#despite barely making enough money to scrape by

[isitovernow-ootw]

when people talk shit about hippies i feel similarly to when people talk shit about my city, like hey! i know they have problems, but I'm the one that gets to talk about them like that! you dont know them like i do! they raised me!

[rawjutsu]

RULES OF THE HOUSE

pairing: dilf!satoru gojo x collegestudent!freader

summary: you're a college student who takes a summer babysitting job to scrape together the last of the money you need to finish school. satoru, a single father with a sharp, intimidating presence, hires you to watch his son, yuuji. what starts as a typical job quickly evolves into something far more complicated.

cw: dubcon undertones, age/power imbalance, coercion, emotional manipulation, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, heavy degradation, choking, reader is 20 and is called "kid", satoru is a gross dirtbag in his mid-thirties PLS read at your own discretion

you didn’t plan on spending your summer babysitting for some brooding, older guy in the suburbs. but scraping together enough money to finish your last year of college meant taking what you could get—and satoru gojo paid too well.

you’d seen the flyer plastered around campus—"babysitter needed — high pay, flexible hours. ask for satoru."

you expected a tired mom or an older couple. not a man with stunning blue eyes, a playful edge in his voice, and a toddler in his arms who looked nothing like the disaster you’d anticipated.

“you the babysitter?” his eyes raked over you as if you were a prize. “don’t look like one.”

there was something about the way he looked at you—dark, like he was seeing more than just a college student. something that made your pulse stutter and your legs weak despite yourself.

you should’ve walked away. but the money was too good, and his kid—yuuji—was fun and sweet and easier than most toddlers you’d dealt with. and there was something magnetic about him—the confidence, the dangerous edge that practically oozed from his every movement.

so you stayed.

it was never too obvious at first. just a few lingering stares. his hand brushing yours when he handed over the cash. his voice getting a little demanding when he asked you to stay later. you told yourself you could handle him. he was a client, a dad who needed a babysitter, nothing more.

but then, one night, you stayed late. yuuji was asleep, and you were folding laundry in his living room, wearing nothing but a university t-shirt and some sleep shorts. satoru came in fresh from a shower, towel slung low on his hips, steam still clinging to his skin.

you didn’t want to notice how good he looked. how that towel barely hung onto his hips.

you didn’t want to feel the heat pooling in your stomach when he gave you that look—a cocky, dangerous grin, full of intent.

“you wearing that to tease me, or are you just that dumb?” he asked, voice thick with something you couldn’t ignore.

you told him to fuck off. he didn’t listen. he slammed his lips against yours anyway.

...

every night, after you tuck his son into bed, satoru drags you into his bedroom. his heavy footsteps echo through the house, a warning of the dark pleasure to come.

satoru is a dominant force, his size and strength intimidating. he uses your body for his pleasure, uncaring of your comfort or enjoyment. each night, he takes you, roughly and brutally, leaving you sore and a little more broken.

a few nights after that first kiss, you're taking a late nap on the living room couch. you wake up to the sensation of a rough hand clamping over your mouth, muffling your startled cry. satoru’s face looms above you, his eyes dark with lust and something else - a cruel, almost sadistic glint.

"shh, baby. gonna make you feel real good tonight," he whispers, his voice low and gravelly. but there's an undercurrent of mockery in his tone, like he knows you'll never truly feel good at his hands.

before you can react, he's ripping your panties off and forcing your legs apart. you feel the rough denim of his jeans against your bare skin as he settles between your thighs.

"bet you're dripping wet for me already, aren't you, you dirty girl?" he growls, his fingers probing your entrance. "fuck, you're barely legal. makes my dick hard thinking about how young and innocent you are."

he adds another finger without pause, stretching you wide, pumping in and out with no mercy. you whimper beneath him, eyes wet, hips rocking up like your body wants it even more than your mind is ready to admit.

“aww, look at you,” he coos, voice dark with approval. “playing scared but soaking my hand. you like this shit. like getting used.”

your whimpers melt into moans, and he finally moves his hand from your mouth. you’re panting now, hair sticking to your forehead, legs shaking around his shoulders.

“ ‘toru…”

he pulls back, just enough to unzip his jeans, cock heavy and hard, tip already leaking.

“shh. no backing out now. you asked for this, remember?”

you nod, dazed. and that’s all he needs.

but satoru isn't really asking for permission. he lines himself up with your entrance and thrusts inside with one brutal stroke.

"good girl, gonna stretch you out on my fat cock and make you scream."

tears spring to your eyes as his other hand finds your throat, thumb under your jaw, not choking—just holding, controlling. his hips slam into you again and again, making the sofa creak under the force of it.  it hurts, but some dark part of you revels in the pain, in being used so brutally by this older man. 

"that's it, cry for me," he breathlessly laughs, his other thumb circling your clit. "you're just a fuckin' kid, aren't you? bet this is the biggest dick you've ever even seen."

your body says yes before your mouth can. you nod through the tears, clenching around him, drowning in the drag and stretch of every thrust.

"fuck!" he roars, his hips slamming against yours. "goddamn, this cunt is tight. fucking college pussy, soaking my cock."

you scream, the pain overwhelming, tears streaming down your face. but satoru doesn't slow down. he flips you over onto your stomach and sets a punishing pace, fucking into you with animalistic grunts.

"take it, you little slut. take my fucking cock like a good girl," he snarls, grabbing your hair and yanking your head back. "gonna ruin this pussy, make it mine."

his other hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise as he pounds into you, his balls slapping against your clit with each thrust.

"fuck, i'm close," he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic. "gonna nut in this cunt and leave you leaking for days. my cum dump kid."

with a final brutal thrust, he buries himself deep and comes with a roar. you feel him pulsing inside you, flooding your womb with his seed.

as he pulls out, his blue eyes glint with something darker, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. you’re still trembling beneath him, feeling his presence marking you in every way.

satoru leans down, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. his voice is low, almost casual, as if he’s not just ruined you for the night, but is already thinking about the future.

“you know,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing your lip, “i might just knock you up, kid. take away all your worries about finishing school. you wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore.”

he chuckles darkly, his gaze lingering on you as he pulls back, leaving you breathless, broken, and lost in the weight of his words.

a/n don’t look at me

[kennahjune]

Teen Dad

Quite surprised there’s not a lot of these AUs considering how much Steve apparently sleeps around but anywho.

Teen Dad Steve who finds out one of the girls he’d slept with pre-Nancy is pregnant and he damn well intends on helping out however he can.

Turns out; helping means taking his son (his SON) and having full custody because the mom, no matter how much she wants to be involved, can’t take care of him.

Steve’s alright for the first 6 months of little Louie Harrington’s life.

But then his parents come home and shit hits the fan.

Which— fair enough. He was only 17 and already had a whole ass son, they were gonna freak out.

But kicking him AND aforementioned son out? With no where to go? No money? Barely a job?

That’s just fucked up.

But Steve makes do, and lives out of his car for no more than a month before finally landing his hands on a cheap trailer in Forest Hills.

He and Louie move in and sure, it’s rough. But he’s got a nice paying job at the Diner and yeah maybe he has to skip some classes to get extra money but it’s fine. It pays his bills and rent and that’s all that really matters.

It’s fine.

And then the second wave of Upside Down fuckery hits, and Steve’s suddenly in the hospital with a grade 4 concussion (whatever that means) and his top priority is to make sure someone is with Louie.

Enter Claudia Henderson, Dustin’s mom.

She takes care of Louie for as long as Steve is in the hospital and then some when Steve can’t be left unsupervised in case his head worsens.

And that’s how the Party is introduced to little Louie (as they all call him).

Steve’s stunned to find out that Mike and Lucas are so good with little kids, but the two of them love stopping by the Henderson’s (and later on the trailer) to see little Louie and offer to babysit for him whenever.

The other kids take a little bit of time to warm up to Louie (and the fact that Steve’s actually a parent) but when they do Steve never ceases to have at least one of them over.

And with all the racket brings in the attention of nosy neighbors.

Steve is well accustomed to nosy neighbors. Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln next door to his parents were always looking to snitch on him for something or other.

But Miss Bottomette and her grandchildren Noah and Casey were sweethearts. Steve didn’t mind having them over for dinner or going over there. Miss Bottomette was the one to teach him how to actually put his cooking skills to work.

Linda and Tom, a newly married couple down the road, were quite eccentric but that’s what made them charming. Steve found their dog, Dasher, quite the sweetheart.

And even Mr. Knowles, the grouchy old man next door to Miss Bottomette, seemed to take a liking to Steve and Louie.

It wasn’t long before the story behind the new boy in 2718 New Bird Ave was revealed: Teen Dad Kicked Out.

Then the whole town knew. And while most people were nice about it, even supportive of how he had taken a step into his child’s life, there were always those people who sneered.

Steve ignored them, loving the life he was working on making for himself and Louie in the trailer park.

The only neighbors he never seemed to meet, despite the looming presence, were the Munsons, right across the street.

Steve knew about the Munsons. Well— he knew about Eddie Munson; drug dealer who was on his second run of senior year. Steve actually shared a few classes with him.

He’d yet to meet the mysterious Wayne Munson, but that was to be expected with work schedules.

And then Steve was graduating, and his parents didn’t show up.

But that was totally fine. Cause the kids, Claudia, Joyce— even Hopper with El— were there. They held up little baby Louie while Steve walked the stage.

He’d heard rumors of Eddie Munson having to retake senior year for a third time— but he didn’t dwell on it for too long. Because sure, he missed more than his fair share of classes and scraped by with a C+ average.

But he did it.

And then summer hit, Dustin left for camp, and the mall opened up.

Steve picked up a job at Scoops Ahoy, cutting back on his hours at the Diner but still staying there because the money was needed and the tips were lovely.

And he meets Robin Buckley, and actually talks to Eddie Munson every once in a while when he stops in with his band, and lets the kids sneak into the movies because he’ll be damned if he robs them of a normal summer.

And then Dustin comes back and their reunion is short-lived because Russians are hellbent on torching non-existent information out of Steve and he’s busy getting his third concussion and then there’s a fucking flesh monster and Billy and Hopper for protecting them and—

It’s not a good night.

But then he’s rushed to the hospital and he tries to call Miss Bottomette only for the call to refuse to go through and shitfuckgoddammit.

Because what about Louie?

Miss Bottomette said she’d be alright watching Louie until Steve got home, but Steve wasn’t able to go home until someone was able to make time to take him home.

Usually, he’d lean on Hopper for this stuff, since his parents were out of the question. But—

But Hoppers dead.

So he’s stuck at the hospital for another day or two until finally, Claudia comes to pick him up.

He’s with Dustin in the backseat of the car, anxiously bouncing his leg and biting at his fingers and nails until Dustin gives in and just holds his hand. Robin’s there to, having been able to leave after the first night but coming with Claudia to pick him up. Steve’s relieved to have them both close by, even if his hands reach for Erica subconsciously.

His trailer’s empty when he gets home, and Miss Bottomette isn’t answering the door.

Steve’s on the brink of a full blown breakdown before Mr. Knowles— bless his heart— points them across the street.

The Munsons apparently have his son and have for a bit now since Miss Bottomette had a minor seizure and couldn’t be left alone with Louie. Mr. Knowles assured Steve that she and the kids were fine and staying with him for the moment.

Steve wasted no time afterwards sprinting to the Munsons and knocking on the door. Dustin and Robin are close behind him, Claudia waiting patiently in the driveway.

The door is answered by a gruff looking old man that’s taller than Dustin but slightly shorter than both Robin and Steve.

“You Harrington?”

Steve nods so fast he faintly wonders if that’s how bobble heads feels.

They’re let in in no time and the old man— the infamous Wayne Munson— calls out of Eddie.

Eddie Munson emerges a moment later with little Louie in his arms, bouncing softly on his feet to keep the baby calm.

Steve is in front of him in a second, scooping Louie gently out of his arms and into his own.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Dustin’s rubbing his arms and Robin his back. Claudia is talking to Wayne, explaining what had happened (or the cover story version at least) and Eddie is hanging back a few feet from the three of them.

Robin takes little Louie in her arms and shoos Steve to the couch to calm down.

“Let him meet his auntie, Steve. You take a minute to breathe now, yeah?”

Steve was led to the couch with a soft hand on his shoulder from Eddie Munson, and they sat side by side while Steve worked on easing his breathing and to stop fucking crying.

Eddie’s shushing him and after a moment (and a clearly pointed cleared throat from Robin) Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s shaking figure.

They leave the Munsons’ trailer is promises of new babysitters and a new friendship.

And then the fuckery that’s 1986 happens.

.

First Part:

[queeniewithabeanie]

The Starved College Student

Dpxdc Prompt #14

There is a certain point of liminality where ectoplasm no longer becomes toxic for a human to ingest. When you become a ghost you have to survive purely off of ectoplasm.

There is a spectrum in between these two spots and the point that Jazz lands on in that spectrum is the can-safely-eat-and-survive-off-it-but-also-should-not-soley-live-off-it dot.

This becomes really great when she moves to Crime Alley for college and does not have enough money to spare for food. She get use one of her parent's gadgets (modified by Danny) to extract ambient ecto from the Gotham air and sustain off of it for however long she needs.

Which is why she keeps on refusing the free food the Red Hood gives out, and not for the reasons he seems to think.

"It's not poisoned y'know. Despite the whole anti-hero thing I don't really go around murdering civilians."

She stares at him where she assumes his eyes are underneath the helmet and deadpans, "I know."

"I know for a fact you haven't eaten anything all day. You've been out for 12 hours tutoring kids and no one has seen you take a single bite of anything."

She stares again, "I know."

"If you knew you'd be smart and take the food!"

Not if that means someone else can't get as much, she thinks. Jazz knows that Hood runs out of food all the time. There's too many people that need it and not enough to go around.

When she turns away from him she gives a sad smile and whispers, "I know."

So she goes to walk back to her crappy one bedroom apartment to drink her ecto and survive another day. She thinks about how while she knows it isn't toxic to her the taste of the ecto makes her want to gag and vomit. She thinks about the delicious smell of the food Hood had practically shoved in her hands.

She slows down a bit, but keeps on walking away.

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

Jason tried his best to care for those in Crime Alley. He would make sure the working girls were payed and respected, the street kids had access to an education, the broke college students got enough to eat, and anything else he could try to do to help.

Sadly, unlike Bruce, Jason was not made of money and did not have access to infinite resources. He had built up enough of a reputation that the working girls knew to come to him if they needed him, though they rarely did anymore. He would give older students the textbooks and, if he had time, lessons they needed to keep up with their education and tutor the younger kids.

For the college students, most of them barely had enough to scrape together 1 meal a day. The soup kitchens (that weren't fronts for trafficking rings) usually prioritized younger kids. And even though everything in the Alley was dirt cheap, if you can't work full time no one will hire you.

This led to Jason giving out most of the excess food he got to the college students in the Alley, most know that he is trustworthy and to take what they can get.

What Jason can't understand is this why this red-headed, six-foot, non-gothamite is refusing food! He knows for a fact that she is going on an empty stomach most days, but still refuses a single bite.

He's surprised she hasn't keeled over yet.

Jazz Fenton is a mystery, and Jason is still a detective even without the World's Greatest by his side.

This mystery gets a lot more urgent when he one day see's the woman chugging a glass of lazarus water.

[heavenlyraindrops]

“ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ.” | ᴋᴇɴᴊɪ ꜱᴀᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | { ɪ }

☆ Warnings: profanity, sports!photographer!reader, fem!reader, afab!reader, for future chapters: social media au, eventual smut

☆ 1.3k words | Available on: Tumblr, AO3

A career in sports photography was never something your parents wanted for you- they had decided your career path since the moment you were born. A surgeon. Bound to make them plenty of money, to make them proud. They wanted it more than anything else, and…

You decided that wasn’t your problem. 

You researched the job, the career path, and began building a portfolio. Taking pictures of athletes at games, major ones and others such as college games. Mostly baseball. In fact, it was almost all baseball.  

Oh. College games. Baseball.

You’d attended college in the States, attending the baseball games and snapping pictures. And, for some reason, you seemed to gravitate towards one specific player. 

You had no idea what his name was.

You didn’t share any classes. You saw him around campus occasionally, but you weren’t one for parties so you had no chance of running into him at one of those. Your circles barely even touched. You didn’t know each other at all. 

Correction: he didn’t know you at all, and you only knew him as the hot athlete guy you took pictures of. 

-

“Another one?” Your friend, Taika grumbled, another one of your posts coming up on her feed. “[name], this is the fifteenth time you’ve posted this guy.”

You rolled your eyes, laptop balanced on your thigh as you edited a picture. “I’m just building my portfolio.”

“No one’s gonna hire you if your portfolio is just a million pictures of the same guy.”

“It’s not, there’s other pictures too.”

“Yeah, like, two.”

“Hyperbole much?”

Taika sighed aggressively, setting her phone-face down next to her as she leaned forward, face turning serious. “[name], is this some weird fetish? Kink?”

“What?” You almost threw your laptop at her. “You’re so dramatic. Obviously it’s not. What kind of kink would that even be?”

“Just admit you think he’s hot.”

You pressed your lips together, slamming your laptop shut. “Okay, get out.”

“But-!”

“Out!”

-

And that was that. You kept taking pictures of Mysterious Hot Athlete Guy,, eventually veering away from him in the end to expand your name. Your portfolio grew, you gained jobs, and your parents got increasingly frustrated until the point where they threatened to cut contact with you. 

You didn’t care. This was your passion. You’d much rather be on a pitch, capturing the essence of exhausted yet still exhilarated camaraderie than in a sterile surgeon’s scrub, brandishing a scalpel, cutting into flesh to expose your patients innards. 

Unfortunately they went through with the threat. Oh well. 

With the little savings you had, the weight of college debt for a degree you’d never use on your shoulders and your rather expensive camera equipment for which you’d somehow managed to scrape together the money for, you decided to follow Taika back to Japan.

“There’s plenty of opportunities for you there,” she told you.

Taika, being a trust fund baby, had more than enough of her parents' money to support herself, and you in Japan. You slowly grew your career and by a couple of months, you could afford to move into your own apartment. 

And now you were a- somewhat-well known sports photographer in the industry, despite never actually having a stable job, and… that was that. 

That was your story. 

But not the end of it.

Because after a good few months deep into your path of sports photography, a baseball player rose to stardom. 

Kenji Sato.

-

“Oh my god!” Taika grabbed onto your arm, nails digging into your skin and making you yelp as she thrust the phone in your face. “Dude! That’s the guy you had a crush on in college!”

Your face burned with embarrassment, and your voice was grating. “I didn’t have a crush on him.”

He just had a nice… bone structure.

Maybe I should have taken pictures of models for magazines or something. 

You looked at the article. Newest player on the field sparks talk of the rise of a new baseball legend. 

Oh damn. Maybe he should have been a model. 

“Kenji Sato,” Taika read out the name. “Dude, I swear this is the guy.” Pulling up your instagram account, she scrolled all the way to the bottom, at your earlier days of shooting. “Dude. That’s him.”

“It’s him,” you said weakly. She grinned at you, a knowing smirk that made you want to tear her hair out. 

-

Another stretch of time passed, until the days where your life was immediately thrust into a direction it did not give consent into going. 

Firstly, Ken Sato made headlines by coming back to Japan. Secondly, you’d landed a job at a baseball game in the Tokyo Dome. Thirdly, it was the game which the Yomiuri Giants were playing. 

You were now on the corner of the pitch, equipment set up, game in full play. The heat of the crowd pressed down on you as you angled your camera at a figure all too familiar. 

Fucking focus, [name].

The ball whizzed through the air. He hit it, arm and bat lashing out, and-

“Fuck!”

You cursed, jerking away from the camera set up and throwing your hands over your head. It fell to the ground, shattered, and the ball rolled across the ground, hitting your knee. 

You looked up. The crowd was roaring. Your head was ringing, feeling faint as you stared at the broken camera lying on the ground. Oh jeez, you were going to faint. Fuck, those players hit the ball hard.

You looked up and saw Ken Sato hurrying towards you. 

And that was when you fainted. 

-

Kenji Sato was going to fucking jump off of a bridge.

Pacing his living room, he dragged his hands through his hair, muttering a string of curses under his breath. “Mina, I’m so screwed.” He paused, looking at her hopefully. “Am I? Screwed, I mean.”

“That would be an interesting topic of debate, Ken.”

“Give me a proper answer, dammit!”

“You’ll be fine.”

“What about the girl?” He stopped suddenly, freezing in place. “I feel awful, you know.” Mina stared at him. “Yes, I can feel regret. Shocker.” He ran his hand through his hair, again. “I already replaced her broken stuff, right?” He looked sick. “Should I apologize? In person? Over text?”

“You could apologize over text,” Mina said.

Kenji immediately fell into the couch, pulling out his phone. “What’s her instagram account name?” Pulling it up, he scrolled through the photos. “[name] [surname], sports photographer,” he read aloud, eyes flicking down to the pictures. 

“She has taken photos for teams, articles, and even major sports magazines.” Mina flew down, hovering near his head as he scrolled curiously. 

“How many photos do you bet she’s got of me?”

“Would you like me to run a search?”

Ken looked up, surprised. “I was just kidding.” He dug his nail beneath his other nail, considering the offer, but Mina was already doing it. 

“Approximately ninety-seven out of two-hundred and twenty-nine images posted on her professional account include your face,” Mina concluded. Ken stared at her blankly. She remained silent for a few more seconds, letting it sink in, then spoke again. “I suggest scrolling to the very bottom of her account, her earliest days of photography, Ken.”

“Ninety-seven?” He asked incredulously, and Mina simply repeated her previous statement. Scroll down.

He did. It took him a while, but he finally managed to hit it, and-

“I’m in college in these.”

His eyes scanned the pictures on the screen- most of which were of him. College games, every one of them. He’d never noticed her in the crowd. Had he?

And there were so, so many.

He could feel heat creeping up his neck. He didn’t find it creepy, or stalkerish- not at all, but instead dared to feel a tiny bit flattered. 

Oh, she was obsessed with me. That’s kind of cute. 

He wondered if she still was. 

Taglist: @moonjellyfishie, @lovingyeet, @aise-30, @scarasw1f3, @v1ennie im only doing taglist this once but I’d prefer it if people just followed me instead because they’re such a hassle

[recareels]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ sunday + grinding on his fingers while he works!

character: sunday warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem reader, extreme teasing, dom/sub power dynamics, pet names (darling, angel, sweetheart), tiny bit of degradation (needy slut), toxic relationship (sunday is a lil mean/controlling/overbearing), taps into sunday’s god complex  words: 1.4k

Thinking about Sunday’s fingers; long, slim, warmed by the gloves, his heat radiating off the thin material. Thinking about not even riding them, but humping them, using them while he deals with something far more important. He won’t put them inside of you, refuses to even take off his gloves as he wedges a hand between your thighs, claiming that this is more than enough to make you cum, sweetheart and he knows you can do it, he knows you can get off from just this. 

Because you’re such a needy little slut for him, aren’t you? Pathetic and acquiescent and willing to take whatever the fuck he’ll give you, even if it’s merely the very tips of his fingers, just scarcely brushing your throbbing clit. 

It’s up to you to do all the work—you’re the one who wanted it, after all; you’re the one who couldn’t sit proper and patient and wait for him to finish with his tasks and duties, too eager and desperate for the tiniest piece of him to stand it—and he declines to put in any effort at all, simply keeping his fingers still and stiff, a hairs width from your cunt. 

As such, it’s your responsibility to make yourself feel good.

He barely pays you a shred of attention throughout the entire tedious process, gaze prim and focused on the documents spread neatly across his desktop, his free hand leafing through papers and jotting down notes. 

But despite his cool, calm, seemingly unaffected demeanour, you know better. 

Because you can see it; his cock, hard and huge and straining against white trousers, just begging for relief. You can hear it; those gentle, almost imperceptible hitches in his breath—a subtle response to your own sweet little noises, whiny little mewls and airy little moans, sounds that melt in the heat of your mouth, sugared frustration on your tongue.  

Every brush of your clit against his fingers pushes another one from your pouty lips, features pinched and tight with concentration, muscles coiled and tense as they work and flex, desperate to achieve your goal. 

Yet despite what Sunday had claimed, it truly isn’t enough, each soft swipe of his fingers only working to fuel the fire roiling in your belly, spritzing kerosene on the flames but never fostering an explosion. 

“S’not enough, Sir,” you whimper after nearly an hour of this routine, a heavy ache beginning to settle deep within your flesh, 

“It’s not enough,” he corrects you, not sparing you a glance. “And I assure you it is, darling. Come, now, be a good girl for me, and show me that you can cum from just my fingertips.” 

“I can’t, I can’t,” you hiccup, lids squeezing shut as tears nip at your vision, aggravation budding at the corners of your eyes. “I need more!”

“Don’t get greedy, now,” he chastises, an implicit warning woven into the sentence. “You’ve already taken one of my hands away, and considerably slowed down my productivity, interrupting my workflow with your neediness. Isn’t that enough?” 

A flash of guilt sears through your stomach, bitter and sharp, and you lip juts out even further,  puckering your chin. 

He’s right—You know he’s right. He’s already making a sacrifice for you by just giving you this—time is money, time is power, time is control, and you’re eating up a substantial amount with your disgraceful desire. How much more selfish could you possibly be? 

“M’sorry, Master,” you slur out, eyes shut tightly enough to crinkle your lids as you attempt to scrape together the tatters of your concentration. “I’m sorry.” 

Sunday says nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitches, curls upward with something sick and sadistic, thick authority cracking in the atmosphere around him. 

With renewed resolve, your hips begin to swivel again, grinding your swollen clit against sheathed fingers. His fingertips flutter softly, just teasing, and your movements speed up, rocking into his feathery touch, the motion just shy of satisfying. 

Something similar to vexation chokes in your throat; a half-stifled groan smothered by your determination to be good, to obey. 

You will not complain again. 

The quick, light drumming of his fingers against your clit ceases a mere moment before your pleasure crests—it’s a curse, how proficiently he knows your body, how perfectly he can decode those precious little gasps, slipping unwittingly from your lips and tinged with exasperation, and those pathetic little ruts, pelvis stuttering as it chases his touch, stomach muscles coiled and clenched. 

He can read you so well, too well, almost as if he made you himself, took blood and bone between his palms and molded it into flesh, into his personal little angel—he is your creator, and you worship him flawlessly. 

It’s obscene, just how wet you are, copious amounts of arousal soaking through the cotton of his gloves to prune his fingers, turning the material slippery, puffy clit gliding over it with fluid ease.

It’s embarrassing, just how wet you are, thick dribbles of slick streaming down Sunday’s drenched digits to collect in little pools on the webs between his knuckles. It’s overflowing, leaking onto his palm slow and steady to seep into the fabric, now stained with evidence of your desire clinging to his hand. 

You’re saturated in sweat by the time you finally manage to orgasm, thin linen of your dress plastered to your form, contouring every dip and curve of your body, outlining every heave of your chest. A garland of tiny beads is strung along your hairline and collarbone, glistening dewdrops streaming down your cheeks and neck and leaving pretty shimmering trails of damp salt in their wake. 

Strands of matted hair stick to your temples, your thighs still tensing around Sunday’s now rigid hand, hips continuing to gyrate in sloppy little circles as you chase residual sparks of pleasure, quick jolts of overstimulation rippling your flesh. 

But despite the dull, dense ache in your muscles, heavy with exhaustion and filled with sand, and the prodigal sparks of pain-dyed ecstasy, pushing sharp hisses through the gaps of your clenched teeth with each bout through your blood, you just can’t seem to stop.

“Th-Thank you, Sunday, Sir, thank you, thank you,” you’re babbling out in hiccups, words hitching in time with the motions of your hips. 

So polite, his sweet little seraph, so devoted to making your gratitude known—it is, in essence, only right to thank your god after he grants you a tiny piece of heaven, a single taste of bliss, Sunday knows. And your reverence will not go unrewarded. 

Because your reverence far exceeds great respect and high regard; your reverence bleeds into veneration, obsession, addiction. Your love knows no bounds. 

Your love is voracious in its worship, devouring any morsel of attention or affection he grants you and being grateful for it—even something as small and insignificant as a fingertip. 

It’s fucking exhilarating to experience such power, and it sends a heady shot of rhapsody straight to his brain, dazing him and infusing his blood. He can feel it oozing out of every pore, clinging to his form like a protective shield, reinvigorating his hegemony and reaffirming his authority.

Yearning against his pants, his cock twitches, the stitches threaded across the groin stretched taut with how hard he is. 

His hand is doused in you—your cum and your sweat and your arousal—and he pulls it free from your flexing thighs to examine it, holding it up in front of his face and turning it; first this way, then that, leisurely admiring the way every inch of his glove gleams in the diffused sun spilling past the stained glass. Sheathed in you, it almost looks like a shimmery satin.

“Such a mess,” he grits out, the words wispy and ragged. “Such a pretty mess you made for me.” 

A pair of gloved fingers tap together in a scissor-like motion, slow and controlled, pupils blown wide with awe as he watches the slick material stick to itself, glimmering in the setting sunlight and separating with minimal effort, strings of your cum strung between the appendages, webby, quivering slightly. 

You’ve since slumped against him, face nearly buried in his bicep as he appreciates the gift you’ve given him. Your breath is hot and humid against his neck, panted out through parted lips in uneven little huffs and stammered by soft whines.

“Rest, angel,” he murmurs, cheek laid against your head after he’s peeled the soiled glove from his skin and stashed it away in a desk drawer for safe keeping. “You did well.”

He knew you would. A god is never wrong, after all.

[d-dantes]

⛏ ─── • 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬

Pairing: Gyuutaro Shabana x F!reader 

Warnings: Modern au, mostly gyuutaro pov, self-depricating thoughts (gyuutaro), use of petnames (baby, pretty thing, pretty girl), 'brat' mention, male masturbation (non descript), mild dry humping, fingering, oral (m+f receiving), messy blowjob / face / throat fucking, panty stealing, praise, mention of breeding, biting, idk lotta plot with some porn

Wordcount: 16.6k

Notes: Please don’t look too hard this is just a giant self-indulgent love letter to this man. Not thoroughly beta read, be gentle 🥹

He hates this job, he really does. The flood of faces day in and day out, the monotony of the same insipid meaningless pleasantries exchanged against his will lest his plucky little barely twenty one year old party animal manager tries to scold him for being ‘unfriendly’. It’s infuriating, to say the least, and he simply isn’t paid enough for it despite the obscene amount of hours he takes up because his boss (that never even sets foot into the independently owned store) refuses to hire anyone extra. 

Gyuutaro barely makes rent either, he’s thankful his roommate covers it without complaint when he can’t even though he hardly ever expresses any gratitude for it; he’s hardly ever home with how much shit he has to take care of. At this point the apartment was just proof of address because good luck getting a job when you’re homeless; he should know. 

Plus, why should he thank the striped asshole anyway? The room dedicated to him was only a fulfilled favor from the man’s brattle girlfriend and self-proclaimed sister of sorts but Gyuutaro didn’t refute the statement either. Hakuji wasn’t exactly a welcoming man but he’d do anything for his little ‘princess’ so his headache is Gyuutaro’s gain, for what it was worth anyway. 

He’d probably save more money if he didn’t send nearly every dime he had to his biological sister to ensure she never went without. A weekly ritual of scraping together what he can to give Ume as an allowance for whatever she so desired, things her scholarship doesn’t cover because he’ll be damned if his pride and joy would ever go without.

Even if that meant pinching pennies and skipping meals often to do so. It’s worth it to him, knowing she’ll be able to pursue her dream in clothing design and not have to take up a part time job to split her attention between. It’d be such a shame for her flawless face to bear the same dark circles that decorate his under eyes.

Thoughts like those are what get him through the doubles he pulls and minimal days off without killing anyone. Though, Gyuutaro swears he’ll hear the shrill ringing of cooler alarms along with the wretched chime of the convenience store doors opening and closing constantly in his sleep. He’ll probably hear it long after he quits, if he ever does. 

Maybe the job wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t have to perform so much customer service; chatty elderly, rude and entitled soccer moms with their unruly little brats at six in the morning, burnouts that think they’re slick when they’re asking for cash back the second they walk inside and buy ninety-nine cent rolling paper. He hates it all, hates never being able to reach his boss and being expected to make judgement calls that are well above his pay grade like he gives more than a singular shit. Vendors and sales representatives coming and going with information on ads that he forgets the second they leave. 

All but one; one rep that comes in never dressed in any uniform the company surely provides. 

You always come in dressed casually where nobody would think you were working unless they’d seen you regularly. Black jeans because you “hate the work pants” with a plain black tee and a snapback hat that has your company’s logo embroidered professionally on the front with your hair pulled through the hole in the back while the fringe too short for the ponytail hangs from the sides, framing your face that you try and hide. You shake it up sometimes by wearing a company-provided jacket but only when it’s cold out or wearing your hair down entirely so it forces your hair to frame your face a little more than usual but he definitely prefers it like that. You always come in with a smile too, a sort of cheery that Gyuutaro would usually sneer at and waving to him behind the counter while making a beeline to the storeroom, grabbing a clipboard to sign in as proof that you even showed up in the first place even though he tells you often it didn’t matter. Gyuutaro was the only one ever here and if the teenager worked she’d call him a million times for questions she could figure out for herself but you flash him a playful little smile and tell him, “me signing in give her one less reason to call you on your day off.”

It didn’t though, the airhead would ask him where the sheet was despite it never moving from the same spot it’s always been in but he keeps that to himself.

You’re nice, that’s what he would say about you and probably the first and only kind word he’d used for anyone besides his sister for the first time in his entire life.

And it’s an objective truth, you’re incredibly friendly in a professional sense, he guessed anyway. Overly considerate as well. You asked about his day each time you spoke to one another but not in the obligatory way of menial conversation. You’re probably the only rep he even bothered to remember the name of, you’re the only one he’s ever taken the time to say more than two words to. Pretty too, objectively speaking of course, nice to look at so maybe that’s why he didn’t mind interacting with you more than the average person he was forced to deal with.

That’s the reasoning he gives himself anyway as Gyuutaro takes a second to look around the parking lot from the window, seeing if anyone else would come in before hopping over the counter and wandering over to the store room. It’s just to help you with whatever you’re doing, he’ll just see if you have any questions about inventory and then get back around to count the cigarettes or something; nothing more, nothing less.

You’re tapping something into your phone whenever he rounds the corner to the backroom, leaning against the doorframe with his hands shoved into the pouch at the front of his hoodie, the weight of them dragging the baggy material downward and giving him more space around his throat before clearing it ‘innocuously’’ to let you know he was there, sparing you from a fright. You look up for a second, face scrunched into a concentrated scowl that quickly melts into your usual soft look as you flash him a quick smile then get back to whatever you were doing on your phone. 

“Yer kinda early today, huh?” kicking off from his perch as he ventures further into the room as you glance over all the inventory. 

You’re scowling again whenever he gets closer, a short silence falling between you before you turn to him; nodding after heaving a bereft sigh after tucking your phone into your back pocket, “Yeah, reset guy called out so I’ve gotta do it instead because corporates breathing down our necks about the completion rate being so low. Boss told me he’ll cover anything else I have today but hey, I’ll get to bother you for a while.” 

He can’t help but chuckle at the way you stick your tongue out at him as if you lingering for an extended amount of time could ever be a bad thing, continuing to babble about what you’ll have to do and what’s happening with all the products in the store. It sounds like a lot, obviously it is since your schedule was essentially cleared for it. 

“You gonna’ need any help?” The question falls from his lips reflexively, surprising himself because he was never one to offer assistance to anyone, much more likely to make their lives harder and enjoy their suffering in the meantime.

The chime to the store's entrance doors rings when you open your mouth to answer, closing it quickly as you wave him goodbye with an apologetic smile as Gyuutaro rolls his eyes with a snarl to his lips. Pulling one hand from his front pocket and putting two fingers together at his temple paired with an exaggerated but muted explosion sound as he backs away from you to tend to the customer but he earns a cute, tinkling giggle from you over the semantics. He leaves you to your work while he helps the customer with whatever it is he’s needed to do. Put x amount on pump whatever, buying a ridiculous amount of junk food, vape stuff; whatever it is he’s not really paying attention while they’re talking to him and he pushes buttons on the register as that melodic sound plays on repeat in his head until you emerge from the back, his eyes on you instantly. 

It’s obvious he’s staring at you, too, watching while you walk back and forth from the storeroom and between the aisles and displays of different products. Pushing standees around as kicking stacks to certain spots and bending over every so often to rotate perishable stock with a few choice words over the delivery drivers performances but it drains out quickly as Gyuutaro drinks you in. 

And your shirt that usually drapes down to your ass rides up to reveal just a peek of lacy panties, making a pervert out of Gyuutaro quickly. Warming his chest with wandering thoughts that stray too far and end up carrying the heat in his veins until he has to shed the oversized hoodie. 

Customers come in sporadically after that, keeping him tied to the register as he yells responses across the way to you the few times you poked your head around to ask him something. It’s about three hours whenever he’s finally able to actually move away from the counter and meet you in the storeroom where you’re tidying up, bent over yet again and his eyes instantly drag downward to enjoy the view but you sense his presence quickly enough. 

Standing up just as quickly as crystalline hues flit to meet your gaze, saliva gathering on his tongue with the way you greet him so warmly like he weren’t just ogling you for the umpteenth time today.

“Hey!” chirped as you toed at the neat stack you were tending to when he’d appeared, “I’m just about done, I’m sending back all this junk in these boxes.” You could’ve told him the sky was green and he wouldn’t have questioned you, let alone the shit to do with this building he prays burns down. You’re typing away at your phone again at a system he never bothered to learn after explaining all the changes he may actually retain simply because it was you who said it. 

Gyuutaro rubs at the back of his neck while you finish your professional spiel, biting at the skin on the inside of his cheek, “sorry I didn’t get t’help ya any, shit timing I guess,” but you smile at him nonetheless, waving your hand and dismissing his apology. 

“It’s not a big deal at all, promise. You looked like you were ready to jump over the counter and throttle someone anyway,” he likes the way you giggle at your own comment, how it lights up your whole face and makes him need to swallow a little more. Thinks it’s cute, thinks you’re cute and he’s actually pretty annoyed he didn’t get to speak to you more the one day you’re at his store longer than an hour. Scowl marring his perfectly imperfect features as he slouches and scoffs as he recalls the faceless nobodies that kept him away from you.

“Everyone’s pretty fuckin’ annoyin, like they don’t have a shred of sense. We were busier than normal today too, should’ve just traded you jobs for the day,” to which you only gave him a sympathetic pat to his forearm in response. 

It makes him feel warm, a comfortable heat in his chest, with how you always laugh at whatever he says or are just so genuinely enthused to speak to him and that you feel inclined to be near him or touch him. He scratches at the slope of his throat in a subconscious bid to fight the unfamiliar feeling you evoke, flicking the scythe earring that dangles from the tunnel in his stretched lobes while he thinks of what else to say; never one to actually desire for conversation to carry on.

“Uh, so, you gotta order more overpriced shit or?” Was all he could come up with, his cheeks heating rapidly when you look up from the small handheld clutched in your hands and nod before returning to whatever it is you do. Thankful for the dark marks he’s had since birth that spreads from his right cheek to just below the center of his left eye for once in his life as it disguises the blush that probably tints his pale skin. Sighing as he gives up on finding something to say and leaning against the doorframe again while peeking over your shoulder as you add and subtract god knows what to the store owners bill. Jarring him from his stupor when you shift from one foot to the other on your feet before you exhale heavily.

“Alrighty, ’m all done here now, you got much longer today?“ 

He groans long and low before he nods, scowl deepening  and scratching noisily along his sharp jawline, “yeah, Imma be here pretty late, gotta’ work a twelve today because my boss is a dick and the brat he made manager has an important college party she can’t miss. Ya can only tell me yer dyin to have a train ran on ya in so many ways.” 

That makes you frown, genuinely disheartened for a reason Gyuutaro can’t really understand yet, eyebrows scrunching as you chew at your plush lower lip for a second. The next moment you’re whipping your phone out of your back pocket and clicking several different apps before you turn it towards him and he sees the add contact screen, “Put your number in, I get off after I head back to our office to clock out and wouldn’t mind coming by to help.” 

“To bother me, you mean?” quipped in jest as he takes your device with a raised eyebrow and crooked smile that makes you squirm minutely under his gaze, tapping in his contact information and sending himself a text with a playful little middle finger and scythe emoji in it to save yours before handing it back to you. You laugh at the text, rolling your eyes with a nod while tucking your phone away and moving toward the door with Gyuutaro hot on your heels, “Bothering you is an obvious given, you should know that.” 

Playfully shooing you out the door in mock annoyance in response, hanging in the doorway as he sees you out to your car and for once the blaring chime doesn’t annoy him as it screeches in his ears.

The days don’t drag on like they used to after that, probably due to the fact that he spends all day on his phone now texting you. He’s in a better mood too, smiling more (at his screen but smiling nonetheless) because the conversation doesn’t feel forced or stagnant and you’re always engaging in one way or another and if you can’t think of anything to say you you send a meme or a picture of another location that you’re at for the day. 

‘You’d never do this’, your text bubble highlights, which makes him roll his eyes, tapping at his screen in between mindless tasks he can’t focus on. 

‘Probably would if it made you have to be here awhile longer,’ Gyuutaro smirks while he types it, lopsided grin splitting his face as he wonders if you’ll fluster over it or at the very least read it in his tone. He’s gotten a little more bold with you in the weeks you’ve been texting; mostly not so subtle hints of his attraction, telling you you’re cute for simple things and complimenting you in ways that couldn’t be considered platonic. You’re animated in the ways you respond too, displaying how what he says makes you feel with caps lock and unintelligible key smashes and Gyuutaro takes it as a good sign. The awkwardness of flirting with you had long since gone away because of it and he's learned you’re the incredibly nurturing type.

Displaying it overtly and subtly all at once with questions like, ‘Did you sleep alright? Have you eaten today? I’ll be in the area today do you want me to pick up lunch? Have a good day!

The more receptive you are to him the more he does it, always toeing the line of borderline sexting without plunging into it just yet.  

For now he’ll just enjoy the mutually casual flirting, he thinks it’s flirting anyway, that’s what his roommate's stray of a girlfriend (and his bonus sister, he guesses) says when she snatches his phone from his hands or reads the screen from over his shoulder. Taunting teasingly ‘serial killers got a girlfriend’ before they end up rough housing as he wrestles for his phone back until her man came to separate them and toss her over his shoulder.

Gyuutaro couldn’t say he was opposed to the notion, however, you’d creeped your way into his personal life instead of lingering at the doorway of his professional life only. You both text one another as often as you can, but he feels the times where he has to wait, keenly aware of every agonizing minute as he drums his fingers along the counter and clicks through apps on his phone; he even hears a phantom chirp of your text notification every so often and cringes at himself if he dwells on that feeling of desperation too long. 

Lets his mind wander in fleeting distraction when there aren’t customers to busy himself with. Gyuutaro thinks of how his roommate has made fun of him for checking his phone so often just yesterday, recalling the scene vividly in his mind's eye. 

Hakuji watching the lanky man waking his screen or unlocking and locking it back more times than he can count. His legs growing restless as he did so, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he lounges in the living room of their apartment. 

Pots and pans clatter as the bulkier of the two searched for the correct cookware as he commented from the kitchen, “y’know Shabana, it's pretty refreshing seein you this hung up on someone that isn’t your sister.” 

The heavily tattooed man doesn’t realize the connotations of his phrasing, or maybe he does, Gyuutaro could never tell when Hakuji tried his hand at banter. The response was the same regardless “fuck off, stripes.” 

His roommate puts his hands up in front of his torso in mock surrender, “just saying, seems like yer really into her, princess said the girl sounds into you and could be a good thing going.”

Gyuutaro didn’t respond further, simply sneered before retreating to his sparsely decorated room with his brows furrowed in thought over how the both of you interact and if the chemistry was really that palpable that people on the outside looking in could notice it too. 

Returning to that line of consideration now as he waits, ruminating on it and if there were different attempts Gyuutaro should make but it’s abandoned quickly when an eagerly anticipated response wakes his screen and your name graces the notification bar on display.

‘Miss me?’ He reads it in your voice, a sweet sound that rattles around in his head more than he’d willingly admit to anyone aloud. Lips curling up around jagged teeth as he goes to tap out a reply before the door swings open dramatically enough that it agitates Gyuutaro. Growl rumbling from his chest only to die in his throat when he sees you standing with a beaming smile before you hold up a plastic bag with two containers of takeout while you laugh at him. 

“Gotcha!” Exclaimed between your erupting giggle fit as you place the food on the chipping countertop as you make your way around the counter to him, “you should’ve seen your face you were about to lose your shit.”

The snarl he wears is significantly less menacing and off putting than any other that he’s adorned but only because it’s directed at you, “didn’ tell me you were stopping by pretty thing, didn’t even get time to make myself look all nice.”

You scoff as you lift yourself onto the adjacent counter facing the window, your back to it after you’ve laid out your respective meals, “always look nice, now eat, I know you haven’t since I came by yesterday.”

Gyuutaro doesn’t miss how you quickly slip in the compliment but you give him no time to refute it, chuckling himself as he shakes his head while grabbing his plate of food and the utensils that came with it. An upwards quirk lingers on his lips even as he takes a bite and lets his lids slip shut to savor the moment rather than the food itself, a pleasant heat pulsing softly behind his sternum as he realizes you’ve been subtly learning about him too. That you’re at least well versed enough to know how quickly he’d refute your genuine response to his sarcastic jab at himself. 

Instead he lets you have this win, enjoys the fact that you genuinely find him appealing instead of the nagging urge to mock you for it before you could mock him because there simply isn't a singular instance where that would transpire. You were too good for that, too good for him he knows but Gyuutaro is a selfish man that takes what he wants and unfortunately (but oh so fortunately despite how unaware of the fact he was) for you, you and your affection was what he had his sights on. 

‘I’m on vacation starting tomorrow,’ you break the rare silence that had blanketed the space after swallowing your own bite of food. Gyuutaro pulled from his musings with a confused sound muffled by his mouthful as he urges you to continue, “I’m not doing anything special. Staying home all week.” 

You want to squirm over his expression, still clueless with a thin brow quirked high on his forehead hidden behind long fringe that hangs in his face. Waiting a moment in case he just needed the time to process what you were saying but once he continues to miss the point you finally sigh and ask him outright, “Do you want to hang out with me sometime during the week?“

Only for an impish grin to spread on his devilishly handsome face that makes your throat, ears and cheeks burn with heat, “thought ya’d never ask. Just lemme know when ya want me.”

Illıllııllıllııllıllııllıllııllıllı

You’re relatively busy the rest of the week after you inform him of your time off, tying up loose ends so you don’t run the risk of being contacted during your vacation and leaving notes for whoever will be filling in for you. Too dutiful in Gyuutaro’s opinion considering all the times you’ve ranted to him about your coworkers screwing you over as he thumbs away frustrated tears when you’ve reached your breaking point over the added workload. Always telling him that it’s easier for you in the long run if you just take care of things ahead of time but you ignore him when he reminds you of how you pick up everyone else’s slack but they don’t allow you the opportunity to do the same. 

It doesn’t sit right on his tongue and weighs heavy in the pit of his stomach but he lets it go when you ask him to; offering him placating words as if he were the one that felt overwhelmed. 

So he just opts to make you laugh because apparently Gyuutaro’s ‘so good at cheering me up’ and he ‘always knows just how to put a smile on my face’.

But your relief come the end of the week is palpable even without the several texts to him in all caps about how you’d completed all your tasks and written out all your emails for the ‘team’ so you’re ‘home free.’ You’re so ridiculously cute Gyuutaro can’t even stand it, embarrassed about how his heart skips a beat when you ask him his schedule and if he’ll want to come by this Sunday before he could even respond to your joy. He takes a moment to calm himself, exhaling slowly as you coordinate a short back and forth and commit to a plan.

Excitement making his stomach twist with a different sort of hunger than he’s ever suffered from before. Fuck, was he in love with you?

He wished he’d never asked himself that question, at least not before he was going to spend time with you outside of work. The first time he comes over is somewhat awkward, being alone with you in private, nevermind the fact that it’s in the sanctity of your home at that, surely would’ve been. 

The space is tidy, he notes, like you like to keep things neat and orderly the same way you do at work and he honestly isn’t surprised; demonstrating his assumption by holding out your hand for his keys as you toss them into the little bowl on the entryway table that houses your own set. Busying yourself as you move around the space before disappearing into the kitchen that wafts the smell of dinner throughout your home and makes him salivate.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” you call from the other room but Gyuutaro only coo’s a cool ‘kay’ as he seizes the opportunity to explore his surroundings as he meanders to your modest dining room table that doesn’t look like it can seat more than two people at any given moment.

There are only a few scattered pictures on the wall, family he presumes, mostly you and who he guesses is your mother as well as a few that are of people that bear no resemblance to you at all that Gyuutaro gathers must be your friends. Closest to the archway that leads into your kitchen is a singular ornately designed analog clock and some painted canvas’ on the opposite side that lead down the extended hallway that make him smirk to himself, a little pleased to learn on his own that you like to paint and you aren’t half bad at it either. 

Your home is dimly lit as well, curtains drawn for privacy and it blocks out a significant amount of natural light but it's rectified with lamps that cast a softer yellowish glow to illuminate the area. Overall you decorate pretty simply, modestly, keeping mostly essentials with the occasional knick-knacks placed sporadically so the space doesn’t feel so empty or bland. 

Pulled from his reverie when he catches sight of you preparing the plates for both of you, snarling his lip because like fucking hell you were going to do more than you needed to especially on your vacation, especially over something like this.

Broad palm and lithe digits with knobby knuckles take the ladle from your hands with ease, sucking his teeth at you when you go to protest with a cute whine but he stands firm. Taking your dish and holding it higher so you couldn’t try and snatch it from his hands as he spoons the steaming food onto the ceramic. You relent easily enough though, but not without any complaint as your shoulders slumping animatedly in exaggeration as you let him finish up making both plates instead, “I could’ve done it ‘taro.”

“Ya cooked,” short and to the point as he hands you your food, jerking his head backwards because if he acknowledges the cute nickname for him he doubts he could contain he already barely concealed desire for you, “I’ll serve it. How it works.”

Nevermind he’s never served another soul in his life that wasn’t blood related to him. What had you done to him? Will you keep doing it?

He hopes so as you retreat from him, exhaling slowly to calm himself before he follows you into the next room to find you already comfortably sat at your table; waiting for him to join you before you start eating. Something Gyuutaro never let Ume do while they were growing up, always wanting to make sure she’d had her fill before he’d even consider eating.

But food was plenty when it came to you, he knows how to pick his battles as well, Gyuutaro didn’t think he could get away with strong arming you with something simple like this again. Sliding into the cushioned seat next to you as he digs his spoon into the hearty stew after only a moment's pause. Puffing out a disbelieved chuckle when you make no move to start eating yourself as you stare expectantly at him. 

He rolls his eyes but take a decent spoonful and shovels the meat and potatoes into his mouth without even blowing on it to cool it off with little reaction besides a hum of satisfaction. Pointing the dirtied utensil at you when he swallows and lets the taste warm his belly, “s’great, now eat lil brat.”

The deliverance was a little curt but not insultingly so as you beam at him, rolling your lower lip between your teeth as you nod before finally tucking into your own plate with a playfully flippant, “was gonna, just needed to let it cool down.”

You do love your technicalities, Gyuutaro’s learned, “lucky yer cute, liars never are.”

Nudging at you with his elbow before the meal continues in amicable silence, interrupted with light conversation and Gyuutaro getting up to make himself a second bowl halfway through while you sit with him as he polished that one off as well.

This was probably the longest either of you had taken to eat any meal before, Gyuutaro never one to eat very often which was apparently in the way his skin clung to the bonier areas of his body; you because you bite off more than you could chew in other areas of your life and used the excuse of ‘never having the time to stop and eat.’

But this meal was enjoyable, one you both wanted to savor that didn't pertain to the food at all. Lingering at the table as you both idly chat a little bit more than you would when you see him at work or over text. You’d known about his sister of course but it’s more enjoyable getting to watch him talk at length about her more, have him detail to you about her personality quirks and cherished memories from their childhood that you’re sure she would be utterly mortified to know that he’d regaled them someone she hadn’t even met yet.

He was more like a proud dad than a loving older brother but you admire that about him, adored it rather. There weren’t many men like Gyuutaro that would accept that sort of responsibility over their sibling at such a young age, it shows you how good of a father he’d be one day before you nip that train of thought in the bud. 

You hadn’t even met the most important person in his life yet, nevermind that you weren’t even dating or discussing the prospect of it, what did you think you were doing with mental images of him cradling a precious little swaddle of a newborn that looks like a healthy mix of you and–

“Ya feelin alright?” his voice has you careening back to the present from a future you imagine a little more than you should, looking somewhat stupified then shocking at the cool feel of the back of his palm on your heated cheek, “feel warm.”

Your fingers wrap around his wrist thoughtfully before pulling it away gently, patting it assuringly only to chirp out tightly, ““m great! Soups n’stews just warm me up a little too much.”

You’re aware that that sounds less than convincing but you breathe a sigh of relief when he shrugs his shoulders with a smirk before figuring now was as good a time as any to start clearing the table. It makes you frown though, reaching for him quickly and grasping onto his baggy shirt, “you don’t have to do that, I’ll get it.”

Gyuutaro casts a glance over his shoulder to scold you lightly over this as well but his words die in his throat when he sees your crestfallen expression. His cleaning up feels like their time together was already coming to an end and you’d be lying if you said that wasn't more than disappointing. 

So he stops, stands less slouched than normal as he turns to you and lets his index finger hook beneath your chin to earn your gaze, “we’re gonna watch a movie yeah? What kinda asshole would I be if I dined n’ditched?”

His tone is so low and gentle paired with his touch as well as that soft expression on his face that he pulls off flustering and pacifying you in one fell swoop but you do the same to him in turn. Facilitating that pleasantly uncomfortable heat in his chest like a flickering flame that has smothering ash kicked from it’s core the moment your crestfallen expression melts from the warmth of your relieved smile.

This much of a change in mood so quickly, all because he said he’d be staying with you for a little while longer? If you’d told him weeks ago Gyuutaro alone was capable of that he’d have cackled maniacally in your face. 

Well, maybe not your face specifically, but still the sentiment stands, the notion would’ve been unfathomable to him. Gyuutaro favored souring people's moods and leaving a bitter taste in their mouths but the thought of doing that to you in any capacity makes his stomach twist in familiar discomfort.

He doesn’t realize you’re still within his grasp until you reluctantly pull yourself from him, reaching for the stacked dishes in his other hand only for him to shift it further out of your reach, “What did I say earlier?”

Your arm flails slightly, trying in vain to take the bowls from him before you huff in momentary defeat and fix him with a defiant pout, “that I cooked so you made the plates, not a thing was said about cleanin up.”

“It was implied.”

“Implied where, in your imagination?” Wrestling with him playfully as he gives you his back before your arms slip between his own but still only come up short thanks to his lanky limbs, “I can clean up two plates, seriously.”

“Didn’t ask,” purred with his back to you as long legs carry him into your kitchen with three easy strides, maneuvering about the area like he belonged there as he crouched to the cabinet below to grab a new sponge on assumption alone. You protest a bit more, knocking your hip into his in a weak attempt to bump him out of the way only to be quietly humbled over how he doesn’t even budge. Averting your gaze and pouting with warm cheeks when he glances at you with that shit-eating grin of his before leaning against your counter with your arms crossed in an exaggerated huff. 

Tapping your foot quietly against the hardwood floor as the sound of running water and the gentle clink of ceramics and metal fills the tranquil moment; simply watching Gyuutaro work comfortably in your kitchen and enjoying the delusion of domesticity until your heart races. Inhaling audibly and collating his curiosity as you scoot slightly away from him, patting your thighs because you’ve been too idle for too long.

“Actually.. Since you insist on not letting me clean in my own house, do you mind if I grab a shower? I don’t like taking one super late,” a habit even when you’re on vacation, trying to give yourself as much relaxation time before you finally decide to wind down for bed far too late in the night for how early you always seem to wake up. 

Gyuutaro gives a simple nod, resuming his self-assigned task but not without an internal scoff to himself and a smirk that fights it’s way onto his lips with the passing thought of his roommate being wholly aghast at Gyuutaro in this moment considering he never even so much as looked at the sinkful of dirty dishes back home.

Glancing over his shoulder again when he catches the motion of you awkwardly shifting your weight on the balls of your feet as he quirks his brow. Tilting his head for the dip dyed ends of his mop of wavy locks to shift out of his eyes, “Need somethin else? Or was that an invitation?”

You stiffen and he almost thinks he’s overstepped and completely misread everything between the two of you up to this point before he watches you press your palms to your cheeks the same way his sister does when she’s trying to calm herself down. Attempting to stammer out a response but you can’t even meet his gaze and as relief washes over him he taps his foot near yours and shoots you a damning wink, “m kiddin, take yer shower or I’ll start the movie without ya.”

“Don’t you dare,” scowling exuberantly, recovering from your momentary malfunction in a way that has Gyuutaro grinning, “make yourself comfortable when you’re done, swear I won’t take long.” 

He only responds with another nod, giving you an easy smile as he returns to the task at hand, grabbing a few of the stray tableware and cups while he was at it. He can feel you lingering though, feels your gaze on his back and it fleetingly makes the nape of his neck burn but he doesn’t resent the feeling. Another sensation only you stoke in him, one he doesn’t question because subconsciously he knows the cause even if he teeters between delusion and denial. 

You almost look in a daze from what he can glean from his peripheral everytime he sets a dish into your drying rack, snapping you from it as he flicks soaked digits in your direction, “doubt this is an efficient way to shower pretty thing.”

The way you squeal and giggle louder as he flicks more water at you before you race off down the hall to your bathroom makes his (now full) shrunken stomach do a flip, fluttering in another of many foreign yet familiar sensations he continues to amass from your presence. Drying his hands as he smirks over the dull thuds of your feet and the door at the end of the hall shutting hastily as Gyuutaro calls out, “can’t blame me for using all the hot water either yaknow.”

Surprisingly satisfied with what he accomplished he moves to linger in your living room idly with nothing to do, glancing about and opting to occupy his time by familiarizing himself with the dwelling after shedding his hoodie when he rounds the couch. Picking up your scattered candles and appreciating the sweet smells that recognized the times they clung to your skin or clothes before wandering further into your home. Hoping to gain more than a shallow glimpse into your life and how you live it outside of the small window he knows you from on a week to week basis or walls of text messages exchanged for hours on end could ever offer him.

Returning to the kitchen first, concocting a flippant excuse of having a sudden sweet tooth should you emerge from the corner without him noticing, not that he’d really need one for some innocent perusing. 

Starting off simple as he rummages through the fridge to see what you like only to find a random assortment of ingredients and a case of water. Frown marring his features with a slight growl, sucking his teeth because why the hell were you worrying about his eating habits when your fridge looked this barren? He’s a hypocrite for certain as he tells himself to get on your case about it later while straightening his spine and shutting the heavy door with an indignant scoff. Unsatisfied with his snooping yet as he opens and closes every cabinet in the room and stares into the pantry, growing bored before long and settling to just lounge in the living room.

Resolving to actually behave and respect your privacy.. That is, until he hones in on the sound of the running water of your shower trying and failing to muffle the sound of a melody sung in an impossibly sweeter tone than he already thought you’d had. Stalling mid stride, staring blankly down the hallway and at the simple door your voice emanates from.

A siren song for certain the way it draws him to you, craving to hear it more clearly as he closes the gap; allowing only the inch thick distance of the particle board and the few feet between it and your shower to separate you both. Leaning against the structure carefully with his ear pressed to the surface, almost holding his breath as he enjoys the sound of you. Arms folded over his chest with a ghost of a smile on his lips as his lids slip shut as if you were serenading him explicitly. Jarring when you a loud clattering of several things follows your cute little yelp, and he pauses to see if you’ll whine in pain, untensing when the sound never comes nor does the captivating cantical. 

But that’s fine for now, something else has stolen his attention anyway as he carefully pushes away from the bathroom door to push open another. Knobby knuckle nudging open the already already ajar entryway to the room across the hall.

Your room.

And he shouldn’t slink in, knows he shouldn’t slither through the marginally larger gap he created but, the lamp on your bedside table casts such a warm and, like everything else about you, inviting glow. Call Gyuutaro a moth to a flame if you wanted, vying for just a little bit more of you in any way he could get his greedy little hands on. 

Even for something so insignificant and inconsequential as the areas you dwell in, but there was an aspect of intimacy associated within the sanctity of where you seek solace and Gyuutaro has always been a man starved of many things. and since he’s met you you’ve only ever fed him more and more. He’s thankful you’d never taken the lesson to never feed a stray to heart. 

Because he wants to invade every fiber of your very being, infect your life slowly like the plague he saw himself as. Praying to any god that only ignored his pleas until Gyuutaro finally stopped asking and dolled out misery that he’d be terminal for you but in a softer, more affectionate way. 

The feeling festering in the space between his ribs as he stands in your sanctuary. Your room is as simply decorated as the rest of the house aside from a marked amount more pictures and tchotchkes that tell him more than idle chit chat ever could. 

Even silence is a conversation, easy to glean desired information so long as you were willing to look for it. 

Like that you loved deeply and cherish the moments you get to spend with those so fortunate enough you afford the affection if the candid moments immortalized in photos and preserved in protective frames are any indication. Friends mostly, some from your childhood, most from recent years alongside a lone photo of you with a woman you bare a vague resemblance to. Parental problems maybe? May you and Gyuutaro be kindred spirits. 

Perhaps that alone validates his next assessment. Where he grew callous and cold you chose to be kind and warm, obvious enough, to him, that you crave comfort as his eyes rove over the abundance of plush creatures of all varieties, stuffed foxes, cats, a pink fawn as well as a rotund bat plush that looked specifically tailored to cuddle artfully arranged around strawberry shaped pillows. 

Your bed itself reminds him more of a little nest with how it’s tucked into the corner of your room to accommodate the comforts artfully arranged around strawberry and heart shaped pillows along with the fluffiest comforter Gyuutaro has ever seen with another blanket folded at the foot of the bed. He wants to lie in it on the worst of days with you in his arms, curling around you protectively. Burns to bury his nose into your hair after kissing your crown as the smell of your shampoo, the sound of your breathing and the feel of your skin against his lulls him into the most restful sleep he’s ever gotten in his rotten life. 

Gyuutaro has to take a few steps back, berating himself over the faithless fantasies from his wicked and treacherous heart while staring at your empty bed. The longer he lingered the more likely he felt he’d be inclined to stay and for once he didn’t want to intrude or invade, not without your explicit invitation. 

Though he bumps into another piece of furniture on his exit, the rounded edge of the sturdy wood stabbing just below his shoulder blade causes him to hiss in pain. Pivoting on his heel with a snarl that quickly fades into benign curiosity as his hand strokes along the lip of your dresser.  

Drumming his fingers against the material as he purses his lips and quirks a thin brow. Weird place to put something like this, in his opinion, rocking on his heel and as he does he can catch a glimpse of the bathroom just outside of your own room. Easy access, it must be here for when you forget your clothes to spare yourself the shameful shuffle in the starke nude despite living alone. 

The thought makes him laugh, the scene a domestic one he’d never imagined of anyone as his hand rests over the top. Drumming his fingers against the hardwood as serenity turns salacious in his ever working mind. 

It’s shameful, he knows this already, but what wasn’t when it came to Gyuutaro? If he were a kinder, more compassionate man, the kind of man you deserved, the wherewithal to not violate your privacy like this would be a nonissue.

But he wasn’t, never even considered to be and doubts heavily he ever would; in this life or the next. 

So the drawers are already quietly opened with a practiced ease. 

And of course they’re all organized. Jeans, skirts, shorts, leggings and sleepwear in the bottom two drawers. The one above those holds all your shirts, long and short sleeves alike with some camis and tank tops and he chortles over the realization that you’ve sorted the storage's contents by the placement on your own body for the most part. 

Gyuutaro opens the top drawer last, he can hear how heavily he swallows as it creaks open, pausing with a scowl at the shrill sound. Is there any real reason for him to open the final drawer? No, not really, but there wasn’t any valid justification for coming to your room in general either; so, why should he stop now? Guilty is guilty, is it not, he’s always been punished severely regardless of his transgression anyway. It’s why he selfishly prioritized his own pleasure where he could and you being his currently coveted prize was enough justification to slide the drawer open further. 

Just enough to revel at the assortment of bundled silky and lacy underwear alternatively. He should be ashamed of himself, feel disgusting for how he cards through the variety of styles with a lidded gaze and lazy smile, but he doesn’t. 

Doesn’t still as he conjures images of you clad only in the pretty black, lacy pair with a precious little pink bow on the front while you stand between his spread legs with your hands on his shoulders before you climb to straddle him. Lashes fluttering over the daydream as he fists the fabric with a white knuckled grip before he forces himself from his reverie. 

Heaving a bereft sigh as his cock twitched and threatens to throb if he doesn’t leave now, quickly but carefully closing the drawer after he’s pocketed the lingerie before finally fucking leaving your room and just in time for him to hear the steady stream of water to stop. 

He’s in the living room again when the bathroom door opens and the humidity accumulated billows out. You're toweling your hair dry as you pad towards him, wearing a satin red camisole and dark dolphin shorts but you might as well be dressed to kill.

“Sorry I took a little bit, I just know after the movie I’ll want to go to sleep as soon as it's over,” there’s a ringing in his ears that almost drowns out everything you’d said to him. The sound blaring as crystalline hues quickly give you a once over as you cross in front of him  

Gyuutaro croaks out a tight ‘s fine’ as he sits sprawled on your sofa, one arm draped over the back of the couch as he slouches lower. Cursing inwardly as he folds his leg in a way that keeps his swelling cock from tenting the material of his jeans. Gritting his teeth and subtly tensing every muscle in his body to will blood flow anywhere else but you (always unintentionally and jn the best of ways) make his life harder. Plopping down into the plush cushions with a saccharine suspire that will fuel his fantasies later before leaning your head on his shoulder while clicking through several apps before settling on Hulu. 

So sweetly handing him the remote with a chirped ‘you pick’ like he wasn’t fighting for his life right now. He couldn’t be fucked to actually choose a movie so he chose some suggested horror flick and hoped for the best.  

It takes about fifteen minutes into the movie before he’s finally calmed enough to let his arm fall from its perch and drape around your shoulder and tuck you into his side properly. It’s criminal how easily you adjust into him too, shifting your weight more into your hip as your head tucks into the crook of his throat and your hand splays just over his diaphragm after you’ve pulled the throw blanket over you both. 

He doesn’t absorb anything from the movie, not that he’d really been attempting to anyway. Mentally occupied by how well you fit against him, how warm you are as well as committing the fragrant notes of your shampoo and body wash to memory. Mind wandering to anything else, though any and all thoughts still pertained to you, to stave off the dread of the movie ending because the last thing he wanted to do was to go home alone tonight. 

Until he notices how you grip onto him for dear life, whole body tensing before you flinch and fist the material of his hoodie tighter; all normal reactions to a horror film. Gyuutaro almost wants to chuckle over your reactions until you whimper and hide your face, trembling over the gory and frightening scene that has him hastily fumbling for the remote to pause it. 

You opt to hide in his throat when he does until his broad palm cups your cheek after a long moment and coaxes you to look at him, nose nudging against your own when he rests his forehead on yours. Cooing at you in the softest tone he could manage when you apologize for no reason while trembling in his hold, thumb swiping over the apple of your cheek as his fingers caress the hinge of your jaw. 

Your eyes are pretty when they’re glassy with tears but he doesn’t think he wants to see them this way ever again, not from this circumstance anyway. There were probably less selfish ways to comfort you but he tells himself he isn’t a selfless man as Gyuutaro closes minimal gap between you, sealing his lips over yours. Chaste and tentative at first, testing until you whine approvingly and press closer. 

It’s all the permission he needs to do what he does best; take. 

His hand slides to the curve of your skull to press you closer to him, leaning into the contact as he tilts his head with a hum. Your lips are as soft as he thought they’d be, softer maybe but he won’t get too lost in those details. Not when you return his fervor by weaving your fingers into his loose locks, blunt nails scraping deliciously at his scalp and how you barely break the contact to take a breath. 

It’s more than encouraging to him, slightly emboldening Gyuutaro as his tongue swipes along your plush bottom lip before you grant him entry. Your muted moan swallowed by him as he shifts you into his lap for you both to be more comfortable. 

He figures it to be a safer bet than pressing you into the cushions and climbing on top of you. ‘Easier to hold back this way,’ Gyuutaro inwardly assures himself while staring directly at pure temptation with a lustful gaze. Chest heaving as you lean back just enough to adjust and sit comfortably in his lap before chasing his lips once more. 

Broad palms finding your natural waist as your thick thighs frame his narrow hips and you cradle his jaw as if he was your personal treasure. Nipping at and gently pulling his own kiss swollen lower lip before you tug the hair at the base of his skull for him to tilt his head. 

Eyes glinting with mirth paired with a mischievous little smile that he mirrors as he palms the nape of your neck, “feelin better?” 

“Maybe,” giggling as your thumb swipes at the corner of his lips, “not sure yet.” 

Dipping for another kiss as a chuckle vibrates his chest, reverberating against your own as your tongue swirls around his. Gasping in pleasant surprise when your clothed slit brushes over his throbbing cock, chasing the sensation by grinding down after he slouches lower in his seat. 

It feels good, you feel good, even through the layers of clothes like this; it still makes Gyuutaro groan. His hands slipping lower and palm the fat of your ass to pull you closer as he presses further into the plush couch. Whimpering in turn when you repeat the motion with more confidence, rolling your pelvis into his only for him to rut upwards somewhat awkwardly until he falls into a comfortable unspoken rhythm.  

Gyuutaro’s in trouble, mind racing with the desire to pull the thin, flimsy material of your shorts and panties to the side to glide his cockhead through your sticky folds. Gripping your hips with a bruising force that you seem to more than enjoy if how they jerk in his hold was any indication before tap your fingers on his wrist. It gives him pause, swallowing thickly thinking he’d done something wrong when you lift your ass and reach between your bodies to fumble with his button and zipper before he grabs both of your hands in one. 

‘Wait, fuck, don’t wanna—“ he can already see you start to deflate at perceived rejection whenever he grabs your chin gently. Carefully cradling your jaw when you try and shy away from him to force eye contact, “nah don’t do that, believe me pretty girl, I fuckin wanna, but not on the first date. You’ll think I’m easy.” 

He winks with a Cheshire grin that makes you giggle, relaxing against him as your thumb swipes affectionately over the marks he thinks are ghastly. 

“Movie was shit anyway,” shifting you to sit in his lap with your back against the arm of the couch and your head tucked into his throat, “I’ll head home a little later. Put something on ya like.”  

You nod but don’t detangle from him, only adjust enough to where your legs are kicked over one side to sit comfortably in his lap. Spending the next hour letting YouTube autoplay comfort videos with one another’s hands laced together in your lap and even still, when it’s time for him to head home, it feels too soon. Lingering in your doorway after he grasps at his discarded hoodie and helps you into it to see him off after demanding he text you he’s made it home safely with a petulant pout he wouldn’t dream of denying. 

And true to his word he sends a concise ‘home’ after you’ve tucked yourself away in a bed that now feels too big with just you in it’s confines. Breathing a sigh of relief as you reply with a heart and telling him goodnight before you shimmy lower into your thick comforter. 

On the cusp of slipping into a dreamless sleep when your screen wakes that does the same for you in turn when you groan to see what disturbed you. 

A text from Gyuutaro that read “how bad I wanted to, btw” after resorting to fucking his fist with your pilfered panties pressed to his nose. A picture attached of him that’s cut just above his toothy, satisfied grin to just below his toned abdomen where you can see sticky white stain pale skin.

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It’s safe to say the proverbial ice had finally been broken, the shift in your relationship with one another unspoken and the nature of it is still undefined but you’re both certain (at the very least) that you're on the same page. 

From the time he wakes up to the time you fall asleep you’re in constant contact with one another, texting between chores around your households or having extended phone calls during his shifts at work. Conversation feels impossibly easier than before, lighter, uninhibited and lacking any gnawing desire to fill any silences that fall between you often.

The week carries on doing simple activities, seizing any opportunity to see each other again any chance either of you get. Gyuutaro doesn’t collect nearly half as many of his usual hours because of it and he already knows his paycheck will suffer dearly for it but he can’t say it was any real loss. The lack of monetary gain is more than accommodated for with your loving laughter and welcoming warmth; tipped a gratuitous amount of unmitigated tenderness and unconditional care.

Paid in your panoply of both subtle and unsubtle displays of affection like sending him to work with a home cooked meal every day, for instance. Packed up nice and neatly in glass containers tucked away into a branded lunch box he’s never once seen you carry around. Always placed into his hands when he reluctantly kisses you goodbye for the night though it does hold an endearingly innocent ulterior motive on your part, hinted at with your ‘firm’ demand for the containers return the next day. Creating an excuse (besides the desire to keep his belly full consistently for the first time in his life) he doesn’t realize is just so he’ll have a built in reason to come over again, not that he ever needed one but it felt easier than outright asking him to come see you every day of the week.

Until the weekend before the end of your holiday arrives and Gyuutaro can see the telltale signs of trepidation that threatens to ruin one of the best weeks you’ve had in a long while. 

The shift in you has Gyuutaro the slightest bit clingier, more doting in his own unique ways and subconsciously caring for you in the way you like to be loved despite having never been told how. He asks if you need groceries just to volunteer to drive you there, adding to it by insisting, “n’ if yer a good passenger princess I’ll take ya on that bike ride you’ve been beggin me for, maybe we’ll get that too sweet coffee ya like too.”

Treating the chore like an exciting excursion, playing dirty by sweetening the deal plus that damning lopsided grin of his is infectious and it only splits wider when you pout bleeds into a tentative smirk. Agreeing to his terms but with an added stipulation, “passenger princess needs her gas pumped and control of the radio.”

He slouches with a quirked brow and faux scowl before hooking his index finger beneath your chin, tipping it upwards to seal his lips over yours in a fleeting press. Muttering a graveled ‘deal,’ acquiescing to ‘staunch’ demands as if the exchange didn’t go exactly in his desired direction, heart warming as you giggle gleefully in victory before gathering your things to leave.

You hated shopping alone but with Gyuutaro it wasn’t nearly as nerve wracking and hard to focus. Wandering down the emptier aisles at a leisurely pace with him at your side and comfortingly placing his hand at the small of your back to guide you through the more crowded ones. Your basket gets filled with far more items and ingredients than it ever has for either of you separately, discussing dinner options and planning meals for certain days so he’ll have leftovers for lunch. Neither of you comment over how domestic the entire process is for the nature of your still undefined relationship, just enjoy the feeling and ease of it all.

Though if you asked Gyuutaro, regardless of if you were around or not, he’d proudly and possessively proclaim that you were his and he was yours. 

He knows you better than most anyone else at this point too, bagging the groceries how you liked to have them sorted without even needing to be told. Gently kneeing your thigh when you try and carry a single bag out to your car and again when you try to do the same whenever you get back home.

“Don’t piss me off brat,” sniped with a notable lack of malice as he shifted his loaded down arms out of your reach, giving you his back as he crossed the threshold of the front door. 

“Or what?” You taunt daringly only to give him little trouble, though not for a lack of serious trying. Looping your arms around his tapered waist and dragging your feet to slow him down to no avail before resorting to swiping uselessly at the bags before they’re all placed onto your countertop. 

He only sucks his teeth at you in response for now, rolling his eyes when you snatch at a bag he reaches for to unpack and stick your tongue out at him for good measure. Repeating that process for each bag as it devolves into a harmless game, tricking one another with twitching hands and sudden jerks when reaching for what’s laid out on the countertop until there’s nothing left. The whole process of the menial task breezed through with your antics, simpering as you bump your refrigerator door closed with your hip. Turning to gather the discarded bags while Gyuutaro faces your pantry, humming as you flatten and fold the plastics before a startled yelp rips from your throat. 

Broad palms placed onto the countertop cage you in as Gyuutaro’s chest presses against your back, the surprise makes you shrink lower but he grabs at you when you squirm, “where’re ya goin?”

His voice still playful but a silky pitch lower than what you’ve heard before, almost purring in your ear as Gyuutaro cups at your jaw, pads of his index finger and thumb pressing into hollows of your cheeks when you whine. He chuckles at you, the sound vibrating against his ribcage as he nips at your ear to elicit more of the enticing sounds from you; breathing you in as he lets his hands rove over your body. 

Periodically pawing at the parts of you he knows are sensitive just to watch you try and drop to your knees to writhe from his hold fruitlessly until you giggle and gasp, “alright alright, let go of me taro.”

Just the response he was hoping for as he handles you with absolute ease, brushing his lips over the slope of your throat as his arms tighten around your natural waist. Hoisting you up just enough so your toes just barely graze the flooring as you flail in the short distance he walks from your kitchen to your living room. Stopping at the furniture placed in the center of the room before he corals you once again, growing bolder by pinning your hips to the frame on the back of your sofa. Lips to the shell of your ear as he shudders out a breathy exhale when you arch your back and the swell of your ass brushes against his crotch, “or what?”

He takes a sick delight in how your eyes widen but leaves no time to dwell on the notion before deft digits make quick work of your button and zipper. He works both of his hands into your pants, massaging at your hips and palming the sides of your thighs as he shimmies the dark denim lower until it pools at your knees. Taking the time to knead appreciatively at the exposed flesh as they crawl higher, cupping your mound and pressing the pads of his middle and ring fingers over your clit as Gyuutaro slouches around you. 

Your breath hitches at the contact but the lack of tension in your body tells him enough that it isn’t unwanted. Encouraging Gyuutaro further by turning your toes inward as he pulls the lacy material to the side to feel you uninhibited, eyes rolling when you twitch in anticipation but he won’t leave you wanting. Parting your folds to play in the quickly gathering slick and he can’t help but think about how much warmer you are than he thought you’d be; warmer than what he’s fantasized about since the end of the week previous. 

He moves almost reflexively, swirling his fingers around your pert bud in firm circles, growing in confidence when your head lolls forward and you brace your forearms on the back of the couch. Ass brushing against his crotch as you go slack in his hold, dipping lower as you spread your legs just a bit more for him, rewarding Gyuutaro with a throaty sigh as he tests out what makes you feel good. A learning experience for the both of you as the sound of slick clicking and shushed suspires mingle in the space between you. 

Working you up after a few testing pressures and motions, guiding you to your climax while his breath dampens the skin of your throat and the sound of him warms the blood in your veins. The coil in your lower belly tightening with intensity as your thoughts race, all of them about him and how he makes you feel, how you think he feels about you. Focusing on how he praises you, encourages you, the feel of his cock prodding at the curve of your ass and the more he coos at you the warmer you feel. 

Clutching at the cushions of the couch for dear life and finally, finally tipping over the edge when he nips at the lobe of your ear and husks, “cum for me baby, show me how good I make ya feel.” 

Shuddering in his hold and your voice breaks on the syllables of his name as you reach rapture, arching your back and he supports you with his free hand as he overstimulates you with the other. Cupping your throat while you moan his name so sinfully while his fingers swirl in lazy circles over your puffy clit, hips twitching and bucking uncontrollably into his hand until you have to grip desperately at his wrist for some reprieve. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief when he relents and occupies himself with littering the slope of your shoulder up to the hinge of your jaw in gentle nips and caste kisses. 

Slowing his affectionate assault, Gyuutaro takes a moment to bask in the afterglow of your orgasm, marveling slightly over the pleasure he provided for you. Drinks in how you slack in his hold, leaning into him because the tremble in your legs betray you. He didn’t think it possible for you to look any more beautiful but your blissed out, satisfied expression and the softness to your features that follows proves him wrong.

Letting the moment linger until you regain your bearing before he helps you straighten up by fixing your hair and step completely from your pants after voicing you’d wanted to change. Lovingly kissing your temple with a soft apology for getting carried away but not without a swift smack to your ass and a wink, repeating coyly, “told ya not to piss me off pretty girl.”

He starts dinner while you get comfortable before coming to help cook and you equally split cleanup duty afterwards. Gyuutaro all but corrals you into the living room as soon as he’s done with the dishes, drying his hands on the decorative towels before quickly grabbing at your waist before you had time to notice. 

Eager to get situated on the plush furniture and fluff one of your many throw blankets over you both. Cuddling on the couch soon after, again, with you in his lap and his chin resting on your crown as time ticks by watching all the updates to the shows you’ve taken to enjoying with one another until he checks the time and sucks his teeth.

“Gettin late,” he grumbles as he all but tosses his phone onto the couch cushion beside you, “should probably head home so I can drag my ass outta bed for work tomorrow.” 

You almost visibly deflate, relaxed features devolving with dejection as you reluctantly move from his lap for him to stand. You watch as he rises to full height and takes the time to stretch but you grab at his wrist reflexively before he can move to put on his shoes, releasing him when he turns to you with a quizzical look. Turning fully and squatting down to your eye level when you pull your feet up onto the couch and bring your knees to your chest while you fidget with your fingers the way you always do when you’re working up the nerve for something.

Glancing away quickly when he brings his palm to cup the side of your head, stroking along it soothingly before you groan dramatically. You surprise him with the sound, making his brow quirk and he leans back slightly when you drag your hands down your face before resting your forehead on your knees with another groan. Mumbling something that’s too quiet to be understood but too loud for you to be talking to yourself so he leans closer to you, comically cupping his ear with one eye open wider than the other. 

“Hah?” Scoffed slightly and though he can’t see it you roll your eyes, “that a mouse I hear squeakin at me?”

“I said,” you shoot up with a scowl on pretty features, “why don’t you just stay the night instead.” Rushed out in one breath, like you’d lose the nerve if you’d attempted to deliver the sentence in any other way. 

Your shoulders slack again, tilting your head to lean your cheek on your knee as you fix him with this unintentionally hopeful look, “If you wanted to anyway, you don’t gotta of course. It’s just that it is kinda’ late and I can just bring you to work tomorrow but, you absolutely don’t have to. It's just that you live across town—“ you stumble through your sentence for him to, thankfully, cut off your rambling. 

“Ya had me at ‘I said’ pretty thing, why the hell wouldn’t I wanna stay?” Gyuutaro teases as he leans forward on his haunches, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he flops back onto your sofa, pressing his back into the arm of it. He reaches for you, hand encircling your wrist with ease as he pulls you between his legs and into his arms, “plus ‘m not gonna say no to a night away from my roommate and his girl bein’ loud as shit.” 

“You could’ve just said yes,” you scoff as you reach for his phone and the remote previously tossed to the wayside, handing both to him after you’ve woken the screen to check the time, “one more episode? Then we should head to bed.”

You’re telling rather than asking him, batting long lashes up at him as your chin rests on his sternum as if Gyuutaro could ever really deny you anything you desired but that doesn’t mean he won’t put on his own theatrics. Pulling a giddy little giggle from you when his head lolls back and he heaves an exaggerated sigh but powers on the tv anyway.

But ‘one more episode’ turns to two then four because ‘they can’t just leave it on a cliffhanger like that!’ Until Gyuutaro inevitably has to be firm when he tells you at nearly midnight that, “ much as I’d love to pull an all-nighter with ya, I do have the early mornin shift baby.”

Halfheartedly you pour at him, certain he won’t relent this time but you’re beginning to grow accustomed to asking just the slightest but more of him. He’d say he’s rubbing off on you, secretly he’s happy to notice it even as his thumb and index grab at your plush lower lip as he tuts. The sound of your petulant whine is music to his ears as he cackles before tapping suspiciously closely to your ass. 

“Fine, fine, I guess you win this time,” you groan playfully as you detangle yourself from. Standing and stretching as you hold out your hand to guide him to the bathroom as if he hadn’t spent every day of the week in your home. 

Gyuutaro’s brow quirks high and a ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips when you push into your bathroom with him in tow. Blood ready to thrum in his veins simultaneously with elated and nervous energy as you yank open the shower curtains.  

Though he deflates quickly with a burning heat stinging the nape of his neck that forces him to grip it to abate the burn when he realizes you’re just preparing the shower for him. He clears his throat as you slip past him in the small space with a cute, “oh one sec,” as you all but scurry into your room. 

The lanky man tails you like the stray he calls Hakuji’s girlfriend and the one he always has been. Standing and yawning as he slouches in your doorway, debating minutely if he should just crawl beneath your cozy looking comforter and force you into his arms with the excuse that he could just shower in the morning. Swaying forward with intent when he’s pulled from his reverie by the sound of your searching. He leans like he’s going to help you in rifling through your drawers before gasping in satisfaction. 

You produce clothes from your dresser that he doesn't remember seeing whenever he snooped through their contents last week, heart skipping a beat and his fists clenching, hidden away by his pockets before you explain without prompt.

“They’re my brothers,” you add quickly, like you couldn’t bear the misunderstanding, “he’s nowhere near as tall as you, though. They’ll probably look like capris but I doubt you’ll want to sleep in jeans. Turning the nozzle up on the shower makes it hotter, down is colder and in is off kay?”

He showers quickly, he has to, as much as he’d like to stand under the spray and let the warm water soothe tight muscles he’s ready to lay down with you in bed. The thought is lame to him, but it’s been on his mind since he’d come over the first night; since he stood in your room and familiarized himself with it just in case he didn’t get the chance to. Groaning to himself as he slouches forward and the water streams from his wet mop of unruly locks and into his face, off his nose and blurring his eyes before he snarls. 

It was too good of a day to let his self-deprecating tendencies ruin it, finishing up what should’ve been a relaxing experience by using a modest amount of your body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. Thinking idly as he steps into just the pair of joggers alone that you liked the same sort of scents his sister liked to use, maybe just a bit sweeter where her preferences are more floral. 

He’ll have to introduce you soon, if you were up for that anyway. It was a miracle he hadn’t mentioned you to her yet with how much time he was spending with you; cautious in case this (like everything else in his life) blew up in his face when whatever deity harbored a grudge against him in particular decided they needed some entertainment.

Gyuutaro finally emerges from the bathroom as he tugs the spacious hoodie on over his head and discards his worn clothes into the hamper with your own. Brow quirking in confusion when he sees the bed still made, no you sized lump beneath the thick comforter. 

“Babe?” Called as he spins on his heel but you scurry hastily from the hall. Tucking your hair behind your ear as you step into the room and close the door behind you.

“Sorry, sorry,” huffed as you cross the room hurriedly as tug your covers back, “thought I heard something. Then I saw I forgot to turn off the oven and then I was making sure the front and the back doors were locked.”

Gyuutaro should be more than alarmed at the mention of forgetting to turn off the oven. Should question if you do that often and if he’s going to need to remind you or check himself before he can rest. 

He should be, he likely will the following day but for now he’s far too captivated by you. Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows thickly when sky blues rove over your body. Drinking in how you don nothing but one of the hoodies he’d left here with only panties underneath. Overtly ogling you, letting his eyes linger on your pillowy thighs before they’re hidden from view when you crawl beneath the covers. 

“Gonna sleep standin up taro?” Cooed cutely as you tap the empty space next to you, “pretty sure this is more comfortable though.” 

You’re so cute to him, every positive descriptor he could use for a person comes to mind when he looks at you. Alluring without trying to be, or maybe you were with the way you pose yourself even beneath the thick comforter. Adorable with the way you smile at him, however impish the expression may be at times. You make Gyuutaro’s mind race but externally he looks calm as he crosses the room to join you even as he retorts, “maybe not with yer popsicle feet.” 

Proving him right instantly as you cling to the warmth of his body, blade of your foot working up his joggers up just enough for your skin to touch his and earn a hiss. A curse from his lips hangs in the air but he resents none of what transpires as you squeal and giggle while Gyuutaro wrestles to return the favor. Gripping at his hoodie to let his cold hands rest at your waist before you offer a truth he’d rather label a concession. 

Finally settling down with your back to him, scooting back into him until you’re contoured to the curve of his body. Finding an acceptable position to cuddle and be cuddled when his leg settles between yours with Gyuutaro’s arm thrown around your torso to keep you close. 

Not that you’d dream of moving away, shimmying lower with an excited energy moments after you’ve both quietly settled together. And you were tired, honestly you were, whenever you’d initially got ready for bed. 

Until Gyuutaro came out of the shower and you fully registered he’d be staying the night. 

You’d cuddled plenty before, all during the week you’ve crawled in his lap or curled comfortably on his chest. You weren’t particularly that shy about anything with him either, not entirely anyway; more bold than you’d certainly ever been with all the times you’ve straddled him and held his face in your hands to kiss him as much as you pleased. 

Going to sleep together was comparatively one of the more innocent, albeit just as intimate, moments with Gyuutaro. 

Heaving a heavy exhale as you scoot ever closer into him, curling into yourself and writhing slightly as you adjust the position of your bodies. Wrapping your arm around Gyuutaro’s as it coils tighter around you, satisfied with the slight change before the sound of his voice sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. 

“Too much energy,” husked almost groggily from the gravel in his tone against the shell of your ear. 

You shift slightly, kissing his knobby knuckles in silent apology as you twist your body once again, “m tryin to get comfy, just a little restless.” 

“Ya sure it’s just that? Don’t really look like yer tryin to go to sleep baby,” voice a low tease as his other arm snakes between the mattress and your waist. Rough pads of fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your stomach as he slides lower, slipping beneath your panties to cup your mound with a sigh and, “need some help?”

You cast a glance in mock innocence over your shoulder at him, a pleading gleam in your eye as you slowly nod your head. 

Not that he was entirely waiting on a definitive answer, having received an explicit enough response when you’d spread your legs wider for him, but; he still had no intention to deny you as he slowly rolls his fingers over your clit until your hips. Testingly at first, varying pressure and motions while he watches what you respond best to until your hips are bucking into his hand and you sigh out his name so sweetly, breathily. 

He builds you slowly at first, basking in the way you respond to him but just when you’re on the cusp of euphoria he pulls his hand away, halting your high so abruptly you voice your frustrations just as Gyuutaro turns you onto your back. 

“Don’t whine,” as he lays you on your back, fingers looped into the band of your panties on either side of your hips before tugging them lower to slip them off your supple thighs to position himself between them. Wasting no time in burying his face in your cunt like a man starved.

You don’t get time to protest, gasping with a roll of your eyes as you arch from the mattress with his first languid stripe up your soaking slit. Gyuutaro lets out a low, rumbling groan at the taste of you that sends pleasant vibrations and shocks of pleasure shooting up your spine. Lost in you as he laps lazily as your lips, harding whetting his appetite like this before his fingers join the fray, calloused pads playing in the gathering slick before adding just a modicum of pressure to spread your sticky folds as he ducks his head lower. Lids fluttering and he relishes in how your hips twitch just before the tense with each lazy lap until his lips purse around the pert little pearl at the apex of your pussy for a kiss. 

Sweetly, affectionaly before sensually suckling at it in an adoring assault, alternating between rapid lateral flicks of his wet muscle and circling around it until your fingers thread through wavy locks.

Arching slightly from the mattress as your hips twitch minutely into his face, earning a rumbling chuckle from Gyuutaro and another kiss to your puffy clit. Softly sighing his name, broken by a muted moan and choked by a gasp when he resumes the motions he’d found you’d liked the most. 

Humming your approval to him as your thighs tremble around his skull and your nails gently rake along his scalp as he works you over generously. Fueled by every sound and reaction you reward him with, never liking the sound of his name more than how you gasp it as thick digits sink into your greedy cunt gradually.  

Gyuutaro’s middle finger first as he tests the motions and finds a rhythm. His ring finger follows second and it has you spasming without control, biting your lip to stifle the first debauched moan. Surely stoking his ego as you helpless rut into his face with babbled, witless whines of his name as you gripped the sheets beneath you like a lifeline. 

He enjoys watching what he does to you, delights in how helpless you are to the pleasure he provides as the taste of you turns saccharine on his tongue when the coil finally snaps. Exhaling a breathy, “fuuuck, oh ‘taro ‘m cumming,” as the tension bleeds from your body and the roll of your hips falls out of sync with him. 

Left reeling after he’s pulled his fingers from your convulsing cunt and climbing up your body, given no time to consider lamenting the loss as Gyuutaro cups your face for an impassioned kiss. Long tongue swiping over yours as he coos praises at you throatily between dizzying kisses but you’re too focused on the rigid length that pokes into the fat of your inner thigh. Leaky tip steadily staining his borrowed sleep pants as it soaks through his underwear, throbbing and left neglected while he enthusiastically tended to your own pleasure. 

Humming as your fingers thread into his unruly locks and your leg hooks on his hip before moving in one swift motion, flipping your positions to straddle him instead. Arching into Gyuutaro and giggling at the muted sound of surprise that you swallow in chasing kisses, resting your weight on the tops of your thighs. Hovering slightly as your hands splay out over his chest, body alight and still thrumming with the aftershocks of euphoria as you arch into him, hands sliding from his pectorals to his trapezius. 

Your thumbs swipe along the columns of his throat as your lips seal over his with a hum before reaching higher to thread into his hair. Blunt nails scratching soothingly at the curve of his skull as his arms wrap around you to pull you closer. 

His lips seal over yours with a sigh as his hands roam your body, groping intermittently with appreciative groans that grow in volume. 

“Fuck, I want you,” husked against your skin as his head dips to litter your throat with open mouthed kisses. Jagged teeth nipping pleasantly at sensitive flesh as you tilt your head to the side to grant him more access. Whining encouraging when Gyuutaro’s teeth testingly sink into the slope of your throat, moaning unabashedly when he adds more pressure. Not enough to break skin but enough to mark you as his, lovingly marr the unblemished space with the structure of his jaw. 

Every reaction to him fuels him, goads him further and fans the flames of desire even more so as you soak through the lacy garment you wear and his borrowed joggers. Finally reaching between your bodies to grip at the elastic band and pull it down just below his sac to run his leaking tip between your folds. 

“Wait, wait, ‘taro” muttered between hungry kisses, gently pressing your fingers into the planes of his chest, “do you have a condom?” 

There’s a glaze over Gyuutaro’s eyes, lidded gaze “never had a reason to carry one pretty girl,” nosing at your pulse point, lips brushing over the thrumming artery affectionately as he kneads at the juntures of your thighs, “do you?” 

“Um.. no? Was I supposed to?” 

“Nah, m’ glad ya don’t, jealous guy after all” winking as he squeezes at the fat of your ass again and gives you a fleeting kiss, “but if I sink you on my cock I ain’t gonna wanna pull out.” 

It is a little early on for him to even consider breeding you even though, in his shriveled little heart you’ve made room in, he’s certain you’re the one; he doesn’t want to risk scaring you off. Missing how your lips part in a soundless sigh at his comment, if he hadn’t you likely would’ve been pinned to the mattress with the entire length bullied into you in one stroke to feel that delicious burn of the sudden stretch.

Instead you give him a parting kiss that leaves him momentarily confused, subtly shimmying as you litter a trail chaste but loving brushes of your lips over every part of him that you adore. 

First to the corners of his lips that curl up with his devious grins, impish smirks and gentle smiles. Then to the inky black birthmark that decorates both edges of his mouth, dipping lower to his adams apple that always bobs distractingly and sometimes holds your gaze in the times there’s a lull in conversation.  

Your hands glide down his body to dip beneath the material of his hoodie as you straddle his knees. Hem of his borrowed hoodie pooling at your wrists as the pads of your fingers press into the toned flesh of his abdomen, firmer as your push upwards when Gyuutaro stops you. Broad palm and long digits resting on both of your hands to halt your ascent, jarring you slightly, ready to recoil in embarrassment thinking you’d misunderstood and were too forward when his free hand grasps at your chin to keep you in place.

“It’s not that baby, god it ain’t that,” he whispers, moving some loose hairs away from your face and running his thumb over your cheek, “just.. You don’t have to, ‘m not.” His voice softens and the sentence trails as his confidence wanes drastically with no intention to finish it, unsure of how he wanted to explain to you.

If he wanted to explain at all; especially something he thought he’d resolved and absolved himself of at a young age from cruel lessons hard learned. 

You cup his face as lovingly, as you always do, comforting him with touch alone in ways even he didn’t know he needed and Gyuutaro is ever grateful for it as he leans into your palm with fluttering lashes. He’s certain of one thing as you blindly offer him consolation, he’s that same sniveling coward he was as a child. 

He fears rejection but only from you, that it’ll take seeing him laid bare before you for you to finally feel the repulsion someone like you should’ve always felt towards a man like him. 

You’ve proved yourself gentle with his jagged edges though, a sanctuary for him to find solace, time and time again. 

“I want to, please?” your voice is barely a whisper, hand resting gently over his clothed cock, your index finger tracing the outline of his heady length. 

Gyuutaro swallows thickly, the hushed plea and how you palm him making him throb with a need that overshadows his cowardice. He concedes to you once again as he nods, untrusting of his voice to not embarrass or fail him should he try to respond. You flash him a dazzling smile, the same one that had him fisting himself in the shower or in his bed with a pair of your underwear balled to his nose the nights following his days filled with you. 

Would you laugh if he told you that all the simple things you did made him ache for you down to his bones? Probably not, because you’re kind like that, because you’re here with him right now, eager to please. 

His blood roars in his ears and rushes in his veins over the way your fingers dance along his abdomen, pushing up his oversized hoodie to expose the years of his neglect the months of your care could only dream of reversing. 

You can see some of his ribs but they’re far less pronounced than before he’d met you, though much less drastically and the crests of his hips still protrude a little too sharply for either of your liking. 

And even though you’ve never judged him once in the time he’s known you, Gyuutaro still can’t help but hold his breath when the fabric is completely tugged over his head and you run your hands back down his body with such caring adoration. 

You lean forward to kiss him then, a reassuring peck to his lips where your taste still lingers, another to his jaw, mapping a trail down his body to finally press another just below his navel as you untie the drawstring of his bottoms. You can feel his abdomen tense beneath plush lips when you hook your fingers into the material, urging you to press another kiss directly above the elastic band. 

“Lift your hips,” your voice is sweet, gently commanding as he complies with little delay and shimmies from the cotton blend. Your fingers tap up his lithe but densely corded muscled thighs, sliding over his rigid cock that tents the fabric of his underwear before you let soft hand linger over the straining material. His jaw clenches tightly, molars gnawing at the inside of his cheek while you rub your palm over the bulge, kneading coyly and swiping your thumb over the darkened fabric dampened by his leaky tip. 

Finally tugging his boxers down after a few agonizing minutes with a mischievously cute giggle but only just enough to free it of its confines and no lower. His engorged tip taps against his pelvis with a soft pap, saliva pooling on your tongue at just the sight of it, flushed and leaky. 

You ogle him for a long moment and his lips part after his tongue nervously darts out to wet the flesh when your fingers wrap around the base of him. Your palm feels cool compared to the heated skin throbbing beneath it, it makes him hiss reflexively and you flinch slightly but thankfully your confidence doesn’t wane. 

Moderately emboldened as you place your thumb and index fingers on his mons so the underside of his shaft rests in the web of your palm. Keeping his hard cock directly upright as you adjust closer to him, lying on your stomach between his legs. 

His heart could almost skip a beat at the sight of you, how focused you look, he can’t tear his gaze away from how you stare at him. As if Gyuutaro and the pleasure you’ll provide him is the only thing that’s going through that meticulous little mind of yours that he’s come to adore.

Leaning closer as you purse your lips around the mushroomed tip with unwavering eye contact just to tease Gyuutaro as he had earlier. Humming coyly as you pull back with a mischievous quirk to your lips as you take a moment more to appreciate the view. 

Memorizing the was his fingers fist the sheets and his pretty face dusts with a hint of red while his cock twitches in your hold. 

It’s long, just like you thought it would be, thick too with a slight curve and a prominent vein in the underside. The muscles of his abdomen tighten when you test different pressures until you think you’ve found one he appreciates, thumb tracing over the slit of his mushroomed tip to spread the pre that leaks from the tip next.

He lets out a hiss, chest rising and falling a little faster when you give him experimental kitten licks to the head down the underside of his shaft. Tip of your tongue tracing over the vein all the way down only to let the flat of the wet muscle caress his girth as you drag upwards again. 

Ending your teasing as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, taking him in slowly, sensually.  Stretching your lips around it to form a tight ‘o’ before suckling gingerly in a way that earns you a beautiful sigh that has your lashes fluttering open to drink in just what you do to him. 

Only to meet the gaze eyes of clear blue skies now darkened into a stormy cobalt before his hips jerk upwards slightly into your pursed lips with a curse, “fuck baby don’t do that, I could cum just lookin at ya like this.”

You take more of him, hum giddily when he huffs a light “fuck”, threading his fingers into your hair to push the lose strands that fall into your face. It’s tender, the way he tucks some behind your ear and gently holds the back of your head as you bob on his length.

“You’re so pretty,” Gyuutaro whispers, hips thrusting slowly, albeit jerkily, into your mouth. Emitting an involuntary rumbling groan when you hollow your cheeks, taking him in to the base of his cock in tandem with his thrusts. 

You make him more vocal than you’d imagined he’d be, clenching your thighs to abate the throb to your clit from the sound of him. 

Gyuutaro can’t help the noises that escape him before long, jaw falling slack as his head lolls back onto your headboard while he rewards you with his pleasure. He apologizes each time you gag on him, each time he thrusts to the back of your throat that makes your eyes water but you can’t say you hate it, far from. You thoroughly enjoy the way he chases his climax helplessly, using you for his pleasure while still being so loving. 

His hands scratch lightly at your scalp, winding your hair carefully around his fingers, “Yer perfect, shit, yer amazin’— d-don’t stop baby please.” 

You bring your hand down from where you caress his hips, fondling his sac to aid him toward his climax. Humming as you watch his jaw set tightly and Gyuutaro can no longer manage the rut of his hips, fucking up into your face with abandon when the coil finally snap. He lets out a long, relieved moan whenever he finally cums down your throat with a stuttered curse and throaty growl as your only warning. 

He rides his high, fucking your slowly until he’s calmed down and you pull away with an audible pop. Swiping away the drool that dribbled down your chin, smiling to yourself as you appreciate the state you’ve left him in. 

Gyuutaro’s managed to regulate his bresthing when you crawl up his body, tucking into his side with a leg kicked over his own. He presses his lips to your temple after he runs his thumb over the corner of your lips to wipe away the bit of saliva you’d missed. You nuzzle into him, arms wrapping tightly around his torso, warmth radiating between you both, “feelin’ good?” 

“Yeah, feeling great. I think I’m gonna call out today,” he says after a long minute, lacing his fingers with yours over his chest, “it’ll be fine for one day.”

You hum tiredly in response, lifting your head slightly to rest your chin on his chest as a single digit twirls a lock of your hair mindlessly. Simply basking in the afterglow of everything and not just what Gyuutaro has done with you tonight.

He pulls your face to his in a tender kiss, one where you can’t help but smile at the affection, rolling your lip between your teeth when he cups the curve of your skull. 

 “Would ya wanna have lunch with me later? Want ya to meet my sister.”

[cloudyynebulas]

HIHI I HAVE A REQUEST!!!

Ok so may I please request a first meeting fic with crunchy chip x shy reader who is shorter than him?? Since crunchy chip is already very short it would be surprising for him to meet someone even smaller

bonus if this is a first meeting fic!!

double bonus if reader had never had friends before, so they are a little suprised and scared

triple bonus if it’s like the trope where they both like each other but nobody actually confesses

❝ 𝗦𝗘𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗔𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗, 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗘! ❞

crunchy chip cookie x reader.

reader is gender neutral.

this takes place during the events of cookie odyssey.

⋆° .☾ ⋆ .ೃ ࿔* : ⋆

LIFE IN THE LOWER-HALF OF THE REPUBLIC was not a paradise. Far from it, really. Cookies who lived in the lower half often struggled to get by, with shady crooks and criminals around every corner.

You grew up in this life, raised with a family who did everything in their power to support you. Despite the harsh conditions, you all continuously managed to scrape by - even making a few shady trades and deals every now and then.

Secrets whispered and danced around each and every alleyway, amidst the musty air of suspicion and dampness.

Cookies from the higher levels of the Republic often dreaded taking one foot in this place, muttering distasteful insults and incomprehensible nonsense that you could only guess were hateful remarks stabbing at you and the rest of the lower half.

Could you be bothered to care much anymore? Not.. really. You spent your entire life living in such conditions, and with time came endurance. You kept up your botherless facade, hiding behind a mask of your true self - someone who was afraid of the world.

Years of constant teasing, insults and other things thrown your way made you build up a decent tolerance, but no matter how many years of this treatment went in and out of your head, it didn't change the fact that you - deep down, were insecure. Insecure and afraid.

But the only way to survive here was to act tough. Don't show weakness - don't show fear.

Your hand rested on your cheek, propping your face upward as your face was plastered with a bored expression, standing behind a wooden stand that offered various goodies and toys for passersby to stop and take a look at.

With your family away on some sort of trip, you were essentially left alone to run the stand, to keep money flowing in. You recalled that your mother was hesitant of the idea, but after reassurance from both you and your father, she ultimately agreed to let you be on your own.

You were an adult. You could handle yourself, anyway.

..Probably.

Behind the stand, you stood on a medium sized wooden crate, holding you up to extend your height so that you'd be tall enough to properly grab any items and greet customers properly. Your height was laughable - a size that you were constantly picked on by many as you'd roam the damp streets.

You weren't exactly tall - no, scratch that, you were far from tall. You were just barely taller than the average teenager - but that wasn't saying much.

You assumed your dough was just .. smaller. A smaller batch. That was all it was.

But the constant teasing or the occasional side-eye that was thrown your way was one of the worst things about it.

Your hands tightly clenched together into fists. Your brain just thinking about it all made anger bubble into your dough - your thoughts wandering.

However, your thoughts were soon interrupted by the sound of voices - voices you certainly hadn't recognized or heard before. The Lower Half of the Republic typically had the same Cookies day after day, with the rare occasion of a Cookie from the Upper Levels stopping by for who knows what.

A trio, from what you could guess - was walking down the streets of the Market. A small gingerbread Cookie with a candy cane in his hand, a tall, gruff armored cookie with a metal gauntlet, and a smaller cookie with an attire of blacks and whites, woolly clothes and sharp claws attached to his hands - alongside a cream white wolf following beside him.

You raised a brow.

You'd.. certainly never seen these Cookies before.

"Wow.." you heard the Gingerbread cookie let out a gasp of awe, eyes looking all around the Market street. "So this is where one of the big Markets are?"

The armored one nodded. "It would appear so. Although this place seems rather... sketchy."

"This place gives me a vibe that I don't like!" The woolly cookie spoke - though his voice was almost loud enough to be considered shouting. "Cream Wolf! Check to see if you can smell any of those White Mask Cookies."

The Cream Wolf barked in response, it's nose vibrating up and down as it was quick to sniff the area, trying to discern any suspicious scents.

You sweatdropped. What in the world was going on here?

Various Cookies of the Market side-eyed the trio that clearly stood out like sore thumbs. Cookies that weren't from here - outsiders, most likely.

Most backed away from the furry animal that would get up in their personal spaces, growling and sniffing for scents of the supposed "white masked cookies" you heard the small Cookie mention moments prior.

You felt yourself slightly freeze up in surprise when the animal's eyes turned towards you - its next target. You instinctively took a step back, which only inclined the Cream Wolf to approach faster.

You paled. You really didn't want to get caught up in any of this nonsense -

bark!

You squeezed your eyes shut, hands slightly trembling, but after seconds of nothing actually happening, you slowly cracked one of them open.

The wolf was sitting in front of your stand, eyes clearly fixated on one of the squeaky toys you had sitting out for sale. Your eyes glanced between the toy and the wolf - the dots connecting silently in your mind.

Oh.

OH!

Slowly, you reached for the toy, your movements being watched intently by the wolf - whos tail began to wag, expecting you to throw the toy for him to catch and bring right back to you.

"HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING??" an alarming voice is suddenly yelled in your direction, and both you and the wolf turn to the right, where the trio stood, heading right your way.

You felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of your face. You hadn't meant to attract attention -- !!

"Cream Wolf! Don't fall for these sly tricks!" the small Cookie grumbled, said wolf being beckoned back towards him, though its eyes were constantly looking back at the small squeaky toy still in your hands.

"Err.. Crunchy Chip Cookie? I don't think they were trying to do anything.." the small gingerbread Cookie nervously chuckled, trying to calm his companion down.

..Huh.. so now you knew one of their names. You took mental note of that.

"I have to agree with Gingerbrave here. Besides - we don't want to be attracting unwanted attention, especially not here." the armored cookie frowned, sending you a glance. "Apologies if we startled you."

You felt yourself being thrown on the spot, not really knowing what to say.

Crunchy Chip Cookie, however, was immediately up close in front of your stand, gaze looking you up and down.

"Just what exactly were you planning with that weapon of yours, huh?" he interrogated, eyebrows furrowing. "Don't think you can fool me! I just know there's some kind of secret evil bomb inside!"

You tried to speak, hoping to defend yourself. "I-"

"Crunchy Chip Cookie, seriously." The armored cookie huffed. "You're clearly startling them."

"We can't just be accusing random Cookies - !!" the gingerbread - or, Gingerbrave, as you heard the armored Cookie mention, agreed. "I think.. it's just a toy."

The Cream Wolf let out a small bark, eyes excitedly staring between the squeaky toy and Crunchy Chip Cookie, as if trying to send a message to him.

Crunchy Chip Cookie hummed in response. "..Hm. Well.. if it was a weapon, I'm sure my Cream Wolf would've smelled it by now."

You glanced to the side for a moment, internally cringing at the sight of passerby Cookies observing the scene - eyes constantly staring at you.

"You don't seem like much of a threat, anyways!" Crunchy Chip Cookie chuckled, placing his hands on his hips.

You deadpanned.

Okay, now you felt a little insulted.

"Hey now - I can be a threat!" you blurted out, your thoughts escaping into words. "Just 'cause I'm small doesn't mean I can't beat you up."

The trio stared at you.

You were quick to regret running your mouth, letting confidence get the better of you.

Gingerbrave frowned. "..You don't look small! You stand .. rather tall behind your counter."

"They are standing on a crate," the armored Cookie quickly informed. As the tallest of the trio, it only made sense that he'd managed to see the small crate you'd been standing on just behind your counter.

"Wait, really?" Gingerbrave hummed, slowly glancing behind your counter. "Oh - Wildberry Cookie, you're right!"

"Can you not?!" you glared, making Gingerbrave quickly step back, sending a nervous, apologetic smile your way.

"Why are you faking your height?" Crunchy Chip Cookie questioned. "Look at me! I may be shorter, but that doesn't stop me from being a warrior!"

You frowned. "If I didn't stand on this crate, I wouldn't be able to reach most of the items."

Crunchy Chip Cookie scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous! You might be short, but not that short!"

"Are you doubting.. my height???" you deadpanned. "Fine then - I'll demonstrate, just for you."

You hopped off of the crate, landing on the damp concrete beneath you. The upper half of your body was still visible over the counter, but everything else was far too short and covered by the counter.

The trio stared with slight surprise - though, Crunchy Chip Cookie's gaze was rather startled.

"NO WAY!" he yelled, immediately waltzing right up to you. "You're - shorter than me?!"

Wildberry Cookie hummed. "This is... new."

"Quickly! Wildberry Cookie, Gingerbrave, compare our heights, now!"

How did you even get into this situation?

Within seconds, you found yourself standing back to back with Crunchy Chip Cookie, whilst Gingerbrave and Wildberry Cookie were observing, comparing your heights together - whilst his Cream Wolf sniffed at your arm.

"Crunchy Chip Cookie.. you're no longer the shortest!" Gingerbrave laughed, holding his candy cane staff in the air.

"HA! Now you guys can't pick on me!!" Crunchy Chip Cookie raised his fist in the air with pride. "Take that, Wildberry Cookie!"

"..I haven't even said anything," Wildberry raised a brow, but the corners of his mouth curled up into a small smile.

"I feel like I'm being picked on.." you frowned.

"What? Nonsense!" Crunchy Chip Cookie turned to you. "There ain't nothing wrong with being short!"

"We did not intend for it to come off that way. Apologies." Wildberry Cookie apologized, crossing his arms.

Gingerbrave nodded - but was quick to shift the topics.

"..Say, what's your name, stranger? We've never gotten it!"

You stared - surprised. Why were these strangers being so kind to you, a mere Lower Level Republic Cookie? Asking for your name of all things.. were they trying to befriend you? Why?

Slowly, your name escaped your lips. "..Y/N Cookie. My name is Y/N Cookie."

"Y/N Cookie! That's such an awesome name!" Gingerbrave beamed. "You may've already heard it, but the name's Gingerbrave!"

Wildberry Cookie nodded. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm Wildberry Cookie."

"Crunchy Chip Cookie!" Crunchy Chip Cookie announced, placing a hand over his chest. "I am a sworn warrior of the Dark Cacao Kingdom!"

He turned his head to the Cream Wolf.

"And this is my best friend - my Cream Wolf!"

The Cream Wolf lets out a small bark in response.

You find it hard to hold back a smile. Gaze softening at the sight of the trio, finding yourself no longer regretting the encounter between you four.

"We must keep moving, however." Wildberry Cookie spoke, ending the introductions. "We're.. on a mission of sorts. I believe Espresso Cookie is expecting us, soon."

"Already? But it feels like we just got here!" Crunchy Chip Cookie frowned. "We haven't yet fully explored these areas!"

"I'm sure we'll get more time to do so later!" Gingerbrave reassured.

You let out a light chuckle, stepping back onto the wooden crate behind your stand.

"If you three have places to be - don't let me stop you."

Your hands moved towards the squeaky toy left on the wooden counter, slowly picking it up, before turning to Crunchy Chip Cookie.

"Though, before you go, take this."

Before the Cookie had anytime to refuse the gift, you'd already tossed it his way, the toy fumbling in his hands momentarily before landing carefully in his palms.

"Something for the road - on the house!" You smiled, a small wink escaping your expression. "It seemed like your Cream Wolf there really wanted to play with it."

"Cream Wolves don't play such foolish games!" Crunchy Chip Cookie refuted, but between the three of you, you all knew he was lying.

"..thank you, though." Crunchy Chip Cookie softly muttered, pushing his woolly scarf closer to his face as he spoke, looking away from you.

You chuckled, waving the trio goodbye as they began to make their way back out the streets of the Lower Market and back towards the Central Republic.

You had a feeling you'd be seeing them again soon.

⋆° .☾ ⋆ .ೃ ࿔* : ⋆

When the trio had finally reached the Fountain, Crunchy Chip Cookie suddenly spoke up.

"After we meet with Espresso Cookie, we better go back."

"You seem in a rush to get back there, Crunchy Chip Cookie!" Gingerbrave pointed out. "Any particular reasons?"

"To - to keep exploring, duh!" Crunchy Chip Cookie huffed, looking to the side.

Wildberry Cookie softly chuckled.

"Whatever you say."

[dirtycombatboots]

My headcanon for reverse AU is that human Geralt is absolutely horrible at his job. He went to Oxenfurt hoping it would help him with his communication problems. He graduated, he knows linguistics like the back of his own hand, he can conjure a technically perfect ballad. The only problem is that Geralt, as a bard, has absolutely nothing to say, so all his songs are generic soulless garbage despite being written by all rules of composition and poetry. Geralt regrets his career choice very much, should have become a soldier, like Vesemir suggested, not waste time and money on Oxenfurt. Geralt barely scrapes enough coin to feed himself, and there is no prospect of change. The only reason he isn't starving is because his brothers help him financially. Those lucky bastards. Lambert is an alchemist, got his own very successful business in Novigrad. Eskel is prancing around Continent doing whatever mages do for living. And Geralt is a disappointing sibling, hating his job but still stubbornly trying to make it as a bard , not because he wants to but because his family spent so much money on his education, he can't just quit.

Introducing Julian, a witcher who would be talking non-stop if he was physically able to. He can't, his vocal cords are damaged beyond repair, which makes finding contracts a lot harder. After all, peasants who can read aren't exactly in large numbers, and peasants who know sign language are even less. Taking jobs only from nobles is not an option.

Geralt quite literally becomes Julian's voice and translator. And finally finds inspiration to write something that isn't soulless garbage. Who would have thought that a bard just needed a muse.

During annual winter family meeting at the house of old mercenary, also known as Papa Vesemir, Geralt tells his brothers about Julian. Lambert and Eskel can believe that Geralt befriended a witcher. What they can't believe is that Geralt's career finally took a turn to success. They definitely don't believe that Geralt is an author of "toss a coin".

Bonus scene

Geralt and Julian meeting next spring

Julian, signing dramatically: Bard, what the fuck did you get into?

Geralt : I was meeting with my family

Julian: Your family? You reek of things, Geralt! Dangerous things! Explosives and poisons!

Geralt: Well, heard about that alchemist in Novigrad who secretly produces weapons for armies?

Julian, confused: Yes?

Geralt: That's my little brother.

Julian: Okay, fine. But you also reek of magic. Explain that!

Geralt: How do I say it... Ever heard about sorcerer with a sword and demonic goat as familiar. The one who helps kings organize military campaigns?

Julian, not liking where this is going: Yes?

Geralt: That's my big brother.

Julian: I am almost afraid to ask who your father is.

Geralt: A mercenary with reputation of killing monters just as good as a witcher?

Julian: That old man? Fuck. Fuuuuck. And you are just a bard, with family like that?

Geralt: Yes.

Julian : This is officially the weirdest shit in my life.

Geralt: By the way, can we go to Novigrad. My brothers said they want to meet their future brother-in-law

Julian: What the fuck

[hayleymarriedjakurai]

mouthwashing x drdt

NOT a situation where im like "ok whit = daisuke" no. this is a different situation. their own scenario, trust. XF-Ture Express, despite its reputation for being one of the most reliable delivery services across the galaxy, has a terrible inside system. They have one of the lowest failure rates of the space freighters, being at a whopping 5% chance. Employees are paid a hefty amount, motivated by good working conditions on each ship with quality leisure activities and meal plans. But only the ones who earn it get such treatment. The hierarchy in which employees are forced to participate in never leaves the walls of the building. You do your job right and kill yourself working, you get assigned better ships with better shipments. It is as simple as that. So it is unfathomable when Captain Xander Matthews, considered one of the best, is assigned to a ship that is just barely allowed to launch. The "Fatebringer", is what it is called. It just scraped by inspection and is subpar for an XF-Ture ship, but supposedly it is necessary. Xander's job is not an easy one, but simple enough for someone of his caliber. He is to take this crappy ship, along with a shipment, to the exoplanet where the the better functioning ships are maintained and created. He and his crew will turn in this old junk ship for a sleek, modern one and move the shipment to it. Then on their way back, they will deliver it and return to Earth. Simple, they said. Child's play for a captain with so much experience. So it only makes sense for the best of the best to be assigned with him. Rose Lacroix. Her job is what is called 'the documenter'. She has no real purpose other than to keep track of supplies, as well as record daily minutes regarding every single thing that happens on board that is important to note. Due to her memory, she is considered the best to keep track of large quantities of items/the best to spot minor inconsistencies or things that are misplaced. She only needs to walk around a ship once to get it down properly. She has worked with Xander once before. Arturo Giles. The medic. He is apparently not new to this field despite being so young. He is usually quite unbearable and does not prefer to speak to his fellow employees, as most are deemed "too hideous". Despite his terrible personality, he is undeniably the best medic to have on a long assignment due to his quick efficiency. He claims that one day, the company will realize that he deserves better than what he has. (Despite being named the best medical employee.) He has worked with Rose twice, David once. J Moreno. The best mechanic for any ship, especially one as crap as the Fatebringer. When nothing needs to be fixed, she prefers to help out others if they need it (only if they deserve it, of course.) As much as she would prefer to stay on her own, she knows teamwork always comes first on long hauls. Her true identity is known to the company; they still put her actual name on all official documents and tech. She has to manually hide these things, as well as her ID card. Mariabella Rosales and XF-Ture collaborate a lot for financial purposes. She will advertise them with her existence/commercials/whatever, and they will pay her. And of course, never make J's employment public. If J weren't so good at what she does, they would not have cared. But they really like Mariabella's money so. As of now, Julia Rosales is considered MIA. David Chiem. Xander's co-pilot and good friend. David is usually the morale booster of his crews, always keeping spirits up and energy high despite the monotony of long hauls. He is usually who people will go to for advice or mental health discussions in place of the medic for two reasons: He cannot medically document anything, AND he is just such a fantastic listener! He always knows what to say! Xander and David have lost count of how many shipments they have done together. Teruko Tawaki. The stowaway of the Fatebringer who was not meant to be there. She was never meant to be there.

Teruko is usually assigned co-pilot. She has never worked with anyone else on the ship, so it is unclear whether or not her strange misfortune is known to any of them. Every ship she has ever been on has failed to bring their shipments on time- or at all. She has even seen crew members die in front of her. There have been near crashes, close calls...always when she is there. Nobody can terminate her. She has technically done nothing wrong, and firing her for no reason could mean a lawsuit or her spreading rumors about the company. So when Xander is given his assignment, he can only be dumbfounded when written in pen, he spots it. "Kill Teruko Tawaki. Find a way." And so Teruko is brought onto the ship, unconscious and hidden away. When she awakens, Xander will tell everyone that she is a surprise extra crew member. The excuse is that while she is usually co-piloting, XF-Ture is interested in having Teruko's skills expanded by having her shadowing the best of the best. Teruko, not remembering much, accepts this and trusts Xander. David's true personality is the same in canon: cold, cruel, manipulative. He feels threatened by Teruko's presence. After learning that her usual role is his, his theory is that she snuck onto the ship to prove she is better suited/to get him terminated. He treats her as normal UNTIL the crash. Xander is aware of Teruko's past jobs in vivid detail. He has been given reports, seen the documents...how much happens wherever she goes. He wants to get rid of her as soon as possible to keep the crew safe despite his guilt. Things go smoothly...until he receives word that XF-Ture is done for. It had only been two months, so what happened? The Rosales family suddenly stopped funding them, and everything crumbled after that. Nobody ever realized how much of their funding came from them. Xander felt mild relief. He truly does not want to kill a seemingly innocent woman for the company. After all, if she were truly responsible for any of those terrible things, they would have fired her with no hesitation. There must be a reason why she's still employed. But now they're all out of a job. What does that mean for them? Xander's mental health starts to plummet. Small things on board start to go wrong, and his first paranoid thought is to blame Teruko for being there. He becomes obsessed with reading over the reports from the crews that suffered in her presence. They were right; she's the cause. He confides in David, panicked and drained. Xander was a good man; far too good to kill anyone. Even if the people who told him to do so were technically no longer in charge of them...Teruko still needed to go. There's no reason to do the delivery, and there only thing they can really do is go to the exoplanet to swap out ships for a comfortable ride home. But with Teruko on board, there is no guarantee that they'll even get back to Earth. Xander tells him everything- too much. David decides that Teruko cannot make it back no matter what. Whatever field she gets to next will be riddled with destruction and possibly worse. Everyone here is at the top of XF-Ture, the best in a dead company. It is too late for any of them to climb to the top of another wage slave ladder. So he crashes the ship. Teruko Tawaki must die. If Xander cannot do it, he does not mind staining his filthy hands with more blood. What else happens? Who knows.

[demigod-shenanigans]

Thinking about the lost trio’s mortal parents

Thinking about Esperanza and Beryl both being clear-sighted (it’s said that Beryl knew who Zeus was, both times, and Esperanza specifically talked to Leo about his powers and seemed to know who Hera was).

Thinking about Beryl, who was famous and had so much and who did everything to stay in the public eye. Who would have given it all, including sacrificing her own kids, to get Zeus’ attention back. Who only ever wanted Zeus for herself and never for her children. Who named Jason to placate Juno’s anger and ultimately gave up Jason to her. Who even in death remained bitter and blamed Thalia running away for her own choices and her death, saying she left when Beryl needed her the most, despite the fact that Thalia was nine and severely neglected and thought Beryl had killed her brother and an adult’s choices should never have been her responsibility to begin with. Beryl blamed it all on Olympus and showed no regret for her actions. Who thought she could just neglect both of her children and abandon her two year old with no consequences and that Jason would still join her. Who only cared about Jason once he was a hero and a warrior, and even then only cared for him as a tool of revenge she could use against the gods.

Thinking about Esperanza, who had nothing. Who was smart and skilled and barely scraping by despite her degree. Who would have given everything to keep her son safe. Who had a son prophecied to be a hero and tried to look the Fates in the eye and say no, because he was her son first and destined for bigger things second. Who banned Hera, the queen of the gods, from their apartment because the gods couldn’t have Leo, not yet, not when he was still so young. Who still tried to prepare Leo, with everything she had, because she knew she couldn’t keep him from his fate in the long run, but also knew there were at least tools she could give him that would help. Who, despite knowing that a god had once loved her, only wanted Hephaestus as a father for Leo, never as a partner for herself. Who only ever worried about the ways she could fail Leo, never about him failing her. Who was happiest around her son and loved him more than her own life. Who, even in death, never could have blamed Leo.

Thinking about Tristan, who is in some ways a mirror to both Beryl and Esperanza. Tristan grew up with nothing and eventually, as an adult, he suddenly had everything, except the things that really mattered to him. He couldn’t keep Aphrodite and never fell in love again after her. Tristan can’t see through the Mist, but he had his heart shattered by the mythological world anyway, even without seeing. He couldn’t save his father because at the time he didn’t have the money to pay for the treatment, he only became famous after.

His relationship with his daughter is really strained. He’s probably terrified of losing Piper like he lost his dad and Piper’s mom. Tristan works and works and works because he thinks if they just have enough he can keep Piper safe (because even if he couldn’t have kept her mom that way, enough money absolutely could have saved his dad), but that makes him unable to give Piper his attention, which is what she needs the most. Hell, he thinks he’s protecting her by keeping her away from his celebrity nonsense, and in a way he sort of is, but it’s not what Piper wants.

Thinking about Tristan seeing through the Mist in TLH and breaking. Thinking about Tristan finally seeing Piper, and her having to give up the one thing she’s wanted all this time and make him look away again because it shatters him.

Esperanza and Beryl could both see their children for who they were, one for the better, the other for the worse. Tristan can never see Piper for who she truly is. We’ve seen how it would destroy him if he did.

Thinking about Tristan losing everything until the only thing he has left to give Piper is his attention—and that’s enough. (I still wish that had been a choice on his part after realizing that’s what Piper wants and needs instead of being forced on him, but I digress.)

Tristan could have been more like Beryl. Their stories are decently similar. But even though he can never fully see Piper for who she is, and even though it took him longer than it should have, when his daughter needed him most, he turned around and learned to be more like Esperanza.

[they-call-me-whiskey]

In Another Universe

summary: in another universe Larissa Genrette didn’t die. instead, she divorced Chandler Groff and gave her child the life he deserved.

warnings: kids fighting; English is not my first language.

author’s note: honestly, I don’t like the fourth season, but I love the idea of JJ being raised in loving family. also, I have no idea how to write headcanons.

· his full name is Jackson John Genrette.

· everyone calls him JJ, except for his mum and grandpa—they call him Jack.

· his mum sometimes calls him Jacky, which he claims to hate (though he secretly doesn’t; he’s just trying to maintain his reputation).

· JJ’s relationship with his mum, is the cornerstone of his life.

· Larissa is JJ’s rock—the person who has always been there for him, no matter what.

· she uses humour to cope with life’s challenges, something JJ inherited from her. they’ve always shared a playful, sarcastic banter that keeps them close.

· despite being busy managing her family’s business and charity work, Larissa always makes time for JJ, whether it’s a late-night chat after a rough day or cheering him on at school events (even when he doesn’t want her there).

· JJ respects his mum more than anyone, but he struggles to show it. he’ll roll his eyes at her lectures and act annoyed when she’s being overprotective, but deep down, he knows she’s his greatest ally.

· his relationship with his father, is far more complicated.

· as a kid, JJ idolized Chandler. he made him feel special, calling him his ‘little man’ and claiming they were a team.

· he manipulated JJ into stealing money from his mum, and his grandpa, saying things like: “your mum and grandpa don’t understand what it’s like for us, Jack. we’re in this together. you’re helping your old man out, and that makes you my hero.”

· when Larissa and Wes found out, there was an explosive argument. JJ overheard everything and realised that his dad had been using him. this shattered his trust and left him deeply betrayed.

· after the incident, JJ kept seeing his dad out of obligation, but as he grew older, he began to resent him. their relationship became strained, and now they barely speak.

· that also affected his relationships with people his age.

· JJ knew everyone—from the Kooks to the Pogues, kids and adults alike. he could interact with them all, but he only called a few people his friends.

· the first lucky person to earn that title was Sarah Cameron.

· JJ and Sarah became friends in first grade. it all started when a boy in their class kept annoying Sarah by pulling her hair. JJ, fed up with the boy’s behaviour, stepped in and pushed him hard enough that he fell and scraped his knee.

· when the principal called JJ’s mum to school to discuss his ‘aggressive behaviour,’ Sarah intervened. she called her dad and told him everything.

· Ward showed up immediately, demanding to speak to the boy’s parents and thanking JJ for standing up for Sarah, even if he admitted JJ’s actions were ‘a bit much’ (and said this right in front of the principal and Larissa).

· that day cemented JJ and Sarah’s friendship. over time, their bond grew stronger, becoming more like a sibling relationship, with JJ always having Sarah’s back no matter what.

· even though their friendship was strong, it didn’t stop him and Rafe from going at each other's throats every time they crossed paths.

· Wheezy on the other hand, loves JJ. being the youngest child with troubled brother and a perfect princess as a sister, she struggled with lack of attention, which JJ happily fulfilled.

· now, you're probably thinking, “what about the Pogues?” well, let me tell you:

· John B and JJ met when they were around ten, at some charity event JJ's mum had organized.

· John B and his dad were there to help carry things—well, mostly his dad; John B was just kind of tagging along.

· their friendship began when John B accidentally bumped into Sarah (who had also come to ‘help,’ but in reality, she and JJ were mostly just getting in the way, so the adults gave them busywork).

· JJ, watching from a distance, didn’t hear the apology or see John B offering to help Sarah up. all he saw was Sarah on the ground and some boy standing in front of her. naturally, JJ did what he always did in situations like this—he attacked.

· JJ tackled John B to the ground, proud of himself and ready to check on Sarah, but John B wasn’t having it. he got up quickly and hit JJ back.

· the two of them started fighting, rolling around on the ground, completely ignoring Sarah, who was yelling at them and trying to break it up.

· thankfully, the adults stepped in before either of them got seriously hurt.

· they both ended up grounded for a week, but before that, they were forced to work together on the event decorations (actually helping this time).

· while decorating, they somehow managed to clear up the misunderstanding, get to know each other, and eventually become friends.

· not long after, they met Pope, and then Kiara, who happened to already be friends with Sarah. this was before the tragic incident at Sarah’s birthday, which caused a fallout between the girls.

· after the fight, the boys had two choices: reconcile the girls or choose between them. (spoiler: they chose the first option.)

[haruhey]

Wish I Never Met You

check out my masterlist!

Word count: 4k

Fluff | Angst | Thank you @weretheones and @normanplusdaryl for betaing <3

You’re part of Daryl’s past, but you could also be his future.

or

A bad day leads the two of you to each other.

or

Whoever said it’s better to love and lose Never loved and lost you

Daryl barely made it through sophomore year.

In all honesty, he was impressed he even got to junior year. When Merle left at the tail end of spring, he - in all of his younger brother naïveté - thought he would come back before the semester ended, taking him from the dump they called a house and from that asshole they had the unfortunate pleasure of calling their old man.

But July came and went, then August, and by the time the new school year rolled around, Daryl stopped waiting for him - just shouldered his backpack and went to school because where the fuck else was he supposed to go?

He gave the whole school thing two weeks. It was enough time to mark off attendance - to lay low before he traded his backpack for his crossbow and started hunting for that weird butcher shop three blocks down to make some money - and he had intended on following it.

Intended, being the right word, because the plan went to shit the second Mr. American History started pairing people up for those dumb, mandatory, biweekly collaborative projects.

Intended, because it just had to be you he was paired with, didn't it? His stupid classroom crush he tried so hard to stop thinking about?

He remembers seeing you for the first time in some math class in sophomore year, and he’d, in his hormone-ruled, bored-out-of-his-mind teenage brain, spent the better half of the period just looking at you. He never worked up the courage to say anything about it to anyone, but you were the prettiest thing he’d seen in his 16 years on Earth, and he hated the way you made his hands all clammy.

Even years later, he looks back on the months he spent being your friend, and he still feels that crushingly familiar clench of his chest.

Maybe it wormed its way almost permanently into him those weeks he first sat next to you in American History. It was a compulory course and both you and he hated it. The teacher - Durand, but Daryl took to calling him Dickhead and Deranged just to see which would make you roll your eyes the hardest - was a notorious douchebag, round glasses over a nose that was entirely too big to stay on his face and three strands of gray hair that seemed to be holding onto his head by spite alone.

He never seemed to take Daryl seriously, even though Daryl knew more than double the amount of history you did. You could pick his brain for hours about the pirates and the Sumerians and the Cherokee and their legends, and he’d let you, despite the glare that marked over his face for anyone else.

In exchange, you let him pick your brain, too. Over the piece of apple pie the two of you would share on the rare occasion you’d both scraped together enough to figure it would be worth buying, he asked about your future. He tried picturing himself with you through it all despite knowing there was nothing for him outside of this shithole town, and he listened to you talk.

He could listen to you talk for hours.

You had big dreams, considering you came from the same place he did, but he had faith you could do it. He knew you could, and even looped his pinky with yours, your thumb pressed up against his while he promised to make it to graduation. He had to watch you toss your cap and flip the bird at 4 years of hell, didn’t he?

But then winter came, and with the Christmas break rounding the corner, Merle came back too, peeling into the dirt road in front of the Dixon dump and taking Daryl along with him. You remember coming back when the second semester started, the same room that had once been used for History now a Government class, and you had hoped to suffer through it together.

You made it through one school week until you’d started asking around.

Nobody got themselves involved with the Dixons - with their surly tempers and their permanent scowls, but you’d gotten into the habit of ignoring those words when you were with Daryl - so when no answers turned up, you weren’t really surprised.

You figured he must have finally gotten his out from his old man.

It was only at graduation that you’d found out what happened to him, overhearing one of the principals talking about how both of Will Dixon’s sons had run away from home and how he’d drunkenly bragged about finally beating sense into them, and, though you knew it was selfish, as the ceremony ticked on, you still hoped Daryl would come back in time to watch your cap toss.

He never did.

When he finally did come back to Georgia, it was a little over a full year later. The old lady that ran the diner the two of you hung around after school had told him that you got a scholarship offer in May - some bigshot school out west - and that you’d packed your bags and left in August.

You weren’t set to come back until the year ended in April, and he wasn’t planning on staying.

He wasn’t planning on making staying anywhere a habit, and, in the blink of an eye, twenty years passed.

A second blink and the world fell.

Everything changed so quickly that it truly did feel like an instant as minuscule as a blink - the dinosaurs had the meteor, and life before them had the ice age - and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was just a breath before a new age flooded in.

It seems like everything he thought about was about the future. Some of it he would have considered trivial before - when the next meal would come, when the next time he’s going to fill his canteen is and where the next source of freshwater is - but, in this blip of time, he hesitates to call it that.

Sometimes, when he went out on his bike or shouldered his crossbow and slipped his knives into his holsters, he thought about how Li’l Asskicker and Carl would grow up - how they would never really get to be kids in the same way Rick probably wanted them to be - and almost nothing he did felt trivial anymore.

It scared him, he guesses - how much he cared about those kids and how much everyone else did, too.

He wished someone cared about him like that when he was younger.

It was good, though, this pressure. Daryl was never really one to half-ass anything in the first place, but with the intake of Woodbury and the Council’s decision to start bringing people in, there was a new drive to care. It rippled through the prison, and he liked it, being a part of something bigger than himself.

He felt like someone new.

Someone that mattered - that did good - instead of being some asshole with a bigger asshole for a brother.

At least, he did until he saw you.

Two weeks after taking in the people of Woodbury - with one week spent out recruiting and another spent in the infirmary because they’d met some less than friendly people who definitely did not fit the recruitment criteria - he saw you from around the corner, an all too familiar face helping Carol with meal prep in the courtyard.

He didn’t eat lunch that day, and to say he avoided you was an understatement.

There was something about you that brought back feelings he would have rather left in the past. You reminded him of when he was a teenager, stuck in his shitty hometown with his piece of shit old man and no way out. But at the same time, you reminded him of those nights spent down at the creek, skipping stones and staring at the stars, that comforting lack of second-guessing because he knew he was, for the first time in his life, in the company of someone who actually wanted to spend time with him.

You reminded him of that diner with the warm apple pie, and he never could forget the first time his heart ever beat against his ribs like it was too big for his chest.

But, most of all, you reminded him of first love and his broken promise - of a future he could never have had.

Daryl hated it, being confronted with his past like that.

So yeah, maybe he did revert back to his old ways of hiding and just trying not to think about his problems, and yeah, maybe he did take one too many runs back to back so he wouldn’t have to keep fighting the urge to look for you despite simultaneously being scared shitless at the thought of talking to you, but it was successful in staying away from you, and that’s all he cared about.

Or, well, he thought it was.

Because, though it’s been nearly two decades since you’d thought about high school - with it long since becoming college, and college into adulthood - it’s crossed your mind more than you’d liked to admit lately. It’s an odd feeling, an ill-fitting nostalgia creeping through the holes of your blanket-covered cell bars, but it was oddly comforting. You never thought you’d ever think of that place as comforting, but maybe it wasn’t high school that you found yourself chasing in the dead of night.

It was him.

Daryl never really knew how popular he was - here, and back then, when those minutes before and after gym class divulged into shushed remarks about his looks and half-serious confessions of crushes muttered to the secrecy of the changeroom’s four walls - but you did. You were always on the other side of it, silent in your agreement.

Woodbury - or, well, ex-Woodbury - was no different.

He’s a far cry from that scrawny little kid you split your lunch with all those years ago, but there's still the linger of boyish handsomeness to him that made your cheeks heat when you thought about him too long. There was no mistaking him for anyone else, but that subdued, ultraviolet warmth you’d grown familiar with was gone from his eyes.

He’s not seventeen anymore, flipping his uncut hair from his face as he taught you how to skip stones and catch fireflies, but you wanted to talk to him all the same. There’s not much left from the old world - let alone much that you could have considered good, or wanted to remember - but he’s one of the few things you’d cared enough about to keep safe from the pulling tide that faded your memories.

He made that shitty town more bearable, even if it was for those few months. Gritting your teeth and enduring had become tiring until he’d grimaced at that first History Inquiry project and made you laugh with the annoyed upturn of his lip. 

You’d planned on thanking him at graduation, but he’d left months before then. 

You’d planned on a lot of things to be frank, but there’s no reason to linger in the past when now is a shell of what then was.

There’s even less of a reason when now feels heavier than then ever was.

Today would have marked ten days without incident, a first foray into the monumental double digits until the sun had set behind the return of the run crew’s RV and Beth was forced to flip the number back to zero.

It’s been four hours since they came back - a quarter of the group gone from the unfriendlies they’d met, another dealing with the aftermaths of the encounter and one more made up from those the crew’s recruited - and it’s the first time in those four hours that you’ve left the dingy wing of the infirmary.

You didn’t hate it in there. Far from it, actually, with Hershel and the others being half-decent company and seeing the work you did benefiting people, but the infirmary, especially on days when the crews rounded back, meant the stinging smell of blood and death lingered no matter how much you scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. It stuck to every crevice on your body, and it permeated. Guilted you for not trying hard enough and not knowing enough.

On days like this, everywhere you went seemed too small and too unforgiving, and you’re not sure if you can stand tossing and turning in your bunk. The night sky is a friendlier sight than your ceiling, and the view from the abandoned watchtower is a hell of a lot better than the tiny, barred-up window at the corner of your cell.

If you’re lucky enough, maybe sleep will steal you for a couple of hours before the sun comes up. At least enough to make it through the next day.

You have faith it will - you can already feel the first wave of exhaustion pull at your bones.

Taking a breath, you press your hands into your pockets after pushing the door to the Prison open and slipping out. Autumn is beginning to seep through the cracks of summer and the nights are starting to get colder, but your jacket should be enough until you climb up and find sanctuary in the sleeping bag you’d left there three days ago.

It doesn’t take long to reach the door - if you jig the knob to the right before twisting and skip the third step from the top, the trek upwards is close to silent - but when you open it, the creak yields, at first, an expletive before the annoyed voice tears through the quiet.

“I already told ya I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout-”

The volume of him makes you take a step back, the sound of a man making your body lock up for just a second before you recognize the mess of hair atop his head and the wings stitched on the back of his vest, and you make quick work getting to him, crossing the platform in a single stride.

“Daryl?”

And he’s quick to realize the person speaking to him isn’t Carol like he’d thought. Though he really really really hopes it’s not you, the familiarity of your voice leaves little room for speculation, even before he turns his head and - for the first time in a long time - really, really looks at you.

“Oh.”

His heart beats in his ears and locks his throat before he can muster up anything else to say, and for a second, you wonder if you should introduce yourself to him. 

“Sorry, I, uh, wasn’t expectin’ no one to be here.”

But the knowing upturn of his eyebrows - his apology, and the way he scoots himself over to make room for you the same way he did in those library reading nooks - tells you you don’t need to, and your shoes slide against the concrete as you drop down to a sit.

He remembers you, too, the sweat of his hands too obvious with the fact, even though he wishes he didn’t.

He wishes there wasn’t a familiarity in the way you sidle your body against his, swinging your legs underneath the railing and over the balcony, and he wishes he couldn’t feel the heat coming off of you.

He wishes it didn’t wrap him up like the warm rays of sun, and he fights down a smile at the fact that you always were so bright. He wishes he didn’t remember you like that - glossed over in a blinding, yellow hue.

Daryl wishes he never remembered you like sunshine - he wishes he didn’t still.

Picking up the glass next to him - just to occupy himself and bide the time until his nervousness hopefully washes away into general apathy - he takes a sip before setting it down and taking a pull of the cigarette in his other hand.

The smoke is slow to fill his lungs, but he welcomes it anyways, holding it there as the nicotine-drawn buzz settles in his brain, and then he breathes it out, angling his head up and away from you.

You never liked it, the Malboros he’d swiped from his old man that he’d keep tucked in the smallest pocket of his worn-down backpack, but you’d told him one night, not unlike the one you’re both trying to find solace in right now, that you were scared of what his father might do if he found out.

Then you slipped in the obviousness of his health, just to break the tension of vulnerability, but it hit Daryl like a truck, the fact that he’d never had someone think about him like that before - like they actually cared.

“Heard your brain cells can rot if you do that.”

He raises an eyebrow at you only to be met with a small smile playing at your lips and the slightest bit of a sparkle in your eye, and the taste still lingering on his tongue reminds him of what he’s been doing. The glass is half full with the room-temperature whiskey he’d tried to make himself feel better with after stitching up his own wounds, and there’s ash from his smoking gathered beside one of the railing's poles, and despite the knowing you’re probably right, he sighs, waving your concern away.

“Ain’t worried. Don’t got a lotta them anyways.”

The cigarette between his fingers is lit still, and he takes another drag before the grayed end of it crumbles to the floor, fighting the upward tug of his cheeks at the sound of your amused huff and your quick response.

“That’s why you gotta take care of the ones you still have, Daryl.”

Scoffing, he tilts the edge of the glass towards you, holding it out for you until you take it from him, and he tries not to think about how the tips of his fingers burn when they brush up against yours. It’s not as sweet, the innocence of a teenage crush long since faded into the dull pang of expired love and loss, but it rushes through him all the same.

He would have offered you a cigarette, too, but you’ve never been one to pick up habits that bad.

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you then, the sky offering a serenity the two of you are less than strangers to, and you wince from the liquor when you finally take a sip. It’s nothing like the moonshine he’d smuggled from his dad’s stash - it went down a hell of a lot smoother than you remember that shit going - but your tolerance has taken a nosedive since weekends unwinding and inter-departmental parties had ended.

Besides, the only places you could get alcohol back in Woodbury were way above your paygrade.

Placing the cup back onto the concrete, you steal a glance at Daryl, spending just a second studying the curve of his nose and the jut of his cheekbone. He’s more handsome than he’s ever been, and you can feel the heat rush up your neck before you blink away the thought.

Get a hold of yourself.

But you can’t, not when he’s so close, and you’re not sure if it’s wholly unselfish, what makes you drop your eyes down from his face, but you do, and you realize why he was so on edge when he heard the door open.

He’s fidgeting. Ever since he put out his cigarette, he’s restless and can’t quite figure out what to do with his hands in the same way he was when you’d asked him why he never wanted to go home back in the school library, and it sends you back, too, a familiar pit growing in your stomach. It’s like he’s that kid again, scared of telling you - or, well, people - things that hurt because his stupid brother and dad drilled into him that he’s less of a man for even feeling hurt in the first place, and it’s equal parts infuriating and concerning.

You can tell that the gears are turning in your head as you try to piece him together; a run crew came back just today, and you haven't seen him in a little while. It doesn’t take a genius to make the connection - especially with everyone’s propensity to talk about how Daryl brought them in - and though you might regret it, you decide to pry.

Not pry, just ask.

Conversation used to flow so easily between the two of you. Were you naïve to hope it would again?

“Bad day?”

It’s small, your voice, teetering in the air with its uncertainty, but Daryl doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he glances down at the space between you, wrapping his fingers around the highball before meeting your gaze, and he bites the inside of his cheek, weighing the option of telling you or not.

“Jus’ tired is all.”

And though he hesitates those first few words, your eyes are so kind - so genuinely caring - that he can’t stop himself from saying more.

That was what he was scared of.

Why hasn’t he let you go? 

“Sick’a fuckin’ losin’ people.”

The frustration when he speaks is palpable, and you’re not sure if it’s bravery or stupidity that makes you move - maybe it’s both, culminating in your own desire that someone would finally see through your crippling bravado and offer you a hug or something - but your hand snakes out to grab his before you even think, shaking it slightly in the strength of your squeeze.

Then he freezes, and for a second, you think you must have overstepped - that he’s going to push you away and yell at you and leave - but he doesn’t. He just takes a breath, the heft of it rising his shoulders then dropping it as he squeezes your hand back harder, a silent thank you in the press of his fingers against yours.

But still, he lets go, afraid the warmth in his chest might make him do something he regrets, and you chew at the dried skin of your lip, thinking about the right thing to say.

Fuck, you could never navigate things like this - it got better as you got older, sure, but words always seemed to fall short when it came to you and him - and when you finally settle on something, half of you wonders if it was just because you thought it better than nothing.

“I feel you.”

Because what else are you supposed to say? That it’s going to be alright and that he shouldn’t blame himself because it's so blatant he is? It’s thin ice you’re walking on, the fear of sounding patronizing drowning out the spark of hope you want to light him with, because you remember the man he was. He’s never had anyone fighting in his corner, and you’re not callow enough to think he thinks of you as something - someone - different.

But he does. He does think of you as someone different, and he wants to say more, but he doesn't know where he stands with you, or with himself. If he says what he’s thinking - that he feels like it is his fault and that he’s not sure if he could ever stop feeling like that. That he’s scared shitless and like it’s some big joke that people actually look up to him for things - wouldn’t that make it feel too real?

So he doesn’t. He just tips the lip of the glass against his and takes another sip to make sure his mouth is occupied, staring down at the bottom ridge of it until you speak again, and he’s helpless to do anything but look at you.

“At least it’s beautiful out tonight.”

He’s sent back to twenty years ago then - the scrawny redneck you’d somehow deemed good enough to be your friend forcing his old habits back to the him of the present - and he can’t help the squeaked little noise of a response. Words have always been hard for him, too. They’re hard for him to think of and even harder for him to form, and it’s made worse by the fact it’s almost like he’s back at 16, convinced that you’re too pretty to talk to.

“Yeah.”

And though you hear his hum of agreement, he never looks away from you, admiring the curve of your familiar smile and the rise of your cheekbones.

The lurch of his heart comes back then - the same beat against his ribs that he hated all those decades ago - and it’s stark then, the realization you’ve never really left him.

“Ain’t never seen nothin’ like it.”

Pressing his lip to the edge of the glass once more, he welcomes the burn of whiskey when you smile at the moonlit horizon, and he watches as you lean your chin against your arms.

You’re beautiful - more beautiful than all the colours in the star-speckled sky - and he could stare for hours.

[multifandomneeerd]

Accio Thunderbolts

Part Two

Summary: Thunderbolts go to Hogwarts au

Trigger warnings: Slight mentions of abuse and drinking, Bob sort of has a panic attack?

Word count: Typed this in my notes app, so I don’t have one. Pretty long though.

Notes: This took me longer to write than I would have liked, but done it now! I’m definitely doing more, this was so fun to write!

It had been only a few months since the second war with Voldemort. A few months since the great final battle. A few months since so many people’s lives had fallen apart. 

Bob Reynolds was one of the few almost completely unaffected. After all, what could the Death Eaters do to a family that had nothing?

He barely noticed the difference, really. His dad still came home drunk. The beatings still happened almost every night. His mother still worked two jobs to support them. The bullying at school kept going. 

Then his Hogwarts letter came.

He knew about Hogwarts, of course. It had just seemed like a silly daydream that could never come true. But somehow, it had. 

The day he went to Diagon Alley would forever be ingrained in his memory. 

Too save on money, his robes and books were second hand. Yet somehow, his mother had managed to scrape together enough money to buy him a brand-new wand. 

Going to Ollivander’s had been magical, for lack of a better word. His wand was beautiful. Eight inches, not too stiff, oak and phoenix feather. He never wanted to forget the look on his mother’s face when sparks showered out of his wand tip.

The time between the arrival of the letter and the day of departure felt like years. His dad seemed to be giving him more beatings as though to make sure they would last him the whole year. 

Once the day finally arrived, Bob was nervous. The station was loud and overwhelming, contributing to his unease. 

His mother had helped him put his trunk on a cart then rushed off for work. In her haste, she had forgotten that Bob had no idea where to go. His ticket said to go to platform 9 3/4, but it didn’t seem to exist. 

Then he saw the group. It was made up of children and one frazzled looking woman. They pushed luggage trolleys with trunks instead of suitcases like the surrounding Muggles. Several appeared as if they didn’t know how to put on the Muggles clothes they wore. 

He quietly merged into the group, following a girl with blonde hair. She looked to be his age. Maybe they could be friends at Hogwarts? If that was where she was going. 

“Line up, children, go through one at a time,” called the lady leading the group. Bob pulled a little ways back from the group. He just needed to figure out how to get to platform 9 3/4, not cause confusion. 

But where were they going? The kids lined up to the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. Then one by one, they walked into the barrier and seemingly passed through it. 

As soon as the frazzled lady went through, Bob started towards the barrier. Doubts began to nag at him. What if he hit the barrier? What if he wasn’t magical enough? What if…

Bob squeezed his eyes shut. He was going to collide with the brick any second now… 

That second never came. Bob opened his eyes. He was nowhere near the barrier now, and was standing on one of the platforms. Had he completely missed the barrier. He looked around, his eyes catching on the platform number. 9 3/4. 

Next task was to get on the train. This was surprisingly easy, everyone seemed to simply be getting on. He managed to haul his trunk onto the train and into an empty compartment, but he had no way of stowing it on the luggage rack. He decided to leave it and sit down. 

He watched out the window at the children and parents still on the platform. He wondered how many kids were even going to be at Hogwarts. He hoped they would ignore him. Better than being bullied. 

A noise behind him made him turn around. The blonde girl from earlier was standing in the doorway, looking self conscious. 

“Can I sit in here?” She asks. 

“Um, yeah, sure,” Bob stammers. Despite his earlier thoughts of friendship, he can’t help but be nervous. After all, he’s never had a real friend. 

She dragged in a trunk similar to his own, only a little more shabby. She looked up at the luggage rack and seemingly comes to the same conclusion about getting her trunk up there. 

“What’s your name?” She asked, turning to him. 

“B-bob,” he manages to say. She plops herself down beside him, unaware of his panic. 

“I’m Yelena. Is this your first year too?” She inquired. As he opened his mouth to reply, a man and a dark haired girl walked into the compartment. 

“Look, Ava, you can sit in here. These kids seem nice, don’t they?” The man said to the girl, who was half hiding behind him. Based on her expression, she did not think they looked nice. 

“It is okay if she sits here, right?” The man addressed them. 

“It’s fine with me!” Yelena pipes up. “How about you, Bob?” 

“It’s okay,” squeaked out Bob. This was a lot off new things all at once, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. But if he said no, what would Yelena think? She probably wouldn’t want to be friends. 

The man-who introduced himself as Ava’s uncle Bill-helped get all of their trunks on the luggage rack. He seemed very nice, even though Ava didn’t. As soon as Bill left, she flopped on the seat across from them with a scowl that clearly stated, leave me alone or else. Yelena, to her credit, tried. 

“I’m Yelena, and this is Bob. What’s your name?” She inquired, despite already knowing it. Ava remained silent. She tried again.

“Your uncle seemed really nice. Did your parents not have time to drop you off today?” Ava looked up at that. 

“My parents are dead.” She deadpanned.

“-oh.” Yelena looked sheepish. “Mine are too.”

Suddenly it made sense why she had been with all those other kids. He hadn’t really thought about it, but it must have been an orphanage group. 

He was distracted from this revelation by yet another person coming into their compartment. This time is was a boy with reddish blonde hair and an arrogant expression. Two men followed him, dressed in some kind of uniform and carrying a trunk. 

“I’ll sit in here,” he told them, his tone condescending. The men placed his trunk on the luggage rack and left. The mystery boy sat down on the seat beside Ava, who somehow looked even more disgruntled than she already had. 

“And who are you?” She asks bluntly. 

“Jonathan Fitzgerald Walker the lll, but you can call me John.” he answers, missing the annoyance in her tone. 

Whatever she was going to say was swallowed by the sudden sensation of the train beginning to move. Outside the window, parents gave a final wave to their children. No one was there to wave at Bob. 

A slightly awkward silence fell over the train car. It lasted until they heard a smiling woman opened their compartment. 

“Anything of the trolley, dears?” She asked. John pulled out a small bag presumably filled with money. No one else moved. 

“Do none of you have any money?” He asked, surprised. Ava shrugged. 

“I might have a Knut somewhere.” 

He muttered something about poor peasants and told the lady to ‘give him a bunch of everything.’ After he somehow managed to place it all on the seat, he looked up at them. 

“Well, do you want some or not?”

Thus began the feast. Bob tried a little of everything. His family never had enough money for extras like candy, and if they somehow did, his dad just spent it on alcohol anyway.

The sugar rush helped break the silence. Yelena was very talkative, and she very much carried the conversation. Ava laughed at some of her jokes, making dry, sarcastic comments occasionally. John butted in whenever he pleased, but he wasn’t actually that bad. Bob stayed quiet. He had learned it from years of simply avoiding the next beating.

At some point, John suggested they get changed into their robes. They agreed, but not before Ava chucked a Chocolate Frog at his head. Everyone agreed that the robes looked downright ridiculous, which resulted in Yelena doing a crow impression, complete with flapping and jumping. Bob couldn’t remember the last time he laughed that hard. 

All too soon, the train ground to a halt. Students streamed out of the train, bumping and jostling one another. Yelena held onto Bob’s arm in the chaos. Above the din, he heard a loud, gruff voice calling, “Firs’ years! Firs’ years!” He and Yelena squished through the crowd to a tall man with a bushy black beard. He introduced himself as Hagrid, and guided them onto boats docked on a nearby lake.

Yelena and Bob ended up on the same boat as Ava, even after getting separated in the chaos. 

“Where’s John?” She whispered. 

“I haven’t seen him. He must not be a first year,” replied Yelena. 

“Pipe down, will ya?” Called out Hagrid. The boats slowly drifted out onto the lake, moving on their own. They turned a corner to reveal the full view of the school. 

Bob gasped in awe. The spires of the castle stood out against the starry, moonlit sky. The glow of hundreds of windows contrasted the dark shadow of the stone. 

As the boats slowly drifted towards the castle, Bob wondered if he was dreaming. There was no way this could be real. Any moment, he was going to wake up. He would eat a small slice of bread for breakfast, avoid his father, and leave without seeing his mother, who would have already left for work. He would be bullied at school, and come home to be bullied by his father. He would watch helplessly as his father would beat his mother for not making enough money. 

Somehow, the dream never ended. When the boats docked at the base of the castle, Bob almost fell into the water trying to disembark. Luckily Yelena caught him by the back of his robe. They were ushered into a large room, where they were met by a kind looking woman. She introduced herself as Professor van Dyne, and began explaining the Sorting ceremony. 

Bob barely listened. His earlier feeling of disbelief had morphed into a panicky feeling, as though his chest was constricting. He vaguely heard Yelena’s name called-“Belova, Yelena.” When his name was called, he stumbled to the stool. Professor van Dyne placed the hat on his head. It was far too big, and came to rest on the bridge of his nose. The darkness covering his eyes helped a little with his panic. Then he heard the voice. 

You’re an interesting one, aren’t you? It spoke. It seemed to be in his head, not speaking out loud. Clever, loyal and brave as well. You could do well in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. But I think it better be… GRYFFINDOR! 

The hat was lifted off his head as the hall burst into applause. Bob walked on shaking legs towards the Gryffindor table. Or at least, he was pretty sure it was, since it was the one standing and clapping the loudest. He spotted Yelena sitting beside an older boy. He slipped in between her and a grouchy looking boy with long brunette hair. 

Ava was next after Bob, and was also sorted into Gryffindor. She sat between Bob and the boy beside him. As he shifted to make room for her, he saw the boy’s left hand. It was covered in a black glove, but for a second his sleeve rode up, flashing a glint of metal. 

Bob shook it off as a trick of the light. He had had a very tiring day after all. Yet somehow, he couldn’t wait for the next one.

Taglist: @luri-isa @busyheadkeepbreathing @thistlehorse

[lvnleah]

Oooh what about Rory losing her first tooth??

She seems like she'd be all worried and panicked like 🥺 then would be so giddy once she finds out that a fairy is gonna be collecting it and giving her money

Rory looses her first tooth.

absolutely adore this so thank you for the request!

March 2024. 

“Mamma!” You called out, holding a flower up to Viv, “Look at the pretty flower!”

Viv turned to you with a big smile, reaching down to take the little flower from your hand. “Oh, that is a pretty one, Roo,” she said, adding it to the collection she had growing in the palm of her hand. 

“I’m gon’ find more!” you declared, turning to scan the grass for more flowers.

Beth smiled as she held Myle’s lead. “Just be careful, munchkin,” she called out as you ran in front, “don’t want you tripping over anything.”

You nodded, already on the hunt for another flower, a tiny patch of yellow petals catching your eye. You ran straight towards them but tripped over a small rock hidden in the grass, tumbling forward with a little yelp. 

“Mamma!” You instantly called out for Viv as tears built up in your eyes. 

Viv was by your side in seconds, crouching down to gently lift you up. “Oh, mijn meisje,” she said, brushing a few stray blades of grass off your hands, “You’re okay, it’s okay. Where does it hurt?”

You sniffled, pointing to your scraped knee, and Viv gently checked it, her face full of concern. “It’s a little red, but I think you’ll be okay.” 

Beth knelt down beside you too, rubbing your back. “Look at you, so strong. And you found another flower on your way, didn’t you?” She pointed to the little yellow flower you had clutched tightly in your fist.

But as you went to smile, you noticed that strange feeling in your mouth again. You touched your hand to it, eyes widening. “Mummy… my tooth feels funny,” you whispered, worry creeping into your voice.

Beth’s eyes softened, and she gave you a little smile. “Can I take a look?”

You nodded, opening your mouth as best as you could. “Roo, your tooth is wobbly! It’s your first loose tooth!”

You blinked, trying to make sense of it. “But… is it gonna fall out? Will it hurt?” you asked, voice shaky.

Viv wrapped an arm around you, rubbing your back soothingly. “It might feel a little funny, but it won’t hurt. It’s just a part of growing up,” she explained softly. “And remember what happens when your tooth falls out?”

You thought for a second, then your eyes went wide as you remembered the story they’d told you before. “The Tooth Fairy!” you squealed, a grin spreading across your face despite the wobble in your tooth. “She’s gonna come, right?”

Beth nodded, grinning back at you. “That’s right, and she’ll leave you a little surprise under your pillow!”

You jumped to your feet, excitement bubbling up as you forgot all about your scrape. “I’m gonna wiggle it lots now! I wan’ her to come soon!”

Viv chuckled. “Let’s let it get wobbly on its own, alright? The Tooth Fairy will come whenever it’s ready to come out.”

You nodded, holding both Beth and Viv’s hands as you continued on, a little more carefully this time, grinning with every step. The thought of the Tooth Fairy filled you with so much excitement, that you could barely keep from bouncing as you imagined all the magic waiting just around the corner.

As you walked hand in hand with Viv and Beth, you couldn’t help but ask questions, “Mamma, what does the Tooth Fairy look like? Does she have wings like the fairies in my storybook?”

Viv smiled, squeezing your hand. “I think she might, Roo. Maybe she has sparkly wings and wears a little crown too.”

Beth chimed in, “And she has a tiny bag to carry all the teeth she collects!”

Your eyes went wide with wonder. “Mummy, do you think she’s small enough to fit in my room? Or is she big?”

Beth laughed softly. “She’s very small, just the right size to fly right in and find your pillow!”

“Do I have to be asleep for her to come?” you asked, suddenly worried you might miss her.

Viv nodded. “Yeah, she only comes when you’re fast asleep. But don’t worry—you won’t even know she’s there!”

You looked up at both of them, your eyes shining with excitement. “What kind of surprise will she leave? Is it like a birthday present?”

Beth grinned, “It’s a little bit like a present, but something extra special just from the Tooth Fairy!”

“Oh! Can I write her a note? Like, to say hi?” You asked, bouncing up and down. 

Viv chuckled. “That’s a nice idea, Roo. I bet she’d love that!”

The questions kept tumbling out as you made your way back home. “Will she come even if I’m in my new pyjamas? Do you think she knows all the kids with wobbly teeth? Does she have her own little bed?”

Over the next couple of days, all you could think about was your tooth. You asked endless questions about it and couldn’t stop wobbling it, you couldn’t wait for it to come out so the tooth fairy could visit you. 

When Beth and Viv took you to training one day after school, you excitedly went around and showed everyone your wobbly tooth. The first person you showed it off to was of course Steph.   

“Steffy!” You screeched, using the nickname you had given her as you ran over to her. 

“Oooft,” Steph playfully huffed as you crashed into her legs, “Hey, Roo! What’s gotten you so excited, eh?”

You bounced on the balls of your feet. “I have a wobbly tooth! It’s going to fall out soon!”

Steph’s eyes widened. “No way! That’s awesome! I remember when I lost my first tooth!” 

“Did it hurt?” you asked, your curiosity high.

“Not at all! Just a little weird. But the best part? I got money from the tooth fairy! I bought loads of sweets with it.” Steph smiled. 

You gasped and started to bounce up and down. “I wan’ candy too!”

“Then you better be ready for that tooth to come out!” Steph teased.

You ran to the treadmills, where some of the other players were warming up. You spotted Lotte and ran up to her, “Lotts! Lotts! Guess what?!”

Lotte turned around, smiling brightly. “What’s up, Roo?”

“I have a loose tooth!” you announced proudly, “and when…when it comes out I’m gon’ buy loads and loads of sweets!”

“A loose tooth? No way! That’s so cool!” Lotte replied, squatting down to your level. “You’re growing up so fast! Are you ready for the tooth fairy?”

“Yeah! Steph, Mummy and Mamma said I might get money!” you exclaimed, practically bouncing on your toes again. 

“Absolutely! And when it comes out, you have to show me, okay? I want to see that gap!” Lotte said, ruffling your hair.

“Yeah!” You nodded, “I’m gon’ buy sweets with my money!”

Lotte gasped, “Make sure you hide them from Kyra! She might steal them!”

Just then the gym doors opened, “What am I stealing?” Kyra asked. 

You ran over to her, “Look at my loose tooth!” You said, wobbling it for them to see. 

Kyra grinned playfully, “You know that means you’re officially a big kid now, right Roo?”

You shook your head, “Nooo! I’m only five, I’m still a baby!” You grinned, holding up five fingers. 

“You’re not a baby!” Kyra teased, tickling your stomach, “You’re a big kid now!”

Beth and Viv finally made their way over, “What are you two devils planning, eh?” Beth teased, tickling you from behind. 

You squealed with laughter as Beth’s fingers tickled your sides, “Mummy, stop!” you giggled, trying to squirm away.

“Never!” Beth laughed, lifting you up into her arms before playfully tickling your belly once more. Viv shook her head at the chaos, smiling as she watched.

“Mamma….tell Mummy…to-to stop!” You said in between giggles.

Viv chuckled softly, “Beth, let her breathe!” she teased, giving Beth a playful nudge on the shoulder.

Beth finally stopped tickling you, giving you a chance to catch your breath. “Alright, alright,” she said with a grin, “I’ll stop… for now.”

You snuggled into Beth’s arms, still giggling, and looked up at her. “Mummy, everyone thinks my wobbly tooth is cool!”

Beth smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That’s because it is, Roo!”

“Everyone make their way to the pitches please!” A coach called out as they stuck their head through the gym door. 

Beth carried you outside, talking away to Steph, while Viv walked close behind you with Lotte. As you rested your head on Beth’s shoulder Lia came over and tickled your stomach. 

“Hi, Roo!” Lia smiled. You giggled and snuggled your head into Beth’s neck. “Are you going to be shy?” She gasped playfully. 

You shook your head before leaning back a little to face her, “Look at my wobbly tooth!” You said before wobbling it. 

She gasped again, “Wow Roo! Are you excited about the tooth fairy?”

“Yeah!” You nodded, “I’m gon’ buy loads of sweeties!”

“Not too many though, eh Roo?” Beth said, “Don’t want you to be hyper!”

The team began gathering for their warm-up, and you wriggled down from Beth's hip. You sat cross-legged on the grass with Twix and a colouring book. Training soon came to an end and Vic came over. 

“What’s this about a loose tooth, Roo?” She asked you as you jumped up from the ground to hug her. 

“Look!” You said, wobbling your tooth, “It’s loose!”

Vic crouched down to get a better look, her face lighting up. “Wow, Roo! That’s so exciting. You’ll have a big kid smile in no time!”

You beamed at her, already wobbling the tooth again. “Do you think I’ll be the first in my class to lose a tooth?”

Vic smiled. “You might be! And even if you’re not, you’ll definitely have the coolest tooth story.”

You tilted your head. “What’s the story?”

Vic thought for a moment. “How about… you lost it while playing football with me, and I scored a goal right after to celebrate?”

Your eyes lit up. “Can we play now? I wanna see if it falls out!”

Beth chuckled as she walked over with Viv, a water bottle in hand. “Roo, I’m not sure football is the best way to wobble your tooth out.”

But Vic was already holding your hand, leading you toward an empty part of the pitch. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she doesn’t lose it too soon.”

Viv shook her head, amused. “Just don’t wear her out too much, Vic.”

You giggled as Vic helped you set up a mini-goal using a couple of cones. She handed you the ball. “Alright, Roo. Show me your best dribbling skills.”

You grinned, carefully dribbling the ball toward the goal. Vic pretended to defend, but she exaggerated her movements, letting you easily swerve past her. “Oh no! She’s too quick for me!”

You laughed, running past her and kicking the ball into the net. “I scored!” you cheered, throwing your hands in the air.

Vic clapped her hands. “Goal! You’re unstoppable, Roo!”

You ran over to her, jumping into her arms. “Did it fall out?!”

Vic laughed, pretending to inspect your tooth. “Not yet! But it’s definitely wobbling more.”

You giggled as Vic set you down, grabbing the ball again. “Vic, let’s play more! I wanna score again!”

Vic smiled, ruffling your hair. “Alright, one more game. But this time, I’m gonna be a tougher defender!”

You gasped dramatically. “I’ll still beat you!”

As you sprinted after the ball, you suddenly tripped over your own feet. You fell forward, landing on the grass with a soft thud. 

“Mamma!” You instantly called out for Viv as tears built up in your eyes. 

Viv ran over from where she was with Lotte and was by your side in seconds, crouching down to gently lift you up. “Oh, mijn meisje,” she said, brushing a few stray blades of grass off your hands, “You alright? Where does it hurt?”

You sniffled, pointing to your scraped knee, Viv gently looked at it, her face full of concern. “It’s a little red, but I think you’ll be okay.” She kissed your forehead softly, just like she always did whenever you got hurt, and you instantly felt a little braver.

Viv chuckled, lifting you gently. “There we go, Roo. You’re alright. But guess what? I think your tooth fell out when you tumbled!”

You gasped, instinctively reaching up to your mouth to check. Your fingers touched the now-empty spot where your wobbly tooth used to be. For a moment, you stared wide-eyed at Viv, not sure whether to be happy or worried.

Beth noticed and quickly joined you, kneeling beside Viv. “Look at that, munchkin! You lost your first tooth! Now the tooth fairy will definitely be visiting you tonight!”

Your face lit up with excitement as you looked at Beth. “Really? She’s gonna come tonight?”

Beth grinned, brushing some grass off your hair. “Absolutely! And we’ll make sure to put your tooth in a special spot under your pillow so she can find it.”

Vic handed Viv the tiny tooth she’d picked up from the grass. “Here’s the star of the show.”

You wrinkled your face up at the bloody tooth, then looked up at Viv with a smile. “Can we write her a note now? I wanna say thank you for visiting me!”

Beth laughed softly, lifting you into her arms. “How about we do that as soon as we get home? But first, let’s clean up that knee of yours.”

As you nestled into Beth’s arms, you pointed at her seriously. “You gotta tell the Tooth Fairy I was playing football when it fell out, okay? So she knows I’m a footballer!”

Beth chuckled. “We’ll make sure she knows, Roo. Maybe she’ll even leave you something football-themed!”

Your eyes went wide with excitement. “Like a football sticker? Or a mini ball?”

Viv smiled, stroking your back as Beth carried you toward the benches. “Maybe. The Tooth Fairy always knows the perfect surprise.”

That night, after Beth helped you write a carefully decorated note to the Tooth Fairy, you placed your tooth in a little box under your pillow. As you snuggled into bed, you could barely contain your excitement.

“Mamma, do you think she’s already flying here?” you whispered as Viv tucked you in.

Viv smiled, brushing your hair back gently. “She might be on her way right now. But remember, Roo, you need to be fast asleep for her to visit.”

You nodded seriously, squeezing Twix. “Okay, I’m gonna sleep super fast so she can come!”

Viv leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Goodnight, mijn meisje. Sweet dreams.”

As the lights dimmed and you drifted off, Beth and Viv quietly slipped into the living room. Beth placed a shiny gold coin and a small pack of football stickers on the kitchen counter. “Think this will do the trick?” she whispered to Viv.

Viv grinned. “She’ll be over the moon.”

The next morning, your excited squeal echoed through the house, waking up everyone—including Myle. You ran into the living room clutching your stickers and coin, beaming from ear to ear.

“Mummy! Mamma! The Tooth Fairy came!” You threw yourself into Viv’s arms on the sofa, giggling. “She knew I liked football! She’s the best fairy ever!”

Viv kissed your head, laughing softly. “Told you she’d know, Roo.”

Beth ruffled your hair with a warm smile. “Alright, munchkin, what’s the plan for your money? Sweets?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “And maybe…a new ball!”

“Big dreams for a tiny tooth,” Beth teased, pulling you into a cuddle.

[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 8

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, soapghost // CW: Hurt/Comfort, MWIII spoilers

---

Tensions are high as Price backs out of the garage. Ghost keeps his body loose and his eyes moving as the outside world comes into view. The windows are tinted and the vehicle bullet-proof, but that won't stop heavy artillery.

They'll need to be vigilant.

Price drives carefully, weaving between buildings in the small Eastern European city that Ghost doesn't even know the name of. Hell, he's not even sure what bloody country they're in anymore. Ghost keeps his eyes on the buildings silhouetted by the dawn light, sweeping for broken-out windows or long barrels sticking over the edges of rooftops. 

Soon enough, though, they leave the town behind, replacing sidewalks and buildings with open fields and clumps of occasional forests. Ghost lets the tension seep away slowly. He stays vigilant, but as they continue on with no sign of pursuit, he lets his mind wander back to the way Johnny had looked when he shoved his gun into Ghost's hand — too wild-eyed, too frightened, and just... wrong. Wrong in the same ways these past three years have been wrong.

It will take time for Johnny to recover, but the reality is that the brash, cocky side of his sergeant is likely gone forever. Not that it makes much of a difference to Ghost. Johnny is alive and back in his arms. He doesn't really give a fuck about anything else.

They drive for several hours before stopping to fill up at a small station. He, Soap, and Gaz duck down in the back to make sure they aren't seen through the open doors. Laswell pays well in the local currency, which the station attendant seems to appreciate, and they move on down the road. They're only on the road for a few minutes, though, before Laswell lets out a vicious curse and murmurs something to Price. As they make a hard turn down a dusty road, Ghost sees the reason for Laswell's displeasure through the side window.

A border checkpoint in the distance.

"That's not supposed to be there, I take it," Gaz says in a tense tone.

"Nope," Laswell replies. "We'll find another way through."

They pass three more checkpoints before Laswell calls a halt. She pulls up her laptop and begins scanning a satellite map. After a few minutes of tense silence, she disconnects and directs them to a dirt track a few miles down the road.

"We're off-roading it, boys. Better buckle up if you aren't already."

Trees rise up around them, branches scraping along the sides of the car as they bounce over the eroded trail. With another turn, they begin a slow descent. Price dodges a young tree growing in the middle of the track, losing his side mirror in the process. Ghost holds on to Soap as the car bounces around, throwing them into each other despite the tight hold of their locked seatbelts. His stitches protest the violent movement, but there's nothing to be done about it.

The border is protected by nothing but a fence with a gate cut in it, which they assume the locals sometimes use to avoid the check points as well. They pass through and get tossed around a bit more as they drive over more barely-there dirt tracks. Finally, the brush falls back to the sides, and at the intersection of another trail, it evens out into a more well-used dirt road.

"We're through," Laswell murmurs. "Just keep driving west for now."

The roads gradually widen and become more well-maintained, though they stay on the back roads for another few hours. The next gas station sits at a barren crossroads and doesn't have an attendant, though the rustic pumps hum to life when Price picks up the nozzle and lifts the lever. A sign written in Polish in the nearby shack says to leave the money inside, so they fill up, leave the correct change, and continue on their way, this time with Gaz behind the wheel again. By the time they merge back onto a proper highway, the sun is setting.

Still, Laswell keeps them moving. Johnny falls asleep on his shoulder.

The sun sets fully, but it isn't until Ghost notices the signs have switched to German that he begins to relax. Signs count down the kilometers to Berlin until they finally pull into another garage in a small neighborhood on the outskirts of the city.

"I've got a contact here," Laswell tells them as they file into the surprisingly roomy safehouse. "He's trustworthy, and he can get us to Mexico. It'll be a while, though, so we're going to hole up again."

Ghost just nods. Mexico means Alejandro and Rudy, people they can trust and who have the resources to protect and counter attack. He fucking hates Mexico for so many reasons, but if that's where Johnny will be safe, he'll take it. It'll be nice to see the Vaqueros again, too. They've been on a few missions together since Johnny was... taken, but nothing long term.

As they gather in the kitchen off the garage, Soap sways on his feet. He's been napping on and off all day, but his eyes are bloodshot, and he looks one strong wind away from falling over. Ghost wraps an arm around his waist, and Soap leans into him.

"One room downstairs, three rooms up," Laswell says as she quirks an eye at Ghost.

As much as he wants to take the downstairs room for Johnny's sake, tactically, it makes more sense for one of the uninjured, such as Price or Gaz, to be their first line of defense. When he says as much, Price nods.

"I'll take the downstairs. I assume you two are good to share?"

"Yes," Johnny says a little too quickly.

Ghost hides his smile behind his mask as usual. He nods to the others and leads Johnny upstairs. He finds the room with the biggest bed, curls around Soap's shivering body under the heavy blankets, and lets himself drift away.

---

The next few days are much like their days in the first safe house, though this time they have more space. Ghost exercises as much as his wound allows while keeping an eye on Johnny, helping him through the withdrawal. The hallucinations scare him, but Johnny hasn't once lashed out or otherwise seen Ghost as anyone but Ghost. He takes it as a good sign.

It's becoming more difficult to keep his hands to himself, though. Every night, as they press together, Johnny's head on his chest or Ghost's buried in the crook of his neck, he thinks of kissing Johnny, of sliding a hand lower, of hearing those soft moans of pleasure he's been missing for years. Despite the mistreatment, Johnny's body is still beautiful, and Ghost wants. 

And yet Johnny deserves time to heal before Ghost pushes his own feelings on him. What kind of a partner would he be if he pushed for something while Johnny was still in the throws of withdrawal?

So he aims for comforting when they share a bed — and wanks in the shower every chance he gets.

Four days after their arrival, Laswell's contact picks them up and drives them to a small airport two hours south of Berlin. They are ushered into a small plane and presented with new clothes, including hats, glasses, and fake passports. They change clothes in the plane on the way Paris, where another jet is waiting to take them to Mexico.

It's not until Ghost sees Alejandro's severe expression as he approaches them at the airport that Ghost thinks to be cautious. Ale steps up to Soap and scans his face as if searching for something.

"Alejandro," Soap says by way of greeting as he holds out his hand. "Good to see you again, mi hermano."

"Dios mio," Ale whispers, eyes wide.

Ghost is about to step between them when Ale suddenly slaps Soap's hand aside and grabs him up into a fierce hug. There's a lot of pounding of backs and coughing to cover the crying, but Ghost lets his muscles untense as Ale murmurs how good it is to see Soap alive and well. Over Soap's shoulder, he gives Ghost a nod.

Ghost nods back.

"Come, my friends!" Ale says as he pulls back from Soap, though he keeps an arm around his shoulders. "Let's get back to base and figure out our next steps, eh?"

---

The base is even more highly secured than the last time they were there. It takes two major checkpoints and dozens of guarded doors before Ale leads them into a building in the middle of the base. Rudy is waiting for them inside the conference room, and he goes through much the same process as Alejandro, taking a moment to really look at Soap... and then grabbing him up in a tight hug.

"It's a miracle," Ale murmurs. "Do you know how it was done?"

"Some kinda serum," Ghost says. "Laswell knows more, I think."

Sure enough, as they quiet down and Laswell begins speaking, it's clear she's been busy the last couple of weeks. She's narrowed the traitors down to three of the seven generals on the multinational council that replaced Shepherd.

"I can't be sure, but intel points to all three of them being involved to some degree." She clicks forward a slide and three pictures come on screen. "Generals Havisham, Dinly, and Patel have had dealings with the supposed 'supersoldier' serum, though it's possible Dinly isn't aware of who they're truly working with to develop the serum. I've received confirmation that all seven generals will be detained on our mark, just in case."

"So... what's the plan, then?" Alejandro asks. "Are we moving against Makarov directly?"

Laswell looks at Ghost.

No. She looks at Soap, who is standing directly in front of Ghost, back pressed to his front.

A chill runs down Ghost's spine.

Laswell's gaze does flick to Ghost's for a brief moment before she looks at Ale. "We'll be setting a trap. Soap is the bait."

"No."

The word is out of Ghost's mouth before he can stop it, an arm circling around Johnny's shoulders to crush him against his chest.

"We're just spreading the rumor that he's there," Laswell says. "When Makarov shows up to collect his wayward experiment, we'll be there instead."

Ghost relaxes a bit, though a sick, curdling feeling in his gut tells him to keep his guard up. The meeting continues, planning the location, the angles, the coverage. Ghost listens with half an ear, but his focus is on Johnny.

On the soft breaths that waft over his arm where it rests on his collarbone.

On the desperate grip curling around the meat of his forearm.

On that strange, sick feeling that only grows more pronounced with every word from Laswell's mouth. 

He trusts her. He does. But he also trusts that she'll do what's necessary for the greater good. And that Johnny will go along with it if he thinks it's the right thing to do.

So he listens. He watches. And he makes a few plans of his own.

---

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 >>