#mild fluff

"i-i'm s-sorry...n-no more please no more no more!", you grip onto the sheets below you as toji's heavy hand falls on your backside.

"i said not a word, did i not? and are you keeping count?" he said, the words coming out with such an unusual calmness for the zenin, they scared you more than any amount of yelling could.

“y-yes, sir..." you lied, your vision blurred by tears. you lost track after the fourth strike, your mind too clouded by the stinging heat to focus.

“how many have you gotten?" “twenty," you whisper, praying for mercy. a deep, dark chuckle vibrated from beside him. “Twelve, y/n, he’s hit you twelve times," Sukuna corrected, his voice dripping with amused malice. Your heart sank. You hadn't just lost count; you had lied.you hear a sigh, toji, this time, before you feel him pull you off his lap and lay you face-down on the bed. you can feel both sukuna and him getting up and hear their footsteps leave the room.

was this finally over? you wished it was over, toji spanked hard and you couldn't bear any more. you desperately wanted to reach over and rub your ass but you wouldn't dare, not with the threat of more punishment looming in the air.

you could hear them entering the room again, and you inwardly hope it's lotion and a forgiveness that they're returning with. sure, you stayed up way past your curfew and danced a little with your friends...and wore a lacy bra that peeked out of your tiny tube dress...and drank till you threw up...but it wasn't that bad, right? all forgivable...right? a pair of hands lifted your head slightly, undoing the knots of your blindfold and you relax, happy for the punishment to be over. however, the sight of toji standing there with a paddle quickly dissolved those hopes at once.

you were over sukuna's lap this time. "k-kuna- p-please-", he cut you off with a tut, although it didn't sound as amused as it usually does, "it's sir to you right now, brat.". you sniffled, tears filling up your eyes as the fear of the continued punishment plagued your mind. before you could overthink this further, toji spoke.

"he's going to give you twenty five with his hand, fifteen with a hairbrush. and then i'll be giving you ten with the paddle.", he paused, before continuing, "you don't need to count, but if you move, we start again." your breath hitched in your throat, that was fifty spanks in total, and forty from sukuna...that was going to be hell. toji hit hard, sure, but he paused and rubbed you in between hits, especially if you were crying. but sukuna...sukuna was merciless, he didn't pause or stop until the counts were over.

"do you remember your safe word?" toji asked, his voice was a little softer this time. "y-yes sir...p-pink." "good, we can start then.". the second sukuna slapped your ass, you let out a yelp, you knew you weren't gonna be able to make it through the hits. he hit so sharply, you flinched the second his hand made contact with your skin, which was already forming a hand print.

"that doesn't count since you moved. looks like i'm gonna have to start again, brat.", sukuna said, as he locked his legs over yours, keeping you in place. the next ten hits were pure misery. you were a sobbing mess, the sheets soaked with your tears as he continuously hit the same spot over and over again.

"please please please n-no more no more- i-i c-can't-" you hiccuped, squirming below his hold as he landed a harder hit. "don't move, y'n.", toji said from where he stood near the doorframe, ignoring your request completely. by the end of forty hits, your ass was purplish-red and you were bawling, gripping the sheets till your knuckles were white. you hoped for a break, at the very least, but knowing sukuna, you weren't going to get it. nonetheless, he paused for a few seconds as toji passed him the brush from your dresser.

he started with the hits again, and this time, you really really couldn't bear it anymore. you were clawing at the sheets and continuously sobbing as the intensity of the hits increased on your sore skin. stupidly, you reached a hand to your back, trying to protect yourself from the next hit, but the hairbrush hit your wrist instead.

that really hurt a lot more than it did on your ass. sukuna paused, seeing the red stripe form across your wrist before he smacked it again, much lighter and with his hand this time, moving it back to where it was supposed to be. "don't fucking pull this shit again, this punishment is meant to discipline you, not fucking injure you. you could've broken your fucking wrist, brat.", sukuna seethed as he landed a particularly hard hit across the welts forming on your ass. you really really couldn't handle this pain anymore, it was getting dizzying and his pace wouldn't let up.

finally, after the fifteen hits were over, you felt a cool finger trace the curve of your ass. sukuna lifted you off his lap, with surprising gentleness as toji picked up the paddle. you were terrified. you'd only been hit with the paddle once before, and it had ended with you using your safe word. wait...what was the safe word? you really couldn't remember it right now. while you tried to remember, toji put you into position, bent over the edge of the bed with your hands in front of you.

the first hit made your knees buckle and give out beneath you, but sukuna's arm reached out, wrapping around your waist to put you back into position as toji got ready to strike again. you were hyperventilating now. you couldn't think straight, you couldn't remember your safe word and you felt like you were going to pass out from this unbearable pain. as the paddle hit your skin once again, you screamed, knees giving out once again and this time you made no effort to get back into position even as sukuna tried to stabilise you with his hand. "p-please no m-more i c-can't please i'm s-sorry...i'm sorry--," you were choking on your own words now, struggling to breath as you broke into a fit of coughs. toji could sense that something was wrong.

something was really really wrong. he knelt in front of you as you kept on crying, "y/n, do you need to say your safe word? do you wanna say pink?". you nodded desperately, as you choked out a pitiful 'pink', and before you knew it, the paddle was gone and both of them were on the bed with you as toji pulled you into his lap.

"shh, sweetheart, we're so sorry, we should've realised earlier. you were such a good little girl, took it like a champ. we're s'proud of ya, ma, ain't we kuna?" toji lulled, cradling you in his arms. "hmm, yeah." sukuna said dully, he could sense that there was something deeply wrong and just words would not pull you out of whatever state you'd got yourself into. he realised the upcoming panic attack as you clawed at your skin.

gently, grabbing you from toji, he brushed your sticky hair out of your face, making you look straight into his red orbs. "who am i?", "s-s-ukuna," you hiccuped, "where are you?", "h-home," "what are five things you can see?" "u-um y-you, t-toji, t-the bedsheets, the d-door a-and the dresser.". "good girl, take a deep breath for me,", he took in an exaggerated breath, trying to get you to follow his breathing pattern as toji padded out of the room.

you finally calmed down and as your sniffles quieted down, you crawled into sukuna's arms. “Alright, alright, you did well, i'm sorry for hurting you, little bird.". he rocked you back and forth as toji returned with salve and some cotton. "can i have a look at your wrist, sweet girl? toji murmured, settling down beside you and softly catching your hand in his own. "that's quite a nasty gash you've got there, sweets, gonna have to be more careful next time, ya?"

you nod, sniffling at the sting of the alcohol as you felt sukuna tighten his hold on you slightly. he was being so so so careful with you right now, such a stark contrast to how he'd been mere minutes ago. you could feel your heart clench inside your chest.

toji flips you onto your tummy, and begins to apply the salve, the sharp, biting sting of the liquid hitting your sensitized, overheated skin makes you let out a fractured, high pitched whimper. The sensation is searing, a cold fire that makes your muscles seize in an instinctive attempt to escape the discomfort. your hips jerk involuntarily, and your hands claw weakly at the sheets as you try to squirm away from the source of the stinging pain. “ngh… ji, please... it stings!" you gasp, your voice trembling with a mixture of residual tears and the fresh, sharp ache blooming across your backside.

the movement is frantic, a desperate physical reaction to the way the medicine bites into your bruised flesh.sukuna, feeling the sudden, violent tension in your body, immediately reacts to your distress. he shifts his weight, his powerful thighs framing you as he pulls you even more securely against him. his grip is unyielding but lacks any of the previous aggression; instead, it is a firm, stabilizing force designed to keep you from lurching too wildly and potentially hurting yourself further. “shh, stay still, brat,” he murmurs, his voice a low, velvety vibration that you can feel deep in your own bones. “let him work. it will pass, just a moment longer."

a few minutes stretch by, and finally, finally, you feel yourself beng lifted into a seating position and being crushed against sukuna's chest. he taps a finger to your mouth, and you open, sucking on his thumb like a little baby.

Don’t get me wrong I still love our Zanka but sometimes you just need some angst.

Warning: critical injury and general angst be cautious plz :)

Not beta read

You know exactly how you got into this position.

You had been out with Zanka minding your own business when one of his old “friends”, as he called himself, approached. This was your fault you instigated this. Not that you did it on purpose it just happened, you egged people on. Now suddenly you and Zanka were fighting this insane Jabber guy, Zanka was less than pleased with you at the moment to say the least.

“THIS GUY IS INSANE” you yell to Zanka across the room laughing like an idiot. He probably heard you but was either too locked in on following Jabbers movements to respond or ignoring you. Zanka already didn’t like the fact that you were here fighting Jabber with him but also that you just weren’t taking it seriously, you never take fighting seriously and he hated it. He was a raider after all why not fight?

Fighting him had been hard but nothing you couldn’t seem to handle with yours and Zankas jinkis? What was he so upset about? You were having the time of your life fighting this guy and he seemed to be the same way, field day for the two of you really. Zanka was not as pleased with the fight, working harder than you’ve ever seen him do, why?

Now you get it.. Right now Jabber was in an unconscious state fighting the two of you with an unmatched bloodthirst, it wasn’t like anything you had ever seen. Just moments ago Jabber sunk his toxic claws into his own skin like some kind of freak, and now he’s doing everything with no restraint. ‘This is fine we just have to work a little harder right?’ You thought.

You look over at Zanka and laugh as if this is all some sort of joke. Don’t you get it?? This guy is crazy why aren’t you trying harder to protect yourself, it’s pissing him off, especially now. You’re already scratched and banged up pretty bad with seemingly no regard for your own health.

Then it happens the moment he fears the most.. Jabber lands a critical hit across your torso, deep gash seeping blood through your clothes. Zanka, filled with a newfound energy fueled by anger finally landed a blow to jabber that fully knocked him out with his assistaff.

Finally able to focus on you he ran over and immediately tried to stop your bleeding, you couldn’t move and you were loosing too much blood for him to stop. You looked into his eyes with a smile on your face. Tears well up in his eyes while he works to take care of you, realizing there isn’t much he can do. He reaches his wrist up calling Enjin on his choker voice cracking as he told him to send medical over to you. He tried to keep his composure as he saw you loosing consciousness, the light leaving your eyes.

“..I love you so much Zanka, if I die th-”

“Stop that, do-don’t talk like that, yer gonna be fine.” His facade breaking as he spoke to you. You weren’t sure what to say, thoughts getting harder and harder to form. “…I” he paused “I love you too.” He broke down.

It seemed like this was the end for you.

You were gone.

His whole world before him shattered in his arms.

When help arrived they saw Zanka in a state they had never seen before. He was shaking, tears streaming down his face, talking to you telling you everything was going to be ok. They had to physically pull him away to put you on the stretcher to be taken back. It took everything he could do not to drive himself insane thinking about how he should have stopped it sooner. Every scenario going through his mind of how it could have gone and how it will end up. Everything will be ok, it has to be.. it has to be.

The car ride back to HQ was silent, gris driving as to not jerk you around so much.

It was now a game of waiting. He knew you were alive, he had been given that much information, but you were on the brink of death. No visitors were aloud in the infirmary to see you yet. Zanka hated waiting.

The next week or so he was a living hell for Zanka. He distracted himself with constant training.

“If I were better this would have never happened to her.” He told himself while trained harder than he ever had. Injuring and exhausting himself in the process. But nothing was enough he had to keep going, to get better.

“You know you’re not helping yourself.” Enjin joined him in the training room. … Zanka kept going hardly acknowledging his presence. “You’re only hurting yourself. You’re going to slow your progress even more.” He spoke with an undertone of sympathy. Zanka went on for a few moments movements sloppy with how tired he was. “Do your thing I guess, just came to tell you [Name] is available for visiting now. She’s awake but sore.” He added as he walked out. Zankas movement came to a halt, he practically ran to the infirmary, pausing outside your door to compose himself.

He pushed the door open and there you were.

The one he thought he would never see again.

It was you, his love..

You look up as he enters the room eyes widening.

“I’m so sorry..” you teared up seeing him so tired obviously from overworking himself. “I was so stupid and careless, I don’t know why I can’t just not do dumb stuff.” You rambled “I- I’m just so sorry.” He stopped you with an unexpected kiss to your lips. It took you a moment to register but you melted into it threading your fingers through his two toned hair. Tears filled both of your eyes.

“Its ok.” He broke the kiss. “…No it’s- it’s not ok..” he looked into your eyes, like he was staring into your soul, it was so intense you couldn’t hold the eye contact. “But I forgive ya.” He gave you a smile wobbly from crying with you. “I love ya more than you know and if I ever lost ya I don’t know how I’d carry on.” You kissed him softly straining to not hurt yourself.

“I love you too.” <3

Woah yap fest over here… hopefully this was ok? Ive never really written angst but there is no time like the present I guess!!!

Thank you for the request @coconut36 !!!

Dividers by @enchanthings <3

Masterlist

Note: This is based off a HC of mine that the reason the room of flowers exists is because Imu is a nerd when it comes to flowers. Not because they love gardening—they actually hate dirt—they just, once upon a time, wanted to impress Lili because she loved flowers. Simp behavior smh. Also, it was originally meant to be fluff, but my sleep-deprived self apparently just really wanted to add in some random bullshit.

This is not proofread btw; I just pulled it out of my ass and called it a day.

Synopsis: Reader is a gardener hired to tackle putting the room of flowers in order, hijinks ensue. Can be seen as a ship or not.

               “Do not place the astilbe beside the butterfly weed.”

               The command was sudden and direct, slicing through the silence that had settled over the Room of Flowers. It was spoken with a detached, carefully neutral politeness; the words not necessarily standoffish, but also not brooking any questions on the matter; final, was perhaps the best way to describe it.

               You stilled briefly as they hung in the space between you and the oddly dressed, obscured figure that you only knew as your latest employer, neck cracking with a soft pop as your head turned over your shoulder to glance back at them. They stood a few paces away, those strange crimson eyes trained on you, expression unreadable under the opaque veil that hid their visage from you. Their gaze was hot and cold in equal measure; distant, and yet intense, as their ringed eyes flicked over to your dirt-stained gloves, where you clutched an astilbe plant you’d been moments away from planting. Up until this point, Imu hadn’t deigned to utter even a single word to you, one of their many attendants relaying the purpose of your presence in Pangaea Castle in their stead… and now they chose to speak? While you were, quite literally, holding an uprooted plant; one that you’d been moments away from planting after hours of tearing out weeds? Seriously?

               Your gaze moved in tandem with Imu’s to your hands, where a few crumbs of soil were currently falling from between the gaps in your cupped gloves to land on your well-loved work pants. The roots of the astilbe plants hung awkwardly, thin and stringy as the delicate, feathery rose petals wobbled in the nonexistent wind; you’d honestly not even realized there was butterfly weed in the exact spot you’d been working on, considering it was most likely buried under centuries worth of unmaintained flora… and fauna (you’d had a lovely run-in with a snake for some ungodly reason while moving a rock). Yet even so, now thinking about it… Imu’s words were correct: butterfly weed was hardy, and didn’t require much water; meanwhile, astilbe needed it much more frequently.

               …If only they’d bothered to get their head out of their ass and tell you there was butterfly weed there before you spent hours fighting more weeds than your brother’s cannabis farm grew.

               “Ah. Right. I… didn’t realize there was butterfly weed here,” you finally offered, “is there a specific spot you’d rather have me plant it… uh, Imu-sama…?”

“Right, yes. The honorific. Do not forget the honorific,” your inner-voice reminded you, as you added on the -sama suffix as a hasty afterthought, your pitch rising at the end, as if in hesitant inquiry, “you do not want to get testy with this guy.”

               “Mu desires it beside the azaleas.” Once again with that finality, as an elegant, gloved hand gestured noncommittally towards, you guessed it, another jungle of weeds.

               “…Er, I’m not exactly certain where the azaleas are, Imu-sama.” You remind them, wincing as your inner-voice stared in dumbfounded disappointment.

               “Thou art questioning Mu?”

               “I’m asking for more clarification, Imu-sama.”

               “The azaleas are over there,” a more forceful gesture, their eyes narrowing slightly, “besides the columbines.”

               “Where is over there!? Over there is such a vague term!”

               “Mu,” Imu breathed shakily, a vein pulsing on their forehead as they repeated their nothingburger of an answer yet again, “hast informed thee that the azaleas are beside the columbines.”

               “I don’t know where those are either!” You threw your hands up in the air, before catching yourself so as to not send the still-uprooted astilbe sailing through the air.

               “Prithee, dost thy eyes have cataracts? Canst thou not see the columbines?” their polite demeanor strained as they slipped in that jab, “or perhaps thou forged thy qualifications, if thy eyes truly fail thee so?”

               “No, Imu-sama, I cannot! I only see ivy and weeds, and I’d rather know where exactly I need to clear out!”

               Silence fell in the Room of Flowers as Imu trembled in barely-contained fury. How dare you, some puny human, so brazenly disrespect them? The fact that they even chose to employ some nobody gardener for the Room of Flowers should’ve had you prostrating yourself before them, but instead you chose to be a little shit! Over azaleas! The audacity! Though then, painfully slowly, Imu forced themselves to not lash out, fingers pinching the bridge of their nose through their veil in the most human motion you’d seen them do thus far. Getting so worked-up over some pitiful human was beneath them in every metric. They let out a measured breath, as if rationalizing between just having you immediately executed for this insubordination and accepting that you truly couldn’t magically discern what in the four seas over there means.

               This is why they did not interact with lesser beings. With those under the covenant, it was easy to just telepathically inform them of this sort-of stuff… but you weren’t under the covenant, were you?

               “The azaleas,” they began, words chosen carefully, “are to the right of Mu, near the front.”

               “Alright. Thank you, Imu-sama.” You sighed in mild exasperation, grabbing your bag of tools and moving towards where they’d gestured, “do you want the astilbe planted directly next to the azaleas?”

               As you waited for a response, you shifted your weight to sift through the overlapping ivy and the various weeds that covered what you suspected was once a much more well-maintained garden. How long has it been since this place had seen a trim…? The sheer amount of undergrowth was honestly impressive, and while you could admit the wildness of the Room of Flowers was rather beautiful, your opinions were irrelevant here; you’d been hired to landscape, and so you were landscaping.

               And indeed, nestled underneath a particularly stubborn vine, a cluster of compact, surprisingly vibrant azaleas sat, beside a very overgrown patch of columbines. Their petals were soft and velvety—or, well, you assume they are, considering you’re wearing gloves—as they trembled slightly under your feathery touch, the bushels of brilliant rouge a stark contrast with the lapis-lazuli blue of the tiny columbines. The smell was mildly sweet and fragrant, the barest hints of warm, clove-adjacent spicy undertones juxtaposing with the sharp tang of earth. The fact that the flowers maintained their hue and vitality despite the apparent neglect was nothing short of miraculous, really; though you supposed that perhaps one of Imu’s attendants occasionally watered them, even if the secretive ruler made no effort to have anyone tidy the room.

               Your idle musings were cut short though, as Imu delivered their response with a clear of their throat, “plant it between the columbines and the azaleas. Both do well with shade.”

               They were right; and honestly, you would’ve probably made the same choice in their shoes. Azaleas were typically a partial-shade species, and columbines rather liked shade too; so, of course, a shade-loving plant like astilbe would make sense.

               You nodded, blinking to bring yourself back into focus as the words slipped from your lips without thinking, “you… seem to know a lot about flowers, Imu-sama. Do you… do you garden?”

               The question caught Imu off guard for but a moment, their head snapping towards you from where they’d been studying a delicate indigo butterfly that had landed upon their fingertip. Their eyes bored into your back, as if trying to discern what purpose your sudden inquiry had, as their eyes narrowed marginally. They’d asked you—after already giving you more grace than you deserved in their mind—to shut up and plant the flowers… and now you were asking them if they… gardened? If they engaged in some inane hobby like gardening? The thought was so ludicrous that they let out a near-silent scoff, before speaking again.

               “No. And such things do not concern thee.”

               Wow. Way to shut that down.

               You cleared your throat, as if trying to dislodge the physical manifestation of the tense weight that had befallen you two following your inquiry, before muttering some noncommittal apology and returning to waging your one-person war on eight centuries of plant life. Oh, and yet another snake. That too. There were a very strange number of snakes contained here, especially for an indoor room that was pretty much inhabited by one dude staring wistfully hatefully at a portrait for way too long.

               As you worked, pulling out weeds that never seemed to end, and warding off the increasingly absurd number of snakes that seemed to really have it out for you, you were still acutely aware of Imu’s gaze drilling holes in your back. You shifted uncomfortably, lips pursing as you wiped the back of your sleeve over your sweat-slicked forehead; your knees were aching, and you were seriously feeling like you’d been given a plastic spoon and told to dig out a trench; and to top it all off, you’ve got this weirdo glaring at you like you ran over their grandmother.

               “I swear they’re trying to make me explode with just their eyes,” you thought, the words balanced on the tip of your tongue as you tore out another weed with an audible rip, the soil clumping up and dislodging with a groan of protest, “don’t be stupid, (Y/N), they’re a grown adult; they’re not that petty. Hopefully.”

               They were probably that petty.

               And so, you worked, trying to distract yourself from the situation at hand. The astilbes wept in joy at finally being planted, the snakes seethed at being displaced (you had taken to throwing them out the window when Imu wasn’t looking), and the weeds remained never-ending. The silence thankfully shifted back to something less foreboding, as Imu had seemingly decided they were more interested in a particularly curious butterfly.

               The sun was high in the sky, rays filtering through the windows as their light stretched across the ground, leaving the treacherous undergrowth dappled and shimmering, when Imu finally deigned to speak again.

               “Thou inquired on if Mu… gardens,” they began almost awkwardly, the word gardens sounding foreign on their tongue, “what wouldst thou acquire from such information?”

               You squinted against the suns rays, face scrunched up as your aching fingers wrapped around your ten billionth weed, “I did not mean to offend, Imu-sama; I was simply curious.”

               “Well, thy curiosity is unneeded. Thou art here to landscape.” Imu spoke tersely, repeating their past condemnation of your attempt at building a bridge, “…but if thou must know, Mu finds flora to be… soothing.”

               “I understand that—er, both parts—and I truly didn’t mean to offend-“

               “Cease repeating thyself. Thou hast made thy point.”

               “…-you.”

               Another moment of silence.

               You decided to speak again, “…do you have a favorite flower?”

               Imu paused at that, the lack of an immediate condemnation indicating that they were at least considering the question, as they looked to the butterfly. They were silent for a long moment, eyes searching the faintly translucent, feathery, paper-thin wings of the butterfly, as if it could give them an answer. Only when the butterfly flittered away again did they clear their throat to speak.

               “Lilies.” They spoke firmly, “water lilies.”

               “…Huh.” The answer was honestly more surprising than you expected; you’d thought they’d just snap at you again… but water lilies?

               Well, whatever floats their boat, you supposed…

               “Would you want some water lilies in here?” You finally questioned, mentally calculating how such a thing could even work considering the lack of a body of water in the room.

               “I-“ the word, stripped of their typical manner of referring to themselves, caught In their throat, “-ahem… Mu would… appreciate… that.”

               “Water lilies it is then. I don’t know how it’ll work, but I’ll do my best.”

               “Be it so.”

Words: 830

Safe measures. It was always “just for safe measures.” Lock the doors, close the blinds, pull the curtains shut, never see each other outside of the house, no cameras, no messages, no posts, nothing like that, only secret meetings.

Everything was always a secret.

Cause that was safer than what I would have preferred. Russo was like that. He was cautious for the dumbest reasons. For the most insignificant things though?

If they were even slightly insignificant, he didn't care. He threw caution to the wind and didn't care if he got caught. Drinking with me the first time? Sure. That was insignificant enough.

But I wasn't insignificant enough to not be careful with. Never fully seemed like I was important though. Not important enough to hold close or even show off.

Knock knock knock.

He was always the loudest knocker in the world. Only on my door. Seemed like it was a way to get my attention, letting me know it was him or something. It must have been 2am. Not that I bothered to check. I only walked to my front door and opened it.

My suit-clad so-called boyfriend is standing outside on my front porch, smirking like he did something.

“You should just come over at normal times, Bill.”I say as I step back and open the door further.

He steps inside the house, taking his hands out of his pockets where they usually rested and grabbing my hips from behind, pulling me against his hips. “You know why I won't do that.”he whispers as he leans down and rests his head in the crook of my neck, his beard tickling my skin.

I push my door shut as I lean against him. He reaches over, tightening his grip around my hip and turning the lock before turning me around and pressing me against the wall, using his body to pin me to it.

“May I ask why?”I ask as he looks down at me.

“You know why, handsome. Can't we just have fun like this?”

“You wouldn't be endangered over it.”

“But I could be fired.”

“For being gay? I mean, that sounds…”

“True? Cause it is. A gay person in charge of a military task force would be great for some, but it's not to a point yet where I wouldn't be posed as a predator, honestly.”

“Cause Orange is a bitch or because everyone else has an issue with it?”

“Always the former, darling. Always the former.”

He leans down and presses his lips to mine in a soft kiss.

It was his usual, he always kissed me like I was the most precious thing in the world, it was like we were the only two people in the planet for the few minutes each one would last. The kind that made me grin, it gave me goosebumps, it made heat pool in my stomach.

I grip his waist in my hands before gripping his dress shirt in my hands, my hands sliding up his stomach and chest. He smiles against my lips.

“You're perfect.”he whispers. “I'm sorry it gets frustrating to hide like this.”

“You should tell him to fuck off, Bill.”

“He’d kill me for it.”

“I would never let that happen.”

“So what? I shout into the void, tell them he’s a corrupt piece of shit, tell him he got people killed, tell them about all the drugs and pay offs? Then what? I go up a rank and become the main focus of the public eye for a while? Or I die from severe failure.”

“You be a hero, Billy and you get on those cameras, you pull me close like you always do when we're home alone and kiss me for everyone to see.”

“You’re insane.”

“I'm in love and would fucking love to show that off. That's all. If I'm the one person you feel like you can trust, why not show off?”

“Y/N, I'm telling you. This is safe. They can't use you against me if they don't know I've got it bad for you.”

“And they can't use me against you if you're in power either.”

“I wish that were true. Fuck, I would kill for that to be true.”

“You've put me up in a nice house, you've saved my life, given me a place in this world. But you can't show everyone that you are a good enough person to do those things.”

“I'm not a philanthropist. I just don't want you to suffer in any way that I can keep you safe from.”

“Billy Russo, you're gonna be the death of me.”

He grins that movie star grin of his and kisses me before he responds. “Don’t say that, Y/N.”

“I'm only joking.”

Billy leaned down and kissed me once more as he picked me up, bridal style and carried me into the living room. As always, the curtains were already shut, blinds pulled down behind them.

You've selected the HOPE ENDING!

Light angst, implied happy ending.

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Title: Free Breakfast

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandoms: Charlie Countryman (2013), Adam (2009), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, HEU - Fandom

Relationship: Nigel (Charlie Countryman)/Adam Raki

Characters: Adam Raki, Nigel (Charlie Countryman)

Additional Tags: Strangers to Lovers, Hotel Sex, Meet-Cute, Oral Sex, Trans Male Character, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, Vaginal Sex, Fluff and Smut, Teeth

Summary: When Adam ends up half naked in the cold after the fire alarm goes off at his hotel, he meets a stranger. A very handsome stranger, with a pointy smile and an apology to make.

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Just a little sweetness for your reading pleasure today. And a bit of smut, because what can I say? These two are insatiable sometimes, lol.

I love the simplicity of this one. Two guys meet, have chemistry, fuck, and make loose plans to see each other again. Very simple set up. It’s the chemistry part that earns this one a spot at my table. For two characters that are from entirely different universes in canon, Adam and Nigel just tend to explode off the page with how well they’re written. Both individually and with each other. The banter. It’s good stuff.

I also love when a character is written as trans, and it’s just… kinda there, you know? There’s no big discovery or coming out (though those fics also have their own greatness!), no big thing made about it. It’s like shirtless artwork of a masculine character where you can see the chest scars - it’s part of the story, not THE story. I also also love when the cis partner of the trans character doesn’t even bat an eye. Not even a “you’re trans? That’s cool, dude.” Nigel here just gets Adam’s boxers off and dives right in, lol. Good man.

The fast-burn pace is great. And it doesn’t feel like it’s too fast, either. The chemistry is obvious, of course, but they’re not expressing their undying love for each other or anything. They’re just having a good (and sexy!) time together, and the fact that they both see the potential for more encounters in the future? Perfect. Beautiful. Amazing. I hope these versions of the characters have many long and happy years together.

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Next Week: it’s the final rec, guys. The very last one. At least in this batch. So how about I end it the same way I began it - with a Steddie rec. And to that end, let’s go with the very first Steddie fic I ever bookmarked. Fun times, right?

Prompt: NO.4 Dead on your Feet: Hidden Injury || Waking up Disoriented || Can’t Pass Out

Relationship: England + Canada

Rating: T

Word Count: 637

Stay With Me

Arthur tapped his foot impatiently. Matthew should have been back from his infiltration mission hours ago. But he wasn’t, which was why Arthur was wide awake, listening for any sound that would signal his return. He was starting to nod off when someone entered his dugout. Upon hearing the thumping, Arthur sprung up and reached for his gun. “Arthur, it's me,” the intruder whispered, “It’s Matthew.”

Arthur lowered his gun and sure enough, at the entrance stood Matthew. He was leaning heavily against the wall, clutching his side, but he was here. Arthur stumbled off his cot towards his ward. “Christ, what happened to you lad?” He asked as he looked Matthew over.

“I-I’m fine…Just a little flesh wound is all.”

Matthew tried to step forward but his legs buckled. Luckily, Arthur was there to catch him before he fell to the floor. He helped Matthew over to the cot and sat him down. Quickly he took off Matthew’s jacket and lifted his shirt. He found the boy’s side to be a bloody mess, literally. “Oh, God…” Arthur breathed out, “Did you walk all the way across No Man’s Land like this?”

Matthew looked away. “Maybe…”

“God damn it.”

Arthur rushed over to where he kept some spare medical supplies and grabbed some bandages and a cloth. He poured some water from his canteen and started cleaning the bullet wounds.

Matthew slumped forward, head resting on Arthur’s shoulder. “You’ve got to stay with me, poppet,” Arthur murmured.

“I’m…Fine…”

Arthur worked as quickly as he could, cleaning and bandaging the wounds and whispering for Matthew to stay awake.

“There,” He sighed, pulling back, and checking his work. They were a little sloppy, but they would do. “Matthew?”

“Th…Thank you…Dad…” Matthew's eyes fluttered closed and leaned against Arthur once more.

"Matt–" He sighed, hair carding through Matthew's matted tuffs. "Sleep well, love.

—

When Matthew came to, the whole room was spinning. When he tried to move there was a piercing pain in his side. He took in a sharp breath.

His heart was hammering in his chest, he couldn’t recall where he was, only that it was dark, cold, and the stench of death hung in the air. He wanted to scream and thrash and he couldn’t explain why. Nothing seemed right and he felt fear tearing at him from the inside.

“Oh!” A surprised voice came from across the room. The bed dipped under someone’s weight. Matthew tensed. “Are you awake dear?”

The voice was familiar, soft, warm. “Can you hear me Matthew?” they called.

A hand found its way onto his and gave it a squeeze. The young nation groaned.

“There you are. You’re going to be just fine, lad.”

“Dad?” Matthew rasped.

“Yes. Yes, I’m right here poppet.”

Matthew’s vision was blurry, but he could make out his guardian’s messy blond locks and bulky uniform that never fit him just right. Though fear still gnawed at him, knowing Arthur was there made it just a bit more bearable.

“You’ll be out of it for a little while, in pain, but you should be more or less well enough to be up and about by tomorrow or the next day,” Arthur explained.

Matthew nodded, though he still felt scared. For all their healing and revival abilities, getting injured and nearly killed never got easier. He weakly gripped at Arthur’s hand.

“Don’t worry Matthew. I’m not going anywhere.”

Matthew swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

Arthur’s thumb brushed against his wet cheek. Matthew hadn’t even realized he had been crying until now. “Shhh…Just rest. I’ll stay right here, I assure you.”

“O-Okay.”

“That’s a good lad.”

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra) Characters: Adora (She-Ra), Catra (She-Ra), Horde Prime (She-Ra), Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra), Scorpia (She-Ra), Original Robot Character(s) Additional Tags: Canon, Post-Canon, Future Fic, Alternate Universe - Future, Mild Fluff, Angst, Action, Robots, holograms, Killer Robots, Catra Needs Therapy (She-Ra), Well she's already had therapy but she clearly needs more of it, Catra (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Catra Has Issues (She-Ra), General Catra (She-Ra), One-Sided Catra/Scorpia (She-Ra), Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, Married Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Poor Catra (She-Ra), Canon-Typical Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Training, Sparring, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Psychological Warfare Summary: