly follow Batman's moral code of no killing.

Not every criminal is redeemable like the Joker, so I cannot fight crime without bashing some skulls in.

*bang*

"Where is Black Mask?" I sternly asked as I point the barrel of my gun at his forehead.

"I've got nothing to tell you!" And I bashed his skull using the bottom of the grip making him grunt in pain.

"Last chance," I warned as I pull back the hammer.

"Fine! I'll tell you! He's holding up at his tower east of Gotham! But you won't get to him!" He confessed.

"Thank you," I replied before knocking him out cold.

Calling in the Batmobile to my location, I jumped high in the air and landed in the cockpit, and drove off to Black Mask's tower.

Seeing that Bruce won't be needing his car or any of his assets anytime soon you mind as well put 'em to good use.

With the fast mobility and maneuverability to do sharp turns and drifts I got to the location of Black Mask in no time but I parked it into an dark alleyway to avoid losing the element of surprise.

Grappling onto the rooftop, I activate detective vision on my mask to see the inside of the building to get a recon on the number of goons.

"Great, this is going to be a massive waste of ammunition," I said to myself.

Using the line launcher to infiltrate the building I ride the ropes and broke through the massive glass window and catching Black Mask and his goons off guard.

"W-What the?! Who the hell are you?!" Black Mask asked as he drew out his pistol.

"Your worst nightmare," I answered as I smirked under my mask.

Swiftly drawing out my pistols, I shot the gun off his hand and in just a blink of an eye, neutralize the guards leaving him defenseless.

Grabbing Black Mask by the collar, I held him out of the broken glass window at my mercy and it pleasures me to see the look of fear in his eyes.

"P-Please I-I'll do anything you want! I can give you territory! Drugs! Money! Guns!" He begged.

"How about you go to hell?" I proposed and let go of him to fall to his death making him scream as he quickly descends to the streets.

"Say Hi to Joker for me," I said as I turn around to exit the building as my job here is done.

--------------------------------

Meanwhile...

???'s POV

Walking down the streets of Gotham City, it was surely more peaceful and quiet ever since the death of the notorious criminal Joker.

But that doesn't mean that all crime and corruption didn't stop lurking and hiding in the shadows.

This city needed a change or otherwise, it needs to be cleansed. There are so many orphaned children helpless in the streets and not even our full efforts is enough to save them.

How cruel humanity can be? Batman is no different... Even though he fights crime every night his ridiculous code doesn't solve the roots of the problem.

I did hear that the caped crusader along with his assistants are now gone after Joker suicide bombed Ace Chemicals. Good riddance to that evil doer.

However, just as I was sitting on the bench on the lookout for any orphaned child I heard a scream coming from above the building and soon after a man plummets on the streets to his death.

Everyone was shocked and screamed in horror as they were confused as to what was going on. Looking up I see a shattered window and what seemed to be a silhouette of a hooded figure.

Unfortunately, I was only able to get a glimpse of the figure until he disappeared into the building.

With police and EMS arriving at the scene, I decided to vacate the area for the night as I was unsuccessful to find any orphan children for the clan.

Utilizing my super speed abilities, I got back to my clan's hideout, I unlocked the door using my key and walked inside the house.

"Welcome home, Sister Ahnatchaya Suputhipong~!" Mother Kwon Eunbi greeted as she gently hugged me and I return the hug.

"Thank you, Mother Eunbi but just call me Natty. I've told you that how many times already?" I jokingly replied and she giggled.

"It's still a courtesy to greet you by full surname, sister," Eunbi-Unnie said and I nodded.

"From what I can see, you were not successful to bring a child," She mentioned.

"That may be true but I did see something of interest," I replied and she raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so?" She asked.

"Yes, mother," I simply answered.

"In that case, please do tell me every detail," She insisted as she guides me into the living room.

Recalling and explaining my encounter with this strange hooded figure and the falling-dead criminal Black Mask, she was intrigued by my encounter and wanted me to tell me more.

"Do you perhaps know what he exactly looked like?" She asked and I shook my head.

"I'm afraid no, he was too high up so I couldn't get a good look. All I could make out was that he was wearing a black and red leather jacket." I answered.

"Oh, that gives me an idea of who this mystery vigilante could be... There had been rumors going around in the criminal underworld that there is an anti-hero who calls himself the Red Hood." Julie-Unnie explained.

"Anti-hero? What's the difference between him and Batman?" Hanuel asked.

"Well, Red Hood actually kills criminals if he sees it necessary while Batman's righteous code forbids it," Julie-Unnie answered and she nodded.

"He could be a huge help for us, IF he agrees to that," Belle pointed out.

"In that case, we shall recruit Red Hood into our cause, but Natty seeing that you saw him first, you may claim him as his wife," Mother Eunbi settled and we all agreed.

--------------------------------

Y/N's POV

Heading into the Batcave, I parked the Batmobile on the platform, seeing the cave once again brings back memories of when I used to fight crime alongside Bruce and Dick.

Those were more simple times, until I was kidnapped by the Joker and tormented to death. Now, it's all lonesome with just myself and the bats lurking around the cave.

All the artifacts, souvenirs, and trophies were all still here like the giant robotic dinosaur that the museum owner gave to Bruce as a thank you present, the giant penny from battling two-face aka Harvey Dent, and the big ass clown card.

There was still some work to do in the Batcave and make some adjustments to the gadgets to my liking and come up with new tech.

*alarm*

"Who the hell could that be?" I wondered as I went to the bat computer to check the surveillance cameras.

Looking at the footage coming outside Wayne Manor, I see a woman in a black coat with pale milky skin, with black high heels, and what I could tell she was concealing two katanas.

Suddenly, she busts the front doors open and walked around the manor like she owns the damn place.

Deciding to confront the uninvited guest, I went to the elevator and ascend to the study room and quickly made my way into the ball room where the intruder is located.

Getting visual of the woman, I draw out my gun and fired a warning shot.

"Who are you? And what are you doing in Wayne Manor?" I sternly asked.

"Are you what they call Red Hood?" She asked and I raised an eyebrow.

"Are you fucking stupid? I asked you a question! Now answer it!" I angrily replied and she sighed.

"Now that is not how you greet your future wife~," She mentioned as she takes off her coat and sunglasses revealing her thicc figure.

"What's the matter~? Do you like my body that much~?" She teased and I shook my head.

"I have no time for games lady! Get the fuck out of my house!" I barked and her eyes turned a crimson red.

"Oh will be fucking soon, darling~. But first, will you cooperate?" She asked and I fired another warning shot.

"I guess not," She replied before drawing out her katanas.

Leaping in the air she dives toward me but I blocked it using the fins of my gauntlet. Attempting to shoot one of her kneecaps I missed as she misdirected the barrel of my pistol.

Giving me a turning kick in the stomach I stumbled back and in response I threw shurikens but she avoided them by leaning back.

"Silver ninja shurikens? Did you perhaps knew I was a Vampire?" She curiously asked.

"I'm always prepared for anything but I have a question..." I paused and she gave me a smuggly smile.

"I'm all ears," She replied.

"Do you bleed?"

Loading in hollow point incendiary silver 50 AE into my pistol, just one of these is enough te kill a Vampire and meet an unpleasant death.

Preparing a shock blast from my gauntlet, the Vampire charges toward me and once she was close enough I let her have it.

Taking this as my chance with her senses blinded I fired a shot and landed a direct hit on her knee causing her to scream in pain as she feels the burning sensation in her body.

"Hurts doesn't it? Just one bullet should've killed you already but you seem to be more persistent," I said before chuckling.

"Alright, darling, I didn't want to do this but it seems that I'll have to force you to submit to me," She angrily said and I smirked.

"I'd love to see you try, sweetheart," I replied.

Drawing out my combat knife which is also made of silver, I used my close combat knowledge against her whilst using my gun.

Indeed she's a tough cookie but I've faced tough opponents before and not once have I lost.

But she was starting to get more quicker and aggressive with her swings and even cut parts of my jacket. Which is hella expensive btw.

"Someone trained you well," She complimented.

"I can say the same for you," I replied.

Throughout our duel, I could catch a glimpse of her massive tits and ass. Clearly she takes care of her body and outshines any woman I've met in my life.

Starting to lose stamina and energy to fight while she was still energetic and vigilant. I knew I wasn't win this one so I have to come up with a plan.

"Just give up baby, there is no point in fighting," She insisted.

"I'm just getting started," I replied as I threw a smoke bomb.

"I can still see you," She mentioned as she casually walked through the smoke.

Attempting to grapple onto the gargoyle statue at the wall, she snatches the hook and crushes it with her bare hands. She's fucking strong that's for sure.

"Running out of tricks?" She asked.

Throwing a wave of shurikens she catches one by hand and deflects the others with her katana.

"You know you can't hit me," She mentioned.

"Who said I was?" I asked and the shuriken in her hand began to beep loudly and exploded.

However, she survived that and gave me a front kick in the stomach launching me into the wall. How much firepower can a Vampire take?!

I'm out of those special vampire hunting bullets leaving only my silver knife but that was knocked out of my hand and she soon pinned me to the floor.

"Looks like I've got you~," She said as she smirked.

"So what are you going to do? Kill me? Suck me dry of my blood?" I sarcastically asked and she shook her head.

"Oh no, darling, we don't feed anymore... We are not just Vampires anymore. We are Demi-Gods." She answered and I scoffed.

"Now, it's time to teach you who you belong to now," She whispered into my ear.

--------------------------------

Start of Smut

Y/N's POV

The Vampire who apparently is now my wife drags upstairs to the masters bedroom and pins me on the bed.

"Now let us see who you really are," She said as she grabs a hold of my mask and takes it off revealing my face.

"Wow, such a handsome face you were hiding~," She complimented as she examines my cheeks.

"Jason Todd, what's your name?" I curiously asked.

"Oh, how rude of me! My name is Sister Ahnatchaya Suputhipong but you'll refer to me as jagi, darling, or babe. Understand?" She instructed and I nodded.

"I want an answer, baby~," She whispered into my ear sending chills down my spine.

"Y-Yes mommy," I nervously replied and she giggled.

Locking lips with each other, she easily outclassed me as she was more experience in this while I've never kissed a girl in my life meaning she just stole my first kiss and soon my virginity.

Strangely, I put my hands around her hips as she goes under my shirt and I take my hands off her to take off my jacket and shirt revealing my chest.

"God, you're so sexy, I can't hardly believe this is all mine now~," She admires as she traces each line.

"Why don't you stop talking and let's get to it," I suggested and she smirked.

"I like how the way you think~," She replied.

Taking off her tight dress, revealing that she wasn't wearing any bra or panties and showed off her huge mounds and clean shaven pussy which instantly made my cock hard.

"Enjoying the view~? Good, because I'm going to make sure your balls are drained tonight~," She seductively said and I gulped.

Not wasting any time, she pulls down my pants along with my underwear and was surprised to see my ten-inch dick. Comparing my size to her head. It was a sight to see a beauty right by my cock.

"Uhhhhh~," I moaned.

Taking my length into her mouth, the tightness and the feeling of her tongue as she bobs up and down. I'd be lying if I said I haven't fell in love with this lusty Vampire.

What made it more exciting is that she kept eye contact with me the whole time she was blowing me and she switches position with her pussy on my face which is dripping wet and I can smell the aroma of candy.

Without hesitation I devour her pussy making her moan as she works on my cock tasting her was so addicting and we kept going until we came into each other's mouths.

"You taste amazing, baby~," She said after swallowing my load.

"I can say the same, it's so sweet that I just want more," I replied and she smiled.

Getting into position she sits on my dick before slowly inserting it in taking away my virginity and slowly begins riding me and it was fucking tight down there.

"Oh my God, you're so fucking huge baby, no man has ever stretched me out like this~!" She screamed as she increased her pace.

"Your fucking tight as hell!" I replied as I grabbed onto her hips to match her rhythm increasing the ecstasy.

After riding my dick for a bit, she decided to switch positions to missionary style.

"Now darling I want you to fuck my brains out! No more holding back!" She demanded and I felt like a beast inside of me has awaken.

"Fine, you want me to fuck you so hard until you can't walk! You got it!" I replied and she bit her lip.

Not giving her any time to get settled into the position I rammed her in and out as rough and fast as I possibly can making her scream out of pleasure.

Thankfully this room is soundproof and the manor is on an isolated island so nobody will be able to hear me fuck my slutty Vampire wife.

"Baby I'm so close~!" She warned.

"So am I!" I replied.

"Then let's cum together!" She said and we did just that.

"Hehe~. You still got more in there don't you~?" She asked and I viciously nodded.

Agreeing to go for another round, we switch position into doggy style and I rail her until she was screaming on top of her lungs.

"Keep going baby~!" She encouraged as I hit her G-spot.

Feeling the beast wanting more and more of her gorgeous pussy, I increased the pace and groped her ass whilst giving a few spankings increasing the pleasure.

"I want you to fuck me until I'm pregnant baby~!" She demanded.

"Oh, don't worry, I'll make sure that you'll get pregnant!" I assured.

Feeling the tightness of her pussy and fucking such a beautiful Vampire really takes my mind off my problems and traumas that I've been through in the past.

Maybe it was destiny that lead her into my home, guess I could use the company and she has an amazing body.

"I'm going to cum!" I warned.

"Good! I'm close too!" She replied.

In no time, I cum deep into her womb and we screamed one last time as I came inside of her and I felt my dick was in the shower.

"No I want you to keep it inside of me," She insisted as I was about pull it out.

Cuddling with each other on the bed despite it being all messy and wet from her juices, I was too tired and exhausted to care as long as I was in her arms.

--------------------------------

Natty's POV

It's been three days since I officially claimed Jason Todd aka Red Hood as my husband and partner in crimefighting. I still crave more of him but I have to let him rest.

Eventually he started opening up to me about his past life when he was the second Robin to Batman but was left to be tormented by the clown and how he was revived by the Lazarus Pit.

To this day, he still has Lazarus visions and behaves erratically at some nights but I can handle it with no issues whatsoever and he told me that he was grateful to have a loving wife like myself.

As for my clan, they continue to patrol the city for any abandoned children to take in while we clean up the streets for them.

Based on observation his abilities were growing faster, before he could take only ten men at a time but now he can take on about fifthy criminals at once.

With Jason being forged into my heart and soul, our relationship is eternal as I've granted him the gift of immortality.

"I love you my dear Jason~,"

#kpop #kpop idol #kpop gg #bxg #x male reader #kiss of life #haneul #kiss of life natty #natty #julie han #belle #anabelle shim #kpop smut #red hood #batfamily #vampire #vampire au

[avvail-whumps]

‘the facility’ — the breakout 2/?

previous · masterlist

content warnings: prison whump, whumpee turned whumper, sadistic whumper, mass prison breakout, captivity, imprisonment, torture, violence, beatings

Noah’s head felt as though it had been rammed through a wall when he finally came to. It took him a long, aching few seconds to realise that was pretty much what had happened - the elevator doors.

His hazy vision could barely make out where he was, if he was the right way up or not, but he soon began to wriggle his limbs and realised he was lay on his side, head pressed uncomfortably into the cold floor.

He bit back a small moan of pain - his arms were twisted behind his back, knotted together with an uncomfortable, scratchy rope. The fear was stabbing numbly at his chest, the situation dawning on him.

The breakout. Cash – shit, Cash.

Noah’s breath hitched, feeling automatic tears start to relentlessly sting his eyes. He could recognise one of these rooms, one of torture. It wasn’t the one they had experimented on Cash in, being much larger and decorated with so many more horrifying tools.

The scientist felt dizzy looking at them, shifting. Aches spiralled through his muscles, the pins and needles kicking in once he finally became aware. As he did, something caught his eye.

There was someone else against the adjacent wall, an Apoid. The helmeted head was dipped down low, arms equally twisted behind his back, but Noah could just catch a small glimpse of a short link of chain. The visor on the helmet was cracked, and their chest was rising and falling slowly.

Noah’s heart sank. The Apoid was still alive, and better yet, he prayed it was who he thought it was.

“Fionn?” He croaked, his throat dry from the last moments he’d spent screaming. His heart was hammering in his chest. “Fionn, wake up. Fionn.”

“He’s not gonna hear you.”

Noah felt his body seize in a vice grip, the voice from behind him making all of his blood go cold. He didn’t even have time to crane around until someone was stepping over his body, and his wide eyes flickered up to meet Cash’s face.

He was smirking. But those eyes; he wasn’t amused at all.

“Hello, doc,” he spoke calmly, crouching down closer towards him. Noah winced, his chest rising and falling with his quickly labouring breaths. “Glad someone didn’t pump you with any lead. Been looking forward to this since the alarm went off.”

Noah shrank further into the floor.

He remembered what that prisoner had said, and it frightened him how Cash had been gunning just for him the whole time the chaos had erupted. To fulfil the promise he’d made. His throat ached in reminder of that moment.

“It’s not as fun when the boot’s on the other foot, huh?” Cash sneered, tilting his head as his unrelenting gaze didn’t falter for a moment. Noah forced himself to look away, tucking his wobbling bottom lip under.

“Cash, please, I—” His words dried up, squeezing his eyes shut. He was so terrified. “I didn’t take any pleasure in it. I didn’t—”

“—want to?” Cash interrupted. “You signed up for this place.”

“I had to,” he shakily whispered. “It’s my sister. There was no way I could afford her treatment if I didn’t—”

“Noah,” Cash groaned, the irritation evident on his face, now hardened from his fear induced babbling. Fingers twisted in his hair, pressing his temple into the concrete floor. Noah bit back a whine of pain. “I don’t want a justification. In fact, I don’t care. But I am gonna make you pay. There’s nothing you can say that will change that.”

His stomach twisted. He was shocked he hadn’t thrown up yet, with the stress of the breakout and all the horrfic things he’d seen, and now this horrific predicament. His white jacket was still stained with patches of blood, a cruel reminder that none of it had mattered in the end.

“Why not run?” The scientist whispered shakily. “This is your chance to escape this place. There’ll never be another opportunity.”

Cash raised a brow, looking disinterestedly at the muck on Noah’s jacket. “Doc, getting out of this place ain’t easy. They’ll have the army, thousands of Apoids, anything swarming the outside of this place. Those lucky enough to get out won’t last two minutes up there. But here?”

Cash grinned, the sight wolfish. The secretary figured he might sink those sharp teeth into his neck for good measure. “They’ll eventually get control of the place. They’ll round up the prisoners and take us alive once we cooperate. After all, they won’t gun us all down as long as we remain in the Facility.”

Cash’s fingers twisted harder into his hair, and Noah’s body went rigid, hissing through his teeth.

“I’ve been in this place longer than you, doc. I know how they work,” he whispered sharply, the puff of air on the shell of his ear making him shudder. “So, why not take this time to do something I’ve wanted to do since the moment I laid eyes on you?”

He roughly released him, and Noah’s throat bobbed as he swallowed uneasily. Cash was right - an escape would only end in death. Clearly, after the fiasco when he’d broken out of his cuffs, the Facility prioritised taking the prisoners alive unless it was absolutely necessary to kill them. They’d send in reinforcements, round them up, and get the place back under control.

It meant that Noah was going to have to wait for the reinforcements to show up. Who knew how long that could take? Depending on how far the breakout had stretched, which levels were unaffected and under control, he was in the dark.

In the dark, and trapped with his prisoner, who had every desire to make him wish for a merciful death.

Noah hadn’t even realised he’d started crying until Cash scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, biting back a small whimper.

“You’re a doll, doc,” he cooed, his eyes gleaming. “I’m going to take my time with you. Though, I was kind enough to provide you with some company, at least.”

Noah’s teary eyes darted over to Fionn.

He wondered how Cash even knew that was him, but he didn’t care.

Fionn wasn’t safe, neither of them were, but at least he knew he wasn’t dead. The last thing he had been so consumed about was if he’d cost the Apoid his job; now he wished that was all he had to worry about. Noah bit back the little sniffle, the dizzy headache throbbing uncomfortably through his skull, only intensified by the pounding of his heart. 

Level Nine was terrifying enough as it was; locked in a room with one of their prisoners, completely at their mercy? Noah didn’t think anything worse could have happened. Level Nine prisoner’s were some of the most ruthless war criminals, prisoners of war, agents and spies, too dangerous to be kept anywhere but a highly sophisticated underground prison. He had recieved Cash’s file, but it didn’t tell him anything about the things he’d done to get himself locked up in here. Only blood types, medication - things that he would have to know as his scientist. 

Noah didn’t want to think about all the horrific stuff Cash had done.

The fact that he probably knew how to kill Noah in more ways than he could ever imagine. 

The fact that he would know how to hurt him until he wanted death. 

Horror twisted his core - there was no point begging right now. For Cash, this was how it was supposed to be. The Facility would be swarming on the surface - the moment someone managed to get out, they wouldn’t be there two minutes before they were found and gunned down. 

And, for some reason, Noah got the impression that mindless slaughter and violence would become pretty boring for someone as calculated as Cash. The breakout was an exuse for anarchy and escape; for Noah’s prisoner, it was an opportunity for payback. 

“If you want to punish someone, punish the Higher Ups,” Noah choked out, cringing when Cash’s eyes remained staring languidly at Fionn’s unconscious form. “The people who run the place. They’re the ones that pass the orders. Please.” 

Cash tilted his head, cold eyes flickering up to the ceiling, as if in thought. “That’s the thing, doc. They’re smart enough to know that. It’s always why they’re smart enough not to stick around when they don’t have to.” 

His boots thumped across the ground, stopping in front of Noah’s damp face again. Over his prison clothes, Cash was wearing one of the Apoid’s jackets, unzipped. He’d probably taken it from someone he’d killed, since Fionn was in full uniform apart from his weapons. The prisoner had stripped them. 

“But we’ve both seen for ourselves that people like you are expendable,” he mocks cruelly, reminding Noah of those words Fionn had shouted with such conviction. Something stung at his chest. “That’s why.” 

He admired the crestfallen expression that fell upon Noah’s pitiful face for a few moments, before he pretended to glance at the non-existent watch on his wrist. He hummed, lip quirking into a malicious smirk. 

“Alright, enough chit chat, doc,” he murmured. “I was hoping your little Apoid would wake up, but we’re on a time crunch here. So, let’s get started.” 

Noah flinched violently when his hand fisted into his shirt, hoisting him onto his feet like he weighed nothing. The prisoner even made a quiet comment about how little he would weigh, even soaking wet, but Noah couldn’t hear anything over the relentless pounding in his skull, and the blood rushing through his head. 

The prisoner guided him, or more like dragged him, close to the wall, where he took in the horrible sight of shackles attached to a chain in the ceiling. His knees were refusing to even hold his own weight, a colourless complexion fixed itself to his face. 

“Coveniently, these rooms were made for torture,” Cash smoothly spoke, taking a pocket knife to Noah’s restrained wrists and cutting through them easily. Before he could even consider attempting to wrench away from him, the prisoner was slapping the cold metal cuffs around them, stretching his arms uncomfortably above his head. There was a small pinch in his shoulder blade from the position, and he had to bite back a pained whimper. 

“The most challenging thing was deciding what to do with you first, though. Especially with all of these options,” he hummed absentmindly, running his fingers along the wall, lined with various tools that Noah didn’t dare crane his head around to see. He heard the clank of metal, and Cash circled back round in front of him to see he was cradling a lead pipe. “I don’t want to put you out of commission too early. Look at you - you’re so frail, doc.”

Noah’s heart was racing. With each passing second of being in this position, he was imagining all of the places that the lead pipe would crack against, and he could barely breathe from the horrifying concept. Was this how it felt for them? Waiting for the inevitable torture?

“Cash,” he breathed out shakily, biting back a sob. “Cash, please.” 

“Not gonna work on me,” the prisoner sighed, unbothered. “I don’t have a soft spot for those that grovell. Sorry.” 

Noah had barely even been able to brace for the first swing. Cash had moved so fast after standing so casually, that he only registered the movement after the crack of impact landed on his side, and his throat closed up in agony. His whole body seized up, a wretched, choked sound escaping his lips. 

The chains rattled from the very impact, his eyes wide and watery. Cash’s eyes gleamed with something predatory, like he could sense he was going to enjoy this. The numbness came next, followed by the tidal wave of crippling agony. Noah wanted to double over, try to ease the blinding pain, but it was impossible with the chains. 

“That was just a love tap,” Cash purred, and there was this sick delight in his voice, like the hit had released something within him that had been festering for years upon years. “Don’t be dramatic, doc.” 

Noah can’t even process the comparison of that only being a love tap before the pipe sinks into his stomach with vigor, and a sickening cough gets all tangled up in the scientist’s throat. The sheer force is enough to rip the air from his lungs, rendering him gasping and squirming in the chains as he tries to process the throbbing pain spreading through his body. 

The pipe goes for his side again. Then his ribs - Noah see’s stars on that swing, and he can barely even feel the instinctive panic that something was cracked before another was slamming into back, avoiding his spine. 

“Stop,” Noah tries to choke out, but he’s been rendered breathless and he’s in so much pain and he just wants to go home. Cash taps the edge of the pipe under his chin, gently tilting his head up to meet his unfocused, tear filled eyes. He can’t help but wrack with groaning sobs, each jolt making his body flare up in intense agony. Breathing aches. 

His face is contorted in pain, and Cash admires it languidly. 

“But, doc,” he drawls. “Why stop when we’ve only just begun?”

tag list – @suspicious-whumping-egg @sunshiline-writes @rabidrabidme @whumpatize-me-captain @thegirlwholived1213 @reverie1234 @unforgivenn @morning-star-whump @seaweed-is-cool @d-cs @whump-me-all-night-long @whump-me @gala1981 @pirefyrelight @whumble-beeee @miss-unicorn0907 @avidrambling @anoontjecanush @2in1whump @ha-ha-one @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @whatwhump @sowhumpful @whump321 @alexmundaythrufriday

#the facility #whump #whump writing #whump fic #whump series #whump tropes #whumpblr #whump community #whump scenario #whumper #whumpee #caretaker #noah and cash #noah and fionn #writing #writing snippet #story snippet #my writing #avvail whumps #fionn pov next chappy! #i didn't mean to post this #it's not proofread tf 😭

[fear-and-delight-l]

ferris wheel

@keekee-23 requested a Damian x reader smut, and so I SHALL DELIVER

Summary: Damian and y/n go for a ride on the ferris wheel, but Damian is scared of heights. Y/n has a slick idea, but it might drive Damian crazier than she thought...

WARNINGS: public sex, blood kink if you squint, friends to lovers, oral (m&f recieving), Finn Balor being a cutie and Damian hiding his feelings.

..............................................................................................................................

“Holy shit, I’m so tired that I could fall asleep right now.” Finn moans, trudging his feet in the dirt. 

For our weekend before a big match on Raw, Dominik, Finn, Rhea, Damian and I decided we should go out and have fun, and the city fair was one part of the fun. We went out and did bumper cars, ring toss, and even the game where you use a hammer to hit a bell. (Rhea was exceptionally good at that one.) 

But as Dominik and Finn were groaning about their stomachs (all the cotton candy, probably) and as Rhea was telling them to shut up, I couldn’t help but look at the ferris wheel. Actually, it was called the SkyWheel. It was one of those nice ones too with the glass boxes instead of the rickety seats that anyone could fall out of. I watched the glass go around and around and all the people inside looked down and laughed. 

“Whatcha looking at, chica?” Damian asks me, nudging me with his elbow. He follows my line of sight and says, “the ferris wheel?”

I nod. “I kinda want to go on it but everyone else is tired and Rhea looks like she is at her wits’ end.” 

“You’re damn right I am, Dom and Finn are acting like babies.” Rhea says, running a hand through her hair and kicking some gravel at Dominik. 

“Well I can go with you and we can just meet everyone else back at the hotel, how does that sound?” Damian says with a big grin, slinging his arm around my shoulders. I look up at him and he winks at me with his stupid pretty eyes and my heart does a double take and I can feel myself heating up. I squeeze my thighs together ever so slightly. 

“You are scared of heights, dumbass.” Dominik reminds him, kicking gravel back at Rhea. She does the same and soon the two of them start getting dirt and gravel all over each other. 

“Pfft, no I’m not. The ferris wheel isn’t even that high.” 

He doesn’t sound so sure. 

“Whatever you say, mate. I’m going back to the hotel before I pass out.” Finn says, clapping Damian on the shoulder. Rhea follows him, kicking gravel one last time at Dom. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you when he pukes all over you.” Dominik says, and tags alongside Finn and Rhea. 

I look up at Damian and he definitely doesn’t look sure about the ferris wheel. He looks back down at me and my heart beat gets faster. 

Just friends, I remind myself. Just friends, just friends, just friends…

Damian and I were no strangers to fooling around. We had never had true sex before, but we would use each other as sexual release from time to time. And each time, we tell each other that we are just friends before we do anything. Just friends. 

And I can’t help but think about what it would be like to kiss him. Just once. 

“You know, you don’t have to go on the ferris wheel if you don’t want to.” I say, linking my arm through his as we walk in the direction of the wheel. 

“No, no, I want to. Besides, everything I do with you is fun.” 

Just friends, just friends, just friends…

I notice just how soft Damian’s skin is. Years of wrestling and his skin is so smooth and gentle.

I try not to look at his bulging biceps. 

We get to the ferris wheel, and Damian pays for our tickets. His breath is shaky and his forehead is starting to sweat. It’s almost funny, seeing him so nervous, but he’s doing this for me so I feel bad. The conductor leads us to our ferris box, and it's just so cool. There are two benches facing each other and the walls are just pure glass. I take a seat on one bench, expecting Damian to sit beside me, but instead he sits on the bench opposite of me. 

“Alright, folks, there’s a speaker above you in case the wheel locks up and an attendant needs to reach you. Please do not jump or stand in the box. Enjoy your ride.”

The attendant walks off to help the next people load up. The glass doors close and we start to ascend. My stomach jumps in excitement, even though we only rise a little. 

I look over at Dam and he has his eyes closed. It’s practically comical, seeing my tough fighter so shaky, but it’s not funny knowing that it is Damian that’s like this. 

“I never should have let you come up here,” I say, playing with the hem of my shirt. “You clearly look like you are going to puke.”

Damian opens his eyes and my stomach flips again. 

“I promise I’m fine.” He says, his tone darker. “I wanted to do this with you, so I’ll be a man and suck it up.” 

The word ‘suck’ gave me an idea. And if anything, it would help him. 

I slide off my bench and crawl over to him. He looks down at me, his jaw slack in surprise. I spread his legs and sat between them on my knees. Even through his black jeans, I can see how hard he is. I run my hands from his knees to the inside of his thighs. My fingers graze his bulge and his breath hitches. 

“How about I help you out and maybe you won’t feel so nervous, hm?” I say, and he nods his head. 

This will be more than we have ever done, the farthest we have ever gone is him fingering me after a match that he won and he had so much pent-up sexual energy that when I teased him a little, he just couldn’t hold back. As for me, I’ve only ever given him a handjob, though I dreamed of doing more. 

I unzip his jeans, and pull his dick out from his underwear. Did he somehow get bigger???

I feel myself get wet at the feeling of his cock in my hand. I stroke him a few times and I break our ‘just friends’ code. I wrap my mouth around his dick and take him all the way down until he hits the back of my throat. 

“Oh, fuck–” Damian cries, his hand wrapping into my hair. He uses it to help me bob my head up and down. With a small pop, I take my mouth off of him and look him in the eyes, spit dripping from my mouth. Damian’s eyes are lust-filled and he looks so damn hot looking down at me. 

“Fuck, baby, you take my cock so good…” 

His words only provoke me to keep going. 

I lick a stripe from the base of his cock to the top, kitty-licking his tip. I look up at him, my tongue going to work on him, and he growls, lifting me up and yanking my shorts and underwear down. I squeal in surprise as the air hits my aching cunt, my bare ass hitting the seat. It is his turn to kneel before me because the second his knees hit the floor, his firm hands spread my legs apart, pushing them as far back as they can. 

“Fuck the ‘just friends’ code.” He growls. “I want you all to myself.” 

I might fall apart. His tongue licks from my entrance to my clit and the second his thick tongue flicks against the sensitive bud, my hips buck forward and I moan out his name.

“Suenas tan bien gimiendo mi nombre.” {you sound so pretty moaning my name}

His Spanish just turns me on more. I slap my hand on the glass, Damian eating me out so aggressively that I might end up cumming on his face. I whine as he slows down, taking his time at me. His hands grip my thighs, rubbing circles on them, and part of me wants him to squeeze so tight that he leaves bruises. I gasp. His tongue pushes at my entrance. 

“God…fuck—damian!” I cry, the feeling of euphoria rushing over me. 

“That’s it, pretty girl, say my name.” He says with a grin, his mouth sucking on my sensitive clit. My hand grazes his hair and looking down at the sight of him makes my stomach tighten.

“Fuck, Damian, I’m gonna cum–” 

He stops and I go to complain to him, but just as quickly as before, he sits down and pulls me on top of him, and his cock is brushing up against my cunt and I want him inside of me so, so bad. 

I put my hands on the side of his face. His eyes twinkle at me, and I want nothing more than to kiss him. I don’t know what’s holding me back. Damian’s hands grab my hips and he says, 

“If I don’t bury my cock in you soon, I might die. I want you so fuckin’ bad, you don’t even know…”

I lift myself up so he can line his dick up with my entrance. As soon as I know he’s there, I sink down onto his cock. 

And I fall apart. 

I can barely hold myself up. He stretches me out beyond belief, hitting my cervix so deeply that it makes me shudder. I grab his shoulders, and press my forehead to his. He chuckles softly, tucking hair behind my ear. I just sit on his cock and pant, hardly daring to move. 

“My dick feels that good, huh?” 

I nod my head frantically. “Yes, yes god yes. You fill up me up so fucking good.” 

He gently pushes himself deeper into me and I groan, still not used to the feeling. 

Damian’s hands slide down my body and grab my ass. He lifts me up, and I start to think that he regrets this and doesn’t want it, but he sets me back down, his cock slamming back into me, and I cry out, clawing the back of his shoulders. 

“Oh, pretty girl, you don’t know how good it feels to see you like this.” 

Not to be buried balls-deep into me, but to see me. To see me. 

He continues to help me, but I start to lift my hips up and down, letting his dick fill me up. 

“That’s it, bonita. Fuck yourself on my cock.” Damian says, tracing his fingers down my stomach. 

I do exactly what he says. I fuck myself on him, my mind going foggy. The glass of the box fogs up and fills with the scent of sex and Damian’s cologne. I moan as I go faster, letting myself rock back and forth. My back arches as Damian’s finger finds my clit. I look back down at him, and the way he’s looking at me makes my stomach tighten. 

He leans forward and licks my jugular, biting just at the top of it. I cry out, because it hurts, but it also feels so so good. He peppers kisses down my jawline as I ride him still, and he bites my earlobe. He moves down to where my collarbone lies, and he bites me so hard that when he comes up, blood coats his lips. He grins at me, licking the blood away. 

I’ve never wanted to kiss him so badly. 

Damian tucks my hair behind my ear again, and when I thrust down on him, he thrusts up, and the effect hits me so hard that I scream. 

“Oh, you like that? Gonna make you cum all over my cock, baby.” Damian says, thrusting up into me again. I nod my head aggressively. I can’t even say anything, my mind has melted…

“I’m so close, y/n. So, so close…” 

“I want to cum with you, Dam. Please, please, please.” I beg. 

He picks me up by my ass and repeatedly thrusts up into me, fucking mercilessly. I look him in the eyes, and I’m moaning and crying his name and begging to climax with him. 

“C’mon, baby, cum on my cock. C’mon you know you want to.” Damian says. He has one hand on my back, the other on my ass. 

I place my hands on the side of his face and I hold eye contact with him. I’m moaning and he’s panting, whispering, “y/n, y/n, y/n,” over and over again. I feel the coil in my stomach tighten, and Damian’s breath gets heavier. His eyes gaze over my body one last time before he looks at me again. 

“I love you, y/n.” he says. 

And my orgasm washes over me in ecstasy. 

My head falls onto his shoulder as I feel my orgasm set my whole body on fire, my legs shaking and my cunt filling with Damian’s cum. Damian pants, a hand stroking my back, and his cock still just feels so good inside my aching core. 

I lift my head up slowly, and he stares at me. He moves his hands from my body and cups my face. 

He says it again. 

“I love you.” 

My lip quivers as it fully registers what he said. He loves me. He loves me.

“Damian,” I say. “Oh, Damian.” 

His eyes begin to water. “I have loved you since before you joined the judgment day. I saw you destroy this girl in the ring. This stupid, ugly girl. And when the ref lifted your arm up in victory, and you screamed with a huge smile on your face, I knew that I was gone. And then when Rhea brought up bringing you into our faction, I was the first to say yes. Not because I thought you were the prettiest person I had ever seen, but because you are everything I stand for. Everything I want to defend. And so you joined.” 

As he spoke, he helped ease me off his cock and back into my shorts and underwear, despite us both being a sticky mess. He brought me back to his lap, where he held me, playing with the ends of my hair. 

“You became my best friend. Meeting you for the first time was incredible because you didn’t fear me. You didn’t act shy or sexual. You shook my hand and looked me in the eye and saw me for who I am. And I’ve met many pretty people and they immediately look at me as their next fuck, but not you. I was your friend. Your ringmate. And the fact that you never pursued me until now just proves that I’m not here just for sex.” 

I sigh, wiping a tear off of his face. “Damian, I’ve never looked at you and only thought of sex. I care about you more than you’ll ever fucking know. I love you, Damian. I love you.”

He smiles at me, and I run my finger over his bottom lip. He lets out a shaky breath. 

“I’m going to kiss you like I’ve wanted to since the second I watched you in the ring.” 

I grin, and I push my lips to his. My hands cup his face and Damian has one hand on my back and the other in my hair. 

As the ferris wheel goes around, he kisses me until I lose my breath. 

#damain priest x reader #damian priest x reader smut #damian priest #the judgment day #the judgement day #rhea ripley #finn balór #finn balor #dominik mysterio #wwe #wwe imagines #wwe smut

[thegetoufather]

i am always here to talk about that man 🧍🏽‍♀️

ugh lem hes so dork boyfie coded i cant w him fwbs w benefits to lovers w him is eating my fricken brain!! the delicious miscommunications!!! I read this lovely little piece the other day and i cant get it out of my head so here is a gnawing thought i have inspired by that fic UGH.

warnings/premise: fwbs to lovers post sex fluff, uni au (kuroo in his 20s) cockwarming, dork kuroo, anti sex god propaganda, 18+ — the usual aman special

Your heart still hammers in your chest as you sit in the shattered remains of your arrangement with Kuroo. Yet nothing bleeds, the only thing you’re met with is the warmth of his kisses across every inch of skin he can find. The uncertainty you thought you would feel fades away, the gentle caresses of his touch causing you to melt against his chest.

Your head lifts up as he trails his fingers up your spine, a chaste kiss pressed against your forehead before he meets your eyes. He always look beautiful in the afterglow, with raven hair more mussed than usual and a flush painting his cheekbones. His eyes are always what you liked most, golden irises lit with a flame that would pool in your belly when he shows up at your door, that flame simmering to a comforting hearth when he massages your thighs after.

Except now, the look is different. Its adoration that doesn’t have to be tempered, a small smile playing on his lips when he sees you mirror the same look.

“So,” you begin.

“So.”

“This isn’t just casual anymore, is it?”

“That’s a wild thing to ask while I’m still inside you.”

“Kuroo!” You yelp, smacking him playfully on the chest. He responds in turn with one of his rooster cackles, the feel of the reverberation of his laugh in his chest making you smile even more.

“I thought we agreed you aren’t calling me that anymore.”

“Fine then, Tetsu.”

“Oh so I get a nickname now? You’re sooooo in love with me.”

“Shut up.”

A pause begins to enter in the space between you, the awkward question lingering in the air.

“So, um, how long have you, i mean, what made you want this to, y’know, be more?” You feel your heart pick up again after the question leaves your lips.

“Pretty soon after we started. I was never seeing anyone else but you.”

“What?!”

Kuroo’s eyebrows furrow at the disbelief in your voice. “Is that so hard to believe?”

You blink back him, slowly realizing he has no idea the impact he’s left on the girls on campus. All those whispers in the stands of his games, all the girls elbowing their way to talk to him at a party. All of that, meaningless to him.

“I mean, I just kept hearing people say things about you and I assumed —”

“That because everyone thinks I’m hot and sexy I’m sleeping with them?”

“Now that I’m talking with you, I’m realizing the reason you maintain that reputation is because more people haven’t seen this side of you.”

“Which is what?”

“A massive dork.”

“Correction, massively hot and sexy dork.”

You snort, rolling your eyes at his shit eating grin. “Why did you wait this long then?”

He puts a finger under your chin to tilt you towards him so you can meet his gaze. “I dunno, I guess I was scared too. I liked having you around so much and I thought if all you really wanted was sex, I could live with that. I wanted you in any capacity rather than none.”

The confession makes you warm, making your heart pick up again. But beneath your palms, his beat is steady, thrumming with the conviction in his words. You can feel your eyes start to swell, but instead you laugh, giggling at how stupid you’ve been to not see this sooner.

“So I guess we are both idiots, huh?”

“I guess we have been.” There’s a crooked smile on his face when he replies, followed by a calloused thumb coming up to wipe the tears that have rolled off your cheeks.

Kuroo clears his throat and sticks his hand out in between your bodies, as though he was initiating a handshake.

“Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Kuroo Testuro, buisness major, chem minor. Want to go out some time?”

#this is so bad but im rusty i needed this idea out #he is dancing in my brain rent free #dusting out his old apartment #missed u testu #hq fluff #kuroo x reader

[elquacktism]

YASSS OK

ctntduo au where they're just in a strict evangelical all boys school where Q low-key dgaf about this Jesus shit and knows he likes guys and finds comfort that his identity is a way to retaliate

W is the religious freak here, suffering from comphet 😞 they're both in the honor roll class and the two of the best students in the school. Q low-key has a crush on W (W does too but he just thinks it's admiration)

Something something shit happens and W "accidentally" kisses Q and freaks the fuck out. He thinks Q is gonna tell the whole school and he probably didn't sleep at night cause he thinks god is gonna strike him down.

He doesn't come to school for like two days out of just constant fear, so Q is hella concerned and think he fucked it up with his crush.

Ok so that's basically the sorta plot

Brain vomit under here

Not really sure if I should but maybe Q telling W that it's ok that he kissed him cause he's gay! But of course W is like dumb so he tells one of the nuns in genuine concern for Q cause he thinks the devil has got him and he genuinely wants to help him (morally grey character wahoo). This makes Q absolutely despise W btw (rightfully so)

Also Q has a bit of a troublemaker reputation, he's smart but often disagrees with the teachings and doesn't take it seriously. He conflicts a lot with W cause he's the obedient good kid and follows the teachings cause that's what he's told to do.

W faith is like sorta shaky in a way that he follows the teachings kinda blindly and it's just really hammered into his head but he himself doesn't really get it, he's scared to doubt them because "the word of god is never wrong!!!". Again conflicting with Q's whole doubting everything and questioning every authority

And and y'know that one TikTok audio? "I wish you were a girl" THATS THEM

(I literally don't know shit about the honor roll cause my country don't have that) the honor class doesn't have a lot of students so Q and W come across each other a lot (plus the fact that they're both top students and is expected to compete) and end up being friendly up until that kissing incident, W tries to avoid Q but of course he can't so they just kinda made a silent agreement to not talk about it. (Q would complain but he really doesn't want to push away his crush and he thinks that he can change his mind) so W ignores how much his heart beats whenever Q is around and how much he draws him on his notes (he probably stare at those drawings at home he's actually so gay for him I feel so bad)

Since hanging out with Q a lot W has been questioning his own faith a lott, it scares the shit out of him and sometimes he tries to fight Q about it. W is smart and he of course realizes that Q is often right and even if he tries to deny it it'll constantly nag at him.

The sorta ending I have is that Q helps W to accept himself but! I have an idea that maybe W is just a stubborn mf and when they graduate they go their own separate ways. W would marry a woman and have a daughter (Tallulah?). No surprises here he's miserable but he loves his daughter so he tries to stay for her. Tallulah is queer

He'd tell Tallulah that she needs to keep strong with her faith cause god often gives tests to see how loyal she is, and so basically

W : Y'know one time I kissed a boy and the devil nearly got me into his trap, thank the lord that I persevered and look where I am today

Tallulah : WHAT

Ok that's it for now I will continue later LMAOO

#casually projects my own religious trauma onto this au #its funny cause amidst writing this im literally on my way to church #tntduo #this is all brain vomit gyus idk what im cooking #rambleism

[jboy44]

Rusted night maiden hunter

Team rwby and jnpr look to summer raven kali and  willow glowing eyes and to jaune betting juniper

Yang " so ozpin infinite man oir moms are the maidens and you made them abandon us?

He mods

Ruby " jaune time traveled and went to ever after he rusted knight?

Ozpin nods

Weiss cries " 😭😭😭😭 i am ideas play boy vs knight i choice player

Pyrtha " and you cursed jaunes line so arcs have to keep there word and as one promised his line would all ways serve you jaune is your slave 😡😡😡?

Ozpin nodds

Blake " you had jaune hold back all this time

Nora has hammer " and as jaune helped his sister in law get pregnant my leaders son my nephew is technically born a slave?

Ozpin nods

Ren " and killing you is pointless so nothing wr can do matters?

He mods

Willow summer raven and kali take therr daughter's hands " that brings us to this sweetie mommy and her friends took turns riding your friend jaune

Team rwby processing there moms the four maidens banged the rusted knight jaune arc

In the evernight castle

Salem: I must save my family from that despicable man

Suddenly a portal of radiating light and darkness appears and 2 figures fall out of it fallowed by a hooded figure

G O L: ow did you have to kick us

G O D: ya even after you beat us up

Hooded figure: yes, yes I did and you both know why

Light: yes because your nephew is being controlled by my mistake

He pulls off the hood to reveal uncle briar

Salem: briar please tell me you have good news

Briar: of course Salem these two said they will deal with the infinity man and my sister will get her grand babies so she’ll quit bugging me

Salem: ahem my grand babies too

Briar: ya ya what ever

Darkness: can we go now

Briar: not till you deal with that green jack ass

Light: fine

They leave to deal with ozpin

Briar: well I must go give my regards to the blacksmith she helped me find those two then off for more adventures

He leaves

Salem: that man scares the shit out of me

Ruby rolling around crying " 😭😭😭😭the boy i like did my mommy "

Weiss hitting head on wall " guy who i turned down did my mommy " pulling hair out

Yang crying eyes out " how could you vb? "

Blake fainted

Pyrrha ".... SO YOU NEVER NOTICED ME BECUASE I AM NOT OLD ENOUGHY OR NOT MAGICAL??"

Jaune " ...... I am not allowed to comment on this take it to ozpin."

Nora " fearless leader is milf hunter

Ren " magic milf hunter

Team milf " young lady get a hold of your self right now

Team rwby jump scared

In a flash a being of light and a being of darkness appears

Light: ya no more controlling of the arcs

He snaps his fingers and a green haze surrounds jaune only for it to shatter like glass

Jaune: hey I’m free.. fuck you old man

He punch ozpin in the face

Darkness: oh and you will no longer be a body snatching asshole

A light surrounded ozpin only for it to fade away

Ozpin: no but what about humanity

Light: oh we’ll be around and her kids magic

All the girls get magic

Darkness: and you boy, you shall be vary important for what is to come

Jaune: what is coming?

Light: our sister

Everyone: what????

Darkness: while I’m destruction and my brother is creation but our sister is sort of like light here she is life but more along the lines of creating it

Light: more like the goddess of lust and sex

Jaune: and that’s bad because???

Darkness: she’s a whore and will do bad things to your world so you young man need to sate her

Jaune: what I can’t do that

Light: according to these girls and your mother, your uncle , and your sister in law, you’ll do fine

Ruby: well looks like you need practice

All the girls look at jaune with hungry gazes

Jaune: he he I’m in danger

Jaune runs as the horde of women chase him around.

[cicada-candy]

premise of this was yknow the scene where Eli is about to beat Robbie's teacher with a hammer and and then also the first fight w/ Ivanov he's Fully Concious and trying to talk him down? Wouldn't It Be Fucked if that was like. All The Time?

lukewarm take but it!! fucks me up!! and I like my favourite characters to come out of my brain like they're well-worn, Absolutely Fucking Destroyed, Emotionally Distraught dog-toys, i guess.

this was a wip from back in October that I never finished bcs i made the mistake of doing the Cool Shit™ first and then lost all motivation to finish it lmao.

close ups under the cut:

reflections that are Like 15 pixels all in. Why Am I Like This.

I walk into fandoms, find Literally The Worst Character Ever and then think about them constantly, its becoming An Issue™

spooky ghost boy!! experiencing The Horrors!!!

#all new ghost rider #my art #ghost rider #robbie reyes #eli morrow #fanart #digital art #cw blood #cw body horror #long post I apologise #hyper-hellfire

[moira-mains-go-to-hell]

Hey, so happy to see request open I really enjoy your work.

could I request prompt number 5 on the sfw fluff list and number 13 from either sfw and nsfw list. With Widowmaker and Mercy separate please.

Thank you so much and have a good night.

Thank you for your request hun!

5. “Do you think me a fool?”

13. “Do you mind if I stick around?” “I’d like that, I’d like that a lot.”

I hope you like them! I tried my best!!

Mercy

You had gotten back from a failed recon mission. Most of the team were fine, nothing but a few cuts and bruises, but you had gotten yourself banged up after having to fight an omnic head on.

“I swear to you, every time you go out there there is so much more for me to do,” Angela waved her finger at you, but the mirth in her voice as she grabbed what she needed let you know you weren’t in any trouble.

“And who would I be if I didn’t support my local medical practitioner?” You tilted your head at her, a smile coming to your lips. She looked back at you with a similar one, letting out a laugh at the sentiment.

“Support is coming to conferences with me, not letting me practice my stitch work and bandaging, you come around far too often. I may have to intervene and ask the higher ups to send you on easier missions.”

You placed your hand on your chest and let out an exasperated gasp, “Do you think me a fool doctor? It’s not my fault I’m so shootable, plus, even Jack is reeling from this one! It’s not just me!”

“Yes, I know,” she cups your cheek, giving it a small pat and pulling you closer by your chin, “but I’ve gotten extremely close to losing you, and I don’t want you to leave me in my own office.”

Her tone change caught you off guard. She was genuinely worried. You took her hands in yours, rubbing your thumbs over her knuckles.

“I won’t,” you meant it, you could never leave her, “if it makes you feel better, I’ll dial it back out there.”

She wordlessly nodded, coming forward to embrace you. Her touch was gentle, wary of your wounds but still managing to mold perfectly into you.

“Do you mind if I stick around for a bit? I just want to stay like this for a while longer.”

“I’d like that, I’d like that a lot.”

Widow

Repo day was one of the hardest days for your crew, all of Talon’s field agents brought in their weapons to be recalibrated, repaired, and sometimes even rebuilt. With you being the head of your department, you had a list of the weapons you’d be taking care of personally, while the grunts did all of the… well, grunt work.

“Hey boss!” One of your subordinates jogged up to you as you were headed back from a coffee run, “you’ve got a guest in your office.”

You thanked the man and headed off, opening the door to the one woman you try to get down here every chance you get.

“Amelie? Since when do you show your face during repo day? I thought your rifle would ‘never need fixing as long as it was in your hands’,” you smiled, sitting behind your desk and stirring the mug you had in hand. In all your time together she has only let you touch her rifle once. She liked the maintenance process of it, and you weren’t one to displease her.

“The handlers who unloaded my gun and visor dropped them when unpacking the drop ship. I took a look at them but even I can’t fix it.”

“My wife? Admitting defeat! My, how you’ve changed,” your smile grew into a devious grin as you set down your mug and moved around the desk to get a good look at her equipment.

“Do you think me a fool? I am not admitting anything, seeking other options is just optimizing my success rate,” you could feel the eye roll she gave from behind you as you opened the cases.

“The outside seems ok,”you turned to the assassin, aiming the gun at her forehead, “the scope is completely shot to shit. Did they beat it with a hammer after dropping it?”

Amelie pushed the muzzle away from her face with a scowl, “you should be the first to know not to point weapons at people.”

“The clip is in the case and if I wanted you dead you’d be on the floor,” you blew her a kiss and patted her cheek, “I’ll take a look and have it out before lunch, how does that sound?”

“I would love to be able to just go and have a day to myself, but I would feel better if I watched and learned how to do this myself,” her hand came over your shoulder as you fiddled with her visor watching it try and fail to close,”do you mind if I stayed?”

You shrugged and set the helmet down on your desk,“I would say I need ‘total concentration’ and ‘solitude’,” you turned around in her arms a hand snaking around her waist, “but I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

“Good, because I wouldn’t be going anyway Mon Ceur, I will not take no for an answer.”

#overwatch #Overwatch x reader #overwatch imagines #mercy x reader #mercy ow #angela ziegler x reader #angela zeigler #widowmaker #widowmaker x reader #ow widowmaker #amelie lacroix #Amelie lacroix x reader

[illvmiimoved]

Does Your Mother Know?

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

TAGS/INCLUDED: reader is DRUUUNK * Miguel doesn’t take advantage hes a gentleman ofc * obviously alcohol * if he’s Spider-Man is ambiguous again

A/N: Two posts in like a 3 hour span is BONKERS anyways here’s a shorter one based on the song “Does your mother know” by ABBA.

New account cause I messed my shit up 😔

You were at a bar downtown, having a great time with your friends. It was one of your close friend’s birthday, so you and a bunch of girls were there, getting hammered and essentially making it hell for the designated drivers.

You weren’t super drunk at the moment, you’d only had a single drink. You walk to the bar to get another round for the table (against one of the drivers saying that really isn’t the best idea) and that’s when you saw him.

Oh. My. God.

He was so hot, are you kidding me?

He was easily 6 feet tall. Tan skin and pretty eyes, his hair was curly and he was dressed in business attire. His sleeves were rolled to his forearm, which was enough to make you swoon on the spot.

You purposefully stand next to him when you order the drinks, taking extra care to bump your sides together occasionally.

At the sixth bump of your side, he turns around to look down at you. He smirks as he leans on the bar, “Can I help you, little lady?”

You giggle drunkenly (maybe you were more dunk than you’d thought), “You’re just quite the looker. Can’t help myself!”

You sway in your spot a little as you look up at him. He chuckles to himself and sits on one of the stools to match your level better. He tucks a lock of your pretty hair behind your ear and smiles.

“You look pretty young to be in a place like this, girly. Your mother know you’re out?”

You giggle again and cover your mouth, “I’m not young, no worries,” You follow that up by wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

Yeah, you definitely were not sober right now.

He leans on his hand, “You sure about that?”

“Sure about my age? I think so!” You count on your fingers to double check.

He smirks at you, “What’s your name, beautiful?”

You blush and tell him your name. To which he replies, “What a lovely name. I’m Miguel, sweet thing.”

The bartender puts your ordered drinks on the bar, so you perk up and attempt to grab them all. Miguel stops you and grabs them himself, so you lead him to the table. He places them down for you, your friends diving in without missing a beat.

You smile up at him, “Let’s dance, handsome!”

“Oh? You wanna dance now? But what about your friends?” He smirks, though he didn’t protest when you started to push him towards the dance floor.

You jump and dance to the music with zero rhythm, really just having fun rather than trying to impress Miguel with your ‘hot moves’. He didn’t seem to mind, he looked quite taken with how free your looked at that moment.

He just swayed in his spot slightly, he really wasn’t much of a dancer. You grab the sides of him and try to force him to dance. Of course you can’t, have you seen the man? He’s huge. He chuckles anyways, “What’s the matter, huh?”

“You gotta dance! You’re just standing there like a damn tree!”

He chuckles again, swaying a bit more to the music. He spots one of his friends (who he originally was here with) snickering at him, so he sends him the finger before turning his attention back to you.

“So what’s a pretty girl like you doing dancing with a man like me? You surely have a boyfriend to dance with you instead?”

You shake your head as you jump to the music, “Nope! I’m allllll ready for the taking, mister!”

He smiles at you, “Well ain’t that interesting? Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

You nod and loop your arm with his, leaning on him as he takes you to the bar. He has you sit on a stool and orders you a water and himself an alcoholic beverage. Though you begin to whine at that and say things like “I am a big girl! I can have a freakin’ beer if I want!”

You drink the water when it arrives anyways, slurping it down like you haven’t drank in days. He smiles gently at you, he really hasn’t seen a person as beautiful as you in a long time. Sure you looked pretty messed up right now, your makeup was smeared and your hair was crazy at this point. But he didn’t mind, not at all. He hadn’t had a good time at a bar in a long time. Mostly it was just sitting around with Peter or Jessica. He hasn’t gotten up to dance in a long time.

Peter always asked to dance, though Miguel has turned him down every single time and never plans to give in on that demand.

As you finish your water, you smile drunkenly up at him. You poke his chest with one finger,

“Are you married? You gotta be married. Look at you!”

He tilts his head with a smirk, “No. I’m single, actually.”

You gasp loudly. You were very obnoxious in your drunken state, clearly, “No freakin’ way. You can’t be telling the truth!”

He raises a hand to fix your hair so it isn’t in your face as he speaks, “Nope. I’m being honest, sweet thing.”

“Oh, you gotta date me then,” You say with a confident nod as he fixes your hair.

He snickers, “You seem really drunk, girlie. You sure you’re of age?”

You nod, “Yup! You wanna see my ID, officer?”

He leans back in his own stool, “I believe you, I believe you. What brings you to the bar tonight anyways, huh?”

You point to the table where half your friends are passed out in their seats, “My friend’s birthday!”

He nods, “So why’re you here with me?”

“Cause look at you!”

He chuckles and looks over at the group. He sees some sober-looking people stand and haul the passed out people to the cars outside. He looks back to you, “Looks like it’s home time.”

“Nooo! I don’ wanna go!” You pout like a child.

Miguel doesn’t listen and helps you off the stool, leading you over to the group. He nods to some of your friends and helps you to one of their cars. Before he helps you get in, you press a kiss to his cheek.

He smiles and buckles you in. He places something in your hand, then closes the car door.

As the car drives away, he reaches up and feels the lipstick mark on his cheek.

When you woke up the next morning, you found a note on your nightstand. You called your friend and asked about it and all she said was that “A real handsome man put it in your hand after he helped you to the car, so I put it on your nightstand so you wouldn’t lose it”.

Once you ended the call, you plucked the paper off the stand and read what it said.

On top was a phone number. Under it;

“Here’s my number, young thing. Hope your mother really did know you were out.

-Miguel”

Here’s another one, two in one day is super bonkers for me LOL. Hope you enjoyed. Also wanted to say I’m open to requests! Love you all ❤️❤️

don’t redistribute or steal or reupload pretty pretty please

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #atsv miguel #atsv #atsv x reader #Miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara x you

[dreamersbcll]

“Ikea” - inspired by @krikeymate

——

“Ten bucks that one of them quits within the first thirty minutes?”

Tara grinned, sticking her hand out. “You’re so on.”

Mindy took her hand and shook, both smiling giddily. The two girls were about to watch Sam and Chad attempt to assemble the brand-new couch the sisters had bought. Tara couldn’t crouch down for long periods, and Mindy flat out refused to help, so it was up to the other two siblings. Chad was happily willing to help, while Sam was more reluctant to work with the boy.

Tara and Mindy took their places in the living room, sharing the la-z-boy chair. As Tara set her phone timer for ten minutes, Mindy pulled her onto her lap, and the two prepared to enjoy the show.

And boy, did they get one.

—-

“Chad, hand me the screwdriver. No, that’s the wrench. The other screwdriver,” Sam asked through her teeth, clearly trying to keep it together.

Chad was lost, holding all the tools in the Carpenter’s toolbox like playing cards. Sam kept taking deep breaths and rubbing her face to curb her annoyance. Tara giggled behind her hand, hiding her face in Mindy’s shoulder.

“Maybe if these were fucking labeled, I wouldn’t be looking for random tools like an idiot!” Chad muttered, unceremoniously dumping all the tools in front of the older girl.

Sam took another deep breath, reaching to grab the screwdriver daintily. “Okay, now hand me two screws. The little ones with the curvy middle.”

Chad reached over and grabbed two nuts, tossing them to Sam. He instead hit Sam in the head, the nuts rolling underneath the kitchen table. He winced at the action, slowly backing up.

“Chad.”

He stood up, shuffling over to the kitchen. “Sorry, Sam.”

Mindy looked at the timer. Twenty minutes left. Tara turned red, not to laugh, burying her face into Mindy’s shoulder. Mindy patted her back, trying to contain her laughter.

—-

“Are you sure you’re reading the directions right? Half of it is in Swedish. Holy shit, are you bilingual?”.

Sam put down the instructions with a huff. “Maldito idiota. I am bilingual, and you know that, cõno,” she swore, putting her head in her hands.

“Sam. Be nice,” Tara chided, smiling despite her firm tone.

Chad looked up and grinned at Mindy, giving her a thumbs up.

Mindy just gave him a thumbs-up back.

Tara looked down at the phone timer. Eleven minutes before she was ten bucks richer.

—-

Chad twisted the last screw into place, satisfied with his work.

“There. Easy. I told you I was Handy Manny!” he said, a smug look on his face.

Sam rolled her eyes and very gingerly sat down on the couch. It collapsed underneath her, the pieces scattering across the floor. Sam fell to the ground with a small oof, Chad wincing at the sound she made as she hit the floor.

“Chad. Does this look like a put-together couch?” Sam slowly said, her teeth gritted.

He looked down at Sam on the ground with the random nuts and bolts. “I mean, Mindy says abstractness makes things appear-.”

“Chad.”

“Sorry.”

Mindy and Tara’s laughter could be heard across the world.

—-

“Are you even lifting? Flip it over! Jeez, I thought older people were supposed to be stronger!” Chad puffed, setting down the couch.

Sam slammed her end of the couch down onto the ground. “What did you just call me?”.

Mindy clapped a hand over her mouth, her lungs aching to laugh. Tara had given up and laughed so hard that she was in tears. Sam looked incredulous, her eyes darting between Chad and her laughing sister. It was as if she couldn’t figure out whether to beat Chad with a hammer or enjoy the fact that her sister was cracking up.

Instead, Sam chose the couch cushion, smacking Chad in the stomach with it. The boy fell back, a surprised look on his face. He popped back up, snatching a pillow and hitting Sam with it.

Mindy sprung up, dumping Tara off her lap. “Pillow fight!” she yelled, grabbing the nearest pillow to clobber Tara with.

Before she could, Sam got in front of her sister, smacking Mindy with her cushion. Tara smiled, hugging Sam around the middle. Chad laughed at Mindy’s betrayed face, giggling until Tara hit him in the stomach with a spare cushion.

The core four danced around like kids, smacking each other with pillows and cushions until their lungs gave out.

The timer went off for about twenty minutes, the kids too involved in bashing each other to notice.

Neither girl got ten dollars. But they did eventually get a new couch to lounge on.

#scream #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #chad meeks martin #mindy meeks martin #the core four! #chad helps sam build furniture #helps is a strong word #something silly and fun #ao3 author #my writing tag

[beanghostprincess]

Also what if when the Red Haired and Strawhat pirate crews finally meet. They meet in a populated area and celebrate meeting each other: Shanks and Luffy bond while Usopp and Yasopp are actually doing well together and bonding too. And Sanji (even tho being in a relationship) still fawns over the village girls every once in a while when he's there (not intensely but y'know). And Yasopp sees him and don't think anything of it until Usopp introduces him as his boyfriend. Which quickly pisses him off after seeing how he acts. Which results in Yasopp not liking him, bc well okay, makes sense, but then it leads to him saying he's not allowed to date his son as if he has any control over his life. Which leads to Yasopp and Sanji hating each other and arguing. But also Usopp hating both of them (Sanji for looking at other women still and Yasopp for dictating his life) and refusing to be around them for a while until Sanji and Yasopp realize they were jerks and apologize to him once he calms down.

This been on my head for a long while and I couldn't help but spill since you brought up Yasopp.

Let me kiss your brain. Please. Like. Come here right now and let me kiss your forehead. This is- This is so- Okay. I NEED A MOMENT. I need a moment. Let me breathe. Just a moment.

...

Okay, I'm done breathing. This is AMAZING. And now you have to deal with me talking about it!!!

I think Sanji and Yasopp would not get along because of what you just said. Sanji would still simp for girls everywhere (like, that's something that will never change. And it's not like he tries to sleep with them, he's loyal to Usopp. He's just very, uh, sexually attracted to them an insane amount. Usopp should have permission to bonk him with a hammer every time he does that tbh) and Yasopp would instantly think that he's not good for his son. Which is, you know, understandable, but who is he in Usopp's life to talk about his future? Or at least that's what Sanji would say, complaining about how he doesn't have any right to decide if he's good for his son, keeping in mind that he has never been around.

Yasopp left, but he still cares for his son and he wants to have a good relationship with him. Seeing Sanji like that makes him think about Shanks and Buggy's relationship and that's just not what he wants for Usopp (Shanks, baby, I love you but you're so not beating the cheater allegations). And Sanji... Sanji doesn't have a good relationship with father figures (obviously this is about Judge and not Zeff. Zeff, I love you) and men in general, so tbh I think he would already be a bit resentful towards Yasopp even before meeting him. He would try to hold back, of course, be friendly for Usopp's sake and all. But it doesn't work out.

I find this concept amazing because they care and love Usopp so much that they actually forget about what Usopp truly wants. Overprotective much?? I think they would end up bonding over that, too!!! Usopp would get angry at both of them first, though:

Usopp: What do you mean he's not good for me? You don't know him! Yasopp: But I'm sure he would love to know every girl around here, wouldn't he? If you know what I mean. He's going to end up breaking your heart, kiddo, I know people like him. For fuck's sake, Shanks is like him! Shanks: I'll have you know I am a very stable individual and your captain and a little bit of sexual freedom never hurt anyone! Yasopp: Tell that to your ex-boyfriend. Shanks: Ouch. Unnecessary. Usopp: You don't know him! And for starters, you don't even know me! He's wonderful and perfect for me and even if he weren't, you shouldn't have a say in my romantic life! If you wanted to act like a dad, you should've started years ago! Sanji: Thanks, mon trés- Usopp: And you. Don't you dare mon trésor me right now! My dad might not be allowed to say shit like this about you, but I am. I've gotten used to you flirting with every average-looking girl you see, but I'm sick and tired of you acting like a dog in heat with them. Especially when I'm around. It's- I thought I could just deal with it because I'm not a jealous person, but you need to get your shit together, Sanji. Both of you need to get your shit together. And if you excuse me, I'm going to have a drink with the others because I need a long, long break from you two. [...] Zoro: Now you've done it, curly. Told you you'd fuck this up someday. Sanji: I'm going to murder you. [...] Shanks: And you say I'm the bad father. Yasopp: You still are. Shanks: Maybe, good point there, but I'm not the only one. So that's a relief.

And then they would end up talking things out, of course, because Usopp is the most important person in their lives. I would like to see them bond over that, realizing that they both care about him a lot and that's why all of this happened. Sanji tells Yasopp that, even if he's pretty much obsessed with women, he would never be disloyal to Usopp. Usopp is the one for him. If he says he wants to get married to him one day, Yasopp is the only one who hears it. Sanji just needs to control his urges a lot, tbh. And Yasopp says that he knows he's not allowed to decide who his son should or shouldn't date, but he just wants to be a good father and enjoy the time they have together without some guy breaking Usopp's heart. He doesn't know how to be a dad, but he's willing to try for him.

So I think they end up getting along! Sanji cooks for both crews, of course, and Yasopp is delighted to taste his food. They spend the time laughing and talking about Usopp and Sanji won't stop explaining every adventure they've had together. Usopp, on the other hand, isn't as angry anymore (after talking to Nami about it) and watches from a distance how friendly they are now. This raises the question:

Usopp: God, are they going to be like that now? Nami: Is there an issue with that? Usopp: I don't know. Maybe? It's just weird. Robin: Maybe they start talking about all of your dirty secrets and embarrassing memories :) (<- Super friendly and not at all scary smile) Usopp: I want to die.

At some point, Sanji brings Usopp food and Yasopp comes along. They both apologize to him and, well, it's not as scary as Usopp thought. And they might be stupid and flawed, but they're still two of the people he loves the most.

Gonna have a whole breakdown over this now, thank you. I'm gonna think about this all day long. And tomorrow too. I'm sobbing. I have a lot of thoughts right now. Thinking about Sanji asking Yasopp for Usopp's hand because he's just classy like that and Yasopp accepting and Sanji like: "Okay, cool, because I was going to marry him anyway even if you said no. Glad I didn't have to kick your ass."

I'm gonna cherish this ask forever. Thank you. <3

#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #going INSANE #god i love them so much #i love exploring all of this #shout out to shanks being the comedy relief i love laughing at his tragedies #angry usopp is one of my fav things ever ngl i love writing him #i need you all to know that shanks is doing the most intense interrogation to zoro (drinking with him) to see if he's good for his luffy #they're just drinking and shanks called it a day bc he saw zoro and said 'ah yes mihawk's kid. he's cool and drinks' and moved on #sanuso #black leg sanji #usopp #yasopp #one piece #straw hat pirates #red hair pirates