#I’m a thousand degrees in love

[twizzwiz]

Has anyone checked on Stephen Sanchez recently? He said call a doctor but did anyone actually?? The bystander effect is real.

[francisforever2014]

most of the time i feel like it really just Is Not That Serious and really truly believe that everything just works out and sometimes i’ll be hit by a fear of the future so debilitating i actually wanna throw up

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

To love me better

Tags: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna x fem!Reader, american!Reader, forced/arranged marriage, dark romance trope, dead dove, age gap romance (reader is around 21-22, Sukuna is 37), cursing, suggestive language, use of nicknames like “doll”, use of y/n, NSFW, MDNI, Sukuna is his own warning.

Synopsis: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna owns all of entertainment district. You’re trying to work to put yourself through law school. He has a proposition for you, and you have one for him. Chaos ensues.

An: Professor Higuruma has entered the chat. I’m sorry this part is a little short, but if I included the next scene in this part, it would be WAY too long.

Part one. | Part two. | Part three. | Part four. | Part five. | Part six.

*art creds for sukuna image goes to @.maru6 here on tumblr

You’re starting to believe that you dreamt the whole marriage negotiation with Sukuna.

It had been nearly a week since he sat you down in his office, and he’s been radio silence ever since. So, maybe you dreamt it all, or perhaps he decided against the whole marriage thing. If that was the case, you needed to start looking for other jobs.

Your Friday afternoons were reserved for Higuruma’s criminal law class. You sat at your desk, typing away on your computer that your student loan paid for. It was second-hand from a different girl who had just passed her bar exam. Her parents bought her the newest MacBook on the market as a present.

When you passed your bar exam, you’d probably buy yourself a two thousand yen cake from the grocery store. Maybe you’ll even splurge and spend five thousand yen on an ice cream cake.

You halfway hear your professor assign a plethora of readings spanning from case files to different codes of law.

"It's a good thing C's get degrees, huh?" a sheepish playful voice whispers from beside you. Your eyes glance over towards the guy next to you. You're able to immediately recognize him as Yuji Itadori.

Before Sukuna, you only took notice of Yuji since he tried to make friends with everyone, regardless of social status. Even if you've barely spoken with him, you feel a sort of kinship with him.

Now, your eyes immediately fix on his soft pink hair. While Sukuna's felt more like a dusty rose color. Yuji's was brighter -- untainted from crime.

"Is a C going to help you pass your bar exam though?" you whisper back softly, giving him a smile.

"You're so cruel~" Yuji softly whines as he dramatically slumps back into his chair. You quietly laugh from his theatric display. "And here I thought you'd be so kind and offer to help me study..."

You glance back towards him before scanning everyone else in the lecture. The majority of the other students were dutifully taking notes.

"Uh... why me?" You ask, cocking your eyebrow at the male before you realized how rude that probably sounded. "I mean, why would you ask me for that? Wouldn't you be better off asking the top performers in our class?"

"One of those pretentious jerks? Give me a break," Yuji rolls his eyes as he leans towards you. He's not too close to make you uncomfortable, just close enough to whisper without disturbing anyone. "Besides, you seem nice. Also, we sit beside each other everyday. Aren't those good enough reasons?"

Before you could even think to reply, Higuruma addressed the entire class. It was the end of the lecture period.

“Alright everyone, please remember to have a safe weekend and to stay out of trouble,” Professor Higuruma says from the forefront of the class. Students immediately begin to gather their belongings and shuffle out of the lecture hall.

"Let me know what you decide next week!" Yuji said as he rushed out of the door like he couldn't get away from the academic setting fast enough.

You finish up a few quick edits on your notes before saving them and promptly sliding your laptop into your bag. You thought about checking your phone to see if Sukuna had left you any cryptic messages, but you decided against it. It’s not like you were desperate or anything.

“Ah, Y/n, do you mind staying for a bit? I would like a word with you,” Higuruma’s voice spoke up. He wasn’t nearly as loud as he could be while lecturing.

Your body tenses as you slowly pull your messenger bag over your shoulder. “Sure…” you respond hesitantly.

He knows. He knows that you’re practically engaged to a yakuza lord. He knows that you’ve been dancing dangerously close to sin at Malevolent Mass. He’s going to report you to student affairs. He’s—

Your mind swirls with all of your thoughts Your brain was running so fast you could barely keep up.

The last student leaves the lecture hall, and you can hear the soft sounds of the second hand ticking from the clock mounted to the wall.

Your steps are slow and calculated. Higuruma was at his desk, collecting papers into his bag. He then looked up at you and gave you a calm, fond smile.

You try to ease your weary heart, telling yourself that he’d look much less happy if he had caught onto you.

"I apologize. I'm sure you must be busy," he starts out as he finishes packing up his bag. He straightened his posture, having to look down at you now that he wasn't hunched over. "I wanted to just touch base with you about your paper."

"Oh okay," you inwardly let out a huge sigh of relief, but your curiosity soon resurfaced. "What about my paper?"

"Don't worry. It was a great paper, y/n. I have read summations from licensed attorneys that pale in comparison to your paper." You narrow your eyes at him, feeling a gnawing sensation of anxiety sink in.

"But..?" you prompt.

Higuruma gives a knowing smile, appreciative of your inquisitive nature. "But I was wondering what made you write about spousal privilege... The last I checked you were looking to be civil litigation attorney -- not a criminal defense attorney. So, why would you want to research something like spousal privilege?"

You swallow thickly. You had found interest in spousal privilege due to your arrangement with Sukuna. Spousal privilege allowed for wives and husbands to refuse to testify against their spouse if it would indict their spouse on any crime. There were specifications on this law, and there were certain instances were spousal privilege couldn't be upheld. Overall, Japan looked to uphold the sanctity of marriage, and you looked to uphold your image by not being called to testify against your husband one day.

"Oh... I just found it to be interesting. I think it's good for all attorneys to be well-rounded, right?" you finally respond, giving your best attempt at bluffing the criminal defense attorney Hiromi Higuruma.

"You're most certainly right." He places his messenger bag on his shoulder. "I was just looking forward to you switching majors. It'd be a pleasure to steal one of Kento Nanami's best proteges."

You feel your face warm from his overzealous compliment. You were definitely not one of Nanami's best students. Still, you enjoyed the praise.

"I'm sorry to disappoint," you give a small laugh, consciously making an effort to joke with him naturally.

“Disappoint? No, no, you impress me.” His eyes meet yours, and for the first time since starting school, you see him for who he is. He had been nothing but kind, patient, and nurturing. He cared a lot about the subject he taught, and he tried his hardest to help his students learn.

Criminal defense attorneys get a bad wrap for being arrogant and pretentious to a degree, and that’s not exactly a lie either. You’ve seen Higuruma in court before. You know his persona can overwhelm a courtroom easily with his confidence.

“I really appreciate that, Mr. Higuruma.” You drop his gaze, letting your eyes rest upon the floor as a small smile curled up on your lips.

“You can call me Hiromi when we’re not in class,” Higuruma said as he walked towards the door. He held his hand out for you to follow him. “Well, if you ever have any doubts about civil law, please let me be the first to know. I’d love to have you on the criminal law side.”

You follow beside him closely, and you feel a warmth rush your cheeks as Hiromi hovers his hand over the small of your back. He wasn’t exactly touching you, but you could feel him there — guiding you.

“I promise I’ll come to you first if I ever want to betray Mr. Nanami,” you laugh softly, but your mind is racing, wondering where he was guiding you.

Coincidentally enough, a tall muscular figure with blonde hair was walking towards you two in the hall. “Who’s betraying me?” Nanami asked as he walked closer towards you and Hiromi.

Your eyes flicker back and forth between Nanami, Hiromi, and the girl who was standing beside Nanami. You took a moment, trying to place her here as a student, but you came up short.

“Stop trying to steal my students away from me,” Nanami lightheartedly scolded Hiromi with an eye roll.

“It’s not stealing if she decides to leave civil law on her own volition. I’m simply showing her the good side to law,” Hiromi responded. You feel your back arch a bit underneath his touch as his hand rested against your back now with more casualty.

“Ah yes, the good side. Also known as the side who gets troublemakers off the hook. Don’t forget, y/n. Civil law is all about holding people accountable. Criminal law is about being the least accountable,” Nanami said with a calm smile. Your eyes wandered towards Nanami’s hand, noticing it was also placed on the young woman’s back. What was going on here?

“Alright. That’s enough from you,” Hiromi warmly laughed. It was a laugh that put your nerves at ease. Still, your skin crawled where his hand was placed. Your mind flashed back to the club, remembering how it felt when Sukuna had his hand in that exact spot, guiding you to his office.

Sukuna’s touch oddly felt like a warm security blanket, while Hiromi’s touch felt like static electricity building. You knew you were about to get shocked.

“Miss Nanami, it’s always good to see you.” Hiromi bowed slightly with respect. You feel the weight of realization set in on you. That was Nanami’s wife who he was touching like that.

“You as well,” Nanami’s wife responded fondly.

“Alright. Let’s go, Destinee, before Hiromi also tries to indoctrinate you into some sort of criminal law degree.”

Hiromi merely laughed before guiding you away from Nanami and his wife. You felt your heart start to thud in your chest. Where was he leading you?

“You don’t have any other classes today, do you?” Hiromi asked as he looked to his side. He had to crane his neck downwards to look at you thanks to the size difference.

You bit your lip slightly out of nervous habit, wondering if you should lie to him. His hand felt heavy on your back, and a weird sensation of guilt was pooling in your stomach. You weren’t even exactly committed to Sukuna yet since you hadn’t signed whatever contract, but you two have a verbal agreement.

You had already begun to feel some sort of loyalty to the yakuza lord, and maybe that was because you knew he wouldn’t take seeing Hiromi’s hand on you lightly.

Still, you reminded yourself that your professor hadn’t done anything wrong yet. The hand on your back could be seen as a supportive touch. Perhaps he didn’t know how he was coming off right now.

“No, I was going to use the rest of today to write a paper for my economics class,” you say finally after a beat of silence.

“Aren’t you such a good student? Are you struggling in any of your classes?” he asked as he reached out and opened up the door for you. Your eyes blinked as you had to adjust to the afternoon sun beating down.

Maybe he was just walking with you out towards the parking lot. You quirked an eyebrow as you realized this was the staff parking lot though. Your dorm was in the complete opposite direction.

“Uh.. well, not really..” you replied sheepishly, trying to soothe your nerves. This just kept getting worse and worse by the second. “My lowest grade this semester is copyright law.”

“Mmph, yeah, that one is unnecessary tedious. You’ll rarely work on cases of copyright infringement,” Hiromi nodded thoughtfully. “Listen, I know it’s easy to get caught up with being a law student, so I was wanting to know if you wanted to grab a bite to eat together. We can chat about whatever you want whether it be about school or—“

A loud roar of an engine and tires squealing into the parking lot completely cut Hiromi off. You instinctively jumped back a little out of fear that the car was going to ram right into you.

A car that didn’t even look like it belonged on regular civilian streets came to halt right in front of where you and Hiromi were standing. The engine purred lowly as it sat idly in the parking lot.

Hiromi furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at the car. No professor had the money to afford a Maserati GT2 Stradale.

Your eyes admired the car in front of you. In all of your time of living, you had never had the luxury of seeing such a car. It was completely blacked out, but in the direct sun, a subtle deep red tint shined through. It was flip painted. It was your saving grace — your prince charming. The license plate on the front read, R. SUKUNA.

The butterfly car door opened upwards, and you held your breath. You had never been more happy to see Sukuna in your life, yet you also felt confused. How did he get into the staff parking lot..? It was guarded by security.

Slowly, your future husband stepped out of the car, rolling up the sleeves to his black button-up top. Even while you were outside, Sukuna’s dominating presence filled the air.

“Can I help you, sir?” Higuruma asked, his face hardening at Sukuna. You wondered what he must be thinking about all this. Did Hiromi know about Sukuna’s status? He is a defense attorney, so it’s not completely out of the realm of possibility.

“No, but she can,” Sukuna gave a feline grin as he held out his hand and curled his finger towards himself, beckoning for you to come with him.

You took a deep breath, knowing that you really couldn’t refuse Sukuna. Also, you didn’t want to know what getting dinner with Hiromi would lead to.

“Ah, I’m sorry. Maybe a rain check?” you said as you gave a polite smile up towards your professor. His eyebrows furrowed, mouth slightly agape as he looked down at you.

As soon as you went to peel yourself from his side, Higuruma suddenly grasped your arm. It wasn’t enough to hurt you, but it was firm enough to stop you dead in your tracks.

“You can tell me if you don’t feel safe with him. You can give me some sort of nonverbal cue..” his voice was low enough for only you to hear. You were briefly taken aback by Hiromi’s kindness, but you also found it ironic how you felt less safe when it was just you and him.

“I’m fine.”

Sukuna watched interaction, and he cocked an eyebrow. He felt an unfamiliar tight feeling in his chest. The thought of him untucking his gun from where it was concealed in his waistband crossed his mind briefly, but he decided against it quickly. It would cause too much of a scene. Too many variables.

“Hiromi Higuruma, is it?” Sukuna asked, but he already knew the answer. “The famous criminal defense attorney who spends his free time teaching other future aspiring attorneys. How kind of you.”

“That’s me. I’ll ask again. Can I help you?” Hiromi’s hand hadn’t unwrapped from your arm yet. His jaw was tight as his dark eyes looked at Sukuna with suspicion.

“You can start by letting go of my wife.” Sukuna said as he took a step closer. His hands were shoved in his pockets, giving off a confident display. You could see the curvature of his muscles bulging through his shirt as if he didn’t already look big enough.

Hiromi’s eyes slightly widened as he looked down at you. All of the admiration and praise had melted from his gaze. You felt your heart drop to your stomach. It was as if you had disappointed him in some form or capacity.

He silently let go of your arm, conceding in the battle with Sukuna over you. “Nonverbal cue,” he muttered to you, still cautious that you’re maybe being forced to do this.

Little does he know, you’re the one who proposed marriage to Sukuna.

You walked straight towards Sukuna, not daring to look back at Hiromi as you didn’t think you could handle the look on his face.

Sukuna immediately enveloped your smaller body in his arms, giving you a hug that could only be described as a hug that a husband gives his wife. He had to lean down to fully hold onto you. You shivered as his nose and lips just barely brushed against the crook of your neck.

Your arms could barely wrap around him, hugging him back to fulfill the facade of being a happy wife. Your face was tucked into his chest, and his cologne assaulted your nose. His scent was deep and heavy with notes of cedar wood, leather, and tobacco.

Despite this being a facade, it felt safe and secure. Nothing could touch you right now.

In all of his time of working with accused criminals, Hiromi had never felt true fear until Sukuna’s eyes met his while he looked over your shoulder. He could practically see the red hues of Sukuna’s eyes darken as he stared him down. Hiromi could feel Sukuna marking you as his territory. It felt like time stood still for everyone.

“Let’s go, sweetheart. I have reservations for us,” Sukuna’s dark gravely voice broke the silence, and Hiromi watched as Sukuna placed his hand on your hip, guiding you over to the passenger side seat. He opened the door for you and made sure you were settled before shutting you in.

Sukuna shot one last glare in Hiromi’s direction before he got into the driver’s side and sped off.

Hiromi let out a deep sigh. How did such a pretty young student like you get caught up in this? His fingers came up, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he pulled out his cellphone. He had to report this, even if it put you as risk.

It took several rings for the phone to pick up. “Yeah?”

“Gojo? Sukuna was just at the school. He was heading north.”

The other end of the line promptly went dead.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @lizatonix @starmapz @everywonuu @totallygyomeiswife @sukubusss @depressiondiaries @t4naiis @hishearttohave @soraya-daydreams @lulunx @s-1-xx @el-lise @prettyngeto @marifujioka @iheartlinds @gina239 @actuallynarii @shxyxyxxxx @krispycreamepie @emoedgylord @nina-from-317 @pandabiene5115 @paintedperidot @dissociativewriter @lmaoshush @ninani-nanina @sadrna @boisenberry77 @tojifush @erwinawesomeness @meanwhilesomewhereelse @safasz @kassfunk19 @moncher-ire @gradmacoco @riahlynn-102 @diduzzula @juiceeypeach

[crookedfandomquill]

This is very situational, and sadly may not be realistic for everyone, but I need y’all to understand that a very important part of political activism is fucking talking to your conservative or moderate friends and family.

My dad voted for Trump in 2016. He’s a middle class white evangelical from Arkansas. He raised me with conservative Christian values, just like his parents raised him. When he voted Trump, he was holding his nose, but he didn’t feel too bad about it, and went on to vote red down the ticket in the 2018 midterms, as well.

But I started college in 2017. Higher education and independence changed everything for me, and I went home over holidays and summers with fire in my belly and a thousand arguments ready at the drop of a hat, to my father’s dismay.

I remember crying in my room after emotional, intense arguments with him. I told him over and over that I felt betrayed by his choice to vote for a man who admitted to sexually assaulting women, who built his platform on dehumanizing immigrants and the disabled, who spread overtly-racist rhetoric, who flouted the values of kindness and self-discipline that I’d been raised on. And my dad always had some justification about the “greater good”: fighting against abortion, bolstering the economy, getting other Christian politicians into office.

But over time, as we grew further apart and I lost my will to discuss anything with him at all, he softened. He started asking me why I thought the way I did about the things we disagreed about. He would listen to my answers without interruption, and mull them over afterward instead of expressing his own opinion. And all the while, he watched the Trump presidency become cruel and absurd and devastating.

The first time he openly expressed regret to me, I had come home for a weekend after Kavanaugh was confirmed to SCOTUS. My dad realized he had helped elect a man who preyed on women… and that man had opened the door to more predators. I can’t tell you what it felt like for him to admit that he’d made a mistake, not just in voting for Trump but in defending him for so long. We kept arguing, but it was more debating than fighting. I knew he was capable of seeing my side of things, even if it took a while, and he knew I wasn’t just a sensitive college student with shallow new ideas about the world.

And then 2020 hit. Specifically, George Floyd was murdered, and the events that followed played out on the national stage. My dad was incredibly shaken by it. He asked me if I had any books from college about racial issues. I loaned him The New Jim Crow, one of the required readings for my Race and the Law class. Then I gave him Just Mercy. Then he watched the documentary 13th. Then he joined a racial harmony group he learned about through one of the few Black families at our church and insisted our whole family come. He held up signs at a protest against Confederate monuments in our conservative southern town. In three years, he went from defending Trump’s comments about “Black-on-Black crime” to publicly advocating for racial justice and opposing the death penalty.

We went together to vote in the 2020 primaries. I couldn’t help asking who he’d voted for; I didn’t even know if he’d asked for the Republican or Democratic ticket. He admitted he’d voted for Bernie. fucking. Sanders, then made me promise not to tell my grandma he’d voted liberal. When the election rolled around in November, he voted Biden. I’m sure he held his nose to do it, just like he held his nose voting in 2016. But I know he doesn’t regret it.

I am, of course, unbelievably lucky to have a parent who loved me enough, and was empathetic enough, to choose his relationship with me over his strongly-held opinions. He kept searching for truth because, as much as he’ll deny it, he’s a very smart and curious person. No degree of intelligence or curiosity makes you immune to propaganda, especially if you were raised not to question the party line. It’s easy to dismiss our conservative, conspiracy-pilled loved ones as stupid, hypocritical, and cruel. Sometimes they are. But sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes they will bend to keep their relationships from breaking. Sometimes, if they can be made to understand that their beliefs and actions are harming someone they love, they will make concessions. And sometimes they just need one person in their life to put a foot down, to be vulnerable and assertive and argumentative, to bring the impact of their politics close to home.

As the most important election of our lifetimes approaches, do not put peace over progress. If you have someone like my dad, someone who is good-willed and smart and loves you more than their own opinions, tell them how you feel. Tell them what their choices will mean for you, for your friends, for your community. Tell them what they could lose: your trust, your affection, your respect. Don’t avoid conflict if it could be productive. Because my conflict with my dad didn’t just win him over–it won over my moderate mom and one of my conservative brothers. And it put us in community with other like-minded people and led my parents to a healthier and kinder faith.

All of this to say, there is hope in conflict. There is hope in our relationships with people who think differently from us. There is hope in exposing your fear and anger and pain to people you love. And hope is a form of activism.

[xoxochb]

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“they’re nipping at my ankles! I don’t like it.”

“they’re not—” percy places both of his hands on your thighs to prevent your legs from moving out of place. “they’re not going to kill you, sweet girl.”

“what if they do?! what if they carry a fish disease and I catch it and then you catch it!”

you cup his cheeks between your palms with a worried expression. you take in his features one last time before the fish disease takes over.

you run your thumbs over his pink-ing cheeks. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” he takes your wrists gently and removes them from his face, kissing each of your palms before intertwining your closest hand with his. “son of poseidon, remember?”

your once softened eyes squint at him. “smartass.”

“you could’ve stopped at smart.”

“and waste the perfect chance to bully you? no thank you.”

percy chuckles and reaches out with his free hand to graze the small koi fish. it jumps up and nips at his palm like once did with your ankle.

“is he saying anything?”

“just nonsense. he’s still young.”

you nod your head attentively, watching as the said fish’s family hits at your feet buried within the lake’s water. it tickles. and feels awfully odd, but you were aware these are descendants of your fiancé’s father so you let it slide to make a good impression.

also for percy’s sake since he loves his somewhat-siblings.

“I thought koi fish only lived in ponds.”

“no.” percy shakes his head and returns his gaze to you. “they live in lakes, ponds, or small streams. or really anywhere that reaches above seventy degrees fahrenheit.”

“I can understand that. I like when it’s above seventy degrees too.”

“so do I, sweet girl, don’t worry.”

reluctantly, you reach out to touch the koi’s with percy. they’re slimy against your fingertips. “maybe we’re koi fish in another universe.”

“they lay almost one-hundred-thousand eggs a year. are you saying that you’d like to have one-hundred-thousand of my babies?”

“now I’m saying I want you to shut your mouth.”

“I can do that too.” percy shrugs and retracts his hand, flailing it to remove of the water. you do the same following him. “I think we’d be seahorses. if anything.”

“I love seahorses.”

“and me, right? and my seahorse version?”

“yes. to both.”

it took you twenty minutes to ponder why he said seahorses before you realized.

[storieswithvenus]

Babygirl - Tyler Owens x Fem!Storm Chaser!Preg Reader

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴

hey! i felt in the mood to write something somewhat wholesome so here we are! i’m really sorry if this doesn’t make sense x

Word count; 1096

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Growing up you had always wanted to chase storms, after experiencing your first tornado at the age of 7 with your mum the second month of you living in tornado alley.

Living in England before that you had never been exposed to the world of storms and what dangers come with it. As you grew up you watched many different storms and the havoc they caused. your senior year at school you had been out on lockdown due to an EF4 heading straight to your high school, that’s when you met Lillie.

You and Lillie have been the only two out of a group of 40 teenagers taking shelter in the hallway that wasn’t scared, frankly - you two were always ordered to put your head down in case the tornado hit because you two were trying to get a glimpse of the storm.

You two quickly became friends after that day, finding comfort in someone else who loved storms just as much as the other. while Lillie heading to college to get a degree in technology which you two could use to get close-ups of future storms - you went into meteorology. That's where you met your now husband and the tornado wrangler, Tyler Owens.

Tyler has caught your attention from the first time you walked into that lecture hall. His tall and muscular frame, dirty blonde hair, and green eyes caught the attention of all the girls in the class, many even tried their shot with him but were turned down and never showed their faces in that class again. Tyler quickly became the face of the class, everyone wanted to be him or be with him. which is why you were shocked when he asked you to be his partner for a project.

During that project you and him grew closer, you two learned about each other and what they could bring to the table in an actual storm-chasing group. At the time, it was a dream, the two of you were going into your last year. The thought of being in a team chasing storms all over was something you would have only dreamed about, because it couldn’t be a reality… or could it?

You and Tyler had graduated top of your class, and this led to getting the attention of many different investors who would’ve loved to work with the pair of you and build an empire. However, you and Tyler wanted to create this dream by yourselves.

You two worked endless jobs, bouncing from city to city to save up for starting this team. You were lucky that Lillie immediately nominated herself to join the group when you first brought the idea up to her when you two were studying together for a final. Along with Tyler's good friend Boone who wanted to be his right-hand man, along with the person getting all the good footage for the viewers.

After many years of working your absolute hardest and saving up all the money you could, you were able to buy your equipment. At first, you were live streaming to nobody, it was obvious the team was slightly disheartened by this and after months of nobody viewing the streams - you had all actually spoken of leaving the group and going separate ways. That was until one livestream someone joined, and coincidentally that’s when you got the first-ever footage of Tyler and Boone driving into a tornado and sitting through it.

In hours the clip blew up all over social media, and thousands upon thousands of people were tuning into the channel and subscribing. the next time you streamed the view count was at 16k. After a time, the team expanded adding in the valuable members Dexter and Dani, viewers, and sponsors pooling into the channel and eventually, you and Tyler confirmed your relationship.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Bringing you to now, 4 months pregnant and barely showing. After telling Tyler the news of the pregnancy, he never left your side. Always getting anything you needed even if he had to drive hours for it and miss several big storms. For a while he let you join in the back of the jeep when he and Boone were driving into a tornado, now that you were pregnant however - you had to be miles away so he knew you and your baby were safe.

“Dani, this is the biggest storm of the season and he is planning on driving into it?” your voice was full of concern as you, her, and Dexter all watched the live stream on her laptop from the campervan. Watching the father of your baby drive head-on into a storm really made you anxious. You knew he knew what he was doing, but what if something went wrong?

Grabbing the walker from the front of the dashboard, “Ty? Can you hear me? Please stay safe, our baby needs her daddy home." Dexter and Dani's heads quickly turn to you, mouths dropped as they realize what you just said. Paying no attention to them you watched as the message went through to Tyler on the livestream, and watching his reaction was the best thing.

From when you first told him about the baby he said it would be a baby girl, and that he would be the ‘world's best girl dad’. So, when he heard the sex of your baby on the walkie-talkie, you watched as he and Boone went absolutely mental. You swear the jeep nearly tipped over from the amount of jumping and punching the roof of the car there was, Dani even had to lower the volume due to all of their screaming.

You didn’t have time to join in on the excitement before the tornado hit them head-on, leaning forward in your seat with anxiety, picking at the skin on your fingers as you watched two of the most important people in your life get shaken around while being struck inside a tornado. It felt like hours they were stuck in that position, not being able to move due to them having to be drilled into the ground beneath the car.

When the storm finally passed, you all had let out a sigh of relief. even after years of doing this - you still didn’t know when today was going to be the day it didn’t work and something bad happened to one of you.

As tyler started up the jeep again to drive away and join the rest of you back at the meeting point, he turns up to the camera facing him and points,

“That’s for you babygirl.”

[0wavelength]

I love Castiel, I truly do. He had the most compelling and beautiful character development I’ve ever seen (I’m biased). However I did not like what they did with his character half the time because when Cas was first introduced he was mysterious and powerful and intimidating ass hell. But as the show went on he became a little incompetent.

This really didn’t make any sense because he was known as the angel who fought against the armies of hell for 40 years. Which means he’s an excellent strategist and very intelligent and a great leader (which they showed in season 10). Not only that his thousands of years old and yet the writers huma-fied him.

They showed his brilliance in season 6 but everything went down the drain after that. I’m not talking about his kindness because his kindness was the best part of his character, but he’s an angel.

Castiel should’ve been weirder and looked upon as less like a child because the writers really tried to make him naive like a child to a certain degree. It got better after season like 10 but it still pissed me off.

The best part of his character arc was when he and Dean has that small widower arc in season 14 (I think). When Castiel started to show ruthlessness it was amazing (the best part of that season however was Dean’s prayer. It was beautiful).

I just didn’t like how much Cas made mistakes and I know it was because he was getting use to humans but dang. I missed season 4 Castiel.

But I truly love how soft Cas became, so kind and loving and I know this entire post is a contradiction but I wish they had a sort of balance over cas’s character.

[foreingersgod]

You (on my arm) . CH

pairing: caroline harvey x reader

synopsis: cute moments with kk throughout your relationship!

A/N: this came out kinda shitty, but i promise i’ll have better kk content coming haha

I wanna sit around and watch you do your hair

“you’re so pretty,” caroline sounded from the doorway of the bathroom “d’you know that?”

it was nearing 6:30 am on a friday morning. you hated getting up early with every fiber of your being, wanting to stay wrapped in caroline’s arms for as long as you could. but today, she had an away game, causing the both of you to pack an overnight bag and make an excruciatingly long drive.

you quite honestly looked a mess, dressed in your comfy clothes and your face decorated with the smallest amount of makeup. your hair was a disaster as you brushed it out, trying to style it in a somewhat presentable manner.

“shut up,” you laughed, looking at her through the mirror. she looked so good, also in her lazy day clothes as she leaned against the frame of the entry way, arms folded across her chest. she looked you up and down, smiling adoringly “i look like a disaster”

“not to me,” she came up behind you, moving stray hairs away from you neck so she could rest her chin on your shoulder. her hands planted themselves on your waist “you look gorgeous no matter what”

you turned your head, planting a kiss to her temple, humming against her skin. she sighed as she gave a gentle rub to your hip.

“love you” she mumbled, voice muffled by your sweatshirt.

“love you more” you confessed to her like you had a thousand times before. she was your person, your everything.

Talk it all into the ground

Have a ceremony there for something, don't know what it'd be

you were sprawled across the grassy meadow, long green blades standing tall, surrounding your body. your sundress rode up your thighs a bit, sneakers kicked off somewhere next to you. your arm was outstretched to your left as your hand fit snuggly into caroline’s. she laid next to you in the grass, smiling at you past the scattered flora. you looked radiant like this: skin glowing and sunkist, hair descending down your shoulders and onto the dampened earth beneath you, teeth sparkling as you let out the most infectious laugh.

she sat up, rolling onto her side and propping her head up on her hand as she stared down at you. her free hand maneuvered over to toy with the hem of your dress, fingers gliding across the soft material.

“i’m gonna marry you one day, i swear”

your cheeks burned from the sun, growing even hotter as she said that. there weren’t enough words to describe how caroline made you feel, so appreciated and wanted and loved. you had every intention of marrying her. although for now it would have to wait, you hated the idea of planning things and balancing school and a job and a full on wedding at the same time. but you both knew, without having to say it, that it didn’t matter if you married or not. the love was there all the same.

“one day,” you mirrored her movements, also rolling to your side “and i can’t wait for that day”

But it'd become nothing, it's nothing

And you'd smile at me

you had done it. through all the last minute study sessions, stressful midterms, and the nights spent crying at the kitchen counter as caroline rubbed your back sympathetically. you had finally graduated college. it was a beyond thrilling moment to slip on your gown and bobby pin the unflattering cap to the top of your head. just thinking of walking away with your degree made your stomach ache with excitement.

your high heel clad foot bounced against the floor as you stood in the long line. the room felt hot and crowded while you waited to make your way across that stage and get your degree. in the distance, the boom of the microphone could be heard echoing through the stadium as the names of the graduates were announced. with each passing moment, you were getting closer and closer to your turn. the hundreds of faces sat in the stadium made its way into the view as the line slowly inched forward. you strained your neck looking around the different sections, trying to find caroline’s familiar face.

unfortunately, your parents and the rest of your family couldn’t make it to this huge milestone in your life. you had gone no contact with the majority of them a while back once they ‘disowned’ you. when they found out you were dating caroline, a girl, they were furious and couldn’t stand having a daughter that followed such a lifestyle. your sister was the only one you stayed in contact with, but she was studying abroad and couldn’t make it back to the states in time to see you graduate. you were absolutely gutted about the whole situation.

but caroline was there for you through it all. sat with you while you sobbed the day before graduation because it was all settling in. she assured you that, even though it wasn’t the same as having your parents and sister there, she was going to be there front and center to watch you succeed. caroline was by far your biggest supporter, your rock through everything. you couldn’t believe you had gotten so lucky with someone so attentive and prideful towards you.

so as you finally reached the front, body shaking with excitement, your eyes bounced around all of the smiling faces. it was only when you handed the announcer your name card, taking your first steps onto the stage, you saw her. she was beaming ear to ear as she locked eyes with you. she had her phone out, ready to record her gorgeous girl accepting her degree. caroline had dressed up just for you, sporting a navy blue dress shirt and slacks to match the colors of your university. she watched as you accepted all the hand shakes, posing for pictures with the dean, and evidently walking off that stage with that cherished piece of paper.

you walked off the stage and started to make your way back to your seat to finish out the rest of the grad ceremony. you looked over to her, finally able to get a clear look at her face. you gave her an excited wave, showing off your degree to her. she clapped for you and blew you a kiss, still smiling as brightly as before.

‘i love you’ she mouthed ‘i’m so proud’

and you smiled, mouthing back to her with tears in your eyes ‘thank you’

I wanna be, I wanna buy you pretty little things

And never ever lie to you

“what’s all this?” you asked, stepping through the door into your shared apartment with caroline.

you had gotten off of work quite upset, driving home with irritation coursing through your veins. you got called in for a so called ‘emergency’ even though you had requested the day off for yours and caroline’s anniversary. in reality, it wasn’t an emergency, rather your boss just needed someone to run errands for him. your girlfriend was so sweet and had planned out the entire day to celebrate, you were in a bad mood the whole day wishing you could just got back home.

but when you walked through that door at around 7pm, the scent of pine wafting around the kitchen, your heart melted. a bouquet of your favorite flowers sat upon the marble countertop, a neatly sealed letter leaned against the vase. there was a small box that also sat next to it with a baby pink ribbon tied around it. caroline stood from where she was previously sitting on the kitchen stool, coming over to greet you.

“just wanted to do something since you had to work today, s’all” she shrugged, pulling you into her by your waist as you set your stuff down on table “happy anniversary, baby”

you felt like you could cry, tears welling up at your lash line. you had felt horrible for spoiling the day by going into work, but caroline was so sweet and understanding and always made sure you felt seen.

“caroline, you didn’t have to do this!” you gestured to the flowers and box, leaning in to smell the flowers “i spoiled our anniversary, i don’t deserve this”

“don’t be ridiculous, you didn’t spoil anything” she kissed your cheek, you could feel her lips curl against your skin “and of course you deserve it, you deserve the world. now open your gift!”

the small ribbon glimmered underneath your dim kitchen lights as you ran your fingers over it. you looked at her with a skeptical face, smirking slightly when she laughed at your expressed. she urged you on, promising that you would like the small little present. you untied the ribbon excitedly and lifted the lid carefully.

sat on a small bed of tissue paper, was the most beautiful charm bracelet you had ever seen. you instantly pulled it out, putting it up to your face to see it closer. it was only when you had gotten a closer look that you had realized what it was.

when you met caroline, you noticed she had always worn a small little bracelet on her left wrist. she told you about a month into your relationship that it was something she’s had since she was a kid, a way to keep important memories close to her. you adored the thing, always asking about the charms that she added and what her favorite ones were.

the bracelet she had gotten you was a near exact replica of hers. it shared a few of the charms that hers held, ones that you said were your favorite. but it also had several new ones. many came from the vacations you and caroline took together, others she bought because they reminded her of you, and one that had both of your initials in a heart. it was by far the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever gotten for you.

“caroline,” you exhaled, completely blown away “baby…i don’t know what to say”

she laughed, taking the bracelet from you and grabbing your hand. she delicately wrapped it around your wrist and secured the clasp. she pulled you in for a passionate kiss, wiping away the tears you seemingly couldn’t stop shedding.

“i hope you like it,” she said “i just know how much you like looking at mine and so i thought-i don’t know maybe it’s silly, but i thought you might like one of your own so we can match”

“of course i like it” you shook your head, looking back at your wrist to admire the charms “this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me…thank you so much, babe”

you spent the rest of that night on the couch, curled up into her side with a glass of wine as caroline explained each and every detail of the charms she picked out. she watched as you giggled at every fond memory she took inspiration from, noticing how you ran your fingers across the intricate designs of the little pieces, thinking about how much she loved you.

Watch you get dressed

And compliment your taste

she laid on your side of the bed, extended horizontally so that her stomach stretched along the width of the bed. her elbows were propped up to support her head as she watched your gorgeous figure from across the room. at first she was scrolling mindlessly on her phone to pass the time until you were ready to leave for your guys’ date, but now she was beyond distracted.

you emerged from the bathroom, hair done up and makeup dewy, walking over to your walk-in closet. you wore nothing except your nude bra and underwear, rushing around frantically trying to pick out an outfit. caroline was practically ogling at you, drooling at the sight.

“is this cute?” she had snapped from her trance when you came out, holding up a yellow dress to your body “i don’t know i can’t decide”

her eyes flickered back forth between your stressed expression and the frilly, lacey dress that had previously been tucked in some corner of the closet. she had seen you wear it a few times, remembering how much she loved the neckline and the way it flowed gracefully down your thighs. in truth, she loved everything you owned no matter what it was. she thought you looked good in everything.

she grinned at you, wanting to scream from how beautiful you looked “yea honey, that looks perfect”

“are you sure?” you asked again. she knew you liked things to be perfect, wanting to look your best for outings and such. but caroline always thought you looked your best no matter what “is it too fancy or anything? i don’t want to look like an overdressed loser or something-”

“hey,” she interrupted, making you quiet down and take a deep breath “you’re gonna look amazing, ok? you could be wearing a paper bag over your head and you’d still turn heads”

“you’re too sweet to me” you said rushing over to press a small kiss to her forehead before scurrying back into the closet to change. caroline observed you through the small crack you left in the closet door. not in a lurking way, she just wanted to appreciate her girl.

she bit her lip as she watched how you shimmied the dress over your hips, how you stuck your tongue out as you tried to zip up the back, and how you ruffled up your hair in the mirror probably a dozen times before deciding you were ready. then you waltzed out, just as beautiful as you were before, grabbing your bag and ushering her off the bed. you kissed the back of her hand as you interlocked fingers, making your way out the door.

man, she had really hit the jackpot with you.

…I'd be better armed

If you agreed to take it <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[wikiangela]

you know when you know (I think I do)

rating: G words: 1.4k

[read on Ao3]

___

“So, you and Buck.” Eddie finally gets on the topic he was clearly inching towards the whole evening. Tommy’s lips involuntarily turn up into a smile.

“Yeah. What about us?” He asks, still turned towards the TV, then takes a sip of his beer.

“You guys are, uh, together. Dating.” Eddie fiddles with the label on his beer bottle, sounding a little hesitant and awkward.

“Have been for weeks now.” Tommy nods, smile widening at the mere thought of Evan. He leans his head back against the back of the couch, then turns more towards Eddie. “Any particular reason you’re bringing it up now?”

“Uh, not really. I mean, I’m so happy for you guys, and, uh, it’s none of my business, I just-” He takes a deep breath. Tommy waits, curious about what his friend might have to say. “Listen, Tommy, I don’t wanna be one of these friends who’s all ‘if you hurt him, I’ll kill you’, that’s not me.” Eddie starts, cringing at the words. “Besides, he’s a grown man who’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself.”

“True.” Tommy nods. He can already see where Eddie’s going with it. Tommy finds it sweet how much people in Evan’s life love him and care for him, and are protective of him, but not to a weird or unhealthy degree. He can appreciate that.

“But he’s my best friend.” Eddie continues. “And I just worry.”

“Okay?” Tommy prompts when Eddie falls silent, a frown on his face, like he’s considering his next words.

“He’s been through a lot. In general, but also relationship-wise. I’ve seen only part of it, but I’ve heard it all. And I just- I don’t want him to get hurt again.” 

“I’m not planning to hurt him, Eddie.” Tommy says softly. It’s obvious, and he knows what Eddie meant, but he wants to voice it anyway. He would never, ever, in a million years, do anything that could even remotely hurt his Evan. And if he did so unknowingly, he doesn’t think he’d forgive himself. Evan is such a ray of sunshine, he’s so good and sweet, and genuine, and Tommy would do anything just to keep that radiant smile on his face. 

“I know that.” Eddie shakes his head briefly. “People rarely do. It’s just that, Buck always gives a thousand percent of himself into everything.” A fond smile appears on his face, and Tommy is once again witness to the amazing bond those two have. This kind of friendship is so rare, they’re both so lucky to have each other – and Tommy is lucky to be let into it, even just a little bit. “Once he’s in, he’s in. And, Tommy,” Eddie looks him in the eyes, “Buck is definitely in, all the way, no turning back. He’s falling for you so hard and so fast, and letting all his guards down. Because that’s Buck, that’s what he does. And I just don’t want him to get too deep before you’re ready, before you’re both ready, and I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“I get it.” Tommy nods once, because of course he sees where Eddie’s coming from. “But you have nothing to worry about, Eddie. With Evan…” His lips curl into a smile around the word. “I’m already so far gone.” He shakes his head a little. “I know it’s soon, but I’m really falling for him.” He says quietly, but surely. He’s not used to this, talking about his feelings, about dating, about a person he’s seeing, especially not with someone he’s only known for such a short time. But he and Eddie became fast friends, and he’s Evan’s best friend, and Tommy feels safe enough to say it. He’s also honest and straightforward, and he likes to say it how it is, and this is how it is. He’s falling – or, to be honest, has fallen already – very fast and very hard for Evan Buckley, and he doesn’t feel the need to hide it. Evan is it for him. And he’s going to tell him that soon.

“Good.” Eddie says, tone serious, but a soft smile is forming on his lips. “He’s very lovable. You’d be an idiot to not fall for him.”

“I know.” Tommy grins. From the moment they met, he knew there’s something about Evan, something that pulled him in, got his attention right away. They laughed about it later, after they officially started dating and talked about that whole situation, how Evan put so much effort into trying to get his attention, but he had it anyway, from the start. Tommy was just more subtle about it, and he couldn’t figure out if Evan was flirting that day he gave him the Harbor tour or not. Seems like even Evan didn’t know. He’s so adorable, and kind, and bright and happy like sunshine personified. How was Tommy supposed to take one look at him and not develop a crush, that only seems to keep intensifying the more he gets to know him?

“And, for the record, I don’t want you to get hurt, either. We’re friends, too. Unless you break my best friend’s heart, that is.” He adds, his tone a little teasing, before his smile changes into something fond and genuine. “I’m really happy you guys found each other, truly. I’ve never seen him like this.” He chuckles quietly, shakes his head. “I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but I can already tell you two just make sense. So, take good care of my best friend, Kinard.”

“Of course. I plan on it.” Tommy says, meaning it from the bottom of his heart. 

“Just, not too much PDA when I’m hanging out with you guys, yeah?” He grimaces. “I don’t wanna feel like I’m third-wheeling a boys' night.” He laughs, and so does Tommy.

“Well, I’m not really a big PDA guy anyway.” He shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “But who knows, I can’t really keep my hands to myself around Evan.”

“And it’s time to change the subject,” he shakes his head furiously, “I don’t wanna hear more than I have to. Buck already tells me way too much.” Eddie says quickly, and Tommy laughs again. 

But the subject changes, and their attention is mostly back on the game playing on the TV. They spend the rest of the evening like this, watching sports, drinking beer and chatting. That’s how Evan finds them when he lets himself into Tommy’s house later, since he left the door unlocked.

He walks into the room, says hi to Eddie, then unceremoniously plops down in Tommy’s lap, giving him a long, sweet kiss, smiling into it. Tommy’s free hand circles around his waist, the other still holding his beer.

“Hello to you, too, Evan, how was your day?” Tommy chuckles when they pull away, his nose rubbing against Evan’s. He was spending the day with Jee-Yun, giving Maddie and Howie the day to themselves.

“It was good, we went to the playground, and then to help Bobby and Athena with unpacking, and then had coffee at Hen’s.” Evan grins, his face still so close to Tommy’s he almost looks blurry. “But I missed you so much.” He presses another kiss to Tommy’s lips, which Tommy obviously reciprocates. When he pulls away and glances at Eddie, expecting him to have an amused but annoyed look on his face, or maybe a faux-disgust, but what he finds instead is the fondest, proudest look he’s seen from him, as he looks straight ahead at the TV, giving them a semblance of privacy. Eddie looks just genuinely so happy for his best friend, for both of them. It warms Tommy’s heart. Eddie glances at them, and their eyes meet, and he just rolls his eyes fondly, but is still smiling.

“Okay, baby, I missed you, too, but let’s leave that for later or Eddie won’t want to hang out with us anymore.” Tommy says, and Evan pulls away further, chuckling.

“Eh, we always have each other.” He teases and shrugs, and Eddie scoffs loudly.

“You know I can’t watch basketball with you. Or do Muay Thai.” Tommy raises his eyebrow, giving Evan a knowing look. He can barely watch any sports with Evan, actually, because he never really gets into it, and whenever he gets bored, somehow they end up making out through the whole thing. Evan’s really good at distracting Tommy from just about anything.

“Oh, that’s all you need me for?” Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Fine, then I’ll just leave you two-” he starts getting up, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Sit down and drink your beer.” Buck laughs, as he climbs off Tommy’s lap and pulls out a phone out of his pocket. Eddie sits back down, laughing as well. “I’m gonna order pizza for dinner. Any preferences?”

[read also on Ao3]

[interact-if]

Our fourth edition of the Black History Month Author Spotlight series, features Becky (@losergames)!

(I’ve been in awe of Becky’s multi-talents (art, writing, coding, excuse me??) for a long time now, and am super excited to get to interview her and introduce her awesome game, Chop Shop! The portion on morality and finding a middle-ground between harmful stereotypes of “bad” POC characters and angelic, one-dimensional ones who can do no wrong was a really interesting and insightful take.)

Author: Becky

Hello hello!!! I’m Becky! I am a black bisexual woman from the UK, lover of games, TV and food. I have a Bachelor's degree in Animation & Visual Effects and currently work as a technician at a college 😁

Games: Chop Shop (crime, action, LGBTQ+, meaningful choices)

Short blurb: A crime action interactive fiction game.

Quote from the interview

There are a few main themes I keep in mind about when writing Chop Shop but the big one I think everyone understands is morality. What is right and wrong, and the various shades of grey in between, has been written about a thousand times in a thousand ways but it is continuously interesting to me in a changing world. What does it mean to be a bad person doing good things and a good person doing bad things? Is there a chance for redemption? What are the consequences? Race and class are also massive factors, made all the more complicated when we’re looking at sets of characters on either side of the PC’s life. I want to write black and other characters of colour make bad, questionable, and unredeemable decisions whilst also remaining aware of stereotypes and archetypes. I want them to be loud, messy, and rude, attributes that are always attached to minorities, but I also want them to be smart, calculating, and deceptive. I think a lot of people are scared to do so and we end up with plain, can-do-no-wrongers that lack any depth.

Read on for the full interview!

Can you tell me a bit about what you’re working on right now and your journey into interactive fiction? What inspired the game/story you’re currently writing?

I am currently working on the crime action interactive fiction Chop Shop. There are a mix of inspirations that went into Chop Shop but above all else I’d say the kicker was my circumstances at the time.

During covid I walked away from the WORST job I’ve ever had and moved back home, which I realised a while after was an extremely huge blessing. I had a major burnout and was processing what my ex-managers had put me and my colleagues through. So, in my freetime I was playing a lot of cyoa/ romance games (shoutout Love Island the game) and found a whole fandom that also enjoyed them. 

I made some friends, did art commissions, and wrote some fanfic here and there, yadda yadda. A close friend recommended I try out a very popular COG game at the time (🧛) and it all spiraled from there. I fell in love with the format, endless creativity, and community and never looked back.

I loved the Need For Speed games as a kid, the og Most Wanted, Carbon, and Underground 2 are, in my eyes, amongst the masterpieces of games from the 2000s. It got to the point I was going over to friends houses just to play on their PS2 lmao. I am also a Fast and Furious fiend (shock) and I will defend that god awful series till I die. Fast forward to being a teenager/ young adult I’ve become a massive fan of fictional crime shows. Breaking Bad will always be my first love, but I also love The Sopranos, Fargo, The Wire and more.

How has your identity, heritage/background, upbringing, or personal experiences influenced your storytelling or writing process? OR How does your work feature aspects of your identity / experience?

The real catalyst for Chop Shop was my previous job. A lot of the PC’s experiences are based off my own. A few examples I love sharing are how I had to make breakfast for my boss every morning and had to keep the office freezer stocked with a specific supermarket ice lolly because he ‘needed’ one every day at 3pm. I truly wish I was making this up because people think I’m crazy when I tell them. But I really was catering to a man-child because I was desperately trying to get my foot into a creative industry. Woof!!!

That said, the industry I wanted to work in was and still is extremely competitive. I came out of uni with a tonne of friends, but also a tonne of competition. It stung very badly to see my peers excel and surpass me when it came to careers but that’s just a part of becoming an adult. That life really was not for me and I’m glad I’m out of it now.

My mother is an extremely influential person in my life. Bits and pieces of her stick with me, not just in my writing but my every day. She’s worked in corporate all her life, from the early 80s and still to this day. She laughs about it now but she tells stories about the times she was laughed out of meetings or undermined by subordinates because she was a black woman in positions that were not occupied by minorities. It hurts to think about but I can only dream of having the type of strength she does.

Now that I think about it, Chop Shop is a massive fuck you to the past.

Are there any specific themes or messages you hope players take away from your work?

There are a few main themes I keep in mind about when writing Chop Shop but the big one I think everyone understands is morality. What is right and wrong, and the various shades of grey in between, has been written about a thousand times in a thousand ways but it is continuously interesting to me in a changing world. What does it mean to be a bad person doing good things and a good person doing bad things? Is there a chance for redemption? What are the consequences?

Race and class are also massive factors, made all the more complicated when we’re looking at sets of characters on either side of the PC’s life. I want to write black and other characters of colour make bad, questionable, and unredeemable decisions whilst also remaining aware of stereotypes and archetypes. I want them to be loud, messy, and rude, attributes that are always attached to minorities, but I also want them to be smart, calculating, and deceptive. I think a lot of people are scared to do so and we end up with plain, can-do-no-wrongers that lack any depth.

What does your writing process look like? Any rituals or habits? Any tips, tricks, philosophies or approaches that have worked very well for you?

I write way better outside of my bedroom. I know writing is supposed to be fun and a hobby but sometimes it’s… not. If I get stressed out in my room, it’s all a mess. The brain needs to be away from where I sleep to get work done. Last summer, when all the teachers were on holiday time, I was the only one in my department for weeks and it was the best writing stint I ever had haha.

Oh and I keep a huge spreadsheet. All the episode breakdowns, outlines, character details etc. It looks insane to anyone else but it is my prized baby.

Do you have favourite interactive fiction games, characters, scenes or authors that you’d like to recommend?

My goto game rec is always 180 Files: The Aegis Project. So quick and punchy, more narrative/plot than romance focused. The action sequences are fun and the interactions are so delicious, ugh. I love it. I’ve played it at least 20 times to get the different endings and it’s never not satisfying, just… chefs kiss. I’m also really enjoying Thicker Than right now AAHHH I NEED TO CATCH UP!!! 

Any books, music, movies etc. you’re obsessed with at the moment, or which changed your life (or perspectives on something)?

Not anything specific but I do have some books I’d like to recommend to my fellow black readers:

The Psychosis of Whiteness: Surviving the Insanity of a Racist World by Nicola Rollock

Black Skin, White Masks by Franz Fanon

The Strangers: Five Extraordinary Black Men and the Worlds That Made Them by Ekow Eshun

Black England: A Forgotten Georgian History by Gretchen Gerzina

The Hard Road To Renewal by Stuart Hall

Honestly I’d recommend anything by Stuart Hall lmao. RIP king, you would be shocked at the media literacy today.

This-or-that segment: (bold = Becky's pick)

Coffee or tea?

Early mornings or late nights?

City or countryside?

Angsty or Cozy romances? (Or enemies-to-lovers or best-friends-to-lovers?)  

Steady progress or frenzied binge-writing followed by periods of calm?

Summer or Winter?

First drafts or editing?

Introvert or extrovert?

Plotter or pantser?

Characters or plot first?

Becky’s custom “either-or” pairing: Driver or passenger?

[nevarrhoe]

mea culpa (m.m) - 3

SUMMARY: "mea culpa" (exclamation - noun/legal term)

used as an acknowledgement of one's fault or error.

↪ in which matt murdock accidentally falls in love with the district attorney's daughter.

warnings: smut, angst, swearing, fem! reader

masterlist

(anyone caught interacting w/ out their age in their bio will be blocked)

Part of you was a little nervous to hang out with Matthew. 

You had undeniable chemistry. Undeniable. It was like a fucking nuclear bomb, in fact. But that was in the bedroom, miles away from the real world and in a place where talking - at least the conversational kind - was far and few. All the factors that made you different - age and money and social standing - made things hotter in that sense. It was frowned upon, even forbidden, and you craved it like an addict. Craved him like an addict; the rush, the highs, the feeling of his hand around your throat. 

In real life, though, you were the District Attorney’s rich daughter, fresh out of law-school and Matt Murdock was a small-time lawyer in his mid-thirties. Those things weren’t meant to be compatible; not when your outfits alone were three times his rent and his life experiences made you look fucking juvenile. You weren’t meant to understand his lifestyle. He wasn’t meant to understand yours. And yet, you both begged to try and wrap your head around one another. 

You knocked on his door at exactly 9:15PM; late, but fashionably so. Especially when you had been raised to think that you were always on time, and that everyone else was simply early. Matt had told you to dress comfortably - maybe you had different definitions of that, but you’d tried. Your oversized jumper was Versace but it was casual. It was also the cheapest thing you had in your wardrobe, but somehow still worth more than the average person’s college tuition. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Matt met you with a smile. He looked different out of his work suits, but still charming in a tight shirt and sweatpants. No complaints on your part. 

“Hey,” you replied, following him inside his apartment. “I’m dressed casual, so what are our plans?”

He wrapped a large hand around your wrist and led you to the sofa. “Chinese takeout, since I sort of duped you out of it the other day at lunch-time.”

You dropped onto the couch opposite him; Matt kept a hand on your thigh, thumb rubbing circles as he reached to the coffee table and handed you a menu. The prices were a tenth of what you usually paid at your upscale places - most of them required reservations months in advance, and cost a small fortune for a tiny fucking plate. Your food bill was normally hundreds of dollars alone. 

“You did trick me,” you smiled. “What do you recommend?”

“The kung-pao chicken is good,” he replied. “I have this place on speed-dial. It’s the best restaurant to go to when it’s 3AM and I’m neck deep in a case.”

“Oh, tell me about it,” you said. “When I was doing my finals at Harvard, I would order take-out every night.”

Matt’s eyebrows shot up. “You went to Harvard?”

“Yeah, and I graduated Summa Cum Laude,” you explained. “What? You weren’t expecting that?”

“Honestly? I wasn’t,” he said. “I mean…I assumed you must have had some kind of legal background, with your dad and everything, but graduating Harvard with honours takes…”

He trailed off, pausing. 

“Hard work?” you offered. 

Matt grimaced. “Yeah.”

“Charming, Matthew. Real fucking charming,” you snorted. “You know you sound like every other man I’ve ever met, right?”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” he gave your leg a squeeze. “You just continue to surprise me is all.”

You sighed, giving him a small smile. “I know I seem like a spoiled little rich girl to you - maybe I am, but I did study my ass for my degree and one day, I’m gonna put it to good use.”

This. This is exactly what you were about: Matt had probably worked a thousand times harder than you for his career. You figured he didn’t come from money - not in a bad way, just in a way that meant he was normal to some degree. His future wasn’t guaranteed like yours. There was no nepotism or family money for him to fall back on so of course he was going to see things differently to you. Everyone did. You didn’t care what anyone else thought most of the time, and you could safely say there were only two people in the world whose opinion mattered right then: your father’s, and for some reason, Matt Murdock’s. 

God, you hoped that Frued wasn’t right. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Matt said. “What about everything before that?”

“What do you mean by everything?”

“I mean everything,” he shot back. “I wanna know about you.”

You smiled. “Okay. I’m the youngest of three; my older sister is married to some guy who’s like 500th in line to the British throne, and my brother is on a party boat in Mexico right now with his boyfriend and Kendall Jenner. My dad’s family earned a fuck ton from oil in the early 1900s and my great, great grandad once tried to fight John D. Rockefeller.”

Matt snorted. “Who won?”

“Think about it, Matt - who has their own skyscraper?”

“Not your own grandad, I’m assuming.”

“Exactly,” you replied. “That’s all the interesting stuff. All the other stuff is kind of boring-”

“- it’s not,” he cut you off. “What about now? Do you also try to fight billionaires?”

“Not fist fights.  I once got into an argument with Anna Delvey at a banquet because we both wore the same outfit,,” you said with a grin. “Honestly, though? I probably just do everything you think a rich girl does. I eat, I drink, and I tell people that someday I’m gonna make a change.”

“What’s stopping you?”

You shrugged. “I got my law degree because I wanted to help people, like Nelson and Murdock do. But that means taking the stand against my father and things get complicated, you know? It’s a big risk to take if I want to stay good with my family.”

Matt pondered for a second - his initial thought was to call you out for choosing a corrupt man like your father over justice. Then he thought about what his own father meant to him. Jack Murdock likely had strikingly different morals to your dad but wasn’t that the common denominator? He was your dad. Matt would have given up everything he had in the world to get his back, if even for just a second. There was so much he never got to say; so much he never got to do. And for that, he couldn’t blame you for choosing family over making a difference. 

“Yeah, I get that,” he replied. “Where did you study before Harvard?”

“Guess,” you said. “It’s not hard.”

“Cambridge?”

“No,” you dropped your head into your hands, letting out a small groan. “Oxford.”

“Ah, of course - how could I be so stupid?” Matt grinned. “I’ve heard England is nice, though.”

“It’s not New York,” you shot back. “That’s enough about me. Tell me about you, Matthew Murdock.”

He paused for a second. “We have lived very different lives.”

“And I want to hear about it.”

“Are you sure? I was happy listening to you-”

“- Matthew, are you deflecting?” your tone was joking, but your actions were gentle as you took his face in your hands. “There’s no pressure to share but don’t avoid it because you think I don’t want to listen.”

“Okay,” he smiled. “It was just me and my dad, growing up. He was a boxer so things were a little tight but we got by. He died about a year after I lost sight and then I, uh, I grew up in an orphanage.”

“Wow,”  you murmured. “That’s a lotta history in not many words.”

Matt shrugged. “That’s the abbreviated version, I suppose.”

“What was your dad like?” you asked. 

“He was my best friend. I know I was probably biased because I was nine but he was the best guy in the world,” he continued. You couldn’t help but notice the way he smiled when he spoke about him. “It was always just me and him. We had very little money and the worst apartment on the block but we also had each other, you know? That was all that mattered.”

He’d said you know? but truthfully, you didn’t. Maybe your father had money and riches and had given you all the material things you could need, but you weren’t sure he’d ever loved you. The man had certainly never said it. Your entire childhood was nannies and boarding schools and the amounting pressure to give your parents more in a world where they already had everything. Perhaps they’d loved you in their own way, but it hadn’t been enough. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Matt gently asked. 

“Yeah, it’s just…your dad sounds amazing,” you replied. “I’m sorry you lost him.”

“I made my peace with it a long time ago,” he said. “I am who I am today because of him and I’m forever grateful for that.”

Then more than ever, you realised just how fucking incompatible your lives were. You’d had the audacity to complain about your parents not showing enough affection when people had actual, real problems. And Matt, a man who was no stranger to those actual, real problems, acted like they were nothing. Like losing his dad and his sight in the space of two years was something casual and flippant. 

You should have gotten up at that point and left. Told Matt that it had been a nice week of fucking and chatting, but now you had to go. You back to your world, and him back to his. Worlds that were supposed to stay separate, and not collide right here on his couch. 

The key word there was should have because like fuck did you get up in leave. Right in front of you was a beautiful man with a complicated past and crystal clear morals and leaving him was a Herculean task. Some part of you wished that he’d been an asshole - at least then you could have set the boundaries at just fucking, and no talking. 

You didn’t half ass things though. Maybe that was a good enough excuse to get emotionally involved. 

“You’re deep in thought,” Matt commented. “Wanna share with the class?”

“We’re so different, Matt,” you said. 

“I had noticed that, funnily enough.”

“No, I’m serious,” you said. “You’re a person with like…actual substance. And if you were a vigilante or something? You’d have a killer backstory.” 

He laughed nervously. “I guess so.”

“I get why you want to sleep with me, I’ll admit that,” you continued. “I just don’t get why you actually want to talk to a girl whose main personality trait is an American Express card.”

Matt didn’t say anything - instead, he pondered for a moment. You made a fair point; you couldn’t have been more different if you tried. Still, he was drawn to you the same way you were drawn to him. It had started with just an exciting fling but the more you spoke, the more it got him thinking. 

“You’re right,” he said. “You are a spoiled little rich girl, but you’re also smart, and funny, and…I don’t know. Every time I talk to you, you surprise me.”

–

You had to leave Matt’s early the next day.

Even though you didn’t work for your father, you still ran the occasional errand for him. It was obvious what his intentions were every time he introduced you to every judge and partner he saw in passing: daddy dearest wanted you to have in on the family law business. If only he knew that the singular reason you bothered helping him with the occasional legal job was for your own sanity. You had to be productive every now and then. 

After slipping out of Matt’s bed around 7AM with a soft kiss, you’d crept back home and gotten changed into something a little more…formal. Black and Chanel was always the way to go, with your red-soled heels and a little more concealer than usual to cover up the hickey on your jawline. 

Tired felt like an understatement. You’d stayed up talking til some stupid hour; your food had gotten cold and by the time you were done chatting, you were distracted by other things. 

You couldn’t help smiling, despite your exhaustion. Any worry you'd had before about Matt - about your age, or social standing, or anything - had gone. There was something there. Something good. You might as well have been the only two people in the world when you were alone together. 

“Once you’ve run the witness statements by Rand’s office, I need you to come back to my office and go over some testimonies for me,” your father was droning on and on. “Nothing too complicated, so you don’t need to worry-”

“- I passed the same bar as you, father,” you cut him off, tearing the papers from his hands. “What am I doing before that? Rand isn’t around ‘til midday.”

“I need you to sit in on a meeting with the defense attorney on the Althorpe case,” he explained. “Again, nothing too hard for you. We just need to reiterate what their point of law will be for their defense and - ah, here he is now!” 

Your dad grabbed your arm and pulled you to the court waiting area. 

“Mr Murdock!” he called. 

What were the chances? What were the fucking chances? 

Matt looked equally as surprised as you. He’d mentioned the night before that he had an early meeting but surely he would have mentioned if it was with your dad. You’d both made an unspoken point to not bring up work too much but it seemed like a huge fucking detail to skip over. 

“Good morning,” Matt gave him a tentative smile. “Sorry if I’m mistaken, but I thought I was meeting with the assistant district attorney-”

“- something came up,” your father cut him off. Gross. “Have you met my daughter? She’s a representative for my office and will be meeting with you this morning.”

“Uh, no, we haven’t met,” you quickly said, pulling Matt into an awkward handshake. They were warm and familiar. “It’s nice to meet you…sorry. What was your name?”

Matt bit his lip in an attempt to hide a smile. “Matthew Murdock, ma’am. Just Matt is mine.”

After exchanging a quick goodbye with your father, you both headed down the corridor and into your assigned meeting room. It was a box room, with a simple chair and table in the middle; grey walls, grey floor, grey roof. A perfect metaphor for the entire legal profession, it seemed. 

If you’d been exhausted before, you didn’t know what you were now. New York City was small at the best of times but that only increased tenfold when you limited it down to a courthouse. How many times had you and Matt breezed past one another before now? How many times would it happen again in future? Were you just meant to act…casual? Because acting like the perfectly respectable man right in front of you hadn’t had his hand wrapped around your throat less than twelve hours ago was difficult. 

“A representative for your father’s office, huh?” Matt teased you, tossing aside his cane as he took a seat. “You told me you avoided his work-”

“- I do!” you cut him off. “Generally speaking, at least. He just needed some help with stuff and I agreed. It’s no big deal. I’m literally just here as a formality.”

“Your acting was impeccable, by the way,” he chided. You could tell he was fully relaxed now, a smile on his face and broad arms folded over his chest. His morning had just become a thousand times better at least. “I don’t think he suspects a single thing.”

You let out a sigh, taking the seat opposite him. “He can’t. It’s over for both of us if he works anything out.”

“Hey,” Matt reached a hand across the table, taking yours. “He won’t.”

“This is very…grounding,” you muttered. 

“Grounding how?”

“Because it just goes to show how fucking small the world is!” you groaned. “We’re going to be running into each other a lot. How are we meant to act when we see one another?”

“If I see you then I would be very concerned. I am blind, after all.”

“Matt, I’m serious. This is serious,” you huffed. “We need to lay out some ground rules.”

He ran a hand over the back of your palm and gave it a squeeze. “The we that we both like only has to exist where we want it to.”

“Your apartment,” you said. “I like your apartment.”

“Okay, fine,” he gave you a smile. “My apartment is our safe space and in the court house, we are strangers.”

“Yeah, strangers,” you nodded. “Unless we find like a closet, or something-”

“- I am not going to fuck you in a court room closet,” Matt lightly whacked your hand. 

“Fine,” you grumbled. “You do realise we actually have to do work now and you have to sign off on these witness statements, right?”

“Right,” he nodded. “Just two strangers, doing some work.”

[seellove]

Could You Stay a Little Longer // drug dealer!sukuna x reader

Masterlist

Chapter 3 // (6.4k words) // Explicit - 18+

\|/ AO3 - Chapter 3 | << Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 >>

You're pursuing a master degree across the country, but are currently back in your hometown housesitting for your parents. They've told you all about their undesirable new neighbor, but when you start to get to know said neighbor, you realize he isn't all that bad. Your controlling boyfriend won't let up on you and you grapple with enjoying the company of this drug dealing neighbor boy, Sukuna. Nothing about this is going the way you planned, but is it so bad to let yourself be treated well for a change?

The cultural setting for this is technically economically depressed, rural USA where good paying jobs are hard to come by and there's not many opportunities in small towns, but it could really be anywhere that meets this criteria!

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Reader and Sukuna are mid 20s, mentions of recreational drug use and drug dealing, mentions of abusive/controlling/manipulative relationship (not Sukuna), could possibly be considered cheating depending on your interpretation (not Sukuna), angst, smut, fluff, time skip, prison time, happy ending trust!

Day 5 - Continued

“This is a collect call from an inmate at the Southeastern Regional Jail, press 7 to accept.” 

No.

No no no no!

Your heart plummets as you stare down at your phone. You want to press it and find out it’s someone else, but you also can’t bring yourself to proceed knowing you’ll hear his voice on the other line. 

His voice. The man you gave everything to last night, who you fell in love with in five short days. 

The one whose arms wrapped you up as you fell asleep, envisioning the rest of your life together. 

It can’t be over already.

The message repeats, breaking you from your existential crisis. You have to accept it, it’s time to wake up from the dream and face reality.

“Hello?” you say cautiously after pressing 7.

You hold your breath, heartbeat thundering in your ears as you await his voice because deep down you know it’ll be him. 

Moments later, you hear his voice saying your name, and it all but shatters you. Your heart disintegrates into a thousand pieces and you feel light headed, realizing you stopped breathing when you accepted the call.  

“Hey baby,” his deep voice says again, “you there?”

Fuck.

“Sukuna. I’m here,” your voice is so shaky, trying to keep your composure but your body just doesn’t want to cooperate.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get those donuts. And that you had to wake up alone. To this.”

His voice is so tender and it hurts even more as he continues.

“I don’t have a lot of time, maybe another minute, but obviously you can see I got arrested.”

“What happened?” 

“Long story short, I came up on a wreck in the river, a mom with two kids. You know how these backroads are, so narrow and easy to over correct. Anyways, I stopped to help and I guess when it was all said and done, cops searched my car and found some stuff. Enough to probably put me away for a while. I’ll be arraigned tomorrow morning, already called my lawyer and everything.”

“When can I see you? I need to see you,” you feel the tears starting to drip down your chin like soft dew collecting on leaves in the humid morning air. They slowly fall, a sign of your world, your future as you know it, slipping from your grasp. 

“You’ll be able to get out right? It’s not too bad, just a little slip up right? People go to jail all the time” you stutter, feeling the panic starting to mount. 

“Should be able to see me after the arraignment. Contact the jail now, it needs to be 24 hours in advance. Should let you come in tomorrow afternoon.” 

You put him on speaker and text all that to yourself because you know you are barely absorbing anything right now.

“You’ll get out though right?,” you say again, noticing he didn’t comment. 

He doesn’t respond at first, instead the empty silence seems to last for an eternity as you wait with bated breath.

“I will, but I don’t know how long,” he finally says, his soft tone doing nothing to assuage your worries. 

“I have to go, come tomorrow, we can talk more, and…well, I really wanna see you. Dying to actually,” he says and you swear you hear his voice shake. 

“I will, I’ll be there,” you try to choke out. This time is precious and you can’t waste it crying.

“Hey tomato girl?” 

“Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry.”

The call cuts off without warning, his voice still echoing in your mind. A voice you wish you’d heard more of. You don’t even have a voicemail to replay, relying on your memories alone.

You now regret losing that one precious night together. If you’d have known your time would be cut short like this, you’d have spent every waking second with him up until now. Soaking up his soft kisses, his strong embrace, the endless puns and jokes he annoyed you with. Everything you took for granted. 

It has to be some sick joke the universe is playing on you. You’d only been his girlfriend for what? Twelve hours? You guess you still technically were. No one else knows though, which is odd considering he’s someone you’d actually be happy to introduce to people. You are all alone in carrying this information, there’s no one to talk to, no one knows he exists in your life. 

Your parents know him, but you can only imagine their reaction if you told them he was your boyfriend…oh and by the way he got arrested today.

Burying yourself in the sheets, you can’t hold back the tears anymore. They quickly turn into full blown sobs, your body visibly shaking from their intensity. The stark unknown of it all is paralyzing. After all your talks of dreams and plans to be together, all you see is nothing, no light at the end of the tunnel. 

People go to jail all the time though, surely it wouldn’t be more than a month or two. A year at most. Sukuna does have a record, but it seems like it never really landed him in a cell for that long. He had a lawyer, he said, they’d surely help get him out. 

Also, he said he had been helping someone! He was a Good Samaritan! And got punished for it. Wasn’t there some kind of trade off that could have happened? 

Your mind is a mess and you won’t be able to calm down until you talk to him tomorrow. For now you might as well try to eat something and take care of the house chores. 

Walking into the bathroom you are met by your neck littered with the evidence of last night. He was a menace in bed, and not in a bad way. You’d lose track of how many times he’d made you cum, probably more times than the last year as a whole. His stamina was insane and even when he couldn’t get it up, he resorted to his mouth and fingers, never leaving you hanging. 

It was the most memorable night you’ve ever had.

Maybe the last one for a while depending on how this all shakes out. You can’t imagine wanting someone else. You’d wait for him…right? You had to, you were together, he was worth waiting for. Leaving him behind when things get tough is the weak way out.

You leave to go back home in two days. You hope to God you’ll have some answers by then, but something tells you that you won’t. It’s more likely you’ll go back, no one will know anything about your relationship with Sukuna so you’ll suffer in silence, and you’ll have to rely on sporadic calls from jail. 

Maybe you could become friendly with his lawyer, or his friends and family. The more you consider it, the more insane it sounds. No one in his life knows you exist, you feel you have no right to know any information over those he’s known the longest.

What you have is real though, there’s no doubt in your mind. Everyone else however wouldn’t understand how you both could fall in love in mere days, hell you don’t even understand it, but you believe that this all happened for a reason, and you believe in the love between the two of you. 

Would they label you a gold digger? An opportunist? Someone only after the drug king’s money? If his parents could have heard his plans, they’d see it was so much more than that. He wanted to be better, he was going to be better. 

As you start to doom scroll on your phone to try and pass the time, you come across a post from your cousin. Then you remember he works at the jail! It’s one of the few decent paying jobs with good benefits in the area so he’s been there since graduating high school. 

He should be able to at least give you some information on what to expect. You find his contact and call him.

“Hey cuz,” his warm voice greets you from the other line.

“Hey there, how’s it going?” you ask, relieved to hear a familiar voice right now. You grew up together and have always remained close, even when you moved away.

“Oh the usual, just working to live,” he laughs. “You in town right?”

“Yes, that’s actually kind of why I called. I, um, oh shit, sorry,” you stutter, suddenly scared of divulging what was going on.

“Are you okay?” he asks, concern lacing his voice.

You mute the phone, taking a massive breath to try and compose yourself to keep the panic at bay. For some reason talking about it makes it more real and causes you to fracture all over again.

“I-no, not really. Look, if I tell you some stuff, can you promise to keep it between us?” you finally muster out.

“Umm, yeah. Ha, well depends,” he says with a nervous laugh. “Did you do something illegal?” 

“No! Nothing like that. Personal stuff. You promise?”

“Yes, hit me.”

“Someone I’m close to got arrested this morning. He’s in Southeastern…where you work,” you force out.

“He? Is it someone I know?” 

“Yes, it’s a guy. He’s…my boyfriend…or at least was, not sure how all that works when someone gets locked up,” you chuckle, “I don’t think you’d know him, he’s my parents neighbor.” 

“Oh shit. I’m-wow, I don’t know what to say. I’m really sorry you are going through this. Have you been able to talk to him yet? Normally once you get processed you are able to start making calls.” You can hear the empathy in his voice, and it makes you want to cry all over again at the thought of someone being there for you. 

“He called a little while ago. I don’t really know what happened, he didn’t go into many details.”

“How are you doing with the news? Are you okay?” your cousin asks. 

You start to choke up, unable to stop the emotion from bubbling up again. Fuck it though, he won’t make you feel bad.

“No…no I’m not. I’m devastated. I’m also scared. I have no idea what is going on, no idea what is going to happen, and all the unknown is killing me. Can you tell me what is going to happen?” you say between sobs, struggling to get the words out.

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry. I think that’s a normal response to someone close to you getting arrested. Been in this job for years now and I’ve seen all kinds of responses. All humans react differently, so what you are feeling is valid, just know that. 

Now to what happens. Well, he hopefully contacted a lawyer once he got processed. Tomorrow will be the arraignment at the courthouse. That’s where the charges are presented and you reply whether you will plead guilty or not guilty. It’s also where bail would be set. His lawyer will be there with him. You said you don’t know the nature of the crime?” 

“Just know it’s something with drugs. He’s got a record, that probably makes it worse right?”

“Maybe, drug charges are sometimes federally mandated depending on the amount and nature of it.  And if it’s been multiple offenses, it could double the sentence. Once the charges are presented, they’ll know pretty quickly what kind of time he’d be looking at.” 

You have no idea how much he had on him. Why the fuck did he have drugs with him anyways! You wish you could kick Sukuna right now…you might actually kick him tomorrow. What the fuck was he thinking!

“Okay, I don’t love that, but at least I have an idea of how this is going to shake out. What’s it like visiting someone in jail?” 

“It’s pretty simple. You get searched and go through a metal detector, then get brought down to a visitation room where you wait until the inmate is brought in. A guard will be in the room and you basically sit at a table and talk. It’s not all dramatic like in the movies with someone in chains in a sterile room, that’s maximum security type shit.”

Interesting, so you’ll be able to be in the same room as him. 

“Can you have physical contact? Like hugging and kissing?” you ask, a little embarrassed. All you want is to be pulled against his chest and feel his strong arms wrapping around your back. 

“Yeah, it depends on the guard how much they allow. I can find out who’s on duty tomorrow and tell them to take it easy on you.”

You’re starting to feel a little better about everything. Sukuna’s got a lot of money too, maybe he’ll be able to get out on bail! You’re not sure why you keep trying to convince yourself of these things, but it gives you hope until you can talk to him tomorrow.

You shoot the shit with your cousin for a little while longer before hanging up, collapsing on the couch and staring at the ceiling. 

It’s dark out, you didn’t even know you’d been on the phone that long, noticing the pitter patter of rain on the roof. At least it helps to make everything seem less hopeless and empty, providing background noise to focus on.

Even as you lay your head on your pillow that night, the sounds of rain falling through the leaves outside helps quell your racing mind. 

A fitting end to the day, even the sky was grieving now that you had no more tears left to fall. 

Day 6

You settle into the plastic chair the guard directs you too. The room is nothing special. Two other similar chair and table setups sit staggered in the room, the ceiling feels low, a vending machine hums in the corner, and there is very little natural light from the small windows along the wall. 

You chat up the guard for a bit and you find out he’s a good friend of your cousin which you are thankful for. He told you to just behave and not to do anything suspicious and he’d leave you both be for the most part.

The chair is super uncomfortable, but then again you figured comfort wasn’t high on the list of priorities for a jail. Guess you were lucky to have a chair at all.

Anxiety and anticipation are clawing at your insides. You are ecstatic to see Sukuna, but also terrified at learning more about the situation. Since last night you’ve been deluding yourself into this headspace of if you don’t know what’s happening, you won’t feel as bad. 

At least you’ll finally have some idea of the situation going forward, even if it’s bad news.

The door opens and his tattooed face and crimson eyes are the first thing you notice. Then it’s the exhausted look on his face and his hunched over figure in the orange jumpsuit as a guard holds his wrist cuffed behind his back. He lights up when he sees you, shooting you a grin that threatens to melt you into a pool under the table. It’s taking everything in you to not launch yourself across the room to jump into his arms but protocol said to wait until the guard gets him situated.

Also, those face tattoos in his prison attire makes him look even hotter as he moves across the room. Even through the loose clothing you can make out the outline of his chest and arm muscles. Obviously it’s not the scene you want to be witnessing, but you can’t argue that your man looks hot. Maybe a good Halloween costume idea in the future?

The future. 

What does that look like? It’s easy to envision your ideal life together, but every daydream gets derailed by an unknown force that makes everything go blank in your mind. The anxiety won’t allow you to see past this no matter how hard you try.

The guard passes him off to your cousin's friend who waits for the other guard to leave before removing the handcuffs. He whispers something to Sukuna, likely the same spiel that you got about leaving you alone on the condition that he doesn’t try anything stupid.

Sukuna turns, walking towards you. Once he approaches, you stand up and throw yourself against his chest, wrapping your arms around his back, hands barely touching due to his large stature. Burying yourself into the scratchy jumpsuit material, you dig your fingers into his back, squeezing him with everything you have as if making sure it's really him standing in front of you. 

You finally pull back and realize his chest is now damp from tears you didn’t even know came out. All you were focused on was holding him and touching him again while your body had this silent somatic response.

“Fuck you Sukuna! What the fuck were you thinking? What the fuck happened?” you choke out as grief overwhelms you. He just cages you against him, earning a chuckle in response as you sob into his chest. 

“It’s not fucking funny!” you try to slap him but he’s just too strong.

He leans back, staring down at you and hits you with that adorable boyish grin, pulling your chair out for you and gesturing for you to sit before he takes his spot on the other side.

“Don’t cry, we are together now. It should be a happy time,” his voice is soft, wiping away the tears from your face. 

“Well I was not happy to get a call from jail. Now tell me what fucking happened.” 

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I guess all the blood got trapped in my dick from the night before, and there wasn’t enough left for my brain,” he laughs, taking your hand in his, planting a kiss on your knuckles. 

“That’s not funny! This is serious!” you try to stifle a giggle, but it’s just impossible not to do that around him. You are glad he’s acting like his normal self, so carefree even in the face of tragedy. 

“Oh okay. Well, the other theory is that I had a bad case of post nut clarity and was like, I have to get away from this girl before she absolutely consumes me. Jail is the only place that would keep me from seeking you out,” he smirks again, leaning back his chair with his hands behind his head. 

The smug look on his face and the way he’s leaning back and spreading his legs across from you is so damn hot. The combination of tattoos and prison attire make him look like a true bad boy.

“You’re absurd,” you roll your eyes and smile back at him, fluttering your lashes. 

“Fuck you’re killing me sweets,” he bites his bottom lip, looking at you through lidded eyes that are darkening the longer he sits there. The intrusive thought of him bending you over and fucking you on this table is infiltrating your mind and you can’t be bothered to shut it down. 

“Hey you are the one riling yourself up over there,” you tease, earning a playful scoff from Sukuna.

“However, I bet you’re thinking the same thing I am right now,” you continue in a low voice, pressing your thighs together as you feel yourself slipping even deeper into the fantasy. This is not what you expected to happen, but there is something about him mentioning last night that is making your thoughts devolve into those moments with his breath hot on your neck, his fingers digging into your hips as his veiny cock dragged along your soft walls.

“If it involves this table and me being balls deep inside of you, you’d be correct,” he murmurs, giving you an almost predatory look as he licks his lips, eyes darting around the room before locking back onto your face.

“Oi guard!” he suddenly whips around, “can I touch my girl in here?” 

You feel yourself heat up in embarrassment at his audacious question. This is the opposite of behaving!

“The clothes stay on and you stay in your seat, inmate,” he responds with an amused look. 

“Oh so I can reach under this table and-“ 

“No. You can kiss, and hold hands above the table. That’s not what kind of visit this is,” he chuckles. 

“Fuck man, that’s brutal,” Sukuna turns back around with a pout, adjusting his pants as best he can. 

“I know, I’m sorry. All I can tell you is to try to get on the list for conjugal if you want to do that,” he says from across the room while Sukuna sulks, chin resting on his arms on the table. 

“What’s that?” you ask.

“A visit where you get an apartment to yourselves for 24 hours on the prison grounds. As you can imagine though, there’s a lot of prisoners and only one unit, and everyone wants to go for the same reason.” 

Oh. You feel odd being so open about sex in here, but fuck it, at this point you don’t really have a lot of options and surely this guard was used to dealing with sexually frustrated inmates. 

“Fucking you all night and then getting locked up immediately after is a special kind of hell,” Sukuna whines and the guard just laughs, walking back to the other side of the room. 

“Tell you what, I’ll give you some time while I take a piss. Ryomen, hands to yourself, stay in your chair, and clothes stay on. Miss, you can move around. You speak of this and I’ll make sure she never comes to visit you again, and I’ll certainly make sure you never get chosen for conjugal.” 

Sukuna’s eyes practically pop out of his head as he processes what the guard says. 

“I won’t say a word,” Sukuna’s voice rises in excitement, bolting straight up, eyes locked onto you as the guard handcuffs his arms behind the chair. 

“Woah, freaky,” he snickers as the guard leaves.

“Your time starts now,” he says as he shuts the door.

“Oh my god, pleaseeeee come touch my dick. Jerk me off, stroke me, rub me, I don’t even care, just fucking touch me. I neeeed it,” Sukuna is whining again, pushing himself back away from the table. 

He sounds like a pathetic teenager begging his girlfriend to feel him up for the first time and it makes you snicker as you move your chair next to him. It’s not hard to find his dick from the tent his erection is making in his pants. 

He hisses and tries to stifle a moan as you grab him through the fabric. He’s so hard, no wonder he’s throwing a fit. You grip him tightly and start pumping your hand along his clothed length. 

“Fuck baby oh my god,” Sukuna mutters as his eyes roll up to the ceiling before squinting shut.

“Can you finish in a minute?” you give him your most sultry tone as you start to move faster. 

“Mmm, gonna fuckin’ try. Feel like a fuckin’ virgin right now. So sensitive,” he groans. 

Sukuna starts bucking his hips up to meet your hand, his breaths getting heavier as he exhales deeply from his throat with each thrust.

You’ll try to help him out as best you can. Leaning against his neck, you give your best attempt at something similar to phone sex.

“Yeah? Thinking of me riding you? My cunt so tight and wet around your cock? Tits in your face bouncing while I take all of you soooo deep, ass clapping against your thighs.”

Sukuna moans again, hips jerking faster as you leave a trail of your hot breath on his neck.

“Fuck Kuna, keep going. Right there! Oh god Kuna, gonna cum all over your cock, grip it so tight and you better cum deep inside me. Won’t waste a drop baby-“

“Fuuuuuuckkkk” Sukuna emits a deep growl from his throat as he starts jerking in his seat and throbbing in your hand, clearly cumming in his pants. His eyes are squeezed so tight and jaw clenched so hard you swear he’s gonna break a tooth. 

He’s gasping for breath as you let go of him, head hanging down against his chest before sitting back up to plant a soft kiss on your cheek. 

“Ohhhh, my god. I fuckin’ love you,” he grins, a flush spreading across his face as you move back to your side of the table. He looks like a kid on Christmas morning. You’ve never seen someone so elated over a handjob through their clothes but hey beggars can’t be choosers right now.

“Alright, times up!” 

The guard comes back. He doesn’t say a word, just uncuffs Sukuna again and moves back to the other side of the room as if nothing ever happened. 

“Sorry you have to sit here now with your boxers all dirty,” you whisper.

“Goddamn don’t apologize, I’ll sit in my cum stained boxers for three days if it means you’ll touch me,” he laughs. 

“Crazy boy. But now I want some answers. What happened when you left the house and what happened at the arraignment earlier?”

Sukuna drags his hands down his face, clearly not excited to talk about this.

“Was trying to avoid this conversation honestly.”

“Sukuna, you were gonna keep me in the dark?”

“No! Not my intention. I just feel like you are gonna be disappointed in me and you aren’t going to like where I take this conversation.” 

You’re a little confused what he means by that, but you settle in to listen, nodding at him to keep talking.

“When I left your place, I had the bright idea to take the product I had in my house and pass it off to one of the subordinates nearby since I was going to the donut shop anyways. I was serious about leaving that world, so might as well jump start the process. 

So, as I’m driving, you know the bridge over the river after that section of sharp curves in the road? Well, I came out on the other side and saw a car in the river. I called the police, told them what was up, and went down to try to help. 

Long story short, it was a mom and two little kids. I pulled mom out first and told her to go to shore, then swam down and pulled the kids out one by one. One window was open thank god, they were just panicking though as the water was filling up. 

I told the kids to hang onto my back and got us back to shore. Everyone seemed okay, just in shock and terrified of what had happened understandably. 

Guess while this was happening, cops showed up and ran my plates, realized I had a suspended license, searched my car, and got arrested on the spot. A wild turn of events honestly.”

You stare in disbelief as he talks. That has got to be some of the worst luck you’ve ever heard. He did such a good thing, he could have kept going and left them to die. You’d probably still be snuggled up in bed together if he had.

The selfish side of you wishes he’d kept driving, which is kinda fucked, but the dark part of your mind can’t help it.

Sukuna is a good man though, and he’s paying the price for this series of unfortunate events. You both know he did the right thing and are glad he did save those innocent people.

“Why didn’t you just wait for someone to come to your house and get that shit ughhhhh,” you groan, burying your face in your hands. 

“I don’t know. If I could go back I’d have never left your bed,” he says softly, propping his head up on his hand, elbows resting on the table. “You just looked so peaceful and cozy I didn’t want to drag you out of there.”

You just stare at him, eyes glossy as you both hold back the tears. So much regret, everything could be so different if he’d have just stayed put. 

“And the arraignment?” 

He sighs, looking down at the table to collect his thoughts before looking back up, trying to keep himself composed.

“Not good tomato girl, not good at all,” his voice is quivering and it seems like he’s fighting against losing it by forcing a smile across his face. 

“Drug trafficking charges. Five years minimum. No bail. Lawyer said with my record might be more like seven to ten years. 

You swear the earth stops spinning and your vision goes black. Your heart plummets to your stomach, suddenly feeling nauseous and dizzy. 

That’s so long. That’s way too fucking long. 

You feel physically ill and stifle a dry heave which turns into trying to choke back a sob. You can hear nothing, everything muffled as if you were six feet underwater. Sukuna’s lips are moving, but you have no idea what he is saying.

Cold. 

You are freezing, body shivering as you slip into shock. Ears ringing, breath trapped in your throat, unable to replenish the oxygen in your lungs. 

Strong hands shake your shoulders, jolting you from this state as if you’ve been drowning and you’ve been pulled from the water. Everything seems bright, the hum of the lights seems louder, and you gasp for breath.

Sukuna is in your face, hands on your shoulders. He was the one shaking you.

“Just breathe, in….out��. No, look at me, look me in the eyes not past me. Breathe with me.”

His crimson eyes slowly come into focus as you try to concentrate on replicating his breaths. Still trembling, you reach up and grip his arms, attempting to ground yourself and come back to earth. 

Sukuna’s worried look morphs into one of relief as he realizes you are okay. Well, as okay as you can be after learning your boyfriend might be in jail for the next ten years. 

“It’s okay, it’ll be okay,” Sukuna’s soft voice coos, thumbs tracing circles where his hands rest on your collar bones.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay, I had the same reaction when I met with my lawyer yesterday.”

You both sit in silence, staring at the floor. You wish you could just wake up from this nightmare; grab his arm and walk out the doors together into the warm sunshine. Instead you feel like you’ve both been capsized at sea, grabbing onto something to keep from totally drowning…except for you wind up in two different currents and slowly drifting away from each other. 

Maybe you’ll end up in the same place depending on the currents, or maybe you’ll end up on opposite sides of the world. Either way, you have no control over the outcome.

“You can continue,” you eventually force out.

“My trial date will be in about a month or two. Lawyer fought to have it expedited to get it over with. That’s where I’ll learn the actual amount of time. I know I can’t fight the charges, but we want to get the sentence reduced as much as we can. He’s hopeful I’ll be eligible for parole. Gonna try to share the story of my plans of going back to school and doing an apprenticeship, how I want to be better, how I don’t deserve to be locked up for that long since I want to turn my life around,” he tries to sound hopeful. 

His arms drop down to cup your hands, large hands swallowing up yours as he squeezes them. A serious look appears on his face and he sits up straighter, staring intently into your eyes. 

“Don’t wait for me.”

“What?” your heartbeat is pounding in your ears again, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“Don’t wait for me. You heard me tomato girl.” 

You don’t even bother trying to hold back the sobs as the floodgates open. 

“N-n-no! Sukuna! What? Why would you say that?” you stutter through the anguish plaguing your entire being as you feel your throat closing up all over again. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. You deserve to live a good life, a normal life. Not with a felon behind bars. I’m not worth putting your life on hold for a third of your life. Cuz that’s what it would be, we’d be in our mid to late 30s when I get out.” 

“Well then we’d still have the other two thirds of life to enjoy together! I-I can’t. I can’t forget you, I could never,” your whole body is shaking and a splitting headache is starting to surface from the constant crying.

“Do you not want to be with me?” you stutter, lip trembling as you try to hold back your emotions to speak.

“Of course I want to be with you! Fuck girl I want nothing more. But you’ll move on from this, it’s only been a few days. It hurts now, but over time it’ll get better. I just want you to be happy and I feel like you will be miserable watching me rot in here for years.”

“Okay but you don’t get to tell me how I’ll feel Sukuna!”

“You should try though. I won’t know any different since I’ll be locked in a cell. I don’t want to be the reason you look back and regret spending these years waiting for my lousy ass.”

“Are you trying to break up with me? Because if that’s what you want, you need to just fucking say it,” you feel anger bubbling up now. It feels like he is stringing you along with this weird pseudo idea of wanting you but also telling you to go live as if you weren’t exclusive.

He swallows hard, trying to maintain his stoic demeanor during this conversation. He knows if he falters, you won’t listen. As it is, you're fighting him. He won’t be mean, he won’t use anger or threats to force you away. You don’t deserve that. He’s already put you through enough. Sukuna just hopes you sit back and think about what he’s saying. 

“I-I can’t. No,” Sukuna mutters. “I guess what I’m saying is that I’m not expecting you to be loyal to me during this time. Just know my heart is yours and if I get out and you are waiting there for me, I’ll be the happiest man alive. But if you aren’t and I see you living a fulfilling life with someone else, I won’t come pester you and blow that up. You won’t even know I exist, I’ll never bother you again.”

Of course he wants you to wait for him. You’re the love of his fucking life. If things were reversed he’d be furious if you tried to suggest something like this. 

His selfish desires want you to come visit him every week, talk on the phone every day, and try to get this conjugal visit the guard spoke of because god knows he’d fucking tear your ass up for 24 hours even though he’d probably be shit in bed after being celibate for months or even years.

But doing all that would fuck with your emotions, keeping you from moving on and living your life. He doesn’t want you to put your life on hold because he had to go and be a piece of shit and blow it all up. 

Guilt is weighing heavy on his heart, all those promises he put in your head just a day ago that he would no longer be able to keep. It feels like he strung you along even though he had no idea he’d hit rock bottom like this. He wants you to cut the line, he doesn’t want to drag you down with him.

“I can’t make you do anything, but I implore you to try to see where I’m coming from. I won’t be upset, I’ll understand,” he continues.

You respect him and sit quietly, running through the scenarios in your head. You know you want kids. Waiting until your late 30s wasn’t what you had in mind. How would you answer people if they ask if you’re single? Tell them no, that you’re waiting ten years for your man to get out of jail? 

Yes. Yes you absolutely would! He has his wishes and requests but you have agency in this too. You can make your own choices and live how you want to. If waiting for him is what you want to do, there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s made it clear though that he’d immediately find you when he’s out. How you spend your time until then is up to you.

“Five minutes.” the guards voice sounds from the corner. 

Fuck! 

The panic is coming over you again. You have to be strong though, you can’t waste these precious seconds. 

“If I write to you will you write back?” you ask. “It doesn’t have to be romantic, just like pen pals. Can you do that for me?” 

“Sure, I’ll do that,” he agrees. To him it’s a decent compromise, probably hearing his voice and seeing his face would just make this harder for you to get over him. 

“Alright, let’s wrap it up you two.” 

You both stand up and you hug him tightly, inhaling his scent one last time, fingers tracing and squeezing every inch of him, trying to memorize the curves and feel of his body, knowing you’ll forget over time. You’ll both age and grow into different people. A lot can happen in 5 to 10 years.

“I love you Sukuna. Forever. Wish you could’ve stayed with me a little longer, but I’m thankful for the time we had. I’ll always remember it.” 

“I love you too. Always will. You’re a strong and amazing woman, I know you’ll be successful wherever life takes you.” 

He gets cuffed once again, but leans down one last time to plant a soft kiss on your lips. A parting gift that you’ll try to remember for as long as you can.

He’s guided away and looks back at you, his crimson gaze locking onto yours one final time. 

One last sentence lingers on both of your lips, the words you both couldn’t bring yourselves to say for your own reasons. 

I’ll see you on the other side. 

<< Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 >>

Masterlist

taglist: @clp-84 @zeunys @aquaberrydolphin @nynxtea @yuujispinkhair @ssc7514 @sukubusss @scorpiosugar @kiixonmm @xlilycoco

[babybluebex]

fuck em all but us pt. 2 | tryst (fakes) x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: part 2 of 4! the fake id business is booming, and a long night full of tears, drugs, smiles, and more trouble than you bargained for reveal tryst's hidden intentions and your shared desires. wc 13.8k title stolen from watermelon by john + jane q. public 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: tryst (fakes, 2022) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: SPOILERS FOR FAKES! more angst look out, mentions of addiction/dependency issues and struggles with staying sober, discussions of mental health and manic episodes/bipolar disorder (bipolar baddies rise up), drug deals, presence of a gun, varied references to prostitution, slut-shaming, sarah is a huge bitch to reader just be aware, anger outburst from tryst, discussions of past sexual encounters, brief heavy petting, as always if i missed a tag pls let me know so i can add it!! 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: link to masterlist! so basically THIS is the meat of what this fic started out as, reader insert into the tryst-centric episode, and it obviously has outgrown its initial intent but whatever we ball :) unsure how many parts this will be, i think maybe two more?? 4 altogether?? idk we shall see <3 hope you enjoy, follow @babybluebex-writes to be notified whenever i post a new fic!!

Tryst really hated his job. He never really loved any of the jobs he forced himself to have, but he especially despised the clothing store. His shifts were always in the afternoon, after you got off from your own job (a stuffy office with a dress code, using your degree that you managed to maintain through the grace of God and Adderall that Tryst smuggled you), and your phone typically started blowing up with texts around the time you clocked out. can u come bring me food? can u come hang out? nobody’s here n i’m bored to tearzzz You always gave into his antics, and even though you had been fussed at by his manager for being behind the register, which you weren’t allowed to be as a non-employee, that never stopped you from bringing Tryst lunch and sitting with him as he complained that he hated the store and hated the people and how he wanted to blow it all up. 

You were there when Zoe and Becca came in. If you had known back then what would happen when you talked to them, you would have smacked both of them, then Tryst, then dragged him out of the store by his blond hair. But, of course, you didn’t have a second-sight type of ability, and you smiled at Becca as she and her timid friend approached the register. You knew of Becca Li, though had never said anything more than a friendly “Hi!”— a local party girl, had never bought any drugs from Tryst but ran in his circles and often went to the parties he helped throw— and she smiled at you as you sat on the countertop, swinging your legs as you poked at your Chinese takeout. Tryst was preoccupied with one of his death fantasies, pointing the scanner at different people in the store and miming shooting them with a funny sound, and he smiled warmly at the girls. 

He introduced himself, Tryst with a Y (despite his actual name not being spelled with a Y, he thought it was cooler, therefore Tryst with a Y was his real name), and awkwardly bungled Becca’s friend’s name, and you rolled your eyes as Tryst did his whole smacking-his-head routine. “I’m sorry, with a thousand suns,” he said earnestly. “Because our name is our identity and we carry it with us but then we give it to others, so I will not be making that mistake again.” 

“He’s high,” you told Zoe flatly, looking up at her from your food. “Don’t mind him. And he got my name wrong when we first met too, so don’t take it too personally.”

“I still would like to apologize to her,” Tryst told you. “High or not.” You sighed at him and lightly shook your head.

“Tryst,” Becca started, a smile on her face. You knew that smile, you had that smile. The Is-There-Something-You’d-Like-To-Tell-Me? smile. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend!”

“Well, that’s ‘cause I don’t,” Tryst said, and you tried to not let your face betray you as he looked at you. “Nah, we’ve been friends for… Probably since we were their age, huh?” 

“So, since dinosaurs roamed the earth,” you clarified. “Or, at least, for you they did.” 

“Okay, first of all, I’m not that much older than you,” Tryst started, and you giggled. “So, can it with the ‘old’ shit—”

“Tryst, we have something for you,” Becca started, and she held out a card to him. From where you were sitting, it looked like his driver’s license, and you furrowed your eyebrows as your hand slipped into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet. You would remember if he had dropped his license somewhere. 

“Hey!” Tryst smiled. “That’s me!” Sure enough, when you looked at the card in his hand, it had a terrible picture of him that honestly wasn’t too far off from his real license picture, and you flipped open his wallet. Nope, his British Columbia license was still snugly in the little windowed pocket of his wallet, and you put down your food to lean forward and closer examine the card in his hand. “Where’d you find this?”

“‘Cause it’s definitely not yours,” you mumbled, showing him his wallet, and he pouted in confusion at it. 

The shy girl, Zoe, seemed to have clocked that you had reached into his pocket, because she gave you a mildly startled look, like you had done something obscene, and she looked between you and him as Becca explained that they didn’t find it, they made it. Your eyes widened; it was a hell of a good fake ID. Other than the address being some stupid bullshit that would definitely get them in trouble for being fake as fuck, you could almost believe it was real. 

“Do you think you could move ‘em?” Becca asked, and Tryst looked at you with a shrug. You hadn’t fully joined in his shenanigans exactly— you hadn’t even met Bobby, his supplier, yet— but you and him had noticed an uptick in profits on the days that you’d accompany him to his sales. Lately, Tryst had been experimenting with letting you lead the deal and having him there just for protection, which had yet to be needed fully, just the simple hand on you and dudes backed off, and it seemed to be lucrative. He kept trying to call you his business partner, which you refused, but he still called on you for your opinions when it came to business matters. 

“Sure,” Tryst said, examining the plastic card. “I mean, probably. There’s always a market demand…” He trailed off, turning the card over to the back, and you eyed the barcode on the back.

“Does it scan?” you asked, and the girls’ shared blank faces told you that they had no fucking clue what the actual purpose of the barcode was, and only included it to make it look right. That should have told you everything you needed to know, but you didn’t pick up on it in the moment.

“Does the barcode work?” Tryst said in a silly voice, grabbing the scanner he had previously been blowing customers up with and flashing it at the back of the ID. The computer binged, but of course, didn’t do anything, but he still looked at it expectantly. In a second, though, he dropped the act— “Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with you! It’s not a t-shirt.”— and uneasy laughter came from the girls. “Look, if you can get ‘em tested, I could probably do…” 

He stopped, looking at you, and, through a mouthful of orange chicken, you mumbled “Fuck you lookin’ at me for?” 

“Talk numbers to me, girl,” Tryst told you. “You know I love it when you talk numbers.” 

“I’m sure you do,” you mumbled, shoving his shoulder. The way you acted with Tryst at any given second definitely didn’t help the girls’ confusion or clear up Tryst’s I Don’t Have A Girlfriend remark, and you knew that, but you didn’t care. The risk of running fakes was high, especially if the kids who got caught squealed about who they got it from, which they tended to do, but the reward was high too. On the other hand, you didn’t want be greedy with your first batch, just in case they were total fuck ups and looked nothing like what you had in your hand. “200?” you offered.

“200?” Zoe sputtered, and you nodded. “200 cards? Yeah! Yeah, it works!”

Later that night, as you laid in bed next to Tryst, his focus on the video game on the TV across from you, you asked him if the girls had seemed squirrely to him too. “They just seemed… I don’t know… Jumpy,” you said, picking at the split ends on your hair. “Nervous.”

“Well,” Tryst started, biting his tongue as he mashed buttons on his controller. “I don’t know if you know this… But girls… Tend to— Oh, fuck off, I hit that! Die, you fuck!— They tend to get a little nervous when they’re talking to hot, older guys.” 

“You think you’re hot?” you said with a fake sneer, and Tryst shoved his elbow into your ribs with a snicker. 

“I don’t think, I know,” he told you. “You were the one who told me I’m handsome.”

“Right, right,” you nodded. “I was also the one who got you a face wash that doesn’t break you out on your nose, and the one who got you purple shampoo for your hair, and a cologne that doesn’t sting like alcohol—”

“Ya gettin’ to the point here, or are you gonna keep insulting me?” Tryst asked.

“I put in a lot of hard work to make you hot,” you said. “And I’ve never heard a single thank you outta you.” 

Tryst made a grabby hand in your direction, and you passed him the bright pink vape that laid on your tummy. You knew he had one of his own, but ever since they discontinued his favorite flavor (“I know they have mango pineapple, but I don’t want mango pineapple, I want just plain mango back!”), he chose to use yours instead. You didn’t mind it too much, and secretly sorta liked the casual intimacy of sharing a vape. “Thank you for making me hot,” Tryst told you, replacing your vape on your stomach and patting your leg a few times. “I’d be lost without you.” 

“But Becca and Zoe,” you tried again. “They didn’t seem weird to you? Maybe not Becca, but definitely Zoe, she seemed fucked up.”

“I seem to recall another high schooler who was nervous and awkward as fuck,” Tryst started, and you scoffed. “Sometimes it takes certain kids longer to break outta their shell. I mean, look who you’re talking to here.”

“I am,” you said softly, and he finally tore his eyes away from the TV to look at you. You hadn’t meant for that to come across the way he was taking it, and you were quick to add, “I just don’t wanna get into business with some kids who don’t know what they’re doing.” 

“Relax,” Tryst told you. He paused his game instantly and tossed his controller to the side, and he scooched closer to you, pressing his hip against yours. “You saw that fake too, right? It was real as fuck, as far as I’m concerned. And if it scans…” He shrugged. “What do you think it would go for?” 

You ran through the numbers in your head, thinking about what you knew people in the area (mainly the Catholic school kids who made a bulk of the market for fakes in West Van) charged for a decent fake and comparing it to what the average high schooler was willing to shill out for a high-risk/high-reward product, and you came up with a number. “150.” 

“Two hundred IDs for one-fiddy apiece,” Tryst nodded slowly in agreement. “That’s 30 grand. Not bad. Of course, part would go to them; like, what, fifteen percent?” 

“I was thinking twenty, just for the first batch,” you admitted. “Bring ‘em in with the promise of a payout, lessen it as we go on if they meet their marks, y’know? 

Tryst nodded. “We could probably negotiate that with them,” he mumbled under his breath. “Thirty-thousand is not a bad number.”

“No, it’s not,” you agreed. “A good number, in fact.”

“Ugh, you talking numbers,” Tryst grinned down at you. “You get me so hard.” 

“Gross,” you cringed. “I think I’m legally obligated to punch you in the dick now, where is it?” You balled up your fist and held it in the air, and Tryst reached out and gripped your wrist with a stifled laugh. “Where’s your dick, you asshole?”

“She’s hiding, she’s scared of you,” he said, wrestling your arm away from him. “Give her some compliments, she’ll come out. Tell her you like her veins.” 

“She?” you squawked with laughter. “Tell her you like her veins? Tryst, that’s disgusting!”

“But it made you laugh, didn’t it?” he asked. “That’s what I’m here for.” His hand was still firm around your wrist, and a thought jumped through your animal brain— holy shit, he’s strong— before he pulled you to lay across him, your head on his chest and one arm around you as the other reached up and back to settle under his head. Your whole body tingled, and you nuzzled your cheek into his warm chest as he sighed. “I think it’ll be alright. It’s just fuckin’ fake IDs, how serious could it be?” 

“I guess you’re right,” you mumbled. “I’m totally fine dealing blow, but fake IDs are where I get nervous… I’m such an idiot.” 

“Hey,” Tryst started firmly. “No. I’ll have none of that. No bad-mouthing yourself, you know that’s not allowed.” 

If you were a braver woman, you would have taken your chance. He was in your bed, manhandling you, cuddling you, talking about his dick, complimenting and admonishing you at the same time. If you were braver, you would have thrown your leg over his waist and straddled him and kissed him, would have rocked your hips down and felt him grow hard under you. You would hear his sighs, his moans, his whispered “Please, baby, you’re all I want”. You knew that’s what would have happened too, if only you had more courage. 

Instead, you nestled your head into the crook of Tryst’s neck, feeling his chin settle on your crown. “I’d never let you down,” Tryst started. “You know that. I’d rather die than disappoint you.” 

“I know,” you mumbled. “Just… Anxious. You know me.”

“I do,” Tryst nodded. “And I think I know what would make you feel better.” 

“Oh?” you asked, and Tryst nodded. He went into the pocket of his sweatpants and palmed a small plastic baggie, a few of the circular round tablets that you helped him sell settled inside. “You’re right, that would make me feel better.”

Tryst grinned. “Atta girl.”  

The ID business went pretty swimmingly. From what you saw, Zoe was a nervous trainwreck about the whole thing, so you expected the first run to be the only run. In hindsight, everything would be better if it was. One night a few days after the delivery of the first batch, just as you thoight you had washed your hands of the schoolgirls, you caught Tryst gazing at a picture on his phone, and you sat beside him and admired the picture of Emma with him. Six months old now, starting to get downy hair in, her little cheeks all pink and fat, she was growing up quick. But Sarah was still just as hesitant to let him see her as she was back when he was essentially a functioning alcoholic, and you knew how much it killed him not to be in his daughter’s life in a more significant way.

“Maybe…” you started, chewing on your lip. “Maybe just ask? If you can see her? All she can say is no.” 

“Right,” Tryst nodded. “Worst she can say is denying me to see my daughter. That is absolutely the worst she can say.”

“Could you… I don’t know…” you began. “Petition the court for visitation? I mean, she’s already got you paying child support every month, least she can do is grant you monthly visitation, right? It’s not like you’re asking for custody, just visitation.”

“Oh, okay,” Tryst mumbled, wiping the tears gathering in his eyes. “Sure, lemme tidy myself up and go to court with my job at the coffee shop in the mall, a hundred failed businesses, a history of mental health episodes— Yeah, I’m sure the province of British Columbia would love to let me around her.” 

“But you’ve paid child support on time every month,” you protested. “Always early, always overpaying too. Like, your track record with Emma is great. If you… I don’t know. J-Just start with asking Sarah directly; if she says no, then we go to court.”

“We?” Tryst repeated, looking over at you. 

“Yeah, we,” you nodded. “What, you think I’d let you navigate that alone? I’m stuck to you like glue, you can’t get rid of me.” 

Tryst gave you a tired smile and leaned his head on your shoulder. “Why are you the best thing in my life?” he whispered. 

Before you could answer, Tryst’s burner phone started buzzing, rattling the entire coffee table and sending Tiny Homie in a flying startle around the room. Tryst was quick to snatch up the phone and answer it, and a lazy smile spread across his face. “Well, hi, Becca,” he said. “What’s happening, bandita?”

He listened for a moment, then said, “Well, is something wrong?... Dude, no, I’m busy right now, just tell me now… Fuck, c’mon… Ladies, you’re gonna put me in an early grave. I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” He quickly stabbed at his phone to end the call, and he tipped his head back as he groaned. “They wanna talk to me, but said they can’t tell me over the phone.” 

“Jesus,” you whispered. “Do you want me to come with?”

“Nah,” Tryst said. “Stay here; it’s too cold out, I don’t want you to freeze up.” 

“What a gentleman,” you said softly, reaching down and scooping up your cat into your lap. “I’ll hold down the fort here, then.” 

Tryst tugged a hoodie over his head and went out on his adventure, promising to be back within an hour, and you hesitated for a brief moment before grabbing your phone and going in search through your call history. If the number still existed, the call would be about a year old, and you recognized her area code in your historied call log; you hit the call button before you could really think about it.

Even the sound of her voice when she answered the phone made your guts curdle like milk. “Hello?” Sarah asked. She was so sweet, her voice lilting, almost. It pissed you off. 

“Hey, Sarah,” you said carefully. You told her your name, and after a moment of hesitation from her end, you added, “Tryst’s friend, y’know?”

“Oh, right,” she said, and the lilt from her voice disappeared instantly. “Is everything okay? Did he drive into a ditch or something?” 

“Yeah, no, he’s okay,” you said quickly. “I mean, you know him, he’s not okay-okay, but… But, umm, he’s really been missing Emma recently. Like, staring at pictures of her, crying over her, all that shit. And he’s super hesitant to ask to see her, because he’s afraid you’ll say no, so, um… A-And, I mean, I’ve never met her either, so—”

Sarah laughed mirthlessly. “I see,” she said. “So, let me get this straight: you’re taking it upon yourself to try to schedule a time to meet my daughter, the one I had with the guy you stole from me? Trying to guilt me about not letting him around when he cheated on me? With you? What sorta brass balls do you have?”

The wind knocked out of your chest. “Wait, no no no,” you said quickly with a nervous chuckle. “Sarah, we— Tryst and I are not—”

“Oh, save it,” she said. “I had to hear from a friend that you were sitting in his lap at a party the weekend before Emma was born.” You were silent as your stomach went cold, and she added, “Yeah, I heard all about that shit. Sitting in his lap, wearing his jacket, drinking his beer, laughing and, like, playing with his hair? You fuckin’ kidding me? You’re not good at being subtle about it. How long did it take for you to snatch him up after we started screwing? Was it even a day?”

“Sarah,” you started, but she cut you off again.

“And you’re still doing it!” she exclaimed. “It happened last fuckin’ weekend too! My brother’s friend bought X from you— which, might I add, stealing someone’s baby daddy and being a drug whore at the same time is just a cute look for you, babe— and he said Tryst grabbed your ass?” 

“Jesus, no, he did not,” you mumbled; you remembered that interaction, dealing ecstasy to some dude who surely had no business buying it, and Tryst had touched your waist when the dude started flirting with you, a subtle back off, she’s not for sale. “He didn’t do anything like that. Sarah, just please, we’re not— We never have— Tryst is like a brother to me, I’d rather give myself a lobotomy than wanna fuck him.” The lie felt sour in your mouth, but you needed to keep it up. “It’s, it’s hard to explain, but please believe me. I didn’t steal him from you, we weren’t and aren’t fucking— And I don’t even need to be there! Just, please, I can’t watch him cry about his daughter one more time. Please just let him see Emma.” 

You could almost hear Sarah’s frown over the phone, and the silence lasted long enough that you wondered if the call had disconnected. Finally: “Saturday morning. He can stop by the house for a few minutes before I go to work. I’d better not fucking see you, though. You’re lying to me and I know it, and I’m not sure what your problem is or why you keep lying to me, but… It’s not fair to punish Emma like this.” 

“Okay,” you nodded quickly. “Right, perfect, okay. Umm, text him about it, he’ll be fuckin’ thrilled. Thank you, Sarah, I really appreci—” This time, there was no mistaking that Sarah hung up on you. 

When Tryst got home, he was buzzing with excitement, and he nearly picked you up and spun you around as he told you that the “ladies”, as he called them, had told him they were back in business with the IDs. Despite the cut that they got of the 30 grand, the stash of cash that Tryst kept hidden in a rip in the back of your couch had gotten bigger with that scheme, and he obviously couldn’t wait to pad out the back of your couch even more. But that wasn’t all: “Sarah called me when I was driving back, and she said she felt bad and is letting me come see Emma Saturday morning! She said it’ll be, like, 7:00 in the morning or something, but—!” You were thankful that she seemingly didn’t mention your involvement, and you let Tryst hug you as he babbled about getting Emma a present on Friday and wondered what he should get her. 

The week passed, and suddenly, Friday morning. Tryst had been let go from the clothing store (you knew it was because of you, but he never told you and certainly protested whenever you said that) and had started a job at the Coffee Corner, despite him absolutely hating the coffee they made. That morning, he had begged you to bring him real coffee on your way into the office, and you popped in with a thermos of the coffee you made at home. Zoe and Becca were at the counter when you showed up, and Becca smiled at you as you gave Tryst the pink thermos, along with your bright pink vape, tucking it into the pocket of his jeans. “Left this at home,” you told him, and he smiled. 

“I think I’d leave my head on the carpet if you didn’t help me,” Tryst told you, his eyes soft at you. 

“Do you live together?” Becca asked. You were amused by the confusing picture that you were painting for the girls with every bit of lore that you dropped about you and Tryst, and you shook your head. 

“Kinda. He takes up enough residence in my apartment so he can claim he doesn’t live with his mom,” you told her. 

“Hey! I help out too!” he said. “I paid your rent last month.”

“You contributed to rent,” you corrected him. 

“Jesus! That wasn’t the whole payment?” Tryst hissed, and you nodded, sucking the back of your teeth. “West Van is not that nice, and your apartment isn’t either, there’s no need for it to be that expensive.”

The girls left soon after, as did you, and Tryst gave you a free tea as he reminded you that he was meeting with his friend Leo that afternoon for a pitch with his bosses. You had briefly met Leo before, some suit-and-tie that Tryst had gone to classes with at U-Toronto who had an affinity for molly, and you frowned. You didn’t like Leo all that much, but Tryst did, so it didn’t matter much what you thought, as long as Tryst trusted him. You got a text during your lunch hour that the meeting with Leo was pushed to 6 on account of Leo forgetting to organize the meeting (which felt like proof to you why you were justified in not liking him), and Tryst Venmo’ing you money to bring him dinner. He was always running around like a headless chicken, and you didn’t mind providing for him. 

At 4pm on the dot, you got a quick text from him grabbing emma’s present and going to the meeting w leo, will text u when i’m out :). You didn’t love the idea he had been working on, some sorta Tinder/Air-BnB mix that just seemed totally fucking ridiculous, but he was passionate about it, so it meant something to you on that virtue alone. By the time you received Tryst’s omw home text, you had already showered off the gunk from the office and were waiting for him. You knew he likely would want a shower too before meeting with the ladies, and Tiny Homie met him at the door as he keyed in. 

His energy was off instantly, and he gently pushed Tiny Homie aside with his feet to slip his shoes off. “How’d the meeting with Leo go?” you asked slowly, sensing something wrong, and Tryst sighed as he set his bag down. 

“Can you make me a drink?” he asked, and your throat went tight. 

“That bad?” you asked softly. “Shit, T, I’m sorry. I know you were super—” 

“I don’t…” Tryst started, putting his hands up in surrender. “Don’t wanna talk about it. Do we have anymore of those White Claws from Wednesday night?”

“Umm…” you started, sitting up straighter on the couch. You knew that you did, the fizzy peach-flavored drinks still sitting towards the back of your fridge, but you didn’t want him to have them. He had certainly gotten better with the drinking habit, but the times that it started to creep back in terrified you. You knew that he had been talking to a therapist about everything, and you wondered what went through his head when he would do things that you just couldn’t imagine his therapist would approve of. “I think I tossed them. You said you didn’t like ’em.” 

“Damn,” he mumbled. “I was fantasizing about a shower White Claw the whole drive home.” He did that frequently enough, called your apartment ‘home’, but it made butterflies erupt in your tummy every time he did it. “Do we have anything to drink?”

“I don’t think so,” you said, trying to act cool about it. “We still gotta get dinner, though, I can grab you something from the gas station.” 

“Fuck,” Tryst groaned loud and long, much more “Faaaahk” than anything else. “What’s for food?” 

“Poutine?” you offered. “You seem like you need comfort food.” 

Tryst smiled warmly at you, coming to you and encircling you in a tight hug. He was obviously exhausted, and you rubbed his back soothingly. “I think I’d die without you,” he whispered in your ear. “Love you, dork.” 

The drive to the warehouse for the party was quick, and even though he was carrying two cases of RedBull at once, he refused to let you carry anything heavy. “You just got your nails done,” he said. “They’re too fierce for you to break on some fuckin’ energy drinks.” He never let you do too much work, and you had heard in whisperings that it was very much 'princess treatment', but he still steadfastly refused to let you help. You were only there for a few minutes before you were jetting back away anyway, running by a small mom-and-pop corner market for cheap poutine and two canned drinks with a high ABV, one of which Tryst was quick to crush and toss in his backseat. 

The meeting with the girls was brutal too. You had seen the slidedeck he had prepared for Leo, and you hated to admit that Becca and Zoe’s slides were miles above where his were. They definitely seemed to know what they were talking about too, mentioning loans and market caps and optimizing revenue, and you watched Tryst narrow his eyes at them before shoving a gravy-soaked fry into his mouth. They asked him what he thought about the entire venture, and he looked at you for a few moments. You shrugged; they definitely seemed well-researched and professional. If it all went tits up, you could just pull the plug. Becca tried to hand you a bound folder full of information, and you scoffed through a mouthful of fry at it. 

“What?” Becca whined. “It’s, like, so professional. It’s even color-coded. We’re not kids, y’know.” 

“Yeah, no, I know,” you said. “But it’s evidence. If someone found this, literally the entire operation traces back to you.”

“How many of these did you print?” Tryst asked, and Becca sheepishly presented the three other copies. Jesus Christ.

“For fuck’s sake!” Tryst exclaimed, grabbing them from her hands, and he dug around in his bag for a moment before extracting a small plush duckie toy, and you smiled at it. Emma’s present; you remembered, helping Tryst pack for college years ago, finding a similar one that he had had since he was a baby. The idea that he had gotten Emma the same toy he had had made your heart melt. After a quick goodbye where Tryst invited them to the party, you found yourself back in the car. You felt like you spent most of your life in his passenger seat, holding his bag or whatever precious cargo he had, and you lovingly cuddled the duckie to your chest. 

“This is a nice gift,” you told him as he yawned. “She’ll love it.” 

“Yeah,” Tryst mumbled. “Sure hope so.” Before he could add more, his burner phone chirped, and he added, “Grab that for me?” 

A text from an unsaved number, inquiring about Tryst’s inventory of X and how much it would cost. “A deal,” you informed him, pecking out the answer for the buyer. “How much X you got on ya?”

Tryst scratched at the underside of his jaw as he thought, and the traffic light outside the window bathed him in green as it turned. “Getting to the end of my supply,” he mumbled. “Meetin’ Bobby later and he’s meant to give me more… I should have enough for, like, one person, though.” 

Back at the warehouse, Tryst settled himself cross-legged on top of a dumpster with the duckie in his lap, pounding a RedBull, carefully watching the deal go down across the street. He wasn’t a part of it, but kept watch over you as you exchanged tablets and money, his eyes narrowing for just a moment as he watched you count the bills and give the guy a cute smile. You liked whenever Tryst was your personal little Batman, and you were quick to fold up the money and push it into his front pocket as he tugged you into the warehouse. 

The party inside was more rave-y than you liked, but watching Tryst mingle and hype everyone up brought an amused smile to your face. He would do anything to get people excited, and watching him dance and encourage bad decisions allowed your mind to wander into you making a bad decision with him… Maybe a few bad decisions; you were pretty sure that letting him lick your pussy after the entire hellstorm with Sarah was probably ill-advised, but hey, a girl could dream. 

Just before midnight, a text from Bobby came in, and Tryst made you promise to sit inside the party and hold the duckie while he went to talk to him. It was intentional on Tryst’s part that you had never met his supplier, and he said that it wasn’t because Bobby was necessarily a bad guy, but he felt like meeting Bobby was one step too far on the “making you an accessory to his crimes” front. “You meet the guy who gives me the drugs, then you know where they come from,” he had explained once. “If they just magically appear in my hand to give to you, then you don’t know anything. Keeps you safe.”

Tryst returned from the meeting while you were outside smoking a cigarette, the duckie hidden under your shirt to keep him smoke-free, and you went to throw your arm around Tryst. He seemed stiff, holding something hidden behind his bag, and he quickly mumbled, “Get off for two seconds.” 

“Wha—” you started, and his eyes darted to you, ultra-serious, causing you to step back and away. You almost felt like you did something wrong. 

Quickly, he pushed past you and went to a pile of pallets next to the building, and you watched him kneel down and push something underneath the pile, adjusting it to make sure it was really hidden. You tilted your head in confusion, and Tryst snatched the cigarette from your fingers and pulled at it. “Bobby needs me to hold something for him for a few hours,” Tryst mumbled under his breath, ruffling up his hair in the back. “But like fuck I’m actually holding onto it.”

“What is it?” you asked, and he shook his head quickly. 

“S’better if you don’t know,” Tryst informed you. 

You gave him a look, an Are you fucking kidding me? expression, and he sighed. “Is it something bad?” you asked, and Tryst looked down at his feet and the scuffed Timbs he favored when it would start to get cold. “Tryst.”

“A fucking gun,” Tryst hissed under his breath. “Okay? He said he’ll introduce me to some angel investor for my app if I do this for him.” 

“Tryst!” you whispered sharply. “What the fuck?” 

“Listen, don’t—” Tryst started. “Just don’t. I feel like this is a new low for me, and I just don’t wanna—”

“Okay, okay,” you said quickly. “I won’t.” He finished off your cigarette for you and smashed it on the ground under his boot, and you followed him back inside to the loud booming music and neon lights. You passed him the duckie back and watched him shove it back into his bag, and a smile grew over his face as he spotted Becca and Zoe, one definitely more into the party than the other. 

Tryst laid down on the couch, much in the same fashion he did on yours, but he grabbed your waist and pulled you down to sit in his lap, your back leaned up against his chest. Your skin bristled with the contact, especially his cold fingers touching the exposed skin under your shirt, and you cozied up to him as his arm went fully around your waist, holding you close. “You’re cold,” he whispered in your ear, and you shrugged. 

“Not for much longer,” you told him, watching as Becca stroked Zoe’s face with some decorative glittery branches. “If you keep holding me like this.” It was bold to acknowledge what he was doing, and you knew it, but a satisfied little smile came over his lips. 

“Well, I might,” Tryst whispered, tightening his arm for just a second. “How about that? What if I never let you go?” 

“Feel like my job might have a problem with that,” you told him, and he scoffed. 

“Let them,” he said, and his gaze went past you to Zoe, sitting on the arm of the couch, being her usual uptight self, and Tryst’s face turned into one of amused confusion. “You want something?” he called to her, and she looked first directly at you, laying almost on top of him, then to him. 

“What?” she asked, and you couldn’t tell if her confusion was over his question or your current closeness. To your memory, the girls had never seen you and Tryst when you were physical with each other, so her confusion was valid. 

“Take the edge off,” Tryst clarified. “I happen to know a really killer molly dealer, if that’s what you’re after.” He patted your thigh a few times in a row, and you rolled your eyes at the compliment. “She’ll cut you a cheap deal too.” 

“That’s not really Zoe’s scene,” Becca said with a shrug.

“Yeah, well,” Tryst shrugged, his other arm circling you, trapping you fully against him, not that you were complaining, “Neither is this and yet… There she is.” His chest rumbled as he spoke over the music, sending shivers down your back, and that familiar tingle and heat started to simmer in your core. Of course you were turned on by this. Who wouldn’t be?

Becca declined the beer that her boyfriend gave her, some kid named Clem that seemed way too nice for Becca, on account of her getting bloated in her little rave outfit, and you gladly took the plastic cup from Clem’s hand and went at it. “What? I’m not wasting a fuckin’ beer,” you laughed at the look she gave you, and you passed the cup back to Tryst, who took a tiny sip. His attention was almost instantly drawn away from you to the door, where you could hear some altercation going down with the door guy, and Tryst tapped your hip a few times to signal to let him get up and go see what the situation was. 

“So, uh,” Clem started with a good-natured smile. “How long have you and Tryst been together?” 

“Oh, we’re not,” you told him. 

A beat passed where Clem waited for you to add more, and he asked, “Just sleeping together?” 

“Not even,” you scoffed. “He’s my best friend, we’ve known each other since high school. Y’know, we actually went to Ambleside too.” 

“Oh, wow,” Clem said with genuine fascination. “Like, graduated and everything?”

“If you can believe it,” you laughed. “We had shop class together, but we always skipped and would go smoke under the bleachers at the soccer field. I failed it, and I think the teacher only passed him because he was a senior and was already accepted to college.” 

“Tryst went to college?” Becca squawked in disbelief. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. The kids, Zoe included, seemed to be eating up the lore drop, and you said, “University of Toronto, business school. He dropped out as he was finishing up his third year, though.” 

“Why?” Zoe asked. “I-I mean, if he was so close to being done…?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “He told me it was to build some app or whatever, that school was taking up too much of his time, but I’ve got no clue if that’s the truth or not. But whatever.” 

“Okay, so you and him aren’t even fucking?” Becca asked, and you winced. 

“Nope,” you said, popping the P, and took a quick swig of your beer. 

“So, what’s…” she started, and shook the glittery branches around at you like some fairy princess casting a spell. “The laying on him, sitting on him, sharing vapes—”

“And you’re always reaching into his pockets,” Zoe added, and you gave a mumbled ‘Not you too’. “Like, his wallet, money, his phone, like all that stuff.”

“And he kisses you sometimes!” Becca added. “Just on the head and shit, but like—! And all the little whispering you do! Babe! He’s definitely into you!” 

“Jesus, I know,” you sighed. “Not that I owe either of you an explanation about my relationships, romantic or otherwise… Back in high school, we somewhat admitted we had crushes on each other— It’s complicated— but it’s been a thing of… We’d much rather be friends who wish they were more than actually settle down together and realize that maybe we aren’t right for each other and lose each other completely. And I know he wants more, and I do too, but I’m just… I’m scared. Okay? I don’t know who I am without Tryst. It’s always just been the two of us.” You shut your mouth before you could say more, and Becca and Zoe (and Clem) all just nodded slowly. 

Before you could run your motor mouth anymore, Tryst came back, and with Clem’s departure, started going over the dealers. Becca’s choice, Sophie, a cool popular girl, seemed more appealing than Zoe’s choice, Sally, a weird theater nerd, but Tryst was on the same page as you— target two different demographics and boost your sales. He told the ladies to hire the new girls, then directed them out of the building with the promise of a free beer. 

“Cops,” he whispered in your ear, pushing his car keys into your hand. “Got about twenty minutes ‘fore they get here, go spin the block a few times. I got a meeting with Bobby and his investor in, like, an hour, but then everything should be squared away and I’m all yours ‘til the morning.” With that, he landed a soft kiss on your cheek that made your full-body tingles return, and you frowned at him.

“Are you drunk?” you asked. 

“No,” Tryst scoffed. “Why?”

“You’re being very…” you started. “I don’t know. Touchy… Tonight. Even Becca and Zoe noticed it.” 

Tryst sighed. He obviously had a lot on his mind, but not enough time to say it, and he just set a couple of pats on your lower back. “We’ll talk about it later,” he told you, and your stomach rolled cold. “Just get out of here, I’ll see you soon.” 

The whole time you sat in his car, you chewed nervously at your cuticles. What did he want to talk about? What did he have to say? You had a hard time gauging his mood, and the kiss on your cheek wasn’t helping you come to any conclusions either. You hated feeling confused like this, and you felt sweat break on your back as you worried yourself into a hole. You kept defaulting to worst case scenarios— he was being extra nice to you so he could let you down easy, something was going on where he’d need to detach. Your hands were shaking by 3AM, and you pulled his car up to the side of the warehouse, where he sat on the wooden pallets. Trying to lift your spirits (and, by the sour look on his face, his too), you rolled down the window and called out to him, “Hey, handsome! Lookin’ for a date?”

A smile came across his face, but it was slight. Tryst looked like he wanted to burst into tears at the sight of you, his eyebrows pitching up in the middle the way they did before he started crying, and his smile came off more like a grimace. You threw the car into park in an instant and pulled the door open, just meaning to get out to switch to your usual seat, but Tryst intercepted you before you could go too far. He hugged you like you were a buoy in the ocean, grabbing at the back of your jacket and slouching to press his face into your neck, and your instincts worked in a moment to hug him back. Your hand went into his hair, smoothing it down and gently combing it out with your nails, and you stood in a tight, silent embrace for a few moments before you whispered, “T, what happened? S’everything okay?” 

“No,” he whispered on cracking breaths. “Fuck, I… Fuck, get in the car.” 

“Tryst—” you started, taking a step backwards, but he huffed out a heavy sigh before you could say more. 

“Just get in the fucking car,” he said, louder and firmer than he’d usually speak to you. It startled you, and you did as he told you, settling in the passenger seat as he slammed the door behind him. You quickly hit the lock for the doors, and you watched him as he sat catatonic for a moment, staring absently into his hands. He was holding something, a set of keys with a bedazzled pug charm on it, and you chewed your lip. His hands were shaking slightly, and you watched as he stretched his fingers, trying to get the shaking to stop, but it didn’t. 

Tryst was obviously thinking, ruminating on whatever had happened over the past hour, and he still moved slowly and absently as he reached into his bag and tenderly held the duckie toy to his chest. You liked that idea that the mere thought of Emma was calming to him, but your serene thought was shattered as you watched his jaw work for a minute before he whispered, “Jesus fucking…” 

You felt frozen in fear, the same fear you had felt the night Emma was born, unable to help but not sure you wanted to, as he started to hit the steering wheel with the open palms of both hands, over and over. You knew that you would never be at the end of his anger that way, but it still terrified you to witness it. You were holding your breath, you knew you were, and you shrunk away from him as he yelled in pain and cursed loud enough to make your ears ring. The duckie had fallen in his rage, and he held one of its fuzzy orange feet in his first, ripped and torn away from the body. 

Tryst took a steadying breath, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and you watched a fat tear fall from his eyelashes and slither down his cheek, leaving a shiny wet track in its wake. After a quiet moment, he cast his gaze to you, focused on your lap for a moment before lifting to your face, and his tears finally washed over his eyes as he saw you: small, shaking, terrified. 

“What’s wrong with you?” you whimpered, your voice weak. You felt like your throat was closing up as you held back your sobbing and your fear, and Tryst’s fallen face made you feel like you wanted to die. “W-What happened?” 

“Don’t…” he started at a low mumble. 

“Trystan,” you said firmly, as firm as you could muster in that moment. “Don’t fuck with me right now. Are you drunk?”

“Why do you keep fucking asking me that?” Tryst asked, spitting it out like it tasted bad.

“Because you’re acting how you used to!” you sobbed. “Angry a-and scary, you’re scaring the shit out of me! Hitting shit, breaking shit, you haven’t been like this in months, and now all of the sudden, it’s— You’re terrifying me, Tryst! I can’t fucking lose you, and if you’re drinking again like you used to, I deserve to know that!” 

“I’m not,” Tryst said stiffly. “I’m not drunk. I swear.” He saw your gulp at his words, and his tears came fresh as he added, “Baby, please, you gotta believe me. I’m not. I’m just… I want tonight to fucking end.” 

“What happened?” you said again. “Did something happen with Bobby?”

“Well,” Tryst started. He took a deep breath, and he started the car back up, slowly driving away from the warehouse. “I mean… Yeah. He, uh, took me to meet that app investor, some British dude or Australian or whatever the fuck named Guy, and after Bobby fucking shot himself in the leg with the gun, because he’s the most goddamn fucking stupid person I’ve ever met, Guy saw the fuckin’ folder the girls gave us with their pitch. He liked it, and said he was willing to fund the ID thing instead of my app. Even gave us space to set up shop and everything.” He bounced his leg, letting the keys that had fallen into his lap during his explosion bounce and jingle; the keys to the place Guy gave him.

“Oh,” you whispered. “Isn’t that a good thing, though?”

“No,” Tryst mumbled. “Yes, but no.”

“W-Why not?” you asked. “Maybe it’s not your app, but you’ve got something—”

“Those guys aren’t like us,” Tryst interrupted you firmly. “Those are, like, no-shit bad dudes. Like, the kind to really break your fingers over debts or whatever, Godfather type shit. Swim with the fishes type of motherfuckers. If the girls don’t come through on this whole thing, I could be majorly fucked. And I’m just… How the hell did I get here? What went so fuckin’ wrong in my life that I’m selling my soul to the mob or whatever the fuck so I can help some high school girls print fake IDs?” 

You sighed, gently wiping under your teary eyes, and you rubbed your fingers together to pill up the mascara that you gathered on your fingertips. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I… I think tonight has been a really crazy, overwhelming night… And you’re nervous about seeing Emma in the morning anyway, so I’m sure that doesn’t help… Let’s, uh, just go home. We can… Can regroup, get a little sleep, you go see your girl, everything’ll be okay.” 

Tryst was silent, seemingly in his own world, and, outside the front window, you watched the streets dissolving into a familiar locale. Your heart seized in your chest; you hadn’t been to the overlook in a long time, probably close to a year. You figured that part of your life was over, some childish ritual that was too immature for a father and his friend. Yet, as Tryst parked right where he always did, it felt just like it used to. 

You sat on the hood of the car as Tryst stood, leaned up against the closed door, popping his knuckles nervously. Every time his arm moved, his forearm brushed your knee, and you sighed heavily. You wanted to apologize to him— for what, you weren’t certain— but he spoke just as you were drawing a breath. 

“M’sorry,” he whispered. “For fucking… Everything. Raging at you, scaring you, getting you involved in this entire thing… I think if you had never met me, you’d probably be happier.”

“Tryst,” you whispered. “I wouldn’t. I would be fucking miserable if I never met you. Like, new school, no friends— if I hadn’t been sat next to you in shop, I don’t know how long I would’ve lasted at Ambleside.” 

You watched Tryst chew on the inside of his lip for a moment, and then he slowly admitted: “Sometimes I wonder if it’s because of me that you didn’t have friends back then. I, like, got my stink on you or something. Nobody liked me, so nobody liked you because you liked me. I wonder if I ruined your life.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Stop,” you told him. “You’re winding yourself up. C’mere, just—” You stammered, pushing him by the arm and pointing at a spot in the dirt in front of you. “Stand here.”

“Right here?” Tryst asked, shuffling into place, moving an inch to the right or left every time you corrected him, and you felt relief flood your body as he smiled at his joke. You didn’t think anything of it as you opened your knees, allowing him just a tad closer to you, your legs dangling down the hood of the car, and you pressed your hand to the middle of his chest. 

“You’re gonna—” you started, and you snatched up his wrist, pressing it to your own sternum. “You’re gonna close your eyes and take a deep breath, okay? As deep as you can go, until you can’t breathe in anymore. Hold it for ten seconds, let it all out, then do it again twice more.” 

“Why am I doing this?” Tryst asked.

“To calm down,” you told him. “S’what I do to settle myself down.” 

Tryst rolled his eyes, and you let your eyelids flutter closed. You felt his chest start to rise as he drew in his first breath, and you peeked an eye open to see him fully watching you. “Tryst!” you squealed. “Close your eyes, you fuck!”

“Okay, okay,” Tryst chuckled, and he shut his eyes as you did the same. His chest rose again, seeming to take your little exercise more seriously, and you did the same, drawing in a deep, deep breath before you held it and started to whisper with a strained voice, counting from one up to ten. Tryst chuckled a little, and you batted at his chest to get him to quiet down.

The second breath went down better, and you listened to the sounds of the night as you waited the ten seconds, the sound of the traffic far away on the bridge, a cold wind blowing past your ears, and Tryst. He was silent, but you felt like you could hear his heart beating, feeling it pulse against your palm, slow but speeding back up as he let out his breath. The last breath, the third, and his fingers on your own chest twitched for a moment, an involuntary move, just a tiny little jerk, and you peeked your eyes open to look at him. He looked so peaceful, calm, like he was asleep, his dark eyelashes casting a shadow on his cheeks; he was so handsome. You watched him let out the final breath, and he opened his own eyes to look at you, the smallest, most crooked smile touching at his lips. 

“Do you feel better?” you asked.

“Not really,” Tryst confessed. “Maybe a little more calm, but definitely not better.”

“Well, shit,” you sighed. “That usually works for me. Really, though, I guess it worked for what I wanted it to do, which was make you stop crying.”

“What, don’t like to see men cry?” Tryst asked, and you laughed. 

“No, no, it’s the you of it all,” you told him as he chuckled. “When you get sad and start crying, the, like, skin around your eyes goes super red and the rest of your face goes pale, but your eyes are so clear and, like, a really vivid blue, so the redness and the blue and the pale sorta makes you look like Spongebob when he had the suds—”

And suddenly, Tryst was on you, his chest against yours, and he was kissing you. It startled you a little, the sudden closeness, and your hand shot out behind you to catch yourself from toppling over, but Tryst was already there with you, his hands flattening on your back to keep you close. It didn’t even take a single second for your brain to catch up with the program, just a repeated OhmyGodTryst on repeat, and you kissed him back with hardly any hesitation. He was a good kisser, his lips soft and gentle and plush against yours, his smattering of facial hair rubbing on your chin, his nose bumping against yours; he kissed you like he wanted to devour you, like he had been waiting for the right opportunity and had no intention on reserving himself anymore. Your hand anchored on the back of his neck, pulling him even closer, and his hips nestled perfectly against yours, your thighs tightening around his waist. 

Just as his hands were sliding from your back down to grip your hips, your senses finally caught up with you, and you tugged away from him breathlessly. Your lips tingled with the feel of him, and your body burned at the closeness. You had been close before, but never like this, never when the air between your body was electrified and threatened to pop like lightning at any second. Your eyes locked on his, unsure exactly what to say, but luckily, he broke the ice for you. 

“Did I…” Tryst began. His eyebrows wrinkled just so, that face of near-tears once more. Poor sweet boy; he was terrified that he had ruined everything, you could see it plainly. “Please tell me I didn’t fuck this whole thing up.” 

“Tryst,” you started lightly, tilting your head, and he groaned softly. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled. “Just, forget I did that—” He started to pull away from you, but your hand on his neck kept him in his spot, and you pulled him back in for another kiss. This time, you made it abundantly clear from the jump that you wanted to kiss him, and that you wanted him to kiss you back, arching your back to drag your hips against his, opening your mouth as an invitation, which he took without pause. He tasted sweet, like the fucking candy-flavored vape that he always stole from you, his tongue soft inside your mouth. He made a quiet sound in the back of his throat, almost a moan but not exactly, and he broke the kiss this time, gently biting at your bottom lip as he seemed to almost drag himself away from your mouth. 

“Really?” he whispered. “You’re not…? I figured you’d be—”

“Baby,” you said softly, and he melted at the name coming from your lips. “I’m not mad, or upset, or whatever you thought I would be. Look, how long have we known each other?” 

“Ten years,” Tryst answered automatically. “Getting close to eleven.” 

Your fingers played in the short hair at the nape of his neck, already growing out and returning to his natural dark color. He looked at you with tenderness, like you were the greatest gift to the world, and it made your body go warm. This man wasn’t just attracted to you, and you could tell by his gaze alone. No; Tryst loved you. “Ten years,” you repeated. “I have been waiting for you to kiss me for about… Nine years and eleven months.” 

Tryst’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Baby,” he whispered, almost an admonishment, his hand soothing up and down your thigh. “Fuck, I’ve been wanting to kiss you for about nine years, eleven months, and probably three weeks. It was just… Immediate. I knew you were the girl for me.” 

“Why’d you never say anything?” you asked. 

Tryst squeezed his eyes shut, and gently touched his forehead against yours. “Immunity Necklace,” he mumbled. It had been a long time since either of you had to invoke the power of the Immunity Necklace, but you nodded all the same. “I was… Fucking terrified. I-I never had any luck with girls, you were sorta the only girl I ever talked to, and I was scared of losing my only friend just because I was horny for her. And, I mean, of course I wanted you for non-horny reasons, but I didn’t want you to think of me as just some degenerate or whatever.”

“Well…” you began. “Do you remember what I told you about Alex?”

“Lobster boy?” Tryst asked, and you smiled. 

“Yes, that one,” you said. 

“You said that you wished it had been me,” Tryst said with a slow nod. “I think about that every day. And I know you said you didn’t mean it like that—”

“Except I did,” you confessed. “I wanted it to be you so badly. I remember, every time I closed my eyes, I just saw you, and when I’d open ‘em back, it was like a punch in the gut that you weren’t above me.”

“Like…” Tryst started softly. “In a ‘I wish it was someone I was close to’ kinda way, or a ‘I would get off if it was him’ kinda way? Did you even cum when that happened?”

“Umm,” you started, and now it was your turn to look away sheepishly. “Well, I did, but it wasn’t… His doing.” 

“What do you mean…” Tryst started, and he let out a breathy laugh. “Baby. Are you admitting to me what I think you are?”

“What do you think I’m admitting?” you asked coyly.

“First of all, that bum-ass motherfucker didn’t make you cum,” Tryst started. “But I bet he did. Son of a bitch. But you finished yourself, right? Can I take a guess what you were thinking about?” 

“Tryst,” you groaned, your whole face all hot and tingly. 

“Were you thinking about me?” Tryst asked, and his fingers captured your chin, making you look at him. He said your name, slow and saccharine, dripping off his pink mouth like syrup, and, if you hadn’t been sitting on the hood of his car, your knees would have given out and you would have fallen to the dirt. “The first time you had sex, did you finish yourself by thinking about me?” 

“Yes,” you said softly, biting your lip. “It’s just… I knew it would work. It had in the past, and—”

Tryst gasped. “Wait, hold on,” he laughed. “Stop it, this feels like Christmas. No bullshit? You used to masturbate to me?” 

“Oh, um,” you started, jokingly avoiding eye contact. “Y-Yeah, used to. Sure, totally not anymore.” 

“Jesus,” Tryst smiled, and he swiped a kiss to your mouth, like he couldn’t help himself. “This is the best day of my life.”

“Whatever,” you scoffed, shoving his shoulder. “As if you didn’t do the same.” 

“I totally did,” Tryst said. “I remember, I used to just, I don’t know, imagine you doing certain things, whatever, horny teenage boy bullshit. But then one day, you went to grab something and your shirt pulled funny a little bit, and I saw just the slightest bit of your bra, and I was so, like, mesmerized by it. It was bright purple, I remember it so well. And I used to dream about taking off your shirt and seeing that bra and being able to take it off you, ‘cause I definitely would have been able to do that unassisted back then. But I thought about that bra for ages.”

“Wow,” you said, watching a peachy blush invade his cheeks. You liked Tryst’s blush; it wasn’t red or pink, it was an orange, situated right at the very tops of his cheeks, like two ripe peaches that gave away his embarrassment. “Didn’t take a lot to get your motor runnin’.” 

“And it still doesn’t,” he told you. 

“Who, umm…” you started. “When did you lose your virginity? I don’t know if you ever really told me for sure.” 

Tryst squeezed your hips, and his fingers played along your hip bones. “My first year at Toronto,” he said, and you instantly knew. The girl who broke his heart. “I wanted to fuck her, and she wanted to fuck me, but it just wasn’t… I think she could tell that my heart wasn’t really in it, ‘cause we finished, and she immediately started accusing me of having another girlfriend or something.” 

“What did you say?” you asked. 

Tryst shrugged. “Told her that she caught me,” he said. “It felt like an easier explanation than ‘I’m actually in love with my best friend who lives in West Van and was thinking about her the entire time I was fucking you, but we’re not dating and never have and never will, so I’m just a hopeless romantic’.” 

“Tryst!” you laughed. “Dude, that girl hates your guts! We don’t like being told we’re the other woman!” 

“I know,” Tryst sighed, but his smile betrayed him. 

“Were you thinking about my purple bra then?” you asked, pulling him in for a kiss, and he laughed against your mouth. 

“Somethin’ like that,” he whispered, turning his head to kiss you properly. 

You enjoyed his kiss, holding him close, finally able to do what you wanted to for years now, but something he had just said finally sank into your brain and made you pull away. “You said ‘not dating, never have, never will’,” you started. “Do you still think that?”

“Up until about five minutes ago,” Tryst said. “Like, this is my wildest dream come true right now. If you tell me you’d let me have more, no matter what it was, I’d probably die of heart failure.” 

You hummed. You loved knowing that you had him in the palm of your hand— not that you ever didn’t, but this was different. “And what if I told you that I’d die to be your girl?” you offered. “I’ve wanted that since high school. To be yours, to get to love you and get your love back. What would you do?”

You expected Tryst to quip a joke back at you, say some saucy zinger that made your skin catch flame, but you watched him slot his bottom lip in his teeth as his eyes got wet and watery. “I’d be the happiest man in the world,” he whispered. “You’ve always been the only one for me. It’s always been you.” 

“I love you,” you told him, and he breathed a sigh of relief, kissing you again. You threw your arms around his neck and held him close, savoring every inch of him, his scent and taste, the warmth of his chest in the cold night. 

Eventually, though, you both parted. It was getting to be late, and, by the time you got home, you’d only be able to sleep for just under two hours before Tryst had to go to see Emma. He held your hand on the drive back to your apartment, tangled your fingers together up the stairs, and you fell into a variation of your typical routine, Tryst getting in bed and settling on the side closest to the wall, letting you occupy the other side. Tonight was different, though; he laid next to you and caged you between his arms, just his top half looming over you, and he kissed you sweetly, pushing your hair out of your face. You both knew you needed as much sleep as possible— especially him, considering he had to clock in at Coffee Corner at a sharp 9am post-Emma— but you couldn’t stop the way your hands pushed under his shirt and his did the same, gently kissing and slowly undressing until you were bare, intimate skin against intimate skin. You were both too exhausted and emotionally raw to do much, but you didn’t need to tonight. You had all the time in the world with him. 

His phone alarm started to buzz just as he started to migrate his kisses down to your neck and soft chest. Tryst sighed heavily, mumbling something akin to “Fuck, it was just gettin’ good too”, and he reached over and stabbed at the STOP button on his screen. He paused to read notifications for a moment, yawning wide, and he turned back to you with a soft look in his eyes. “I want you to come with me,” he whispered, leaning down and placing feather-light kisses along your collarbone. “I want you to meet Emma.” 

Your stomach lurched. You remembered your phone call with Sarah, how she said she had no interest in seeing you, but Tryst had no idea you made that call. “I dunno,” you mumbled, lightly pushing his hair from off his forehead. “Is it really my place to be there?” 

“Of course it is,” he said. “Even if we weren’t together now, you’d still be her auntie. Girl deserves to know her dad’s best friend; especially now that you’re Dad’s girlfriend.”

“I just don’t think Sarah will be too pleased to see me,” you added. 

“Well, tough shit for her,” Tryst said. “If she didn’t want me with other girls, she shouldn’t have left me out in the cold the way she did.” 

While that was true, you didn’t have the heart to tell him why Sarah had a problem with you specifically. And you had just assured her days before that you and Tryst weren’t an item. You grinded your back teeth as you thought about it, and you finally nodded. She would just have to get over it. 

Tryst gave you a tired smile, and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth before moving around you, getting out of bed. You had never been able to admire his body before— of course, during the summer at the beach, you had stolen the occasional glance at his shirtless frame, but you were nearly certain he had checked out your boobs in the past, so it didn’t matter that much— but in the low light of your bedroom in the early morning, he looked like a god. Soft belly, firm chest, strong shoulders; and his cock, half-hard from the past hours’ gentle loving… You couldn’t look away. You had littered his chest with lovebites, already going a deep red, and the marks against his milky skin made you feel something warm, something instinctual. Even just the sight of him naked, stretching his arms above his head and groaning as his back popped, his muscles flexing and skin pulling, made heat pool in your stomach. “Tryst?” you called softly, and he turned to look at you expectantly. “I love you.” 

He gave you a look that melted your heart, and he came back to the bed to land a kiss on your mouth, cradling your cheek in his hand. “That’s my favorite thing I’ve ever heard you say,” he told you. “And you’ve said some really good stuff.”

“Maybe…” you started. “Tonight, when you get off work… D’ya wanna fuck?” 

Tryst laughed and kissed you again. “Okay, I lied,” he said. “That’s my favorite thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“I figured.” 

All too soon, you were outside an unfamiliar house in a nice neighborhood, nicer than you or Tryst were accustomed to. You remembered, back in high school, Sarah definitely seemed better off than you or him. You held the golden duckie in your lap, and you made quick work to finish the stitch job that you hurried to do during the drive, and you frowned at the little footie. “Fuck, I sewed it on crooked,” you mumbled. As Tryst shoved the car into park, you held it up for him to look at, and he stared for a second as he undid his seatbelt. His jacket shifted with his movements, and you saw the smallest reddish bruise under his collar, perfectly in the shape of your mouth. You hadn’t intended to leave a mark on him that close to being visible, and you hoped and prayed that Sarah wouldn’t see that.

“Looks fine to me,” Tryst said finally. “Thanks for doing that, by the way… Means a lot to me.” 

“Well, duh,” you said. “Can’t go giving our girl a broken duck.” You paused for a moment, cursing the slip of your tongue, and you watched as Tryst gave you a smile. Exhausted and worn down, but a smile nonetheless. “I-I mean, your girl—”

“No,” Tryst said, shaking his head, and he reached over, taking your hand into his. “Our girl.” 

You bit your lip to control your nervous smile, and you dug into your bag, replacing the needle and extra thread in your sewing kit. The air outside was cold as you stepped out, and Tryst put his arm around you as he whispered in your ear. “Don’t be nervous,” he told you. “You know Sarah. And Em is a ball of sunshine, she’ll love you in an instant.”

It was the knowing Sarah part that you were worried about. But you didn’t have much longer to ruminate on it, because you heard the front door of the house flap open. “Did you shower?” you heard a familiar voice call, and Tryst looked over his shoulder to see the mother of his baby coming down the driveway. She looked different than you remembered her— of course, your last frame of true reference for her was back in tenth grade, so obviously she looked different— but she was still pretty. Your focus trained off of her, though, and went to the infant in her arms, dressed in a puffy pink snowsuit to protect her from the cold. Little Emma, Tryst’s angel.

“Yeah, f’course,” Tryst chuckled, turning fully to meet Sarah halfway up the driveway. As he moved, her eyes darted to you, and a red flush came over her face— anger. Holy shit. Tryst gave a tiny little wave to Emma, mouthing ‘Hi’ at her, and you watched her eyes, the same blue as his, look at him. You didn’t know too much about babies and what their recall was like, and you hoped that she knew she was looking at her father. She probably did; you imagined babies were a lot like dogs and could recognize someone on scent alone. 

“What’s she doing here?” Sarah asked, nodding her head towards you, and your eyes and nose burned. This was a bad idea. You knew it from the start. 

Tryst, though, either didn’t notice the iciness between you, or just didn’t care to acknowledge it. He held his arm out to you, beckoning you to his side, and you sheepishly found your way to him, clutching the duckie close to your chest. “Yeah, umm…” he said. “You remember her from high school.”

“Sure do,” Sarah said, her words striking like venom. 

“Well,” Tryst started. “We’ve been together for a while, and I figured it was about time for her to meet Emma.” His gaze softened as he looked at you, and he tenderly added, “She’s gonna be around for a while. Just makes sense.” 

You could read Sarah’s mind: she wanted to kill you with hammers. For all she knew, you had blatantly lied to her on the phone. You felt like every problem she had with you was confirmed by your very presence, and you hurried to say, “‘For a while’ isn’t right, w-we only, like, officially got together last night.” 

You weren’t sure if she believed you or not, but Tryst spoke before anything else could be said. “Hey, we do have a surprise for her!” he exclaimed, a smile touching his flushed face, and you held out the duckie towards Sarah and Emma. “Ta da!”

Sarah looked at the duckie with a pained expression, like she couldn’t believe what she was looking at. “He-He had one just like it growing up,” you said quickly. You felt like you needed to talk to get your nervous energy out, and you stammered on, “It has this whole weird backstory, and it gets, like, headaches and shit… Sorry, I-I shouldn’t swear—”

“Yeah, you look awful,” Sarah interjected, her eyes flicking to Tryst. The hurt was immediately obvious on his face, his eyes falling to the ground for a second before looking back at Emma; he had yet to make eye contact with Sarah. “Did you… Sleep?” 

Birds chirped in the trees beside you, and your heart fell into your ass as he turned to look at them, anywhere but Sarah, and the hickey under his collar came out to play. That goddamn thing. “A bit,” he sniffed, then started at his bag on his shoulder, quickly changing the subject, because it was immediately obvious what he was doing instead of sleeping. “I actually have something for you as well.”

The moment he held out the bag, a reusable tote that he had folded up over and over roughly a grand, Sarah took a step back. “We don’t need this,” she said. “You already paid for this month, and my parents are covering the rest.”

Tryst shrugged. “Never too early to start a college fund is what I hear,” he said, and his shaky smile dropped into a look of desperation and seriousness. “Please.”

Sarah looked at the bag in Tryst’s hand, and she said, “Is this money you made? Or she made?”

“What do you…” Tryst started, looking at you in confusion for a moment. “What does that mean?” 

“His,” you told her quickly, looking up from the duckie’s head. “I, uh… Knew better than to try to offer you my drug whore money.” You said it slowly, clearly, letting her hear her own words thrown back at her. “I’ve heard it’s not a cute look for me.” 

With that, the situation seemed to burrow into Tryst’s mind. He looked at you, then her, then you again, and he swallowed thickly, stepping forward to silently hand Sarah the bag of cash. She took it with one hand, her arms swallowed by Emma, and he settled the duckie against Sarah’s chest, right up next to his daughter. Emma was quiet, kicking just a little bit as he got closer, and, with a shaky voice, Tryst said, “Think maybe, umm… Maybe I could hold her?”

“You know what,” Sarah started quickly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Right,” Tryst mumbled, his eyes falling down to Emma once more. Your chest felt tight, and you reached out and settled your hands around his arm, feeling his bicep harden and tighten under your grip as he tried to control his emotions. “Right, sure.”

“I need to go,” Sarah said quickly as Emma began to squirm in her arms. “But get some sleep. Something.” She gave you a look that could have exploded you, and you watched as she started back up the driveway. Tryst pressed his lips together, and you watched the pale face-red eyes-imminent tears face come over him again.

“I will,” he called after her, and you let your caged tears fall when, in a broken voice, Tryst called for Emma: “Daddy loves you.” He huffed out a laugh, one that you could tell meant nothing to him, and you started to pull him back to the car as his phone chirped at him in his pocket. 

It was only once the doors were closed and locked that he put on his serious face. “What the hell was that?” he asked. “The-The drug… Money comment.”

“I told you Sarah and I don’t get along,” you mumbled. 

“But that was—” Tryst started. “That’s not just not getting along. Has she called you that before?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Tryst sighed. “Sweetheart, I didn’t know it was like that. Fuck… I shouldn’t have made you come, I’m so—”

“You didn’t make me do anything,” you told him, taking his hand and squeezing it. “I could’ve said no.”

“You didn’t even really get to meet Emma,” Tryst said. “She’s super sweet, I promise, playful and-and loving…”

“I’ll get to meet her properly eventually,” you assured him. “C’mon, no wallowing. We gotta meet the ladies and show them the space Guy set up for you.” 

“Fuck,” Tryst whispered. “I wish I could just sleep forever.”

“I know,” you sighed. “But if you slept forever, you’d miss out on the good parts.”

“Like you,” Tryst offered softly, and you sighed. 

“Like me.”

The girls were balls of energy, as usual, and you could tell that Tryst did not give a single fuck for it. Becca yawned, complaining about only six hours of sleep, and you just closed your eyes and sighed to yourself. You were exhausted too, emotionally raw and stripped apart just like your boyfriend (a fun shock of adrenaline hit your heart every time you remembered that Tryst was your boyfriend now) was, but the girls didn’t need to know everything that had happened overnight. You didn’t let them into your personal life as much, mainly because two high schoolers didn’t need to know every facet of your adult lives, but this especially felt like a secret to keep. 

Guy’s penthouse was nice, big and spacious, and even you felt a little excited at the sight of it. Tryst’s warnings of not getting attached to it seemed to fall on deaf ears as Becca and Zoe explored, and you took the moment that they weren’t obsessed with either of you to adjust Tryst’s shirt collar, covering that damn hickey again. He gave you a tight smile, and you knew that if it were just you and him, he would be pulling you close and lovingly admonishing you for marking him in such an obvious place. You could almost hear his voice in your head: “You want everyone to know I’m taken? See this thing on my neck and know I’ve got a pretty girl waiting to give me more?”. 

Tryst snatched the keys away from Becca, ushering them straight back out. “We just got here!” She whined, and Tryst matched her energy “Well, I don’t care!”, which made you stifle a laugh. He gave you a smile, and Zoe for once clocked the reaction instead of Becca. 

“What was that?” Zoe asked instantly. 

“What was what?” you asked as Tryst shut the door, locking it behind the four of you. 

“That,” she said, gesturing between you and Tryst. “He smiled at you.”

“Ah, yes, smiling,” Tryst sighed. “A normal human reaction to positive stimuli.” 

“But that’s…” Zoe started, and pointed at you. “You told me you weren’t a thing.” 

“We’re not,” you told her firmly, because truthfully, you and Tryst weren’t a thing. Things were for poorly defined relationships; whatever Becca and Clem had going on was a thing. You and Tryst were more than a thing, you were it. You had wasted away for ten years wishing for him, and it only took one night for you to have it confirmed that you and him were always meant to be. Ride or Dies were not things. Soulmates were not things. “Can a dude not smile at his friend? Jesus Christ.” 

Zoe seemed skeptical, but, to her credit, she dropped it. You knew you would likely get more of that later that night when you met up with them again, but for now, the most minor interrogation was fine. The car ride back to the mall was mostly quiet, Tryst’s hand on your thigh as he drove, and your heart warmed at the way his fingers absently played with the rips in your jeans. He seemed so content with you, instantly filling in the gaps of affection that you were sure he had been pining over for a decade, and you walked with him all the way to the hole-in-the-wall coffee counter. 

“You want anything?” Tryst asked, and you watched him pull the garish orange apron over his head. The white polo he wore fit him in a way that made your eyes wander and, knowing that what laid beneath it was now yours for the taking, it gave you a new appreciation. He was handsome, and he was yours. “Can make you a tea or somethin’.”

You leaned over the counter and pressed your lips to his, and he smiled into your kiss for a brief second before kissing you back. How wonderful it felt to be able to kiss him, even if for a moment. You pulled away, letting the tip of your nose brush his, and you bit your bottom lip as your eyes floated to his neck and that perfect bruise that seemed insistent on being seen. “Nope,” you told him, looking back into his eyes, hyper blue with a ring of green. “I got all I want right here.”

[deepspace-raconteur]

Zayne x Caleb x MC, established relationship.

Honestly it’s just porn that wouldn’t leave me alone till I wrote it…. So here it is. Puppy!Caleb, Dom!zayne, switch!MC, everyone is a switch actually zayne’s just mildly irritated here and Caleb’s at fault, hinted kitten!MC, MC gets choked for not sending an email, that’s all I think.

🍎❄️

“Oh shit, shit, shit-!”

“I haven’t seen you scamper that fast in a while.” I observe mildly from the bar counter. It still smells a bit like the leftovers from Caleb’s cooking last night I had warmed up.

“I ate the last apple tart!” Is the only verbal explanation that comes from the frantic purple-eyed blur. I think a kiss might get pressed to my forehead at some point in greeting, but it’s too quick to really tell.

Caleb and Zayne were both arriving back from work now. At around the same time, as it usually panned out. Who knew two workaholics could actually get their schedules under control when they knew there were lovers waiting for them at home.

The purple blur speeds down the hallway towards the other rooms in the apartment, and a chilly breeze blows into the apartment.

No, actually. The temperature drops by at least 4 degrees when Zayne enters, closing the front door firmly but calmly behind him. It’s a scene that has played out a thousand times before when he shrugs off the thick trench-coat, leaving him in just the dark green shirt and vest below. His glasses come off next, stored in a case, stashed in the coat’s breast pocket. His briefcase, the first thing to have been set down, sits neatly beside his black brogue shoes.

“Welcome home, my love.” I smile warmly, and accept the quick kiss and waist squeeze that serves as Zayne’s greeting.

“So I heard something about a certain puppy eating the last apple tart? I’m assuming it’s the one you were texting me earlier about looking forward to.” I call out, thoroughly amused. I think I might hear a rather frantic, and loud, thud from down the hall.

“Yes, you assumed correctly.” Is the only response that comes. Zayne is swift in his check of the fridge to be sure of the status of the situation, ever the thorough doctor in his collection of data and evidence.

There is no plate hiding in the fridge with a piece of apple tart upon it. In fact, there isn’t a sweet treat of any kind to be found.

Zayne’s incorrigible sweet tooth will have to be satiated in some other way.

Caleb’s fate is sealed in ice.

I can’t hold in the grin as I watch Zayne stalk down the hallway, turning at the last door on the left. Our bedroom, home to a king mattress that could somehow be both too big and too small depending on the situation.

Also home to the rather vast collection of sex toys we each owned. Caleb was in for a rough night.

“Now, hang on, frosty-“

Another loud thud that sounds like a body hitting the wall, and it goes quiet…

… and it stays quiet. For a while. I can’t keep the stupid, horny grin off my face as I imagine what Zayne could possibly be doing to the puppy in there. Zayne could be ruthless, and his sweet tooth was a notorious trigger that Caleb and I both abused occasionally. A shiver runs down my spine when I remember what had happened the last time a ‘no sugar in the house’ tragedy occurred. I had a limp for a full 24 hours, and Zayne somehow got Caleb to sleep past the first lights of dawn.

(The fleet had ingrained a few… horrific tendencies in Caleb. Rising with the sun was one of them. It made me miss the days where Caleb and I would both be perpetrators of waking up well past morning hours.)

The quiet is broken by a frantic wail. Certainly Caleb; and while a wail that heart-broken sounding would usually be a cause for concern, I knew better. Zayne had probably just taken his hand off Caleb’s cock- or his fingers out of his ass. Given how loud it was though, and the amount of desperation present in the tone…

Zayne was intending to break the poor puppy tonight. Oh boy, it must’ve been a rough day at work on top of the stolen treat.

I insert a bookmark into my novel, then meander down the hallway. The final piece of the trio.

Oh, and what a sight do I behold upon turning into the bedroom.

“You wanted to act like a puppy and eat what you weren’t supposed to, and now you have the gall to act like a brat when it’s time for your consequences? Obviously I’ve let your leash go too slack.”

Zayne’s got Caleb all but pinned to the headboard and the wall it’s against. The decorative pillows and plushies are scattered off each side of the bed haphazardly. Caleb has a gag shoved in his mouth, one with a cock insert I know makes your jaw ache after a while. His arms are wrenched behind him, tied in some manner no doubt. I can’t see around Zayne, fully clothed in contrast to Caleb’s nudity, and therefore can’t see exactly what he’s doing to make Caleb’s eyes roll back the way they are. A sound like he’s dying is ripped from Caleb’s throat.

I stand back just to watch as Zayne’s arms speed up, and Caleb’s back arches sharply. His legs twitch and his feet kick and try to gain traction to get him away from Zayne’s ministrations. They never do.

“ ‘M sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ Caleb whines pathetically, hips still jerking into Zayne’s grip. Seeing THE Fleet Colonel like this, broken in by Zayne’s elegant and skilled hands, shoots liquid heat down through my core. No one would ever believe us, that we get to have him like this.

Hell, who would believe us if we hold them that Linkon’s highest ranked heart surgeon knew hundreds of way to make the Fleet’s top Colonel and the best Hunter in Linkon beg?

I sit down carefully at the edge of the bed at the other end from them. Caleb’s eyes meet mine, hazy and half-lidded in pleasure. His cheeks twitch, and I think he’d be giving me a dopey fucked-out grin if it wasn’t for the gag.

Zayne does something different suddenly, and Caleb’s eyes bulge as a sob is muffled through the gag. He curls in on himself, a line of drool dripping down his chin from the gag as his orgasm wracks his body. His face ends up shoved in the curve of Zayne’s neck, seeking solace. Zayne seems more than happy to keep him there, gently petting his hair and murmuring into his ear. It’s then I notice a wet mark in the shape of teeth adorning Zayne’s upper bicep.

“Aw, did puppy bite when you pounced on him?” I snicker, crawling forward on the bed so I’m closer. I reach my hand up to pet Caleb’s hair, and from there my hand slides down to rest over the mark.

“Yes. He did get quite an attitude for a moment, but the gag took care of it.” Zayne murmurs. He seems calmer now, and I smile.

Zayne gently and carefully strips Caleb of his accoutrements, rubbing the mildly irritated skin of his wrists. His lips get chapstick applied to them, perpetually chapped as they are, and a sweet little kiss to finish. Then he’s lied down carefully across the head of the bed, Zayne speaking as he maneuvers the massive puppy.

“Don’t think he’s the only one facing consequences this evening, sweetheart. Did you send that email to Captain Jenna today, like you said you would?”

I freeze like a deer in headlights as Zayne turns to me. I don’t catch Caleb watching from under heavy-lidded eyes, lips twitching at the corners.

I had not, in fact, sent that email yet. Zayne sees my response written across my features.

Zayne’s hand is around my throat and I’m pinned down next to Caleb before I can really process any of it. My hands fly to wrap around his wrist instinctively, but not to try and escape. Just… to hold, as I look up at him with big, pleading eyes to go easy on me. Zayne calmly takes one of my hands in his free one, and guides it to clasp with one of Caleb’s. The not-quite-dozing third member squeezes it gently three times. ‘I-love-you’.

Zayne leans down until his lips are pressing to my ear, breath warm down my neck. “I know how we both love it when Caleb whines like a puppy.” My breath picks up. Another surge of heat burns through me.

“But what is it that your new friend calls you?” Zayne ponders. “Kitten? Yes, that’s it… I wonder… since I can make Caleb whine so cutely like a puppy, could I get you to purr like a kitten for us? I think finding the answer to that question would suit just fine as a motivator for getting that email sent…”

[andy-15-07]

heyy i loveee your fics!! i would love a fic where there’s no outbreak, joel and reader live together in austin (sarah and ellie mentions would be great but i get it if it doesn’t work with the story) and readers insecure about some kind of skin imperfection. maybe reader being reluctant to let joel get close/intimate with them because they worry he’ll think of them as dirty or unclean (i think acne or hyperpigmentation would work well). thank you :)))))

Gentle Under the Texas Sky

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 1558 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

The late afternoon sun slanted through the magnolia trees lining your quiet Austin street, painting delicate patterns on the porch where you and Joel sat side by side. He’d just brewed fresh coffee,strong, black, just the way you liked it,and passed you a steaming mug. Behind you, laughter drifted in from the open window where Ellie and Sarah were wrapping up sock-skating races across the living room floor.

Joel tipped his own mug toward you in a silent toast. You offered a small, grateful smile, but your heart thudded with its usual nervous rhythm. Because every time he looked at you,really looked,you saw that tender question in his hazel eyes: Are you all right? And every time, you tucked your skin away beneath long sleeves or a high neckline without telling him why.

He noticed last night, when you’d crawled into bed in your softest T-shirt and buried your face in the pillow instead of wrapping yourself around him. He’d reached out, rested a hand on your shoulder, but you’d stiffened and rolled away.

“Y/N,” he’d murmured, voice rough with concern. “Talk to me.” But you’d stayed silent, eyelids squeezed shut, like you were ashamed.

Now, under the warm Texas light, Joel shifted to face you, concern still wrinkled between his brows. “You’ve barely touched your coffee.”

You lifted the mug, blew on its surface. “Just hot.”

He didn’t push. He never pushed. Instead he scooted closer until your shoulders brushed. You could smell those familiar leathery notes of his old jacket, the faint hint of cedar from his aftershave. “School went okay?” he asked, nodding toward the window where Sarah,your partner in crime and Joel’s fourteen-year-old daughter,tossed her braid over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” you said, tightening your grip on the mug. “She and Ellie were having a blast before I called them in for tutoring.”

“Smart girl,” Joel said, smiling. “Ellie’s already got that stubborn streak from you.”

You laughed softly, and it came out laced with tension. He noticed. He always noticed.

“Come on,” he said, setting his coffee aside. He took your hand, threaded his fingers through yours. “What’s going on?”

You inhaled. You’d rehearsed this moment in your head a thousand times. You’d thought about slipping a note into his lunch bag, sending him a text at work, but nothing felt as courageous as looking into his warm, patient eyes and saying the words.

“My skin,” you began, voice barely above a whisper. “I… I don’t like it.”

Joel frowned. “Your skin?”

You nodded, cheeks warming. “Acne scars and dark spots. On my chest and shoulders. And now a few on my back.” You paused, swallowed. “I’m embarrassed. I worry you,”

“No.” He cut you off gently, thumb stroking across your knuckles. “No, sweetheart. Don’t you ever worry that.”

You looked down at your hands. You’d spent years hiding beneath baggy sweaters and oversized hoodies because of those dark marks,memories of teenage breakouts and years of uneven healing. Even now, on a 90-degree Austin day, you wore a lightweight long-sleeve blouse rather than the tank tops you loved.

“It’s stupid,” you said, voice hitching. “I feel… unclean. Like you’d think I’m dirty if you saw me bare.”

Joel slid his free hand around your waist, pulled you against him so softly it felt like a blessing. “God, Y/N, no. You’re beautiful.” His voice broke on the word,for you, always you. “Let me show you.”

Your heart pounded. You weren’t sure you could face the mirror of his arms, but the earnest ache in his voice made you ache, too. You nodded.

He stood, gently tugging you up. “Come on,” he said, leading you through the living room. Sarah and Ellie were sprawled on the floor with open books.

“Hey, lovebirds,” Ellie teased, ruffling Sarah’s hair. “We see you.”

You shot Ellie a half-smile. Sarah rolled her eyes but winked, sliding aside to let you pass. You and Joel reached the bedroom doorway.

“Give us a minute, kiddo?” Joel ruffled Ellie’s hair. “Help your mom with precalc, yeah?”

“Sure,” Ellie said, scooting back. “I’ll be out there plotting our world takeover.”

Sarah giggled, fetching her notebook. Ellie called back, “Good luck with that!” and the door closed behind them.

Once the hallway was silent, Joel turned to you, concern etched on his face. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, though your stomach flip-flopped. “I… I want to trust you.”

He kissed your forehead, tender. “I’ll go slow. You tell me if I’m hurting you.”

You stepped back, unbuttoned the blouse at your own pace. The cotton fell away, revealing the pale skin of your shoulders and the top of your chest,flecked with dark spots and faded red scars. You pressed your arms to your sides, eyes averted.

Joel gently took your chin, tilted your face upward. The afternoon light caught his gaze, making it soft gold. “Y/N, look at me.”

Your eyes flickered to his. You swallowed the lump in your throat. When Joel reached out and brushed his fingers along the faint ridges of an old scar, you closed your eyes, heart thundering.

“You’ve never been anything but perfect to me,” he whispered. He pressed the heel of his hand against your cheek. “This,whatever you see,is just a story your skin tells. I want to read every page.”

Tears stung your eyes. You’d never heard anyone speak so kindly to your imperfections. “I’m scared you’ll think I’m ugly,” you murmured.

He smiled, brushing away a stray tear. “Ugly? Baby, scars are beautiful. They show what you’ve survived.” He leaned in, mouth just a breath from yours. “And I survive for you.”

Your breath caught. You let him guide you backward until the bed was soft beneath you. He covered you with gentle kisses across your shoulders, collarbone, tracing each freckle of pigment with reverent lips. You shivered as his mouth warmed the cool skin, as fingertips traced the shadows left by acne.

“Relax,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

You exhaled shaky tension, letting your arms fall open. Joel’s hand brushed a scar, then lingered. He pressed his palm flat, thumbs stroking soothing circles. “Feel okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Better.”

He smiled, kissed the hollow of your throat, then settled between your thighs. “You’re safe,” he murmured. “With me.”

The world outside faded to distant sounds,the kids giggling over algebra problems, the hum of traffic. All you could feel was the deliberate heat of his body, the sureness of his hands. He moved up, eyes meeting yours, swallowing any stubborn shame on your skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, voice husky. “Flaws and all.”

He leaned down, mouth brushing your jaw, then your lips. The kiss was slow, exploring, beckoning. When you responded, parting to welcome him, he took you in gently, as though afraid to rush what was sacred.

His hands moved to your hips, sliding under the waistband of your shorts. You helped, lifting your hips until he had full access. He paused,gave you a chance to say if this was too soon. You cupped his face, pressed your lips to his.

“Do it,” you breathed. “I trust you.”

He smiled against your mouth, then returned his attention to your body. He traced a path down your torso, skimming the tender spots where scars clustered, mapping each one with reverence. Your fingers fisted in the sheets as he reached your navel, then leaned in to whisper against the skin below.

Your breath hitched. Every nerve in your body sang with anticipation and longing. Joel’s mouth found your most sensitive places, and you moaned softly, arching into him.

He paused, looking up at you, brows lifted. “You okay?”

You nodded, voice trembling. “Don’t stop.”

His grin was pure affection,like he’d been waiting his whole life for you to say that. Then he moved with deliberate slowness, balancing the hunger in his movements with the gentleness you needed. You trembled as his fingers traced the scalloped edges of your hipbone, then pressed into your core.

“Joel…” you whispered.

He lifted his head and kissed you, mouth soft but insistent. “Fuck, I love you,” he murmured against your lips.

Your senses narrowed to the rhythm of his body, the warmth of his breath, the brush of his stubble against your skin. Somewhere on the bedside table, a photo of the three of you,Joel, Sarah, Ellie,smiled back. A perfect family. You realized then that you’d never been in more caring hands.

He slid a hand between your legs, fingertips teasing you awake. You arched, bringing him closer. His steady gaze held you, never flinching from any imperfection.

“Come for me,” he urged softly.

Your walls tightened, joy and relief flooding through you. Seeing yourself through his gentle eyes, you let go. You cried out his name, loud and beautiful.

When you came down from the peak, breath ragged, he tucked his face against your chest, lingering over the familiar scars. You stroked his hair, tears of gratitude on your cheeks.

He pressed a kiss to each spot he’d touched. “Yours,” he whispered. “All yours.”

Later, you lay curled in his arms, chest rising and falling in sync. The sun dipped low, painting the room in rosy twilight. You pressed a kiss to his broad chest, where decades of living had left lines and folds just as honest as your acne scars.

“I love you,” you whispered.

He squeezed you. “More than anything under this Texas sky.”

And in that moment, safe and adored, you knew your skin,or anything else,could never hide the light you’d found together.

[oceanicairways]

was scrolling through the GL tag and these are some statements that caught my eye. keep in mind all of these were from the top posts that had hundreds if not thousands of notes and, of course, were batfam centric despite being tagged as green lantern

• jessica was a GL while dick was robin (i’m not sure how anyone with even the most bare bones knowledge of dc in general would think this?)

• john is bad at art (false, he enjoys it and is skilled enough at it to assist kyle thanks to his work as an architect)

• john was in the army (false, he was a marine)

• hal is scared/intimidated by members of the batfam (lmfao)

• bruce has authority over hal on earth (false, hal has jurisdiction over the entirety of sector 2814)

• bruce knows more about aircraft maintenance and is a better pilot than hal (i don’t even know what to say to this)

• hal is the asshole of the league (false, hal is not an asshole, and if anyone is it’s bruce lol)

• GLs can’t get injured (false, crack open literally any GL comic)

• bruce and clark can outwill hal (no??)

• hal is a himbo who doesn’t know anything (hal is an elite pilot with an engineering degree 😭)

• kyle was hal’s sidekick (couldn’t be more wrong, for the love of god read actual comics please)

i had to stop because i was getting too annoyed. this is what GL fans have to deal with on the daily. for the love of god stop clogging the tag with your batfam power fantasy fan fictions involving characters that you know nothing about ✌️