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[riahpickle-blog]

okay but hear me out...but one thing they should've added to The Last Airbender is Katara telling Aang she was pregnant while they were falling. I don't care if it would've destroyed me emotionally that would've been one of the most unforgettable scenes in the movie.

[suguboobs]

FRAT BRO TURNED DAD OF THE YEAR

ryomen sukuna finally decides to man up….three months after he spoke to you last. is he too late or will you let him back in?

PART 03: FRAT BRO’S DILEMMA

PAIRING: frat bro! ryomen sukuna x fem reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. unplanned pregnancy. baby gumi cameo. sukuna being a self absorbed asshole (what’s new). mention of abortion.

NOTE: halfway through writing a frat series n just found out what a social chair is #embarrassed 💔💔 will be doing more research now

ryomen sukuna’s a man who’s used to being in control.

of the world shifting in and around his feet to accommodate to the sheer amount of space that he takes up. to being the center of attention in every room that he walked in—necks craning around to get so much as a glimpse, a call of his last name in hopes he’d so much as give a curt nod, a pat on the shoulder.

even in rooms he’s never stepped a foot in, he was the center of attention. name rolling around in waves from one mouth onto the next, rumors spreading like wildfire that he’s never cared to confirm nor deny.

he doesn’t remember the last time he’s so much as had to open his mouth to get a woman to talk to him, they usually flock to him like a pack of vultures going after decaying flesh. they’re eager to talk to him, to be seen with him, to have some proof that they existed around him. but they never actually want to see him. not that it matters—he forgets about their name by the time they’re under him.

it wasn’t a fulfilling life by any means, but it filled him with temporary pleasure. that’s all he needed—or at least, what he’d thought he needed.

meeting you wasn’t something extraordinary, something that set his life off kilter. it was purely transactional, you’d teach him how to get through calculus and he’d help you get (unnecessary, in his opinion) extra credit with your professor. then, he started noticing how seriously you’d taken to start tutoring him.

studying straight out the book wasn’t cutting it, you’d come to realize. neither was printing out practice problems from khan academy. he wasn’t this stupid, you knew that much. “i know you don’t want to be here but just tell me what i can do to make this bearable for the both of us,” you suggested one afternoon, tired of going around in circles and circles.

“explain it to me. not out the book, not from some website, but from your brain,” he’d responded like the answer had been obvious the whole time. so, you did. started wording things in a way that you normally would, made it easier to grasp epsilon-delta proofs even if it took you two weeks.

sukuna started noticing little things about you, too: from the way you color coded your journals: red for stats, blue for english, purple for the history and culture of edo japan, to the way you nibbled down on your pen when even you were having a hard time explaining infinite sequences. how you started keeping a little snack around in case he needed it after basketball practice (he always did).

you were everything he should’ve hated himself for liking, everything he did hate himself for liking, and yet here he was. standing in front of your dorm building, heart pounding in his eardrum.

sukuna’s been many things throughout his life.

basketball captain, frat vice president, an asshole, a chronic avoider and ghoster, he’s been a liar.

but what he hasn’t been is just plain old discarded.

replaced.

and by none other than president of nerd-central himself, satoru gojo.

satoru gojo who once had a head brace on in high school, crooked teeth forced shut by metal clasp after metal clasp that left him with a lisp. satoru gojo that once went over digimon evolutions for bio 101–writing a twenty page analysis and getting an a for it.

satoru gojo who has a prized membership at barnes and nobles, spending most of time wearing hideous sweater vests and burying his face in a book.

but here you are, getting walked up to your dorm building by that nerd with his fingers splayed across your back. his touch cautious, gently guiding you up the stairs to your building. you’re in one of his hoodies, hands fiddling with the sleeves as if you’re debating giving it back. you don’t.

the part that gets him the most about your interaction with gojo is that you seem happy being around him, happy in a way he’s never given you the opportunity to be around him. it’s stupid, but sukuna swears he could’ve wrung his scrawny ass neck just for giving you a forehead kiss.

sukuna doesn’t think twice before speeding back off to the frat house, breaking nearly every traffic law in existence. he doesn’t punch a wall like an overgrown man child (though the thought of putting satoru’s face on the door to throw darts lingers), instead, he just sits there. in pure silence and in the dark.

he thinks about calling yoruzu or any of the multiple unsaved numbers on his phone—any of them that would be showing up to his door before he even got the chance to ask them to come over with their panties half down their knees.

for once, the thought makes him want to throw up.

then, he thinks about trying to make things right with you, of showing up to your dorm with a cheap bouquet of roses from the grocery store and a half-assed apology. you’d probably push him away, and it’d be well deserved.

he hasn’t bothered to show up or even try to make an attempt to talk to you in months, leaving you to struggle through your pregnancy alone. sukuna had seen you throughout campus, had seen you attempt to hide your belly with oversized t-shirts, had seen how fatigued you looked after walking down a hall.

that thought makes him even more nauseous.

sukuna settles for calling toji over instead.

this used to be toji’s scene once upon a time (just two years ago), showing up to every frat rager with a different girl on his arm. losing his shirt halfway into the night, manicured nails trailing up the defined ridges of his stomach. phone blowing up the next day from those very same girls, demanding a text back that never came.

instead, now he walks into the house with a baby strapped onto his chest, megumi staring at his surroundings with mild curiosity and a thumb in between his lips. it’s a mess—beer bottles scattered throughout every surface, leaving behind condensation rings that’d be a pain in the ass to try to clean up later, a few clothes that the underclassmen left strewn around on lamp posts.

it’s weird seeing toji so put together, so grown up. though, it’s a sight that fits him, sukuna has to admit that much.

toji plops onto the couch with a thud, one hand on megumi’s back while he adjusts against the cushions. the baby lets out a yawn before burying his face deeper against toji’s shirt, one tiny hand clasped around the fabric.

“you want a beer, man?” sukuna calls out from the kitchen, perusing through the drinks selection in the fridge. a few cans of budweiser, a nearly finished bottle of absolut vodka, three cans of red bull and monster, and a half empty bottle of water. not like he had much to offer, regardless.

“nah, i’ll get a water.” sukuna grabs the pathetic excuse for a water (making a mental note to buy more, chances are he’ll forget by tomorrow) and a can of budweiser. he tossed over the bottle we’re toji was sitting, taking a seat at the other end of the couch. spreading wiiide open while he turns on the tv, getting a game queued up.

the two of them settled on 2k, the game starting off fairly competitive. insults were thrown, names were muttered, controllers were thrown, before any actual conversation started to take place. even then, it was about the frat, about torture methods initiation procedures for the new pledges, about whatever their minds could come up with.

sukuna decides now is as good of a time as any to bite the bullet. he gulps down the rest of his beer in one quick chug, crushing the can in his palm before glancing over at toji. “how’d you know you were ready to be a dad and shit?” he speaks up, vaguely gesturing to where megumi was still peacefully asleep against his father’s chest.

toji lets out a sigh that makes him sound double his age, his expression one of complete devotion upon looking down at megumi. of pure adoration to the bundle of joy that his wife brought into the world.

“i wasn’t ready. thought i wanted this—” toji merely looked around at the space around them, memories rushing back like a fright train before he continued, “—life forever. of hooking up and getting drunk every weekend. but the little guy’s mom needed me to be, so here i am. buying diapers and readin’ bed time stories.”

“mm. makes sense.”

“what’s with the question, man? you plannin’ on settling down soon?” toji questions, letting out a snort, “or did ya get a girl pregnant?” it’s spoken of as a joke, his laugh echoing across the quiet halls of the house.

sukuna doesn’t dignify that with a response. he picks at the tab on the crushed can, trying to look everywhere but the man sitting next to him. even looking up at the hideous painting choso hung on the wall and tried to excuse as ‘abstract.’ toji sees right through the act, his laughter quickly fading into a disbelieving scoff.

“no fucking way man,” toji manages to get out, eyes practically the size of saucers. “congrats.” the man reaches out to pat sukuna on the back, each one more awkward than the last.

he only manages to get out a grunt of acknowledgment, “thanks man,” sukuna mutters out, arms coming to lay behind his head after the game’s been discarded, “but i messed up. me and baby mama aren’t talking anymore.”

toji lets out a low whistle. he took a large swig of water, haphazardly throwing it off to the side where it only added even more to the mess surrounding the coffee table. “what’d you do to her?”

“gave her a couple hundred bucks for the abortion and a happy meal. said i didn’t wanna be a dad,” sukuna merely shrugged in response, barely managing to avoid the punch toji sent to his arm.

“no shit she doesn’t want anything to do with you,” once again, toji does nothing but state the obvious.

“i know that much. don’t know how to be back in her life when she’s avoiding me like the plague.”

“you gotta apologize. say you’re sorry for bein’ a dick. let her know you wanna be a part of the baby’s life,” toji answered like it was the simplest thing in the world, like they were just discussing what to eat. “don’t expect her to let you back in, but show her you’re tryin.’”

it sounds easier than it is, but he knows that’s his only option. the two of them continue playing a few more rounds before mrs, fushiguro ended up calling about dinner finally being ready. megumi had been calm throughout the evening, peacefully asleep and content with his binky and wolf-themed pacifier.

“look man, just think about i said,” toji speaks up once he’s about to step out of the room, pacing around in circles to keep megumi asleep, “pregnancy’s hard and shit—” understatement of the year, “—so think about ‘er and how she’s feeling instead of making it about you.”

gojo’s getting all the moments that he’s missing out on, the moments that he should be by your side. that’s the only thought that runs through his head while he’s speeding down the street, making his way over to your dorm.

sukuna doesn’t get out of the car upon arriving, though. lets the engine run on idle, fingertips tapping against the leather steering wheel to the song playing over the speakers. the song ends far too quickly for his taste, going to the next one up on his playlist. his fingers still against the wheel.

he came here to demand something he isn’t entitled to and he doesn’t even know what to say to you.

“yo, what the fuck are you doing with that nerd?” too aggressive, even he can begrudgingly admit that part.

“c’mon ma. i’ll do anything to be part of the baby’s life again, i swear on my ps5.” too pathetic by his standards.

his hands run through his hair, pink strands sticking up in nearly direction but up right. far too messy for his liking. he runs his hand through them again, a frustrated groan leaving his lips when they only get more messed up. after a few more times of doing so, he decides to let his hair be. he’s doing everything and anything to avoid getting out of the car just yet, even going as far to check his reflection in the car’s mirror.

a few people stop in their paths to look through the window, confused at the man talking to himself and gesturing to nothing in particular. sukuna looks insane, he’s aware. this is what you’ve led him to. with one quick glare, the people staring are soon enough getting back on their merry way, pretending as if it never happened in the first place.

he crosses the road in quick strides, entering your dorm building as someone else is leaving. the floor smells like stale laundry, food containers spilling out of trash bins outside, paint peeling off the walls in thick sheets. sukuna really needed to figure out a better living arrangement for you.

he approaches the half bored ra sitting at their desk, not even giving him a glance as they continue to scroll through their phone. sukuna clears his throat obnoxiously so, garnering the attention of even those just passing by. “can i help you?”

sukuna gives them your name and a brief description of your appearance, able to get your room number with just a quick search. the elevator’s broken which leaves him going up the stairs, taking two at a time and avoiding the students coming down with heap after heap of laundry in their basket.

he doesn’t knock on the door just yet, listening to the chatter going on inside through paper thin walls. he hears your voice call out to shoko, a small laugh leaving your lips afterwards. it makes his chest clench. he amounts it to heartburn.

he really should stop drinking so much red bull. (it’s not the red bull.)

the longer that he stands here, the more underprepared that he feels. every apology he’d practiced in the car before coming up here faded from his memory, leaving him scrambling to try to find the pieces. the overpriced $10 bouquet he picked up from the gas station (the flowers are dying, he was in a rush), suddenly feels like too little.

just as soon as he’s about to leave your door and resign himself to a life of mediocre hookups and a life of not knowing his kid, he brings his hand up. knock. knock. just two short knocks to disrupt the routine you had going on, to disrupt the noise that was going on inside.

“are you expecting someone?” he hears shoko speak behind the door.

“no, let me check who it is though.”

the door swings open about five seconds the later, the smile on your face quickly fades away at the sight of sukuna standing at your door. your arms cross across your chest defensively, blocking yourself off from him. “what do you want.”

you spoke to sukuna like he was nothing more than a pest, nothing more than just a nuisance. but damn, if you didn’t look beautiful even while you were glaring daggers at him. after seeing only glimpses of you around campus, either with shoko or alone, this was a sight that was more than welcome.

it’s still early on in your pregnancy. maybe three, four months max. but given that the giant in front of you’s nearly seven feet tall, you’re already starting to show. not much, but a little bump peeks out underneath the oversized tee you had on.

you have a soft glow to your face that makeup couldn’t replicate, an aura that he wants nothing more than to bask in for as long as you’d let him. which apparently doesn’t seem like it’ll be long just based on the glare you’re shooting him.

“well?” you prompt, foot tapping against the hardwood floor. right, you wanted to know what he was doing here. sukuna swallowed dryly, holding the door open with his foot before you shut it in front of face. c’mon idiot, speak.

his grip on the bouquet of flowers in hand tightens, knuckles a shade of ghostly white. the flowers pathetically droop to one side, almost as pathetic as he feels standing in front of you again. he extends them out to you, watching as you take them with a wary gaze.

you don’t thank him—sukuna expects that much already, but you don’t throw them away. you simply set them aside like you’re still considering what to do with them. sukuna hopes you’ll give him that same amount of consideration.

he clears his throat, “our last conversation didn’t go well.” that earns a sharp scoff from you, seconds ticking down on an imaginary clock. still, he manages to continue, “i know i said i didn’t wanna be a dad. but i want to be a part of the baby’s life now. go to appointments with you and all the shit you’re doing with gojo.”

“so you’re only doing this because you’re jealous of gojo.” it’s not a question, it’s a simple observation. grass is green. the sky isn’t blue but rather a reflection of the sun’s rays on the earth’s atmosphere. and ryomen sukuna is fucking jealous of satoru gojo.

“yes, i am jealous,” the words come out like they’re being forced out of him, each syllable strained as it leaves his tongue. sukuna’s brows furrow, shaking his head before begrudgingly continuing, “i’m jealous that he’s getting everything i’m not.”

it’s well deserved, a little voice in his head spoke. he immediately shut that one down.

“and who’s fault is that?” you don’t miss the chance to respond, about to say more when your phone buzzes in your pocket. gojo.

five minutes away :3 i brought kikifuku don’t tell shoko

a small, involuntary smile forms on your face at the sight.

it’s become routine at this point—having him take you to your appointments and go out to eat after. maybe study for an upcoming exam, play a round of digimon until you had to keel over the toilet. it hasn’t been easy, by any means, even if you were just starting your first trimester, but shoko and gojo had been a great help through it all.

this month, gojo’s research had informed him that the embryo would start to turn into a fetus. that it would start to move around, grow nails and hair, that it would start to resemble, well, a baby.

“just tell him to fuck off,” sukuna speaks up, glaring at your phone like it personally offended him, “spend the day with me, mama. i’ll take you out and buy some baby clothes or whatever you want.”

you would’ve swooned to hear him say that two months ago. instead, you just feel a throbbing headache pounding at the back of your skull. and a strong urge to just punch him in the mouth. it feels forced—a way to throw even more money in your face after he’d fucked up, that he’d confirmed your worst fear upon approaching him with the news.

and now you’re painfully aware that while the man in front of you has been absent and self centered, gojo had taken it upon himself to be someone that you could grow to depend on. offering a ride without so much as you needing to say a word, holding your hand throughout your appointments. to simply being by your side without complaint.

you couldn’t just bring yourself to tell him to turn around just because the big oaf feels threatened. feels entitled to come back into your life whenever he pleases, whenever he decides it’s not so much of a shame to be around you.

“i’m not going to say no to gojo just because you want to be a part of the baby’s life now,” you respond calmly, measured to a fault, “but if you’re really serious about trying to make this work, come to the baby shower in two weeks.”

not much, but an olive branch. a peace offering to help him prove himself.

sukuna could work with that.

taglist: @true1411 @minadiary07 @fudogh @moonz33 @tsumoorin @0celotmilk @i034sworld @lovley212 @user2swag2care @palletaegoo

[riahpickle-blog]

I finally found Dadaman 🥴

[sozila]

dear future husband

synopsis: when you were fifteen, you wrote love letters to a fake address. at twenty eight, you received a reply.

pairing: pro hero!eijirou kirishima x quirkless lawyer!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content eventually, mdni. fluff (with a little angst) mentions of workplace exploitation, quirk discrimination. this chapter is plot heavy

masterlist | previous | next

you are on: she replied (2)

wc: ~3.6k

a/n: this one is a good bit of world building! more exchanging of letters will happen next chapter i think, but for now we get to learn more about reader and kiri’s lives now 🌀

"shit."

you look down at your desk and realize that your coffee mug has been sitting on some case files for quite some time. you quickly try to pick it up, but the damage was already done. a brown ring of your chai latte was already air-drying on the paper much to your dismay.

"hey yuma, can you please reprint the hashima case files?" you call out loud, and instantly the pink haired woman was peeking around your door. "yes!" she replies with a prompt efficiency, but you can tell she was lingering. you take a deep sigh. "…yes, yuma?"

she has a kicked puppy dog look to her face, glossed lips pulled into a frown. "i want to keep apologizing for that asshole i put you on a date with," she wails. "i swear if i knew he was a quirkist weirdo i would've never even talked to him—let alone set you guys up!" her face looked a lot more frantic now. you give her a small smile. despite her overkill personality, you knew she was a sweet girl and didn't act in malice. 

"i know you didn't know, yuma. don't worry, okay?" you wave her off, and she sulks away in retreat, fetching your request. she still seems upset by the whole ordeal, which you do feel bad about, but it wasn't the most pressing thing on your plate right now. it's been whole three weeks since you had not only had the worst date ever, but also received that… letter.

okay, it's possible you were avoiding dealing with it. in your defense, you got dropped with a larger case that was taking a lot of time to research. a hero and support technology company by the name of hashima ltd, to be specific. a rival to detnerat, they prided themselves in their 'new ventures' opportunity program that helped hire more quirkless individuals in every sector of their company. the program picked the most eligible graduates out of university and ultimately led to hashima having the most decorated young hires. it made national news. you remember how happy you were to see that some corporations did care and opted for diversity and inclusion despite the social pushback from quirk supremacists. so much for that, you thought. 

you stare at the name at the top of your ruined papers, thinking about your initial meeting.

kami tsurugi was sat in front of you, teary-eyed. she was working for hashima for only eight months and in that short time she had poured everything into her first official hero tech: the "aegis frame". it was a modular exoskeleton designed for pro-heroes to have over their suits. the gear was supposed to be revolutionary with its invisible neo-material plating, real-time villain detection, and intelligent life-support systems that could keep a hero functioning even after taking catastrophic damage.

kami had been the lead mechanical engineer.

“they praised me in every meeting,” she told you with her voice cracking. “they said having a quirkless designer lead a project proved the new ventures program worked. no one had thought of the tech on aegis frame before me,” her hands twisted nervously in her lap. “but then field tests started failing and suddenly it was all my fault.”

you had listened as she described the slow sabotage she endured from budget cuts to key safety redundancies quietly removed from her designs. the credit for the idea of the aegis frame went to her seniors who had quirks while she was left holding the blame for every malfunction. two pro-heroes, fatgum and real steel, had already been badly injured upon usage. real steel was still in critical care because the aegis frame’s shielding glitched under high quirk output, melting the material onto his steel body and fusing them together. you remember when you heard the news of this happening, and little was known of who had caused this to happen at hashima.

with this, they started to quietly try to bury her. they had offered a pitiful severance and a glowing reference if she signed an nda and disappeared. when she hesitated, they threatened to leak that she was the reason famed hero fatgum's agency received the faulty tech.

"i did the math, miss. i'm telling you, someone changed my blueprints and sent out the wrong tech on purpose. but i have no way to prove it," a tear rolls down her face as she looks down. "my family relies on my income. i don't know who to go to." she looked up at you again, this time, her eyes filled with sadness. "i saw what you did for that quirkless elementary teacher. i beg of you, please help me." your heart clenches tightly. you reach over the coffee table, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. "kami, we will make your voice heard. trust me."

you recall the way her shoulders trembled when she finally stood up to leave that day, the only thing left behind was her original work on a usb and some of her old notes. 

kami tsurugi was barely twenty four. you could tell she was a sharp-minded and soft-spoken young girl, the kind of person who still believed hard work could outweigh her quirkless status just like you do. watching her walk out of your office with that fragile hope in her eyes had made your promise feel grave. it was unfortunate you saw a lot of yourself in her.

now that promise sat soaked in your coffee.

yuma finally returned with the fresh copy, placing them gently on the corner of your desk. her eyes flick to the old coffee-stained ones, then to you deep in thought.

"everything okay?” she asks, concerned.

you nod tiredly. "yeah, it's okay. i just know this case is gonna be a long one. thank you." she lingers for a second longer, but when you don’t say anything else, she offers a small smile and quietly closes the door behind her.

eijirou kirishima was not by nature someone who acted "childish".

it was oftentimes that he simply couldn't be, given his friends were usually the ones to act immaturely while he just shook his head and moved on. denki kaminari and sero hanta had a tendency to assume the roles of thing one and thing two, dumb and dumber, whatever other comedic dynamic duo you could think of. mina ashido was mostly an instigator, she loved riling up anyone and everyone contradictory to her cutesy girl demeanor. and finally his best friend katsuki bakugou, better known as dynamight. his hotheaded temper was enough to last him an eon. 

he was okay being somewhat of the negotiator of the friend group. the one whos "got it together".

so admittedly, when he and his friends were at dinner and he complained for the billionth time about how his mystery girl hadn't sent him a reply back, katsuki lost it.

"can you shut the fuck up! oh my god, that's all you talk about these days," he barks out. mina swats the cranky hero upside the head, scolding him.

"stop being a dick!"

"i will pour my drink all over your hair if you hit me again."

"do you have a death wish?" she snarks out.

she chooses to ignore the seething pomerian and turns to face him. "kiri, listen. you did say she had the choice to not respond," she reasons with him sweetly, a sad smile on her face. 

he sighs with a whine. "i knoooow. i'm just so bummed out," he plays with a soggy fry, drowning it in ketchup. "i feel like she's probably such a cool girl," he sighs.

"or she could be a greasy old scammer fishing for emotional blackmail money." 

mina throws denki a glare as him and sero snicker amongst themselves. "you guys are being so mean! let kiri be a yearner," she yells at all of them, making the table hush. "okay but like, if she was real, wouldn't she want to reply back already?" sero points out.

the red head falls into his thought train again. well, yeah. if she was interested, she would have sent a letter. ideally he wouldn't have been so hung up about missing a shot with a girl, but he had a gut feeling about this for some reason.

"maybe she's just busy." everyone turns to bakugou, who was the last person any of them expected to weigh in on this rationally. "she said she was a lawyer. employed people aren't exactly playing fuckin' pen pals." 

mina bursts into a wide grin. "yeah! see?" she says triumphantly, waving a hand in his direction. "she’s probably swamped with work. a big girlboss lawyer that doesn’t check her mail every day."

kirishima’s face lights up a little at the support. “yeah, she alluded that she works with quirk discrimination cases and deals with heavy shit on the daily. i probably shouldn’t be whining about her not replying yet," he says, scratching the back of his neck. denki slurps his drink loudly. “i'm still stuck on the fact she ghosted you over snail mail. after you poured your manly, manly heart out,” he throws a hand on his forehead like a damsel in distress, sighing exaggeratedly.

“it wasn’t that dramatic,” kirishima blanches, cheeks tinting slightly red.

before anyone can tease him further, sero leans forward, suddenly more serious. “not to kill the vibe or anything, but how’s the agency been holding up, man? with fat gum and tetsutetsu both still out, you guys must be drowning.” 

kirishima’s expression fades a bit. “it's been rough,” he admits. “fat gum’s doing way better, but he’s still on leave for at least another month. tetsutetsu's in way worse shape though. they’re still trying to safely remove the fused pieces of that damn aegis frame from his arms and torso. the doctors said the material bonded weird with his quirk. he might be out for three or four months minimum.”

mina’s expression softens. “that’s so awful, kiri. i saw the news clips, it looked painful.”

“it sucked to be there and witness it,” kirishima says quietly. “the rest of us are picking up the slack. fat gum's having me lead all of his patrols and sitting in on agency meetings i used to never touch. don’t get me wrong , i’m happy to do it. but dude… it’s a lot. we were already short-staffed as it is, and the commission keeps pushing for more visible presence since the accident made headlines.”

bakugou grunts, arms crossed. “one shitty piece of gear and suddenly the whole agency’s crumbling.”

“yeah,” kirishima sighs. “we’ve been told to be extra cautious with any new support equipment for now. a lot of heroes are side-eyeing anything that came out of hashima recently, since aegis frame was their gear." mina perks up. "oh yeah, my agency sent out a message about gear too!"

denki whistles. “mystery girl's the least of your problems right now, pal.” kirishima lets out a snort, running a hand through his hair. “tell me about it.”

the conversation gradually lightens again as the group finishes their meals, the usual banter returning. after they pay the bill and file out of the restaurant into the cool evening air, mina gives him a big hug.

“try not to overwork yourself, okay? and if mystery girl writes back, you better text me asap!” she says with a wink.

“will do,” kirishima promises, smiling.

denki and sero say their goodbyes and head off together toward the train station. mina waves and disappears into her own car with a cheerful “night guys!”

that leaves him and bakugou, walking toward the parking lot where bakugou’s sleek black camaro is parked. since they both lived in kyomei building, they often carpooled after group hangouts.

the drive starts off quiet, the city lights flashing past as bakugou navigates the streets with one hand on the wheel. kirishima stares out the passenger window, watching the blur of buildings.

after a few minutes, bakugou breaks the silence, voice gruff as usual.

“you really fuck with this lawyer chick?”

kirishima glances over, a little surprised. bakugou rarely brought up conversations like this, and it was evident he was annoyed with all mentions of her from the beginning.

“i don't know,” he admits. “i guess it was interesting to hear about someone who sees the hard parts of the world.”

bakugou huffs. “don’t get your hopes too high. people are usually disappointing.”

kirishima chuckles softly. “yeah, maybe. but i’ve got a feeling about her.”

the car falls quiet again, the low vrring of the engine filling the space. kirishima leans his head back against the seat, exhaustion from the extra shifts finally settling into his bones. between the increased workload at the agency and the hope that mystery girl would write back, his mind felt unusually full these days.

bakugou didn’t say anything else for the rest of the short drive, but that was fine. for kirishima, his best friend’s silent presence was comforting enough.

when you returned back to your apartment and set down your bag on the kitchen nook, your eye catches on the opened cream letter that had been there since you got it. you wanted to walk past like you have been doing, but today the envelope seemed to glow under the warm light of your pendant lamp. 

you kicked off your black work heels, pouring yourself a glass of cold green tea instead of wine this time and finally sat down with it in hand at your desk. you knew the words by heart at this point.

dear mystery girl…

your thumb brushed over the peculiar handwriting. you wanted to giggle at the little faces at the end of his sentences. they reminded you of your doodles you used to do on your old letters in high school. it was disarming to say the least, the way you were equally curious about him.

you pulled out a blank sheet of stationery from your old collection and stared at the empty page for a long time, pen in hand.

what the hell do you even say to the man you accidentally trauma-dumped to?

with a sharp inhale, your fingers moved before your brain could talk you out of it.

kirishima nearly dropped his protein shake when he checked his mailbox that friday evening post-gym run. he knew the way your stationery looked given he's read your letter exactly forty-two times since he received it. his heart did a stupid flip as he took the elevator to his apartment. once he was inside, he tore the envelope open with way more enthusiasm (and care!) than a grown pro hero should have, and sat on his couch.

his grin was so wide it actually hurt his cheeks. he read the letter twice on the couch, then once more while standing in his kitchen cooking dinner, and then a fourth time while sprawled across his bed like a teenage girl. the stationery smelled faintly like daisies and something aromatic, maybe her perfume or just the scent of her apartment? he didn’t care. it was perfect.

“manly,” he muttered to himself after pumping a fist once and catching how ridiculous he looked. “real manly. okay, chill, eiji.”

he stood up, stretched his arms overhead until his shoulders popped and then sat down at the small desk in the corner of his living room. he uncapped a pen and started writing nearly immediately. 

did anyone feel the krbk moment there...

buy me a drink | masterlist | previous | next

reblogs are highly appreciated ♡

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peace luv bathtub!!!

all dividers by @cafekitsune, photos from pinterest and art by unknown, credits to og!

© sozila 2026, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other mediums or sites. cross-posted on ao3 and tumblr under same alias.

[riahpickle-blog]

Sooooo cutesy💕 10/10 @sozila girly can't wait for the next chapters💗

[riahpickle-blog]

Ok so I’m looking for a writer on here who made a Frat!Sukuna fic where the reader gets pregnant and when she tells him he’s not really supportive at first. I also remember nerd!Gojo being in it too 😭 I’ve been trying to find it everywhere and I can’t remember the writer’s name.

[rambld]

trueform sukuna decides to torture uraume using you | 18+

The moon hangs heavy over the palace, a silver blade slicing through the humid night. Emperor Sukuna wanders like a ghost through the vermillion corridors, his silk robes whispering against the polished floorboards. 

For a man of his hulking stature with four bulky arms, corded muscle packed into his body as if a strategist sculpted him for war, eyes like rubies, a gnarled mask upon one side of his face and more mouths than necessary, he moves with the delicate, soundless footfalls of the tiniest mouse.

Though his cunning, calculating nature is more akin to that of a sly cat slinking through these grounds undetected and hunting down said mouses to devour whole.

He had built this sanctuary—a gilded cage for the broken, a haven for the daughters of scorched earth and the wives of dead rivals. He asked only for their loyalty, a debt paid in silence and presence.

Murmurs that do not belong to the wind bring him to a halt near the Wisteria Pavilion. 

Shadows dance against a heavy cedar pillar. There, his most trusted advisor, the stoic and glacial Lord Uraume, is pinned by a woman.

The rosy-haired man's muscles bunch, energy thrumming quietly inside him as he readies himself to conjure it and slice down the attacker. A woman being an assassin is no surprise to him as they are far more intelligent and know how to bide their time unlike impulsive males. 

Has this one nullified Uraume's cursed technique? Did she render them powerless? That must be the reason as Uraume would waste no time taunting their foe like Sukuna does. They prefer a quick and clean finish. 

Squinting, the emperor vaguely recognises the woman. He must have seen her in passing. One he had rescued from a northern massacre. Her fingers are frantic and pawing, shedding Uraume's stiff brocade layers as if peeling fruit.

“You are asking for a beheading,” the ivory-haired advisor hisses, their voice a jagged edge of restraint. “If His Majesty finds out about your treachery, there is no mercy. I will not choose you, woman. I will stand at his right hand while you are cast to the wolves.”

The woman giggles as if in the presence of a jester—you, as Uraume whispers in warning—an unfazed, chiming sound of pure ignorance. Perhaps defiance. Something about it is intoxicating like warm, fruity wine sliding down one's throat but the melody leaves one parched and thirsty for more rather than satiated. 

A temptress then, Sukuna muses in his thoughts. 

“If the wolves are meant to feast on me, they will,” you purr, your glossy mouth crashing against theirs in a desperate, bruising kiss as you guide their hand beneath your paper thin robes that reveal your tantalizing silhouette in all its feminine glory when the moonlight bathes you just right.

Sukuna watches from the darkness, his expression unreadable. Rage does not simmer in his gut. Though, this does not surprise him. He may indulge now and then by bedding more than willing women but it's not something he's ravenous for. Desire does not control him, his lust has no hands to clutch the reins of his mind like animalistic men make it seem. 

Ryomen Sukuna is nothing if not a sovereign.

However—

As his scarlet gaze traces over the lines of your body, one that resembles the tapestries, artwork, poems and ballads of forest nymphs that he's heard of, his irises swirl with a gnawing, teeth-aching sweetness that he's come to know as curiosity. 

With his palace flourishing in terms of riches, women, food, flowers, wildlife and such, it's only natural that a beauty such as yourself has been hidden from him all this time. Perhaps you ensured you stepped into the dark corners as you clearly enjoyed slipping his notice. 

Poor you, your days of frolicking around and rolling in the sheets with his advisor are over now. Not that you know yet but he'll be delighted to inform you soon. 

Speaking of his advisor, Sukuna thought Uraume to be an ascetic, a person of paper and ink. To see them undone by the very mercy the Emperor had provided is a fascinating breach of the natural order.

Philandering, Sukuna is seemingly hypnotized by watching two silhouettes disappear into the pavillion only to reappear at the window in shadows lit by warm lanterns, bodies melting into one as the songs of lovers coupling spill into the night's air, chorused by nocturnal creatures chirping and the breeze rustling leaves. 

The last thing the Emperor sees before he tears his eyes away and departs is you hovering over Uraume as if he were your devotee and you his goddess with the reverence of one and the danger of a female preying mantis about to seduce her mate then eat him to feed her young.

Three days later, the air in the throne room is thick and stifling. The scent of sandalwood incense curls around the high pillars. Emperor Sukuna sits upon his elevated, lacquered throne, his robes of black and red spilling over the dais like a pool of fresh blood.

Before him, dozens of ministers and high-ranking officials remain pressed to the floor deep bows, their foreheads touching the cold tile. They are statues of subservience, forbidden from lifting their eyes.

Today's reason is vastly different from the norm. 

A breathtakingly beautiful woman is perched on His Majesty's lap.

Back pressed against his chest, your legs are parted wide over his powerful thighs. Your layered, silk robes have been discarded, leaving you in a thin, translucent chemise that clung to your damp skin. 

Large, warm hands are anchored firmly on your plush hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh as Sukuna shifts his weight. 

Below the dais, Lord Uraume stands rigid. Their eyes are fixed strictly on the scroll in their slightly twitching hands, though their face is a mask of pale marble.

“Continue, Uraume,” the Emperor drawls, his voice deep and smooth, betraying nothing of the throbbing between his thighs. “The reports on the drought in the southern provinces. I find the details are lacking.”

As Uraume starts to read, his voice cracking slightly, Sukuna grips your waist and gives a sharp, upward thrust. He's buried deep within you, stuffing you full and bulging in your belly yet he's still trying to sink further inside as if there's more room, the wet, slick noises of your union echoing through the silent, bowing court. 

Breathlessly, you gasp, your head falling back against the Emperor’s shoulder, your soft hands clutching at his lower forearms for stability as the upper pair of hands plucks and pinch at your aching nipples through your flimsy chemise.

A flat, wide tongue of sorts is soaking the back of your garment in globs of hot saliva and yet it pales in comparison to the slick coating your thighs in sopping dribbles.

“The irrigation channels are failing, Your Majesty,” Uraume informs, his eyes flickering for a fraction of a second toward the lazy roll of the Emperor’s hips that have your own bucking for more friction.

Despite the debauchery interrupting him, the advisor carries himself with grace and iron discipline. He does not look up unless the Emperor is talking. 

Behind him, the court remains paralyzed, hearing the groan of the Emperor’s heavy throne and the soft, breathless whimpers of the woman seated upon his lap, juices splashing against the silk of your under-robes filling the silence between.

Sukuna doesn't slow down as he hums in response, expression thoughtful as he inclines his head. He sets a sloppy yet punishing rhythm, his cock withdrawing until the fat tip nearly slips out of your fluttering pussy that's trying to cling to it before plunging back in with a heavy, visceral thud that forces a salacious sob from your wet throat. 

Leaning forward, you mewl at how his massive form crowds you, as hot as iron against your sweat-slicked back. Head dipping, his lips brush your ear as he whispers—loud enough for Uraume to hear—“Is this not what you craved? To see them splinter for you?”

Gaze cutting directly to his advisor over the your trembling shoulder that's donning the bruising indent of his teeth, he juts his chin. “Go on, Advisor. The civil unrest in the villages. Tell me how you propose to settle the bloodlust of men who have nothing left.”

Uraume's knuckles are white. They have to listen to the Emperor’s unbidden grunts and cusses, the filthy, squelching slap of skin on skin, and the high-pitched, desperate moans as you begin to unravel once again, about to worsen to the puddle of cum on the floor.

A thrill crawls down Sukuna's spine as it dawns upon him once more that you're being filled by the man Uraume serves, while your bleary, heavy-lidded gaze is on the one you had bedded in the shadows. His cock kicks as he watches Uraume's face—the vein pulsing in their forehead, the sweat dripping from their temple, hidden by their fringe. What he finds most amusing is the slight shifts in their stance which tells him that this is arousing his advisor and they despise it.

Tightening his hold on your hips with his upper arms, Sukuna plants his feet wide and hammers into you from below in earth-shattering thrusts that shake your cries and whimpers with the very force of his hips as your body jostles along, the jewellery you're adorning clinking and jingling in musical alarm. Manicured nails claw into his forearm in vermillion streaks, you grind down uncontrollably against his heavy, veiny cock.

“My, you're not bashful at all, are you?” Sukuna's words are a rumble of delight that has your lower belly dipping, arousal dripping down your thighs and messing his like sticky honey churning into cream with his precum.

He was utterly impressed earlier when he told you what he wanted you to do and while there was room for you to refuse, you cocked your nose in the air and held your head up high as you agreed. Something about you told him that you may have been a princess before this.

“Ah-ahhh-h, Your Majesty,” you breathe, brows knotting in an almost pained expression, plump lips spit-slick and agape on needy pants as your glazed over eyes peer down at the one of two cocks splitting you in half. 

The other is drenched in your prior orgasms, a pearl of precum beading at the slit as it jerks, standing to attention just minutes after it spilled inside you.

Sukuna's long, drawn-out groans and grunts descend into feral huffs and growls against your sensitive nape as his thrusts become shallow and frantic, hips snapping up into you erratically. One of his lower hands reaches down to spread your thighs further to ensure Uraume can see the pretty petals of your drooling cunt swallowing his cock in ravenous gurgles while his other finds your puffy clit, fingers rubbing circles against it with ruthless precision. 

Back bowing, your body arches, your pussy molding to his shape and clamping down on him as your orgasm crashes down on you in a violent wave. The prettiest cry falls from your mouth, the sound piercing the (barely) formal silence of the court.

Sukuna follows you shortly after, a low growl escaping his throat as he spills himself inside you again, ropes of pearlescent, syrupy cum painting your walls. The scent of your coupling is thick enough to choke the kneeling ministers.

Pants and gasps pour from you both as he slumps back against the throne, you boneless against him, heaving for air, while the court remains frozen in their bows, trembling now from having been in that position for so long.

“A sound strategy, Uraume,” Sukuna praises, face flushed and dewy with a blissed-out glow, his voice returning to its terrifyingly calm cadence as he wipes a bead of sweat from his brow. “Though I think you’ll find that when a man is truly hungry, he will take what he desires, regardless of the cost.”

To add insult to injury, he bands a thick arm across your neck, cupping the side of your face to push your damp cheek against his, your hair curling against your forehead as your hooded, drowsy find Uraume's. Cotton fills your ears, muting everything around you, only the rush of your blood, pound of your heart and your shallow breaths audible.

“I think I have found your future Empress,” he announces and it lands like he just declared war on one of his allies with how the entire court tenses. 

A sharp grin splits his cheeks as he glances down at his advisor, who is staring at the floor, reeling from the news. “You are dismissed. All of you. Leave me with my bride-to-be.”

he's such a dick sorry y'all

tags: @yailuxe @liahcharms @getopilleds @cttelina @mrswhitethornbelikov @shazzer29 @dadonprimma @vigumii @petalsmoons @sunabff @luoodle @wwasabiiiii @bruleecream @princesspeach0-0 @vm4879bb-blog @zenaskull @icebearcucumber @beaniesayshi @iluvgetosuguru @yoonsucks

[riahpickle-blog]

I was not expecting this 😭

[riahpickle-blog]

i’ve been seeing so many poison frog makeup looks on tiktok and now i can’t stop thinking about na’vi like that 🐸✨ Like I just think it would be cool if someone drew a na’vi with poison frog designs(I would if I could draw but sadly I can’t 🥲)

[riahpickle-blog]

Hello, sorry to bother you, I just saw what the anon was saying and I noticed that they aren’t really helping or giving info, just kinda being toxic and I’m sorry

All they said was ‘HE ISNT 15, YOU SUCK, YOU DONT KNOW ANYTHING’ rather than explaining

so if it helps, I’ve been hyperfixating a lot was hoping maybe if I tell you this it can calm my fixation aswell as help you since again they didn’t really do anything except for be toxic. here’s info that kinda disproves the common misconception in the fandom about Dek being 14-15. (Keep in mind, we have no confirmed age for Dek so most of this is speculation and trying to make sense of what we know. People are allowed to headcannon him or see him as 14-15, this is just why I think he isn’t, I’m also saying this not to be gross, just autistic and informative)

One of the main talking points I’ve seen is ‘he’s so small compared to everyone so he must be a minor’, this is quick disprove since it is canon and said/ shown many times in the film and prequel comic that Dek is a runt, meaning he is naturally smaller likely due to a nutritionally issue, anatomy issue or simply just genetics.

in fact him being a runt is the exact reason Njhorr (I think I spelled that right) hates him and wanted him killed, in Yautja culture, weakness of any form is cause worthy of Dek and Njhorr who values strength having a child that is naturally weaker (and his genetics being the cause potentially) is seen as a stain on his reputation

This is a smaller talking point but also connects to the first but people think he’s a minor is because of how he acts, his maturity and how he hunts but that is easy to debunk. Behavior and how he hunts is due to being outcasted, not having any true mentors to teach him to hunt or act aside from Kwei but from what we know Kwei is likely around his mid to late twenties which isn’t exactly a good mentor compared to a grown man.

Another reason people think Dek is a minor is on account of the fact that he is doing his ‘Chiva’ , which is a hunt that Yautja go on to gain the title of Yautja and officially be considered blooded and join clans officially (which basically means being a Adult in Yautja culture).I can see where people get confused by this and assume especially if they haven’t read the prequel comics for extra context

In the comic, Dek says Njhorr gave him a ‘task for a child’ and refuses to let him hunt. It becomes obvious that Njhorr has been rejecting Dek and rejecting his right to his Chiva, giving him meaningless missions instead and when he fails, he uses the failure to ‘prove he isn’t worthy of his title’. In the beginning on badlands when Njhorr appears, Kwei says ‘he deserves the right to hunt’.

It’s very likely that possibly for years, Dek has been denied the right to be ‘grown up’ thanks to his father disgust for him, which makes sense also why he would want to hunt the Kalisk, the stronger creature. As a way to finally prove himself and prove his father wrong.

I think finally what makes people think that Dek is a minor/teenager is because it was said once that Dek is ‘the youngest Yautja we’ve seen before’ which I understand but I don’t think exactly that can be used as a example of the claim of him being a minor. Most of the previous Yautja we’ve seen are elders or atleast seasoned so I don’t think it’s much contest. I think the only argument is Chopper, Celtic and Scar from AVP but also it’s likely that they could be the same age (but let’s also be honest, AVP follows very different lore and kinda messes with the canon since according to badlands, they need a hunt in general that is worthy but AVP says that you need to hunt Xenomorphs)

Overall with all of this, I don’t think Dek is around 13-15 like I’ve seen people say, I think he is more likely the Yautja equivalent to 19-21. Old enough to justify his growing resentment and frustration for being denied his chiva, explains his slight childish behavior and curiosity, why Njhorr could also justify why he isn’t ready to be blooded, explain his lack of experience and hunting techniques and overall it kinda makes sense for me

Again I’m so sorry for that person cussing you out and being toxic, they should’ve tried to understand your perspective and be helpful or atleast understanding rather than hostile.

It should be the job of the people in fandoms to be kind so we can have a community rather than scaring people away and making people not want to interact with the media.

Again I’m so sorry and I hope this helped and I hope you are having a good day and enjoyed my autistic ramblings

Hi, thank you so much for explaining it respectfully. I really appreciate you actually giving information instead of just being hostile about it.

That was genuinely all I was looking for clarification. I wasn’t trying to attack anyone or start anything, I just wanted to make sure I understood before engaging with certain content.

And I appreciate you taking the time to break it down kindly.

I’m also new to this fandom so I’m also trying to get an understanding of it all and I know how uncomfortable it feels to be sexualized when you’re young, so I’m just mindful about that.

I really appreciate you explaining things kindly instead of attacking me for asking.

(And you don’t have to apologize for your rambling❤️ I have that really bad also😭)

[riahpickle-blog]

“One writer writes Dek as a minor so I’m going to interrogate literally everyone else who clearly doesn’t despite still reading Dek smut myself, so I can get goodie points”

You’re insane, actually, and of course you put your business in the tags because all you people like is attention and for your echo chamber to nod like seals about it.

Blocked.

The way y’all twist “I wanted to confirm the character’s age before engaging with certain content” into some kind of interrogation campaign is wild.

I asked for clarification. That’s it. I didn’t attack writers, I didn’t accuse anyone, and I didn’t demand anything. I made sure I was comfortable with what I was reading.

And yes people should be aware. Some authors do write minors in inappropriate settings, and pretending that never happens doesn’t make it untrue. Being cautious about that isn’t performative, it’s responsible.

If verifying that a character isn’t a minor before consuming explicit content feels like a personal attack to you, that’s something you need to unpack.

Also, the irony of calling someone insane while hiding behind anonymous isn’t lost on me.

You said “blocked,” yet you’re still in my inbox.

Anyway I’ll continue to mind my boundaries. You can continue minding your business.

[riahpickle-blog]

Dek is NOT between the ages of 14-15 where do you all even GET this information and start spreading your neurosis onto innocent writers who don’t even think about him that way!!

Genuinely just because stuff like this is in your head for whatever reason and it makes YOU upset, it doesn’t mean you get to project your POCD onto others. If you’re reading Dek fics anyway but need a thousand disclaimers for your own peace of mind, consider the fact that you need professional help

First of all, relax.

I asked a question to make sure I wasn’t consuming inappropriate content about a minor. That’s called having boundaries and being responsible.

No one is “projecting” anything. Verifying a character’s age before reading certain content is normal. If that makes you uncomfortable, maybe sit with why.

Also, it’s interesting how bold some of you get when you can hide behind “anonymous.” If you felt that confident in what you said, your name would’ve been attached to it.

Throwing around mental health terms because someone asked for clarification is weird behavior. Be serious.

I’ll continue to double-check things for my own comfort. If that offends you, that’s not my problem.

And another reason I asked was because there are writers or 1 specifically that writes him as a minor in the most disgusting way. I’m not understanding why someone would want to write or read about a child performing those kind of acts.

[superhoeva]

just a reminder that:

the phrase "say her name" is to used honor and bring attention to the murders of black women by the police or the state.

and the phrase "rest in power" is used to honor and signify the work that a black person has participated in, as far as the fight for social and racial justice.

[coligraven]

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄

welcome to derry x reader | richard "dick" hallorann x black! fem! reader

dick had never met such a beautiful woman before... much less one with such a strong shine. little did he know, she would change the trajectory of his life forever.

OR

the story of how you and dick got together

cw - smut, 18+, fluff, angst, takes place in the 40s, age gap (reader is 21 and dick is 29 when they first meet), reader has an unnamed brother (dead), reader has the shine.

a/n - let me know if y'all want a part two.

Hawaii, 1946.

The moment Dick stepped foot on that Hawaiian airstrip, your presence hit him like a brick to the face.

Sharp.

Heavy.

Loud.

It came without warning, an ache-inducing force that screwed his eyes shut and made his head ring—if he was being honest, a brick would've hurt less.

Not malevolent, but idle and painful in the same way shrill feedback whined in a microphone, or nails scraped on a chalkboard.

It made him violently flinch—to the rightful confusion of the airmen around him—its weight pressing heavy on his chest and shoulders almost as if someone was sitting right on top of his neck.

Knowing that would've made sense of why a grown man suddenly slapping his hands over his ears mid-march.

"Ay, c'mon, man! Keep it movin'!" one of them grumbled, brows furrowed as Dick froze, the two roughly colliding and creating a pile-up in line.

A chorus of other sharp complaints erupted from further back—some more savory than others—while a few rough shoves made their way forward.

At the noise, the man in front of him turned around, his expression one of confusion before he surveyed the situation.

Soldier.

Ears covered.

Eyes distant.

Frozen.

It didn't take a rocket scientist, especially for a fellow man in the service.

"Hey! Take it easy, alright?" he defended, brows furrowed as he shot a sharp glare at the men behind, resting a careful hand on Dick's shoulder as he softly ushered him forward. "C'mon, brother, you gotta keep movin'."

Dick allowed himself to be led, his eyes and ears slowly but surely beginning to refocus as his body acclimated to the intense sensation.

It wasn't easy, but gradually he lowered his hands, breath faintly regulating as the shrill whine became just barely bearable, allowing him to resume walking on his own.

But although the weight was lightened, it was nowhere near gone, and, in fact, made his every step feel about twenty pounds heavier.

"You alright there?" the good Samaritan asked, his smile one of comfort. "We lost you for a minute."

Coming back to himself, Dick shook his head in apology, sliding a hand over his face.

"Y-Yeah," he croaked. "M'sorry, I just—"

"Hey, don't worry about it. My brother's the same way," the man sighed, tapping an understanding pat on his back. "We all got diff'rent things to deal with now that the war's over."

Turning, he held out his hand to shake.

"Fred Johnson."

Dick took it.

"Dick Hallorann."

But from then on, as hard as he tried to listen to Fred as he chatted away, Dick couldn't help but allow his mind to travel back to the impression made by whatever he had been hit with upon arrival.

Never in his entire life had he ever felt a Shine so strong.

It was potent, broad like a thick fog seeping its way into forbidden space, touching, reaching.

Feeling.

While getting accustomed to the sensation might not have been pleasant, it wasn't long before the sensation itself became partly soothing and even a bit satisfying.

A distinctly warm hum he had never felt, a silvery soft voice he had never heard.

And it followed him no matter where he went on base.

The hangar.

The barracks.

The canteen.

Hell, the goddamn bathroom.

Every time he ventured further inward, the thicker the "fog" seemed to become.

It got so bad that when he was called into the medical wing for a classified check-up, he physically struggled to make it down the hall, almost as if an invisible barrier was in the way, stretching in an attempt to keep him from stepping further.

Dick wrestled with it, teeth locked tight as he did everything in his power to press forward, even as his boots began to slide on the linoleum floor.

If anyone saw him like this—a negro airman hunched over, struggling to move in an empty hallway—he was sure they would ship him off to the nearest asylum.

But, by a stroke of luck, he managed to grab on to a door handle, using it as leverage to hoist himself up before yanking it wide open.

And the moment he did, it felt as if the bubble had popped.

In an instant, all the feedback in his head was gone—the noise, the buzz, the weight—a kaleidoscope of light and happiness blooming in its place.

In an instant, the world turned Technicolor, vibrancy and saturation previously invisible to the human eye now bursting from every inch of the room, drowning the room in pure and potent life.

The plants perked higher.

The sky glowed bluer.

The air became clearer.

As a whole, the world seemed better.

But Dick didn't notice.

How could he?

How could he notice anything else in the room, anything else in the world, when the most beautiful woman he had ever seen was sitting right in front of him?

With the sunlight from the window hitting just right?

With hair falling so perfectly?

With big eyes staring back at him like two glittering gemstones of brown garnet?

This must be what people felt like when they were about to die... or maybe when they've just come to life...

He honestly wasn't too sure.

And he honestly didn't care.

For the first time in a long time, he felt whole—really and truly whole.

So whole that he didn't even realize he'd been standing there and staring at you like an idiot for five minutes straight.

"Mr. Hallorann?"you called for the umpteenth time, praying that this would be the one to get his attention. "Mr. Hallorann."

At the angelic sound of your voice, he snapped himself out of it, eyes refocusing to really look at you.

Your face was faintly flushed, cheeks puffed and lips upturned awkwardly.

It wasn't every day you felt a man fall in love with you in real time.

"Mr. Hallorann, if you're ready, Dr. Corcoran will see you now."

Your curt statement instantly sobered Dick, forcing him to remember himself, and where he was.

"O-Oh, yes," he quickly cleared his throat, straightening up his posture. "Yes, I am. Thank you, ma'am."

Avoiding all eye contact, he speed walked toward the doctor's office, physically restraining himself from looking back at you as he proceeded with what he came for.

...

You weren't a stranger to the perks that came with being an empath.

As a child, you used it to suss out when your aunt was upset—when it was right to ask her for something, when it was time to keep quiet, when your brother had just gotten a beating.

As a woman, you used it to survey your surroundings—what men to stay away from, what officers had bad tempers, what the other women on base felt about you.

As a nurse, you used it to assist your work—finding what hurt where, understanding a patient's pain, knowing exactly what to say to make it all feel better.

Did you have much control over your power?

No, not as much as you'd like—every emotion had a different intensity, and every person felt things differently, making it impossible to blanket everything.

Were there times when you felt your power was more trouble than it was worth?

Yes, but that came with the territory of super-powered compassion—growing up during the Great Depression, you had gotten more than your fair share of whoopings for giving money to the homeless when you were already quite poor yourself.

Were there times when you wished you'd never been cursed with this power at all?

Absolutely, but you'd dealt with it all your life, what else could you possibly know?

And whether you liked it or not, it had given you a very useful leg up in the world, especially for a woman and even more so for a black women.

Though, it was times like these... times when Dick Hallorann entered the room... that you began to rue the day you'd been born.

You'd felt him before you saw him, your eyes still trained on the Moscow Mule you'd been nursing as his familiar, swirling apparatus of tensity nudged its way into the bar.

You'd sensed him when he first arrived, too—you were mid-flu shot, the sudden and surprising buzz in the back of your head nearly startling you into maiming a Private.

And even during your meeting in the medical wing—with great difficulty given his overwhelming flood of wonder and adoration—you sensed him, and knew quite instantly that he was just like you.

At first, you were over the moon.

You had never met a person like you before, and thus your first instinct was to introduce yourself, ask him about it, pry free all the little details.

But it wasn't long before the words of your brother began to echo in your mind.

"Listen to me, (n/n)... you can never ever never tell anybody about what you can do."

"Never? ...But why?"

"'Cause it's different, and people wouldn't understand... they'd call you crazy."

"But you understand."

"That's 'cause I'm your brother. I'm s'posed to understand. But people like Aunt Zola... they'd hurt you, or lock you up somewhere."

"I don't wanna be locked up!"

"I don't want you locked up either! S'why I'm gonna make sure we stay okay. I'll get some money, we'll move away, and be able to do whatever we want. I promise."

"Reaaally?"

"Go on, check if m'lyin'."

Your little eyes screwed shut, cheeks puffing and brows furrowing as you concentrated, a smile stretching across your lips as his sincerity bled through clear as day.

"See! I promise, (n/n), once I save up, we'll be gone. And we'll travel the world together... just you and me."

There was safety in silence, a protection in privacy.

Certain things would have to remain a mystery if you wanted to maintain your way of life.

"'Scuse me," a familiar voice asked. "This seat taken?"

Shit.

You didn't have to look up to know who it was... but you did—only he had that distinct emotional mixture of curiosity, fear, and attraction.

And sure enough, there stood Mr. Hallorann, dressed in a nice, button-down shirt, tie loosened just enough to free up his neck.

Judging by his expression, he seemed to be having a hard time being near you, face stuck between pain and faint comfort.

Regardless, you sighed, taking a sip of your drink, "I s'pose not," and nodded to the stool next to you.

He took it, plopping himself down and ordering a beer before turning to you, wincing and squinting as if he had just glared into the sun.

Jesus, it was a goddamn miracle you hadn't been sensed by every person in Oahu...

Unable to take it anymore, his gaze sharpened, training on your face—much to your severe confusion and discomfort.

"Don't panic," his voice suddenly echoed, though his mouth failed to move. "I'm not here to hurt you."

Instantly, your eyes went saucer wide, and you nearly spit out your drink mid-sip, body already positioned to sprint out the joint as you shot to your feet.

But before you could, Dick firmly grabbed your hand, fingers interlocking.

"Hey, hey, hey, easy... please listen to me.  I promise, I'm not here to hurt you... I just wanna talk."

You hesitated, eyes frantically flicking over his face, power going into overdrive as you searched for even the slightest hint of insincerity.

But you found none.

So you sat back down.

"What is this...?" you asked, warily, still unsure as to how you both were talking without talking. "Some kinda trick?"

"Mhm-mhm. No tricks... just Shining."

Even more confused, you cocked a brow.

"Shining?"

He nodded.

"S'what my grandma used to call it... talkin' without speakin', seein' without seein'... some people can do it... people like you and me."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about. Whaddya mean seein' without seein'?"

"This thing we got... when I was little, it let me see things."

"What kinda things?"

"Dead ones."

You shook your head, an uncomfortable smile settling on your face as you attempted to stand once again.

"See, sir, you must have me confused. I've never seen no dead nothin' in my life, so if you'll please excuse me—"

"(n/n), please... I—"

"(n/n)?"

You sharply cocked your head, eyes wide at his audacity.

Dick winced.

He fucked up.

"Now let's get one thing straight here, Mr. Hallorann, there is only one man in this world that can call me (n/n) and he has been gone for a long time. So you would do well to keep that name out your goddamn mouth.

"You're right. You're right, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend. It just slipped."

"Like I'm about to do right out this place. Now, let me go."

"Wait, please, jus' listen for a moment. M'tryin' to help you—"

"With all due respect, sir, the day I need your help, is the day I drop dead."

"You're gonna be dead if you don't stop for a minute and listen."

You scoffed aloud, calling the attention of the bartender.

"Are you threatening me?!"

"(y/n), you're makin' a scene..."

"I don't care if I'm puttin' on a whole damn play! Just who the hell do you think you are?! And how the hell do you know my name?!"

"I'm a man that's tryna keep you from sendin' yourself to an early grave! And if you'd take a deep breath and relax for two damn seconds, I'd tell you!"

"Who do you think you're yellin' at?!"

"Jesus, woman, will you listen?!"

CRACK!

Without warning, his beer bottle burst, shards of brown glass and frothy liquid exploding all over the bar.

You both flinched in perfect sync, Dick because a rather large chunk of bottle had lodged itself into his hand, you because you felt it happen to him.

"Oh, my God," you gasped, eyes wide as blood began to steadily flow from the meat of his palm. "Oh, my God, Mr. Hallorann, I-I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Swiftly, you took his hand in yours, snatching a handkerchief from your pocket and pressing it against the wound, positioning it around the piece of glass before turning to the barback.

"Sir, could we please get a first aid kit?"

"Right here, ma'am."

"N-Nah... s'okay," he winced, eyes squinting through the harsh and potent fluctuations of you washing over him, the pain in his hand paling in comparison to what you were inflicting on his mind.

It was really and truly a miracle no one had discovered you yet—he wouldn't be surprised if every island in Hawaii could sense you now.

The barback ducked under the counter and grabbed the first aid kit, plopping it on the counter.

And you got right to work.

Dick watched with awe and surprise as you patched him up as methodically as a well-oiled machine, removing the glass, disinfecting the wound—now that you had slowed the bleeding—dressing it with gauze.

You had even given him a few quick stitches with some topical anesthetic, finishing before he'd even knew you started.

"Jesus..." he marveled, staring down at his perfectly treated hand. "I ain't never seen someone get fixed up so fast."

His gaze flicked up to you.

"You Nurse Corps?"

With a faint smile, you shook your head, packing the supplies back into the kit.

"Wish I could've," you sighed, eyes falling. "Would've been good at it, too, what with my... abilities and all."

Confused, his brows furrowed.

"Whaddya mean?" he asked. "Seein' things? Dead things? That woulda helped you?"

A scoff left your lips before you could stop it, your body unable to stave off an eye roll.

"I told you, I don't see things," you reminded, pointedly. "This Shine, or whatever it is you call it... shows up different for me."

His eyes widened slightly.

"Different how?"

Wary, you looked around, before turning back to him.

"When I was little, this power it... it let me feel things. Things that I had no business feelin'."

"What things?"

You paused a moment, searching for an example.

"If I played outside with the other children, and one of 'em fell over and cut up their knee? My knee would hurt, too... or if someone was sad, I could look them right in the eyes and tell just how sad they were... and feel it just as they did."

You shook your head, letting out an empty chuckle.

"My Aunt Zola... who was an evil, evil woman... I could feel exactly how much she hated me, exactly how much she wanted me to wander out her door and never come back."

Dick's face fell, but you pressed on.

"I know it's not like seein' the dead... but as a little girl, it was scary in its own right. Imagine walkin' down the street bein' able to feel who was fixin' to hurt somebody. Feel the grief of a wife who'd just lost her husband. Feel the pain of a homeless man with a nasty case of frostbite."

Slowly, your shoulders sank.

"I was terrified. I didn't know how or why I could feel all these things, and it only got stronger the older I got. It was gettin' harder and harder to tell the difference between my feelin's and someone else's, and it wasn't long before I gave up goin' outside all together. To save myself the pain."

A faint smile graced your lips.

"'Til my brother realized what was goin' on. He wasn't like me, but when I explained what was happenin', he believed it. And despite not knowin' what to do, he somehow found a way to make it all better. Distracted me when the feelin' got too much."

Shutting the first aid kit, you glanced down at the bartop.

"And the moment he turned eighteen, he got us both up out of that old woman's house. Joined the Navy and got stationed all the way out here. Even landed me a job as a nurse on base. It was a change, for sure, given we were Jersey folk, but we had each other... 'Til... 'til that day."

Your gaze lifted to meet his, expression hollow, eyes distant.

"There was so much terror... so much fear... When Pearl Harbor was attacked, the whole island erupted in a pain I'd never felt before... a pain I could taste, a pain I could feel in my lungs... The burnin', the drownin', the bombin'... it was pure torture. A-And I couldn't take it... so-so I fell to pieces in the middle of a barrack. Crawled under a bed, curled up into a ball, and screamed for hours."

With a sigh, you twisted your drink.

"When they finally got me to come to... my brother was dead. I couldn't feel him anymore. The Harbor was destroyed and America was at war. And 'cause of my hysteria, I was barred from the Nurse Corps. Which was a blessing in disguise 'cause I can't even begin to imagine the hell I'd be put through dealin' with all them gunshot wounds... lost limbs... dyin' men..."

You chuckled humorlessly, eyes glassy as you looked down at yourself.

But Dick was quick to take your hand in his, touch feather-light and gentle as he held it firmly, forcing your attention toward him.

His expression was soft, a unique concoction of sincerity, sympathy, and understanding swirling around inside him.

"You're not alone," he stated, voice just as earnest as him. "If there's anybody that can understand what you been through... it's me. I know how scary this shit can be."

His face dropped slightly, warning.

"But I also know there are some people out there that are even scarier. And with all due respect, ma'am, you don't exactly make yourself hard to find."

Carefully, he rested his other hand over yours, which was still held tight in his palm.

"So, please... let me help you... just enough so you can hide yourself better. If you want nothin' to do wit' me after that, then I'm gone."

You paused a moment, eyes flicking over his face.

No lies.

No half-truths.

No ulterior motives.

Just honesty—with a rather strong hint of attraction.

No reason to say no.

With a soft grin, you rested your free hand over his, a faint burn singing your cheeks at his rather potent, internal reaction to your smile.

"(y/n) (n/n)," you introduced yourself, starting all over.

He perked up, unable to bite back his own smile as his eyes met yours.

"Dick Hallorann."

...

From then on, the two of you were inseparable.

Well... as inseparable as you could be while working on an army base.

At least once or twice a week he would stop by the infirmary when you were free—be it by some sorry excuse of a paper-cut or a sore throat—and give you lessons on how to better control your Shine.

How to block out certain things you didn't want to feel, certain things you didn't want to know about people.

How to conceal your metaphysical presence, keep from alerting everyone within a hundred mile radius where you were.

How to pinpoint and focus on certain individuals, rather than receiving everyone's emotions all at once.

You were a fast learner, and with every skill you mastered came less and less reason for him to come around.

But he still did.

Even more than before.

He'd sneak into the medical wing at the end of the day when you were cleaning, the two of you staying up at ungodly hours, talking, laughing, getting to know one another.

You'd see each other around the base, sharing stolen glances and secret smiles while he'd tell you a joke in your mind, just to hear your laugh as you passed by.

He'd bring you flowers and little things that reminded you of him, talk to you about things he had never told anyone before, not even his grandmother.

And on weekends, days when the base was quiet and the men were free to let loose, you both went out dancing, cutting a rug and having a ball at a local club with fellow colored airmen and their women.

In fact, it was at one of these clubs that the two of you shared your first kiss—he'd said you looked too pretty under the lights, and couldn't help himself; but when he tried to apologize, you grabbed him by the collar and kissed him back.

After that, it didn't take long before you both realized you were completely head over heels for one another.

You'd felt it from him since the day he first stumbled in, but he didn't need your Shine to know that you had fallen, too.

.

.

.

Hawaii, 1947.

"(y/n), baby..." Dick cleared his throat, swallowing thickly as the two of you started over a quaint, wooden bridge. "there's... there's somethin' I been meanin' to tell you."

It was illuminated by ten beautiful lamp-lights, their glow orange and hazy, painting the flora wrapped around the banisters and posts like a scene from a fairytale.

You turned to him with a smile, "Alright... what is it?"

As you looked up at him, your eyes sparkled in the starlight—all pretty and bright and doe-like—washing his body in another coat of nerves and filling him with the sudden urge to loosen his tie.

Jesus, how the hell was he going to get through this...

Sensing his unease, your smile fell, the two of you coming to a stop in the middle of the bridge.

Almost immediately, your Shine went to work.

Apprehension?

Worry?

Nervousness?

Dick was almost never nervous, and even if he was, what would he have to be nervous about right now?

Something was up.

"Hey," your brows furrowed, hand rising to cup his cheek. "what's the matter? Is everything alright?"

Instantly, he leaned into your touch, fingers softly clutching your wrist, holding you close.

He let out a shaky breath, as if steadying himself for something big while his gaze met yours, its usual warmth slightly dulled.

Your eyes widened slightly, a faint pang of fear striking your heart as they frantically flicked over his solemn face.

"Dick, you're scarin' me..."

"M'sorry... I don't meant to it's just that I..." he sighed, bracing for your reaction. "I been reassigned."

Your heart sank, all previous hints of joy now wiped clear off your face, "Reassigned... where?" 

"Detroit. I ship off tomorrow afternoon."

"Oh..."

All that happiness... all that bliss... gone as if it was never there.

He was leaving.

Just when you had found your love, your Dick... he was being taken away, and you had no say in the matter.

Glassy eyed, you turned away, lips rolling in an attempt to keep yourself together.

"I suppose I knew this day was coming... jus' didn't know when."

You could already see it.

Letters, frequent at first, before growing few and far between.

Memories, originally fresh and clear, slowly corroding away, crumbling and cracking under the weight of time.

Women, pretty ones, throwing themselves at him because—and let's be honest here—Dick was a handsome man, with a smile that could make any girl weak in the knees.

It wouldn't be long before you were tossed to the side, and eventually forgotten.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, there," Dick quickly caught, hands carefully cupping your face while his eyes met yours with a softness, honesty radiating from him. "Nobody's forgettin' nobody. That's not all of what I wanted to tell ya."

Your shoulders dropped, a deep groan of relief nearly slipping past your lips, "Oh."

"Jesus, baby, you think I could ever forget you?" his thumb slid over your cheek, almost offended by the notion.

His free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him while he leaned in, playfully meeting your lips in a kiss.

And another.

And another.

And another.

"Don't think that's even possible."

You laughed, relishing in it for a moment before resting your hands on his chest.

"Alright, then, what's all of what you wanted to say? Don't keep me in suspense."

Jesus...

It was the moment of truth.

No more stalling.

With a deep breath, Dick squared his shoulders, clearing his throat and readying himself for whatever was to come.

"When I first saw you, baby... it was like takin' my first breath," he started, tone smooth and steady. "My whole world came to a stop... knocked me on my ass 'fore I even knew what to do with myself."

He chuckled, letting out a playful scoff as he took your hand in his and rested it over his heart.

"You had me seein' colors I ain't never knew existed. Was like a glow was surroundin' you... like you were some kinda angel."

You keened under his gaze, cheeks burning as you bashfully turned away.

"You ripped the rug right out from under me. And from that moment on, I knew that you was the woman I was gonna spend the rest of my life lovin'."

Instantly, your eyes went wide, completely taken aback.

"I knew it the second I walked through that door. Hell, I know you knew it, too. I was gone. And after that night at the bar, I couldn't keep myself from runnin' to you."

Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against yours.

"Everything goes quiet when I'm with you, baby, all the noise, all the bullshit... and even when we're apart, I can still feel you with me... feel your touch in my chest. I don't think there's a corner of this world far enough I could go to escape. And I thank God for it every day 'cause I don't want to."

He grinned, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You make me weak, (y/n)... and I love you for it."

He clutched your hand tighter, pupils dilated and vulnerable as pressed a soft kiss into your knuckles before slowly dropping to a knee, his gaze not leaving you for a moment.

Your free hand flew to your mouth, muffling a gasp as he carefully pulled a gold band from his pocket.

"Baby, I love you more than I ever loved anything. There ain't no other woman on this earth I'd rather spend my life with... so I want you to be my wi—"

"Yes!" you blurted, completely jumping the gun and tackling him in a hug, nearly taking him to the ground as you tossed your arms around his neck.

Dick instantly moved to cradle you, allowing the wind to be knocked out of his chest as he attempted to keep both you and the ring in his grasp.

Without hesitation, you locked your lips with his, his face in your hands as you poured every ounce of passion you could into the kiss.

"Wait, baby... baby... baby, you 'sposed to let me ask the question!" he chuckled between breathes, fighting between fervently kissing you back and getting his words out.

"I knew what you was gonna say," you grinned, cheekily. "But I 'spose if you want me to stop so you can ask proper..."

"Hey, I ain't say all that, now," he smirked, pulling you right back in.

He captured your lips once again, smiling into you as your body went slack in his grasp, allowing him to slip the simple gold band on your ring finger.

Oh, but this was only the beginning...

...

The very next morning, you and Dick set your plan in motion.

Servicemen on deployment couldn't take anybody but their wives and their children with them, no exceptions.

Which meant if you wanted to come along with him to Detroit, you both would have to be married with the papers to show for it before 1300.

So, after all the nurses banded together to pretty you up in a nice white dress, and the airmen gave Dick a fresh haircut in his best Service Blues, the two of you marched right into the local courthouse.

And at first they gave you quite a hard time.

White courthouse.

Colored couple.

And a quite ridiculous ask to have all the paperwork processed in a few hours.

But after calling in a few favors and a lot of convincing—most of which thanks to Dick's Shine—the two of you were officially married, with Fred as your witness. 

 And an hour later... you were on a military-sanctioned flight to Detroit, everything you ever owned in your suitcase, with the last five years of your life growing distant behind you.

.

.

.

Detroit, 1947.

"What you think, baby?" Dick asked as he shoved his hands in his pockets, a knowing smirk curling on his lips. "I done good?"

"Done good?" you scoffed, ecstatic, unable to tamp down your beaming smile. "This is perfect! Oh, my God, it's beautiful!"

Your new place, rented from the military, was a sight to behold—at least for you, a woman who had only ever lived in army bases and overcrowded tenements all her life.

While others with more privileged backgrounds would've seen a house with worn-down porch steps—with chipped paint on the banisters, with shudders that were off-center—you saw a home.

A future.

A space with four walls and a roof for you and your husband to lay your heads.

Who wouldn't be happy about that?

"And wait 'til you see the inside," his arm snaked around your lower back. "C'mon, lemme show you."

Without warning, his other arm hooked under your knees, swiftly scooping you up bridal-style.

You squealed, quickly grabbing onto his neck as he began to trudge forward, "Dick! What on earth—!"

"When you get married, you gotta carry your wife into her new house. If ya don't, the marriage is doomed to fail," he defended with a cheeky grin. "You ain't never heard of that?" 

"Can't say that I have," you giggled.

"Well, indulge me. I'm not takin' any chances."

Playfully, you rolled your eyes, tightening  your hold and allowing your husband to march up the porch steps, over the threshold, and into your new living room. 

That sweet sentence did something to you.

At his commitment, you felt a buttery, warm arousal sink into your gut, making your stomach flip and awakening something deep and low within your core.

"S'a little flat," Dick admitted as he looked around, eyes flicking from the military standard issue furniture to the rather bland color of the walls. "But I think a few pictures an' some flowers could spruce it up real nice."

You smiled as your eyes fell on Dick's Adam's Apple, watching as it bobbed in his throat while he talked, zeroing in on his neck an imagining your lipstick coating it in kisses.

Then they caught on something else.

The matching gold band wrapped around his ring finger.

A reminder of what you had now, of who you were now.

Dick's wife. His bride. His woman.

Without a word, you cupped his cheek, turning him to face you.

Confused, he offered you a questionable stare, worry creeping into his dark brown eyes.

But before he could even ask, you closed the gap, giving in to your arousal and the intoxicating scent of his cologne as you pressed your lips against his.

Dick hummed at the contact, pleasantly surprised.

He kissed you back, lowering your feet to the ground and pressing himself against you in an attempt to get closer—and improve his angle.

You sighed into him in satisfaction and approval as he wrapped his strong arms around your waist, his lips soft and warm, drawing you in with every passing second.

God, how you loved his lips... and his body...

Your hands indulged him, cascading down his toned forearms and feeling up his chest.

"Mmm," he moaned into the kiss, pulling away.

His body was vibrating with pure playfulness and admiration, if your Shine was anything to go off of.

"What's gotten into you tonight?" he chuckled. "Not that I'm complainin'."

You giggled at his dopey, pleased smirk.

Any excuse to touch you was excuse enough for him.

You shook your head, praying that he saw the need in your eyes.

"You... if I have anythin' to say about it," you answered, coyly.

As soon as the words were out, Dick's pupils dilated and the air grew thick with tension.

His hands left your waist to slide down your ass, grabbing it—much to your enjoyment.

"Is that so?" he teasingly asked, smiling at the way your breath hitched when he yanked you into him.

You loved it when he got all aggressive.

"Well, then..."

He leaned down to sweep your lips up in a kiss as heated and deep as the last one, inviting your lips and tongue to explore his.

His strong hands squeezed your ass again, massaging the soft globes over your dress, making you weak in the knees.

Thank God he was holding you up because you would've been a puddle on the floor with how jelly-like your knees began to feel.

You'd been kissing and touching this man for a little over a year, and yet every time you still melted like it was your first.

You loved him.

You adored him.

You wanted and needed him more than you needed air.

"Dick?" you softly whispered, pulling away from the kiss.

"Mmm-hmm," he hummed in acknowledgement, his lips moving to your neck.

You moaned at the contact, tossing your head back and letting yourself smile as pleasure rippled across your skin.

"You wanna know somethin'?" you asked, fingers lacing in his thick hair.

"What is it, baby?" he questioned, not missing a beat as he kissed down your throat, nuzzling his nose into your neck to breathe in your perfume.

You placed your hands on either side of his handsome face to gently pull him away, bringing him to a stop with hooded eyes and parted lips.

"We're married," you whispered, unable to stop the excitement and joy from pooling in your voice.

You watched Dick's eyes widened slightly, as if the realization just hit him, too—though, in actuality, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about it since the two of you left the courthouse.

His dark lips curled into a smile, flashing you his pearly whites.

"We are," he replied. "I'm your husband."

"And I'm your wife," you added, thumbs stroking his cheeks. "And do you know what your wife wants you to do tonight?"

Your husband's brown eyes darkened, reminding you of the richest Swiss chocolate.

"What does my wife want, baby?" he asked, his voice growing lower and more hushed.

He pressed his lips into one of your hands, kissing the inside of your palm.

The fire inside you flared hotter and brighter, desperate to be snuffed by him.

"I want you to take me... I want you to make me yours."

You pressed a soft yet needy kiss to his lips, gently sucking on his bottom lip and drawing a groan out of him.

"That's what I want," you softly sighed. "Will you please give it to me?"

It was an innate need.

A dull ache grown in your throbbing core that could only be soothed by your husband.

You needed him and him alone.

And you needed to be his.

At first, Dick could hardly believe the words, blinking in shock.

But that shock quickly vanished once he realized you were serious, leaving behind the hot, sizzling stare of arousal.

He chuckled, drawing his thumb over your bottom lip.

"Oh, you're gonna get it."

Suddenly, you were lifted off the ground and tossed over his shoulder, his feet already making their way toward the stairs.

"Ain't said nothin' but a word."

SMACK!

"Oh!" the word escaped you uncontrollably as Dick's big hand came down onto your ass.

The sharp strike made your pussy jump excitedly, especially when the skin began to sting.

When he charged into your shared bedroom, he slammed the door shut with his foot, not even sparing a glance back as he put you down and captured your lips once again, the two of you colliding in a flurry of teeth and tongue and hastily discarded clothes.

Eventually, the back of your legs hit the bed, sending you both crashing on top of it, but even with the interruption, it wasn't long before the two of your were as naked as the day you were born.

He sat up on his knees, giving you a front-row seat to the beauty between his thighs.

His pants and his briefs were gone, long kicked off, along with his shoes and his shirt, revealing his gorgeous body and dark happy trail.

You reached out to touch him, feel him, hold him, and he let you, relishing in the feeling of your warm hands on his skin, smirking at your whimpers.

"M'all yours, baby," he cooed, leaning down to position himself right in front of your core. "And this... is all mine."

Jesus Christ...

Before you knew it, Dick had his face in your pussy, his big hands grasping your thighs to pry them apart.

He licked and lapped at you like you were his last meal, his tongue quick yet precise, seeming to nail the perfect spot every time.

"Oh, God, yes!" you moaned, your voice reaching full volume as you writhed your hips against his magical mouth, his nose nudging against your clit. "God, yes, Dick, oh! You're so good!"

The brown-eyed stud stared at you intensely from his spot at the V of your legs, sucking gently.

With a wet pop, he pulled away, pride rolling off him in potent waves.

"Yeah? Your man makin' you feel good?" 

You frantically nodded, whining for more.

"Tell me all about it, baby," he pressed a hot kiss against your inner thigh. "Lemme know how good."

And he dove right back in, his tongue licking along your slit before dipping into your wet hole as his nose swiped against your clit like a credit card, pushing you past the point of ecstasy.

The sounds that escaped him were sloppy and juicy, his wet merging with your even wetter pussy.

It didn't take long for your orgasm to crest, making you feel like a balloon filled with too much air.

"D-Dick, I think I'm gonna... think I'm gonna cum!" you warned, your words laced with moans and gasps. 

He moaned right back into your pussy, still eating away.

"Mmm-hmm," he encouraged, desperate to make you feel good. "Cum. Cum for me, baby."

Overtaken by his voice and his touch, you let your orgasm wash over you, drawing moans that would embarrass any woman were she not drunk on her husband's tongue.

The shivers that took hold of your body were intense, making you thrash and buck against Dick's mouth as he cleaned you up.

But you couldn't focus on them for long.

Not when your husband was standing between your legs and looking down at you like that, eyes hooded and lips shining in your juices.

"I need to fuck you, baby," he said, voice hushed and low.

He cupped your face in a single hand, softly running his thumb over your cheek.

"Yes," you whispered, the word having just as much conviction as when you said I do. "I need you, Dick... please."

Dick visibly shivered, as if something had taken over him at your response.

And after giving you a deep and passionate kiss, he wrapped his hand around his cock and fed it into your pussy, inch by inch, taking it slow.

You gasped, eyes growing wide at the stretch of his length.

You had never taken him before, the sensation a bit more intense than you anticipated.

Without a condom, you could feel all of him—every vein, ridge, and soft patch of skin stretched around his shaft.

Dick's face was as beautiful as the starry night in the nearby window, his expression twisted in pleasure as he rocked his hips into you.

"God, baby, you feel so good," he groaned, bottom lips catching between his teeth. "N-Need... ah, fuck! Been needin' you like this for so long."

"M-Me, too!" you gasped, grasping his shoulders for dear life as his hips bumped into you, sending tendrils of pleasure into your clit. "God, give it to me, baby, please!"

A groan of lost restraint escaped Dick as he bent down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss as he rocked a little faster, a little deeper, filling you with more of his cock every passing second.

He fucked you into the mattress, perching your leg on his shoulder so he could settle even deeper, nearly mounting.

Oh, he gave it all to you.

He gave it to you all night, as much as you wanted.

As much as you could take.

He flipped you over and fucked you from the back, his thrusts rough and manic, his hands gripping your ass so tight you were sure it would leave bruises.

He fucked you up against a wall, your body flush against his, trapped between the two as he babbled about how "fuckin' good" your pussy was and "oh, fuck yes, yes" as he slammed balls deep into you.

He fucked you on the floor, your body bouncing on top of him as his hips thrusted up to meet yours, his hands grasping and massaging your tits as his thick cock sank into your wet folds and velvety walls again and again.

Each thrust was agonizing, taking you to a place of euphoria so intense it was almost painful.

"Ah, ah, oh, fuck! Yes! Yes!"

You couldn't muster any words longer than that.

"Fuck, look at you, baby," Dick grunted, staring up at you as you took his big cock. "Lookin' so goddamn beautiful... so perfect... think I'm 'bout to burst..."

Sure, he had gone completely insane, utterly drunk on you and fucking like he'd never be able to again.

But what was robbing your ability to speak was the all-encompassing, overwhelming overflow of love exuding from his every pore.

It oozed everywhere, flooding your every sense and drowning you in nothing but his potent and powerful devotion.

You couldn't even block it out, the love so supreme and possessed that it was overloading your Shine, bringing you to tears.

"Y-You... love me!" you cried, hot tears rolling down your cheeks as your voice reached above the loud bed-springs and his rigorous fucking. "God, Dick... you love me so much!"

Instantly, Dick flipped you over, laying you on your back and sinking deeper.

"You feel me, baby?" he smiled in your ear. "Tell me how much you feel me. Tell me how much I love my wife."

It was so hard to do while the man was knocking your brains out your skull, but you found the willpower to do it anyway.

"So much!" you sobbed, overcome with the intensity and emotion as he wrapped his arms around you, locking you against him. "I love you so much, Dick! Need you s'much!"

"Yeah?" he teasingly asked, pressing a wet kiss into your collarbone. "Y'need me, baby girl? Y'love me?"

He adjusted his grip on you again, damn near folding you in half.

"Get ready, baby, 'cause you 'bouta get it all..."

You thought you were getting fucked before?

He shifted into a entirely different being as he rutted into you like a machine, hips pistoning, cock throbbing, pulsing, until finally, finally...

"Oh, fuck!" he bellowed, his voice ricocheting off the walls of your bedroom as he filled you to the brim with all of him.

You gasped as his spunk filled you, spilling into your pussy, bringing with it a warm, gushing sensation that triggered your own orgasm.

"Shit!" he groaned, encouraging you with his quick thrusts. "Cum with me, baby! Fuckin' give it to me!"

You had no choice but to.

With your eyes in the back of your head and your legs in the air, you came all over him.

His thrusts slowed to deep rocks of his hips as he fucked his cum into you, making sure none of it spilled until it was ready to pull out.

Spent.

Filled.

Probably knocked up.

All things you realized you were as you laid on the bed, weakly mewling as Dick continued to stroke.

When he was finally done, he slowly pulled out, moaning with you at the loss of contact and your pussy gushed your mixed release.

"Don't move, baby," he cooed. "Lemme clean you up."

Mustering some strength, he got up and strode into the bathroom, grabbing a damp washcloth before returning to wipe up the mess you both made, paying close attention to your puffy lips and clit.

When he finally finished, he gently moved himself under your exhausted form and laid down with you on his chest, the both of you sweaty and beat but absolutely satisfied.

You rested a hand over his heart, the hand that housed your wedding band, the simple gold almost glowing in the moonlight.

Moonlight shined in the brown eyes that stared down at you in utter adoration, holding promises of endless love and so much more.

"I love you, baby," he murmured into your hair, pressing a soft and sincere kiss on the top of your head as his arms snaked tightly and protectively around you.

You smiled, pressing a kiss on his chest before resting your hand on top of it.

"I love you, too, honey."

.

.

.

[riahpickle-blog]

When I tell you I read this almost every night. Like I just can’t get enough of this man 😭

[vyesky]

Being mates with Wukula

From Frontiers of Pandora: From the ashes.

Notes: from reading @mushupork4u fic on Wukula, I felt motivated to write on Wukula.

Wukula is a stone-hard Na’vi to bypass through. A fanatic and a staunch follower of Varang, he will never be talked out of his ideals nor is he easy to reason with. His verdict is the one that stands. For those who do not kneel, they are finished.

If he was to be with someone, they need to share his ideals, agree with him and follow on his lead. At the top is following Varang with absolute loyalty and devotion.

He won’t give up standing at the headlines, leading the warband. He expects you to stand by his side, as his clan member and mate. No matter what, you stand beside him, as a Mangkwan warrior, a devoted mate, a Na’vi who burns in defiance at Eywa, like it is your purpose.

When hunting down his archenemies, So’lek, he repeats the same thing to you as he does to the others: So’lek will die by his blades. No question about it. If you spar with the Dogtag warrior and end up the one sprawled onto the ground, Wukula gives you mainly: “You knew it was his fate to die by my blades.”

He does not do PDA, acting as an advocate against it. He does not allow weakness in any form or in anyone, other than to prey on it himself.

As he states that his own sister Zari was always strange, lacking his discipline, he would value discipline instilled in his mate.

In private, more so in the covers of the yurt, he will indulge you in simple conversations, his hands occupied by his weaponry or eating.

From time to time he would tease you, have a prod at you. React offended, irritated or deadpanned, he will grant you a little but visible smirk. It is like the occasional treat that he indulges in.

Sparring is one of the times he shares with you. To fight with his own mate, it is given that he won’t kill you. But he won’t let you win, and if he does, he lords over you, reminding himself that he stands as Varang’s most proficient warriors.

What might count as his ‘love language,’ or anything that could mimic this is close proximity towards you. Hold your chin up, looking deeply into your eyes are other actions. At some occasions he does gift you things such as a trinket he took from a raid, Na’vi skulls, though not as much as he gives Varang.

Where he calls the Mangkwan war and as his brothers and sisters, you stand out as he refers you as his mate.

If you were to be compared to his sister Zari, Wukula would have more respect for you than he has for his own sister.

Keeping true to his fatalistic beliefs, Wukula will urge you to endure through more pain, putting it as what does not kill you makes you stronger. He is not one to give reassurance easily, rather harshly tell you to stand up and continuing to fight, as you wear the scars and paint of the Mangkwan.

He does not seek your counsel, but he can listen to suggestions or plans you have. Then it is up to him to decide, always him at the dominant position.

In some ways he likes it when you stand your ground as you protest. Unless it’s the polar opposite to his beliefs, you are in the clear. Meanwhile Wukula would smirk, chuff, retort at you. To him, it goes to show that you’re not a submissive Na’vi like those the Mangkwan despise. At the same time he can banter with you, he does not allow you to undermine him. He has his limits and everyone knows when not to test him.

[riahpickle-blog]

Now this right here is chef’s kiss 💋

[chasesgirlie]

guys, what is going on with the reader insert tag on AO3, where most of the stories aren’t reader insert at all and don’t even include the reader?

It feels like I’m searching the OC tag instead

[wispmemt]

i genuinely hate x readers with older characters where the reader always acts immature and childish girl give me my old couple 40 years of marriage knowjng everything about one another kisses on the forehead enjoying each other's silence and company, having eachothers habits etched into your being to the point of even twirling your hair like your lover, being so devoted to eachother for so long that the borders of appeasing anyone else romantically by being masculine or feminine enough become arbitrary and useless

[umbransister]

When a fanfic has good writing, 10k words a chapter, slowburn and an author who is active

[beardedmrbean]

[theman]

I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF

[tattooedzombigirl]

This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.

[beezelblub]

Bless me with thy potato luck my lord

[fishfooddude]

ALWAYS REBLOG THE POTATO

[yourmum8609]

will die on this hill. the dad best friend fanfics that go into detail about how they have known you since your were 4 are disgusting and borderline disturbing. like your talking about having sex with a girl you literally watched grow up. ew. it’s creepy. like… no.