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ma1dita · 7 months

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solipsism

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 5.1k

summary: (post-TLT) drink responsibly… trouble doesn’t; you punch luke in this lol (novelization spoilers? kinda canon-compliant)

The one where you finally pray to Hestia to keep your home safe, even if he's also trying to destroy it. Luke visits you four times during college, in a timeline opposite to yours (doctor x river song-coded) (lore expansion & explanation here) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: i hurt myself with this one. anyways its canon (to me) that we’re roommates now !!!! more to come like i promised even during my birthday break ! scream at me in the comments and feel free to reblog :)

(post 3/6, edited/betad @hotchfiles )

—

solipsism (the idea that only one’s mind is sure to exist)

You didn’t mean to send a prayer out into the world so strong that it would will an apparition of an Olympian, but burning cookies seems to be your specialty. Arguably, they weren’t the good kind, just the ones you grab in the freezer aisle of Walmart, and still, somehow they set your fire alarm off. Opening a window and waving through the smoke— Hestia, goddess of the hearth and home was standing next to the rickety dining table you bought off Facebook marketplace.

“Holy shit, you scared me!”

There’s mirth in her eyes at your reaction, though for all you know it could be annoyance—it’s not often that an immortal could be badgered enough to reveal themselves for an accident like this one.

“Dionysus was right. You’re too much like him for your own good,” she grins, taking a seat at the table like she’s an old friend. There’s a warmth to her unlike anyone you’ve met before—fire crackling in her eyes and an aura of serenity swaddling the air that you’ve never felt before in your student accomodations.

“I’m sorry I just… with all due respect, what’s going on?”

You go to toss the hot tray of cookies in the trash bin, before hesitating and putting them on your nicest plate. A gentle shove slides them over the table to the goddess, and she takes a crunch out of one happily.

“You were praying,” she states, like its common knowledge, “so strongly, in fact, I thought I’d make a visit to one of my most loyal devotees. Though in this case, you’re the object of his devotion, yes?”

Your hands are clasped across your lap and a familiar feeling spreads through you, then she jerks her hand up and points, “There. You’re doing it again. Y’know, it’s about time you start reciprocating the effort. Hermes’ son prays for you with intention.” You were thinking about Luke before she appeared—and hope glimmered like a tiny open flame. It’s still there, in the slow beating of your heart.

“He’s waging war with the gods. I don’t think he prays to them anymore,” you reason. Luke's offerings to the hearth must have been extinguished by the wrath he’s rained on Camp Half-Blood by now. The perfect storm.

“Not when it comes to you. Mortals never fail to surprise me. But it seems you’re a special case, my sweet. He’s made a home of you.”

To love Luke feels like having to keep a secret and never being able to tell anyone, but Hestia reaches for your hands across the table and looks at you knowingly.

“When I gave up my seat on Olympus for your father it wasn’t a sign of weakness, even if I did it so that others could be happy. I think your soul is a lot like mine in that you’ve given up so much of what you want to protect others. In turn, he’s doing the best he can to protect you; I listen to him every day, sweet girl. You are not weak for loving him still. There are generations of strength in your bones.”

“What else am I supposed to do? I search for him in everyone I meet and I’m not sure I’ll ever find that type of love again.”

These are thoughts you’d never told anyone—not Annabeth, not your father, not even yourself and surely never aloud.

“I hope you never do,” the goddess says, and you know it too.

i. no winter lasts forever (a night out after a drive home from virginia)

Flick. Flick.

“Come on, Hestia. Not you too. Don’t fail me now,” you mumble. The frigid metal of your zippo lighter rubs against your thumbs as you cup it in your hands, shielding the tiny flame that fights the harsh winter wind. Trying to focus as you lean against the brick of the Inferno, you take a deep inhale of smoke to warm your bones. Healing was never supposed to be easy.

Breathe in.

It’s somewhat of a routine you’ve made since getting back from visiting Annie. You’re a regular at this pub now—not even acclimated to the ins and outs of your sleepy college town, and though you don’t know the name of the hall your classes are in, you do know there’s a barstool in the corner of the Inferno with your name on it. There’s something funny about using your father’s gift as a form of fake id, and you wonder if he knows how heavily you indulge in your vices. Five vodka redbulls down the hatch have your knees feeling weak under the alley light until a stranger looms over you like a shadow.

“Those things are gonna kill you one day.”

Breathe out.

“Gods willing,” you laugh, stumbling over your boots and Luke catches you like he was never meant to let you go in the first place. The leather of his jacket is musky and his hair is buzzed.

Either you were wasted or uncaring of who he was (both), you toss him your car keys and climb into the passenger seat. It’s a silent ride to your apartment besides you giving him the directions and Luke wonders how bad he must have hurt you for you to lay out for a stranger and waste away like this. But he’s the farthest thing from a stranger, even in this error in time and you’re still the daughter of the god of wine so after the third time you try to put your key in the lock he helps you because he hopes you’ll let him in.

“Y’know Annie would get a kick out of your haircut. Come inside.”

You’ve always been able to see right through him.

He’s standing in the hallway with his hand around your waist and he’s already broken too many of the titan’s orders by being here, so he scoffs, “You’re not gonna remember this by morning.” But you leave the door open anyway, dragging him by the wrist and your hand still feels the same in his even after all this time. What more is there to resist when there’s not much left of him to lose?

This is the last time, he reminds Kronos, and there are monstrous hands around his brain, but yours are still gently holding his heart. The little part of his soul that hasn’t been eaten away holds on for a bit longer, tethered to your being by the way your hands are tied.

“I can, if you want me to.”

He looks ready for war, and he is— yet you have him following you around the tiny living room almost in a trace as your arms loop around his neck. Luke doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know if you’d want to see him sober, especially when his absence is still fresh for you.

“Baby you look different from the last time we met,” you slur, stepping onto his feet as he takes you for a spin around the coffee table, dancing in the quiet. He’s older than you’ve ever seen him, voice deeper and colder. This is not the boy that ran from you in the forest many months ago. This is a man who’s seen horrors you haven’t lived through yet. You can deduce that he’s the cause of them too.

“So do you. Though still as beautiful as I remember,” he whispers like he’ll get struck for saying it. Your eyes are unfocused as he inspects your face, still soft and young with hope. The titan grips his features now, almost burning through his sense of self—though it’s not tangible he wonders if you could see it.

“I see you all the time. I just… usually have to drink enough to make it feel real. I just miss you.”

He looks pained at your words, and for a moment you wonder if he even heard you. Luke pushes you towards your room, an aura of darkness spreading through him like fire but he relents, pushing past the flames. He’s on borrowed time now, but Luke would gladly waste those minutes tucking you into bed.

Lifting your arms up, he pulls an old shirt of his over your shoulders, and his eyes catch onto the fact that you’re still wearing the dragon scale necklace he made you. Luke digs through your medicine cabinet while you sloppily wash your face and his calloused hands rub serums and moisturizer into your cheeks like how you taught him once upon a time. These are the things he won’t forget. Kronos can take it all away, as long as he gets to keep you. You lean against his chest and shut your eyes, scared that if you open them again he won’t be there.

“You’re not supposed to be here, are you? Are you mine?”

“I’m always going to be yours,” he says with no hesitation, “Four years later, and there is still not one living thing worth losing you,” he says, lips chasing after your fingertips as you trace his jaw. Your eyes flutter in exhaustion, and Luke’s eyes survey your room and he finds traces of you that he’s missed as he rubs your back lovingly like he has all the time in the world.

Your hands cup his face, making him look at you, and he surrenders himself to you as you pull him into a kiss. He’s a ticking time bomb about to detonate in your arms. The warnings that Kronos is beating into his head is nothing compared to the pain of knowing he won’t be with you for much longer. And he kisses you like he could save you from his blaze by doing so, lips and tongue and shattered breath saying I’m here, and this is real. Maybe your worst vice is not being able to wean yourself off the taste of him.

“Tell me what I need to hear. Even if it’s not true…Even if you’re not real,” you say between gasps, and your position on his lap makes him wonder why he’d ever give the world up and burn it down when it’s sitting right here and staring at him with violet eyes.

“It’s always going to be you and me. I’ll love you until the end of my days and then some.”

You laugh in the way that drives him crazy—though he already is, for loving you still. Luke lost all sense of himself when he left camp four years ago. All that remains is you, pushing him so that his back hits the bedspread. He lets you consume what’s left of him, and he’s on fire.

You wake up the next morning with a jolt. It’s still winter, and you’re still alone but despite the chill, you feel warm.

ii. autumn years (with a familiar visitor who finally shows up on time)

Knock, knock.

There’s someone at the door, but your date isn’t supposed to be here for another 10 minutes.

“Babe, someone’s here for you!” your roommate Jo calls out, and you tell her it’s fine to let them in.

The pantyhose clings to the lotion on your thighs and you fix the bracelet on your wrist, stepping out from the bathroom hollering, “You’re early, Kit! Don’t tell me you’re skipping to the good part; I’m a lady i–”

“Who’s Kit?”

Luke’s standing in the doorway of your bedroom and his eyes flit to the reflection of your naked back peeking through the undone zipper of your dress. You look stunning, lips painted red and eyes smoky, but you’re also furious. Too bad he’s always thought you looked extra hot when you’re mad.

“None of your business. As you can see, I don’t exactly have the time for this, Castellan.”

He shrugs, closing the door behind him gently and with the raise of his brow, Luke is leering at you like a teenage boy. Respectfully, of course. The glint of celestial bronze against his hip reminds you who he’s become though.

“I’ll make the time if you say the words, Trouble.”

Sighing, you step forward, but then he does that thing again from the last time you saw him out on sea, twisting the crick in his neck like he has to resist your touch.

“You’re still funny. Some old habits die hard I guess,” you scoff, turning and lifting your hair out of the way so that he can zip you up. He opts to not touch you, sliding the dress closed until it fits against your body. You think you can feel his fingers ghost above your skin, and goosebumps rise where he leaves and his breath is warm on the back of your neck.

“Leave your weapons at the door. I run a tight ship, unlike you.”

Gliding away from him while his hands are still in the air, you turn and sit at the edge of your bed, crossing your legs as you nod at him. Luke picks up the pair of heels next to where he sets the sword against the wall, and like it’s nothing out of the sort, he gets on his knees. You offer a foot to him while he speaks, “I could tell by the taser on your bedside table. You’ve killed monsters before, why a taser?”

There’s freckles on his tanned cheeks and he smells like the sun. You wonder what he’s done to come see you tonight.

“I’ve found out that not all monsters are mythical. When…are you?”

His eyes dart away from yours, securing the buckles on your ankles, and his touch sears through the mesh of your pantyhose.

“A few months ahead.”

There’s an eyelash on his nose, and your finger reaches out to touch it, but he flinches away. Face pulling into a frown, you spit, “You never slow down enough to let me catch up with you, huh?”

You can hear the microwave whirring in the kitchen, your roommate none the wiser of the sound of two hearts breaking. The both of you suddenly realize this is the first time you two have been alone (and the same age) since he left camp. There’s a silent question of if it will ever happen again as he gets up from the floor.

“So you’re seeing other people. Must’ve been easy, h—”

You punch him in the face before he finishes speaking, and all he can do is laugh. You would never let him off so easily.

“Fuck you. What, you think you can just hop in here and act like everything’s okay? What do you want, Castellan? For me to grovel at your feet and beg for you to fix what you broke?”

And you’re right, he supposes. This is the closest to peace that you’ll get in this life you’ve created without him. He won’t be able to take you on nice dinner dates like Kit can, or hold your hand without feeling like fate is going to smite him for existing. You scoff at the lack of his response.

“What happens next?”

Luke watches you chew on your lip, and even if he shouldn’t touch you in fear that you’ll will away his reason for defecting, by the gods does he want to.

“What do you mean?” he mutters. The cord of his necklace is tucked into your dress now that he looks closer.

“If I’m right,” you say (and it’s rare that you’re not), “each version of you that comes to see me knows less, and each time I see you I learn more. You were 23 last time. Why didn’t you see me at 22?” You know he won’t have an answer, but this is the only time you’ll be able to ask the real him. The one that’s yours, just a few steps ahead.

“There’s already been a lot that’s happened since I last saw you.”

“Are you going to hurt me?” you offer him, like he hasn’t already. He can feel the bruise blooming on his cheekbone and he grimaces with what he’s about to say.

“Never intentionally. I’ll try not to.”

It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth and you feel stupid with how empty you feel just watching him. He’s made a home of you, choosing moments in time to visit, but when he inevitably leaves, then what? Luke taught you how to be a home, forgetting you exist until it’s convenient and now there are things about yourself that you can’t unlearn yet don’t know what to do with.

Your roommate knocks on your door asking if you want a shot of vodka before your date starts, and Luke is already walking towards it since he’s overstayed his welcome. He raises his sword to open a portal but you shake your head.

“Go out the way you came,” you swallow, fiddling with the copper pendant around your neck, “and take the purple umbrella in the hall. It’s raining outside.”

When you walk into the kitchen moments later, the front door shuts gently and Jo’s sitting at the table with a mouthful of ramen noodles.

“Is he warming up the car? Your date’s hot as fuck, babe,” she grins, steam coating her glasses.

Knock, knock.

Your phone buzzes and there’s another knock at the door. Kit is 15 minutes late.

iii. auld lang syne (ringing in the new year with an old friend, or more)

Your apartment is filled with friends and acquaintances, but who the fuck cares anyway? There’s 10 minutes to midnight and you’re crossed out of your mind. Holding onto a half-empty bottle of prosecco, your heels clomp over to the window in the living room as you crawl onto the fire escape.

Clack, clack.

The air is chilly as you hug yourself, and you hear someone step out onto the stairs behind you.

“What are you doing out here alone?”

You sigh, not even turning to look at him, “What are you doing here, period?”

He takes the bottle of prosecco out of your hands, making you swivel your head to look at him as he takes a big gulp. He’s younger again, and it makes you laugh at how fucked up your luck must be to never be able to see him when you want. It’s always been on Luke’s terms.

“You’re too young to be drinking that,” you drawl, knees bumping against his when he takes a seat next to you. Long Island is quiet at night, and the lack of city lights is nice when you can see the stars so clearly. Music blares through your JBL speaker in the living room, and the sound of cheers gets louder when The Neighborhood starts playing.

“We used to do worse,” he laughs, but something in it sounds hollow. The breeze picks up and you shiver, taking the bottle back from him and swigging it.

“All these visits…you sure do know how to make a girl feel special. But you never come in the summer.”

He clears his throat, before leaning back on his elbows, “ I haven’t gone a summer without you since we were 14.” This Luke doesn’t know what’s ahead of him yet, but you realize that he’s right. Even now, he keeps up the habit of pissing you off and raising hell on Camp Half-Blood every summer. You notice he’s not wearing his camp beads, and he notices you shiver again in the chill.

Clack, clack.

Your heels rattle the metal of the fire escape as you readjust your position. He takes off his jacket to sling it around your shoulders and neither of you realize you’ve missed the countdown until fireworks burst in the sky above you. The red and blue reflect off the planes of his face, but what stands out to you is the orange of his shirt, and you comprehend now where he just came from.

“I had to see you. I didn’t get to say goodbye when I left,” he says, and you take another sip before handing him the bottle to finish off. The only new years’ kiss you’re getting is through the lips that hold the last remaining drops of prosecco.

You nod, remembering it all too well as you both watch the fireworks in silence. He wasn’t able to watch them properly the last time he was with you, Annie, and Percy just a few hours prior.

iv. spring cleaning (only big days are ahead for the both of you)

It’s quiet in your college apartment this morning.

The moving boxes are half-packed and stacked against the wall of the entryway and the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the French press on your kitchen counter permeates the air. Perhaps the idea of caffeine is the last thing on your mind, hands twitching as they smooth over the black polyester of your graduation regalia. There’s a few hours still before the ceremony, but you’ve never liked being unprepared. Pollux is driving your dad down the Island because despite the war you’ll inevitably be fighting in once you cross the stage and get your degree, D specifically told Zeus that he’d wage another if he was made to miss your big day.

Parting your hair to fit under the ugly graduation cap, the tassel swings in front of your face as you grab a few bobby pins from the side table. A golden medallion of Castor’s smiling face almost whips into your cornea and you stifle a laugh. D said in his Iris message last night that all three of them would cheer so loud you’d be able to hear it from Elysium (and honestly, jokes aside—he probably has a way of making that happen). A staggered breath leaves your lungs, and you’re filled with anticipation, though you’re not sure what for.

Time is a thief and you know that too well by now. After all, you’ve spent the past four years running from the truth of your heritage—dodging monsters between study sessions and grief welcoming you every time you come home. Four years later, and who are you trying to fool? While walking across that stage later you might as well take a bow. After all, your ex-boyfriend is the reason why there’s going to be a war of both blood and ichor, mortal and undying and still, you find yourself in the middle of it. You’ve found yourself fielding questions this last semester like dodging celestial bronze, the questions always a little too close to home and the answers you give are too entertaining to be considered the truth.

So, what are your future plans?

Oh no big deal, just going home and dealing with generations-old family drama. If it drives me crazy enough I might enlist!

Gods.

How do you even articulate that these past few years were those future plans? That you didn’t expect to be alive this long, much less have the comfort of feeling secure enough to dream… It’s been years since you’ve had a good dream to work towards with a boy you once knew holding your hand through it all. But the expensive piece of paper you’ll be receiving later feels fake somehow.

Who does that belong to? Surely not you…surely, someone who dreams without bearing the weight that comes with it. Someone who doesn’t have to look over their shoulder everytime they walk to work in the mornings, who can convince children that monsters aren’t real without having to lie. Psychology was a great field to learn from the mortal side of things—to know the reasons why brain chemistry affects us so deeply instead of just willing it away with the touch of your fingers. You like making people feel better. But who can ever do that for you?

A gust of wind sweeps through your room, the multicolored tassels hanging off your neck swaying from the force and you shut your eyes knowing he’s there again. Citrus and musk, and something that’s just him. He knocks over your hamper, cussing under his breath until his eyes follow your motionless figure in front of the mirror.

“Shit. I can explain, um… I thought you’d still be asleep,” Luke sputters, his converse falling into your laundry pile like quicksand. He bends over, stuffing your pajamas and sweatshirts back into the bin with fidgety hands as his eyes take a quick scan of your room. There are no pictures of you and him on the bedside table. For a moment, he wonders what that means but then his cheeks redden when he picks up a pair of your lacy underwear. He shoves that down too.

“Big day today. You know I can’t sleep when I know something is about to happen,” you smile wistfully, and you keep your eyes shut for longer, because like this, it’s almost like he’s actually there in real time. In a world where things went your way, this would be his apartment too, and his clothes would be scattered around your shared bedroom like how they used to back in cabin 12. You always used to put them on The Chair, as he would call it—but Luke’s known to make a mess of your life regardless of your efforts.

“When isn’t there? Something’s always going on when you’re around, Trouble.”

Click. Scattered memories flicker in your head like images through a view-finder, spinning through your vision as you hear the sound of his laughter, gently tapping away at your heart again. Click. In the ones you pre-selected, he’s draped in sunlight, honey eyes sweet and kind, and his kisses are perpetual instead of an indulgence. Click. He’s always wearing faded orange, worn-out, but most of all well-loved. Click.

You open your eyes and they meet his own in the mirror. Time stops for once, letting you catch your breath.

Right now, he looks just as you like to remember him, as you knew him four years ago. Multicolored camp beads are resting easily against his broad neck instead of weighing him down, and he’s wearing the red converse his dad gave him. He’s too young, and so in love with you that it blinds him, but even then…now, he knows the look on your face and it makes him ask, “It’s not my first time visiting you is it?”

“You’re usually more discreet, the door right behind me wouldn’t have been your first option. But you’ve never failed to surprise me before. Tell me about your day, Luke.”

A hesitant smile crosses his face as he sheathes Backbiter against his hip, adjusting under the weight like he’s not used to it yet, and then he speaks, “We ate strawberries in the fields today, straight off the vine, but I argued that the ones you conjure will always taste sweeter to me. You smushed one against my face and I carried you home. You?”

You nod, turning around to face a ghost of your past, and the both of you meet in the middle only a hairs distance away as you admire each other.

“I graduate today. Annabeth’s driving up with her boyfriend and the rest of my family is coming to celebrate.”

He doesn’t know of Percy yet, of Chris’ insanity, of your brother’s death, and the immense hurt he’s caused everyone. The smile that lights up his face makes you realize he thinks he's still a part of this—with you. And you miss him—even when he’s right here, fuck, you miss all the versions of him that have come to visit, even the ones you don’t know of yet. Tears brim your waterline as you take a deep breath; the last thing you want to do is scare him away.

“This was his promise to me. By showing me something I was sure of—and I always knew you’d graduate and make it big. Wanted to see it for myself, baby,” he grins, tangling his fingers with yours like your strings of fate, and though you know the answer to your next question you still take a chance, just in case.

“If I tell you what’s happened since…you. Would it be too late to change your mind?”

“Trouble, do you want me to? Kronos’ plan is already set in motion. I think…” he swallows, and your vision blurs without your permission as tears start to fall. Through the film over your violet eyes, Luke frowns and pulls your fingertips to his lips, kissing each one. He hasn’t done that in years.

“Did I make a mistake? Do I lose you, in the end?”

“Angelface…” you sniff, leaning your cheek against his hand, “You were so scared of losing me that you didn't even stop to think of what losing you would do to me. I lost you so long ago, Luke. And you’re not mine anymore. I don't think you have been in a long time.” In these heels, your forehead is closer to his lips so he kisses that too, hoping that somehow this time he can will away your pain instead of his. He doesn’t know what to do but hold you until you say something again.

“I’ll tell you something you need to hear. And no matter what you say or think, babe—it’s the truth. Even without all the glory in the world I would still be yours. I still am, even if I can’t bear it.”

Though he’s holding you, it somehow feels like the opposite—a purer version of him in your embrace while he holds the broken pieces of you together with his golden touch. Right now, you look into honey instead of gold. The both of you look at each other in the mirror melded together like kintsugi, something good still shining through the cracks of you two together like this.

The sound of keys jangling in the lock of the front door lifts you from his embrace, and with one look you both know its time for him to go; Luke’s brows furrow as he mutters, “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this, and we’ll be together. I promise.” You nod anyway, hoping at least one of you believe it.

“Go home, Luke. She…I still need you. I’m always gonna.”

He’s already got Backbiter in hand and one foot through time when he looks back at you. Your voice sounds a lot like how it does when you tell him you love him. Luke wonders how long it’s been since you did. Your bedroom door opens with a bang and some laughter.

“Hey troublemaker, you left the dryer on! All your clothes are gonna shrink,” Jo grins, peeking her head through the doorway of your room and she’s looking at you in your graduation gown standing there alone.

“Were you on the phone? Who were you talking to?”

It’s quiet in the apartment again. Your fingernails make indents in your palms, bunching up into fists before you let go. A sad smile crosses your face as you let the settling wind kiss your cheeks, before reality kicks in and everything settles back to how it was before.

“Just someone I used to know.”

—

“And no one can ever figure out what you want, and you won’t tell them, and you realize the one person in the world who loves you isn’t the one you thought it would be, and you don’t trust him to love you in a way you would enjoy.” -Richard Siken

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?)

1/2 luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko@bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r@visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri

#luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #pjo x reader #made by ma1dita ♥︎#luke castellan imagine #percy series #luke castellan angst #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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oceansprompts · 1 year

Text

text message prompts

[text] You okay?

[text] GO TO BED!

[text] hey you better be alive in there

[text] SOS save me please holy shit

[text] call me this date is going so bad

[text] I have way too much shit to do.

[text] Honestly I'm really worried about you.

[text] Why are you trending on Twitter?

[text] Please let me come over and pet your (pet).

[text] We are in the same building, you could come talk to me.

[text] It's not going to work out.

[text] This is a terrible idea.

[text] people have fetishes

[text] They really do crucify anyone these days huh

[text] I don't know why but that really means me want to stab you

[text] That movie was awful.

[text] For the love of god please help me

[text] I fucked up. I fucked up really bad.

[text] I'm blocking you.

[text] YOU ONE BRAINCELLED BITCH

[text] I regret swiping right.

[text] Everyone lies on their dating profiles.

[text] That absolutely can't be an actual picture of you.

[text] This forced open my third eye and I saw the devil

[text] I'm like a child in line for the newest fucked up disney ride

[text] That's just all fucking sorts of fucked up

[text] Why are we here? To suffer? Every other day I get messages that cause pain

[text] In the department of old man fucking, we've got you beat.

[text] have you gotten any work done?

[text] I am beyond shame, try again

[text] You left your left your underwear at my place.

[text] Don't you dare put this on Facebook.

[text] My brother in Christ you're being haunted

[text] I want to wring you like a wet towel and slap you against a wall

[text] The mind is weak but the body is funky

[text] I'm a zombie the law can't stop me.

[text] Jealous of my massive honkers

[text] We left you to die to play minecraft

[text] She would never ever take away one of these stupid fucking hats

[text] I puked all over the Uber driver's backseat.

[text] I just took a screenshot of that and posted it to Reddit

[text] You said you'd be right back and it's been months.

[text] Can't we talk about this face to face?

[text] Yeah, you'll come learn I just have a thing for milk

[text] Why did you like one of my pics from 2014?

[text] Now's as good a time as any to exchange nudes.

[text] Why would you send me an eggplant emoji?

[text] I write five paragraphs, pouring my heart out, and all you reply with is k?!

[text] Who would dare to lie on the internet?

[text] When I die, please delete all my shit off the internet

[text] He's so hot, I briefly started texting like a straight person

[text] And because I'm god and I've decided that; no, in fact, I'm not done.

[text] I know you love bloopy reggae jams, now is not the time.

[text] You better not be standing catatonic in your room again.

[text] God has abandoned his children but unfortunately for you I pay child support and I will smite thee.

[text]: My neighbor just told me he can fix my water heater for 50 bucks. I’m skeptical.

[text]: Do you have any idea how much it costs to buy apples? I paid 10 dollars for 6.

[text]: I mean, I wouldn’t say I have a problem with buying Squishmallows..

[text]: Hey, so you know how you told me no dog? *sends pic* I don’t do well with no’s.

[text] Stuart Little is a bitch and Remy could take him any day.

[text]: My roommate just said that Lola Bunny is hot. I’m moving out.

[text]: Hey I posted that vid of you drunk, singing Ariana Grande, wearing all black and people said not to do it again. Sorry.

[text]: Do you think the price is ever right? Like, I feel like it’s not.

[text]: I booped your nose. Boop the last five people you texted or–nothing happens really.

[text]: I’m actually in the ER and it’s a long story that involves Best Day Ever from spongebob.

[text]: I fucking hate you–wait you’re not my ex. Who are you?

[text]: You ever ask yourself if birds see a bee and just go ‘wow a bee’? im high.

[text]: sometimes all i think about is–sour patch kids. bet you thought it was you.

[text]: I love you—not as much as I love my dog. But still a lot!

[text]: I found a cat on the way home and now it’s mine. But it hates my guts so this should be fun.

[text]: I have questions about the marvel cinematic universe…how long do you have?

[text]: why do donald duck and winnie the pooh not have to wear pants but other people do?

[text]: Hey you know that show floor is lava? I may have turned the apartment into that..this isn’t a joke, btw. the floor is sticky.

[text]: I bought too much soap off etsy and now I don’t know what to do with it…I smell like Captain America.

[text]: On a scale of one to ten, how many drinks would you need to sleep with me? This isn’t a tiktok trend…or it is.

#rp sentence meme #roleplay memes #sentence meme #sentence starters #text message prompts

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fangweaver2099 · 2 months

Text

𝐅 𝐀 𝐖 𝐍 𝐓 𝐄 𝐄 𝐓 𝐇 - Prologue pt 2

MINORS DNI 18+ FIC

You’ve always liked the idea of having a dominant partner - BDSM was something you’ve read about, watched videos about.

Something you made Pinterest boards and aesthetic tumblr posts about when you were 18 and curious, the idea always sounded nice, but you’ve never done it in practice, not really. Sure you bought fuzzy handcuffs at a gag gift store once, but that didn’t really count.

You’re still a virgin.

You’ve always had that chronically awkward, workaholic type of vibe that made typical dating near impossible at worst and frustrating at best. Normal dating apps have proven fruitless and agitating. So poor curious little you talked yourself into making a fetlife account. You weren’t looking for true love, but at least you could get laid.

DM Request from: 10:13 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Hello, Fawn.”

College was for new experiences after all.

CW: BDSM heavy/centric fic. Safe, Sane & Consensual. Miguel is your professor, but you both don't know that. Age Gap (Y/N is 23, Miguel is mid 30's)

TAG: @slut4oscarissac23

PART 1 - PART 3

It’s been a week since you met Web. You’ve gotten into the routine he provided after you confirmed he expected you to start instantly. Thankfully, your summer job is walkable and makes the whole hour of exercise he’d demanded - so it isn’t much of a change in routine.

He isn’t pleased that your idea of meals is usually whatever frozen nuggets you have in the fridge or whatever you and your roommates decide to swing by to, but there’s only so much you can do on a college budget, and he begrudgingly accepts that fact after some discussion.

You wake with a groan, still entangled in your gray duvet. You had opted for a daybed for your tiny room and it means you often sleep with your nose touching the wall and your limbs curled close to you, fetal position.

For a long moment, you consider heading back to bed. Your hands search down your body and across your bed for the phone. You pull the damn thing out from under your hip and flip it over in your hand.

Web asks you to download something called ‘Telegram’ - it doesn’t log pictures or anything for that matter, according to him. You find you even have a few contacts saved that used it. You discover your cousin is a furry, but you aren’t going to tell him that.

Web’s icon is what you’d expect, really - a red web. His number is fake - surprising to exactly nobody. He was clearly more tech savvy than you. When you had visualized an ideal dominant - Web checked too many boxes. At first you considered ghosting him, anxiety ate you up.

But you also crave his attention - maybe you’re more lonely than you thought. You find yourself waiting for his messages and bouncing at the attention. You’ve developed a habit of staying up too late waiting to see if he’ll pop back online again.

So you click open your phone, ignoring Facebook, Instagram, whatever, and click open the small blue icon to Telegram.

9:13 AM - WebRigger2099 - “Good Morning.”

“ I slept in… Sorry. Just saw this. Morning. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:15 PM

1:19 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Slept in until 1pm? Up late?��

“ Roommates were loud, so I watched netflix. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:19 PM

1:19 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Maybe when summer is over you’ll be able to get proper sleep at my place.”

“ That sounds nice. We’ll have to see. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:19 PM

1:20 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I can set up a dog bed at the foot of mine. I’d make sure you were comfortable, but you’d have to wake me to go to the bathroom. The leash would keep you bound to bed.”

“ And here I thought we’d snuggle. :p ” - Fawnteeth - 1:20 PM

1:20 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Yes, but you have to earn the bed for sleeping at night. Incentives keep you from growing complacent.”

“ You really do know what you’re doing. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:21 PM

“ Any free time today? ” - Fawnteeth - 1:21 PM

1:21 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I work from home during the summer and practically make my own hours. It’s a quiet day.”

“ Can I ask what you do? ” - Fawnteeth - 1:21 PM

1:21 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Yes, but I won’t answer.”

“ Mysterious. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:22 PM

1:22 PM - WebRigger2099 - “If you guess correct you might earn a treat, pup.”

“ How many tries do I get? ” - Fawnteeth - 1:22 PM

1:22 PM - WebRigger2099 - “We’ll say three.”

“ Banker? ” - Fawnteeth - 1:22 PM

1:22 PM - WebRigger2099 - “No. Every time you get it incorrect, you’ll answer a question of mine, how’s that sound?”

“ That's not very fair. :c ” - Fawnteeth - 1:23 PM

1:23 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I never said it would be.”

“ Fine. Ask away. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:23 PM

1:23 PM - WebRigger2099 - “When was the last time you touched yourself, Fawn?”

“ Oh. These kind of questions. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:23 PM

1:23 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Is that a complaint I hear?”

“ No. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:23 PM

1:23 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Well?”

“ The night after we spoke the first time. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:23 PM

1:23 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Good girl. Excited you, did I?”

“ Yes, sir. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:24 PM

1:24 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Good girl. You remembered the rule. No ‘maybe’s, only ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

“ I’m trying my best. It’s not like it’s fun being a brat at the start. I gotta learn your buttons. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:24 PM

1:24 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You must be a glutton for punishment. Did you see the cane marks I left on some of the girls in my photo album?”

“ I did. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:24 PM

1:24 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Did it excite you, Fawn?”

You huff, rolling onto your other side on the bed.

“ ...Yes. When do I get to guess again? >:c ” - Fawnteeth - 1:24 PM

1:24 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I never said you couldn’t. You’re just answering free questions.”

“ Mean. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:24 PM

1:24 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Exceptionally. You have to earn ‘nice’.”

“ I don’t know why I find you so charming. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:24 PM

“ Librarian? ” - Fawnteeth - 1:24 PM

1:24 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Wrong. And many submissives find comfort in pain and punishment.”

“ you seem like the librarian type. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:25 PM

1:25 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Because you think I’d spank you with a ruler if you made too much noise?”

“ I don’t think a ruler would hurt very much. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:25 PM

1:25 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You haven’t had one break on your skin then. I’ve left bruises with them before.”

“ I sure haven’t. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:25 PM

1:25 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I’ll have to bring one someday, then. And a crop. Anything else you’d like me to mark you with?”

“ Let me think about it. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:25 PM

“ Personal trainer? You have the body for it. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:25 PM

1:25 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Isn’t that what I’m doing to you? It doesn’t pay very well, but I don’t have any complaints about the benefits so far.”

“ I mean. I guess? You haven’t asked me to work out, plus I hear the right clients means you could make bank. So you are a personal trainer? ” - Fawnteeth - 1:26 PM

1:26 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I did tell you to exercise an hour a day. Did you forget?”

“ Not completely. I walk. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:26 PM

1:26 PM - WebRigger2099 - “No, I’m not a personal trainer. Ready for my last two questions?”

“ Yes. :c I thought I was right… ” - Fawnteeth - 1:26 PM

1:26 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Afraid not.”

1:26 PM - WebRigger2099 - “When you masturbated the night we first spoke, what did you imagine?”

“ A bit of what you could look like. Putting myself into one of your photos. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:27 PM

1:27 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Do you like the idea of me showing you off for everyone to see? Your face covered of course, like the rest.”

“ I sure don’t mind the idea. Do most girls say no? I see you haven’t taken any photos in like 7 years. ” - Fawnteeth - 11:27 PM

1:27 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I’ve been busy. Started again recently.”

“ Ohhh. I see. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:27 PM

1:27 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Would you like to practice?”

“ Practice? ” - Fawnteeth - 1:27 PM

1:27 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Posing for my photos.”

“ Can I see you too? ” - Fawnteeth - 1:27 PM

1:27 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Fair is fair.”

“ Your profile pic leaves most to the imagination. Well. Below the belt, I guess. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:27 PM

1:27 PM - WebRigger2099 - “That’s what you want to see, is it? You’ll need to earn it.”

“ Call me curious. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:27 PM

1:27 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You’ll need to follow my instructions for posing, Fawn. Listening?”

“ Yes. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:28 PM

1:28 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You’ll take a picture of every step to prove you’re following along. Understood?”

“ Okay. Let me lock my door. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:28 PM

You need a gameplan. Checking for your roommates, you pop your head out of your door, listening hard. You can hear your roommate Kore’s music - some pop medley that she’s sewing to. Good.

You don’t hear anyone else, so everybody else must be out. You… try not to think about what Taylor or Aurora could be up to.

Sticking your head back in, you close the door. moving to click the lock shut. You check the door, only for it to open with the slightest tug. Glancing at the lock, you frown, flicking it on and off to see no little ‘lock’ mechanism come out.

Shit… You fucking hate your landlord.

You glance around your room - you are not doing this with your door unlocked. You grew up with half a dozen siblings and strict parents - you know how to improvise. Grabbing the circular chair piled with clothes, you push it to the door and force the metal under your door knob. Hands on your hips, you nod at the handiwork.

Good enough.

Snatching up your phone, you frown, kicking away most of your discarded clothes and random papers.You really need to clean your room, but you decide you’d do it later.

Right now, you have other priorities.

Said priority seems to know just when you sit down, the telegram notification lighting up your screen as if you’ve summoned him by pure thought alone. Think of the devil…

1:46 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Having trouble?”

“ No. All good now. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:46 PM

1:46 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Get a marker.”

You frown, then glance at your backpack. You trot over and search through it, tossing a few pens and your pencil case in frustration.

In the end you find a single purple sharpie.

You click open your phone.

“ Does the color matter? ” - Fawnteeth - 1:46 PM

1:46 PM - WebRigger2099 - “No. It just needs to be visible on your skin.”

“ Kay. Got it then. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:46 PM

1:46 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Take your clothes off. Bra and panties can stay on.”

You glance up at your phone and stare at yourself in the mirror.

Your hair is a bit of a mess - that’s fine.

You glance at your sleep shirt, it’s old and the hem is frayed on the sleeves, the little bunny screen printed onto it is mostly faded. You knew you weren’t wearing a bra, so you glanced around your room till you spotted one laying limply on the floor. Tossing off your top and discarding it wherever it landed.

Pulling the bra on, you take a deep breath, glancing at yourself again in the mirror. You feel yourself hesitating. You’ve taken nudes before, what about this makes it different?

Web makes it different. Him telling you to take these for him makes it different. You slip off your shorts and realize you’re wet. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Still, your phone is in your hand again, you flick it open and type away.

“Kay.” - Fawnteeth - 1:50 PM

1:50 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Where is my proof, Fawn? I told you to take pictures. Are you trying to get punished?”

You bite your lip.

“ No. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:50 PM

You need your face mask - the one you wore in all your photos is easy to find. You wrap the thing around your nose and mouth. You know you’re going to crop out your face anyway, but it makes you feel better.

Like you’re pretending to be someone else. You supposed you aren’t you anymore - you’re Fawn. Fawn doesn’t struggle with nudes. Fawn takes great nudes.

You glance at yourself in the mirror. You end up trying a few poses, trying to not put emphasis on your long legs or stomach rolls. You settle on your knees - back slightly arched, one hand splayed on your thigh. Not too lewd.

You snap the photo, shifting your body a bit as you take another. The routine continues a few more times before you pause to look at the photos.

You decide the second one is the best. You move to crop as much of the background out as you can, including your face. Wisps of your hair remain around your neck but that’s fine. Whatever. Good enough.

You hesitate for a moment, finger lingering on the send button.

What if he doesn’t like it? What if he decides he doesn’t like you? You cringe at the thought. You send the photo and close your phone instantly.

[photo] - Fawnteeth - 1:55 PM

You hear it ping and slowly click the screen back on.

1:52 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Good girl. Has anyone told you you’re beautiful today, Fawn?”

You blush.

“ Now someone has. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:52 PM

1:52 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Write it on yourself. We wouldn’t want you to forget if I’m busy and can’t tell you tomorrow morning.”

“ Okay. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:55 PM

You take a deep breath, grabbing the purple sharpie from beside your knee. Biting down on the cap, you frown, glancing over the expanse of skin thoughtfully.

How the hell do you write backwards…. You’ll flip the image before you send it.

It’s embarrassing how long you pause, you stare at the pen and your skin. You come to the sad realization this is the first time a man has called you beautiful like… ever.

You’re smart enough to realize he’s trying to build you up. God, he knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

You settle with scribbling the world carefully onto your right thigh. You don’t use the mirror for the photo this time, taking it directly.

[photo] - Fawnteeth - 1:55 PM

1:55 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Again.”

You consider asking him where. After considering for a moment, you scribble ‘beautiful’ on your other thigh. It’s not huge and written towards your knee, but it’s readable.

[photo] - Fawnteeth - 1:56 PM

1:56 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Keep going.”

You wonder where - not your thighs again you decide. After some effort you manage to scribble it carefully above your panty waistband, crawling from your hip and across your stomach.

This time you have to use the mirror. You settle back into that kneeling pose and take a few shots.

You pick the favorite, flipping it so the text can actually be read. You crop it again, cutting off your shoulders and part of your arm.

[photo] - Fawnteeth - 1:57 PM

1:57 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Good. That’s enough.”

“ Here I expected something lewd. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:57 PM

1:57 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Now pull your panties to the side and show me your pussy.”

Your cunt throbs, making your thighs snap together. He isn’t even talking, it it’s words on a fucking screen . It’s unfair how effortlessly arousing Web is.

You could say no. You don’t think he’d be upset if you said no. He had spoken a dozen times over about consent in the past week, reaffirming to you that if you thought it was too much that you were welcome to say so. All it took was you typing yellow or red.

You don’t.

“ Mkay. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:58 PM

You end up sitting back on your ass, legs apart. You see the dark mark on your panties in between your legs. You almost shutter pulling the cloth aside. You feel your slickness on your fingers and wipe it away with your inner thigh.

You see yourself through your phone, legs spread and the hints of the words written on your thighs make you freeze.

You settle with closing your eyes to take the picture. You don’t crop it this time - but your face is still missing from the shot regardless. Just a hint of the black cloth over your chin. Your face is warm both from your cheeks and your breath now.

You click send and wait patiently for his reply.

[photo] - Fawnteeth - 1:58 PM

It comes instantly.

1:58 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Now shove the marker inside.”

Your eyes widen.

1:58 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Take a picture so I can see all the writing and the marker inside you.”

You grab the top of the marker and cap it, flipping it in your fingers.

“ I’ll try. ” - Fawnteeth - 1:59 PM

The marker is cold. You cringe as you press it against your overheated pussy, flinching as you run it along your opening. After a deep breath you slip it into your opening. You couldn’t exactly feel it - it was more like your fingers.

You’ve never bought a toy, knowing your roommates would rip the package open to see what you ordered, nosy as they are, and it’s not like you could order it to your childhood home. There are some things even you know better than to do.

Slowly, you kneel again, your hips up in the air as you see the small white and purple thing in between your thighs.

The last time you took a nude was before college. You chickened out of sending it to your boyfriend at the time. Now you’re just thankful you never got to second base with him.

You take the picture, eyes closed again. Like that somehow made what you were doing more modest and less slutty.

Is it slutty? It’s not like you’re sending it to anyone but Web. But also… who is Web?

[photo] - Fawnteeth - 2:02 PM

2:03 PM - WebRigger2099 - “ Good girl. I’m posting this as an album on my page for everyone to see. I’ll blur the background for your privacy, and you already have your mask on.”

“ I thought this was supposed to be practice? :’c ” - Fawnteeth - 2:03 PM

You slip the marker from yourself and put your panties back on correctly. You cringe at the cold wetness.

2:03 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I find it best to practice by doing.”

“ I guess that makes sense. It’s the first time I’ve sent that to anyone on here. Can you keep the one with my crotch in it private? ” - Fawnteeth - 2:03 PM

2:03 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You did good. Lighting and the perfect background are nice, but it's not realistic. Not everyone has perfectly angled windows and lamps to make shots. This is raw. Vulnerable. And yes, I can keep those two private.”

“ Thanks. My room is kinda a mess… You’re nice, Web. ” - Fawnteeth - 2:03 PM

2:03 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Just respectful, and not that much. You have low bars, Fawn. Careful someone doesn’t take advantage of them.”

“ You haven’t. ” - Fawnteeth - 2:03 PM

2:03 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You just shoved a marker up your cunt for me without even questioning it.”

“ I think you’d be fine if I had said no. When do I get to see it? ” - Fawnteeth - 2:04 PM

2:04 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I suppose you earned it.”

His hands are huge, his chest is broad and clearly the same guy in the photo… and…

Your eyes widen at his dick. The sweatpants bulge in his profile pic is a fucking beast. You had asked him how long it was before, shyly, and he said eight inches. Sheepishly, you told yourself you’d fetch a ruler to see what that would be like in person.

You’d been too nervous to follow through.

He’s wide, too, his log-like member swollen with arousal. The dark brown skin fades to a milder tan as your eyes finally leave his bulge, trailing up the muscular torso. You swear you see a bead of sweat running down his abs, but you realize that it's yours .

You’re sweating, forehead moist, wiping away the rest with a glide of the back of your hand.

Like all the pictures he had of himself in his gallery, the picture cuts off at the beginning of his neck. This one also cuts off near the knees at the bottom.

“ Jesus christ. ” - Fawnteeth - 2:07 PM

“ Did I do that?. ” - Fawnteeth - 2:07 PM

2:07 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Would you be proud of yourself if you did?”

“ I’d feel special. ” - Fawnteeth - 2:07 PM

2:08 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You’re special, Fawn. Do you know what I would do if you were in front of me right now?”

You sink on your thighs as his words. ‘You’re special’ makes you almost tear up. You’re absolutely charmed by him.

Slowly, you lay on the floor, hovering your phone above your face. It’s hard not to grin, chewing your lip red as you think over your reply.

“ No, can you tell me? ” - Fawnteeth - 2:08 PM

You feel accomplished at that. You’re being so smooth and cool.

You wait patiently, crossing your legs and bouncing one of them in the air.

He doesn’t reply. You feel sweat gathering at the back of your neck. You move from lounging casually to sat cross legged before your mirror. You debate sending another message.

You do not send another message - that would make you look desperate, and you are definitely not desperate. That has to be a massive turnoff anyways - after all, he knows what he’s doing, he’s incredibly attractive and hung. He’s probably so sure of himself. Pestering him would just annoy him.

It isn’t even five minutes you wait before you decide to do anything but stare at your phone. You change into loose pajama pants and toss your shamefully wet panties into the laundry hamper.

You’re halfway through cleaning your room when you hear it.

Your phone pings and, embarrassingly, you drop the bra you were holding to rush for your bed. Feeling like a kid on christmas, your fingers shake as you punch in your passcode and pull up the notification.

2:15 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I’m sorry. I have to go for a few hours.”

Your stomach sinks. You think you might be sick.

“ Oh. Okay. ” - Fawnteeth - 2:15 PM

2:15 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I can message you again tonight after 8.”

“ I’ll hold you to that. ” - Fawnteeth - 2:15 PM

Okay. It isn’t your fault, right? Something’s very clearly up with his life.

Frowning, you force yourself take a deep breath to calm yourself.

You investigate his picture, his bedroom is neat and simple. It’s clearly not a hotel room - it’s got some personal cozy touches and you can see some brick outside the window behind his shoulder. The sheets are messy and the blankets are mismatched. He’s probably just some normal guy, maybe he works in an office and just likes his body.

And… bondage.

Y’know - average weird secret pervert things. Hopefully he isn’t married . You didn’t see a ring on either of his hands or even an indent from one he might have taken off for the photos.

Your eyes eventually drift to the marker discarded on your floor, the end still slick. If he was some kind of weird pervert, what does that just make you?

You look down at your stomach and the small ‘beautiful’ written carefully on it. You need to take a shower and get this off.

You sneak through the house with a change of clothes and your nice shampoo you don’t share with anyone. Your house has one bathroom with a half decent shower, technically being a 2 ½ bath house.

You don’t like the other bathroom that Kore and Babette mostly use. It only has a bathtub - the shower head doesn’t work.

You hop in the shower and are horrified at your discovery. It’s not coming off. The writing doesn’t come off with the dove soap or Aurora’s washing puff. Not even scratching it with your nails does anything but vaguely fade it.

Great.

You try your best to not freak out. You’ll dress like it’s winter until you can wash it off your skin. You should have asked Web if you should use a sharpie.

You wash your hair and dry off the best you can. Thankfully, your loose shorts and loose t-shirt hide the marks as long as you don't let the shorts ride up your thighs too much.

You return to your room and move your chair back into its place. You don’t have work today and you can hear the movement that told you one of your roomies had just gotten home.

Your stomach growls.

You’re hungry - three meals, you remind yourself, Web always somewhere close to the front of your mind. Technically this would your first meal, you did just wake up and… fuck. Anxiously, you tug down your pajama shorts. Lesson learned, that shit doesn’t come off in the shower. You make a note to ask Web for a marker to get that does wash off.

You find yourself questioning why some random faceless man on the internet is the motivation you have to take care of yourself. Shaking away the thought, you explore the tiny freezer stuffed with mostly frozen chicken nuggets. You frown, debating ordering takeout again. You settle on boiling noodles and smothering them in pesto and salt.

You head out to the living room - the room is eternally cluttered like the rest of your college house. The ceiling light doesn’t work, so you and your roomies had hung fairy lights everywhere. The drapes are pulled back to let light in - the lesbian flag with markiplier’s face on it in full display to the whole neighborhood. Four couches meant you had plenty of space to sit, falling in the far corner from the only other person in the room - Aurora.

The bubbly blonde is chomping away at her food, phone propped up on the stained coffee table as some sort of video plays. You eat while listening to something about a person named ‘illuminaughty’.

Aurora looked up from her bowl of fruit loops from the couch, she smiled through a mouthful, cheeks as stuffed as a chipmunk. "Mornin'!" she grinned, never one for table manners.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her arm, "You slept in late."

Her eyes looked you up and down, a perfectly tweezed eyebrow raising to look at your leg. "Were you drawing on yourself?"

You looked down, a purple "L" in sharpie just barely poking out of your shorts. You feel a chill go down your spine. You are fucking mortified.

"Uh...yeah," you say quickly, your brain scrambling for a moment to make up some lie. You couldn't just confess that you'd written on yourself and shoved the marker up your pussy just because a man you didn't even know the name of told you too. "Got bored last night, y'know."

Aurora shrugs, thankfully dropping the subject as she turns her attention back to her bowl of sugar cereal.

You promptly get, desperately pretending that she didn’t notice your sexy leg writing, and power walk to your bedroom. It takes effort to not slam the door.

You stay in your room for the rest of the day because you sure as fuck aren’t hanging around your roomies now. Aurora would question you again - it’s Aurora, and you can’t exactly explain away wearing long pants in June.

So you break out your laptop and watch Delicious in Dungeon. You always have a habit of marathoning random shows on Netflix and it passes the time better than staring at the wall, waiting for Web to message you.

You got popcorn as a snack, maybe you’d eat weird monster food too. Senshi does make it look delicious. You chuckle, realizing the name matches.

Hours passed and the sun is barely setting before you consider taking a nap.

8:00 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Hello Fawn.”

You sit up and snatch your phone up at the ping.

“ Hey. Everything good? ” - Fawnteeth - 8:00 PM

8:00 PM - WebRigger2099 - “It’s fine, just a sudden schedule change. Things moved up quicker than I expected, but I should be done for the night.”

“ Okay. Well… You never answered my question, Web. ” - Fawnteeth - 8:01 PM

“ Also. How do I get sharpie off my skin. ” - Fawnteeth - 8:01 PM

8:01 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Oh Fawn…”

“ I thought I could scrub it off, if I’m honest. I figured… you.. might… know… ” - Fawnteeth - 8:02 PM

8:02 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I do, but maybe I should let you keep it on until it fades normally. A lesson to be more careful. Better this than something more serious.”

“ I should have figured as much. ” - Fawnteeth - 8:02 PM

8:03 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I’m just glad you didn’t shove it deeper. You can’t put things inside without a flare, it’ll get stuck. I didn’t realize I needed to explain things like that to you, but I know better now.”

“ I know that. ” - Fawnteeth - 8:03 PM

8:03 PM - WebRigger2099 - “But not that permanent markers are hard to remove.”

“ Yes. ” - Fawnteeth - 8:03 PM

8:03 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Fawn you are delightfully foolish.”

“ I’m glad you enjoy my suffering. ” - Fawnteeth - 8:03 PM

8:03 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I enjoy your happiness too.”

“ You’re good with words. ” - Fawnteeth - 8:03 PM

8:03 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Better with my hands, but you’ll learn that later.”

“ I’ll make sure to keep that in mind. ” - Fawnteeth - 8:04 PM

“ Well. Now that I’ve made myself a fool, I hope I haven’t turned you off. ” - Fawnteeth - 8:04 PM

8:04 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Hardly. I believe we left off before at ‘what I would do to you if I was there’.”

“ Thank you for mentioning it so.. I didn’t have to bring it up again. I’m still quite curious. ” - Fawnteeth - 8:04 PM

8:04 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You remember the picture I sent you?”

“ I do. ” - Fawnteeth - 8:04 PM

8:04 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I want you to order something. I’ll pay, naturally, but I figure it would be more comfortable if I didn’t know your address so quickly.”

“ Yeah. I think that would take some time. A toy? ” - Fawnteeth - 8:04 PM

8:05 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I have a list. Run away with the money and you won’t hear my answer.”

“ I won’t. But are you sure you want to invest anything in me yet? ” - Fawnteeth - 8:05 PM

8:05 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You’ve invested at least 3 days in me with that marker.”

“ True enough. ” - Fawnteeth - 8:05 PM

8:06 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I’m comfortable financially. This isn’t the hit it might be for a girl your age. You’ve earned some nice things.”

“ Oh. I see. Thank you. ” - Fawnteeth - 8:06 PM

8:06 PM - WebRigger2099 - “No using them without my permission, understood?”

“ Understood, sir. ” - Fawnteeth - 8:06 PM

He sends you the link to an adult website. Your cheeks flush as your screen is filled with all sorts of sex toys and other lewd imagery. Your eyes flicker to your door for a moment, anxiety simmering low in your belly as the thought of someone walking into your room and seeing what you were looking at flashes through your mind. You bite your lip, feeling like a nervous teenager under your father’s roof once again.

You notice that the cart has been pre filled with a number of items: A 6 inch silicone dildo; a Lovense egg vibrator; nipple clamps; a rabbit vibrator; a bottle of water-based lube; and a set of black lingerie that matches your face mask.

Your eyes linger on the cart total. That’s more than your paycheck .

“ You sure? ” - Fawnteeth - 8:09 PM

8:09 PM - WebRigger2099 - “If I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have sent you the link. There is a gift card code: HGJ-8734-KHW. It’ll cover the expenses and leave a little extra for you to browse and select one or two items that catch your interest.”

“ Okay. Thank you. ” - Fawnteeth - 8:09 PM

8:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You’re welcome, Fawn. I take care of my pets.”

#miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #into the spider verse #miguel o'hara smut

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lady-raziel · 2 months

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alright. i've made my acknowledgement of this situation being bad-- and it is. i think understanding that the narrative presented by today's events is the most important thing to recognize for what's coming next.

there is a concept called "priming" which plays heavily into the psychological process of why certain political narratives work. essentially, by building a conceptual association between certain ideas over time, and drip-feeding specific narratives slowly and repeatedly, it means that when a trigger event related to the ideological narrative occurs all those concepts get "activated." It can be thought of as a little like word-association: saying "cat" and having someone think "dog," or "sky" and "blue" for example. Priming is the process of creating mental pathways between ideas even for things that were not originally connected so that the same sort of thing happens-- making people think of another concept or a whole basket of concepts upon getting the mental trigger.

the most concrete reason why an attempt on donald trump's life creates a very bad situation is that all this time republicans have been priming their supporters with very specific narratives, regardless of the actual truth or evidence for such narratives. they have long been casting those on the left as violent, have blamed the left for social unrest, have blamed the left for attacking an "innocent" trump with criminal convictions, have said that trump is a victim just like jesus. the people who are saying that the right-wing was already making all the accusations they are going to make in masse in the next few days are right-- that is WHY THIS IS IMPORTANT.

it is because these are not new accusations and have been PRIMED into people's brains over and over that this is dangerous.

The right wing has been primed to see Trump= victim of untrustworthy political opponents prone to violence= Biden/democrats/left-wing responsible.

And because that association is already there, it is very, very hard to untangle regardless of any facts. Priming is very powerful at any point in the political process. But it can be weaponized very easily during campaigns, particularly against those who don't pay close attention to the political process.

Those people are the people at stake here. Those people are the ones vulnerable to picking up on democratic doubt about Biden and primed narratives about the supposed danger of the left-wing.

So here is my honest call to action for you, online person who may be very upset and scared about the state of things. I am too. It is important to understand that things are bad and sit with that for a little bit. But here is what I'd like you to try to do.

When you meet people out there in the world who might be susceptible to these malicious primed narratives, just talk to them. The greatest way to counteract priming is to give people personal experience of someone presenting other information. If you have a relative on Facebook who shares posts without considering the source, this is a good example. Just actively be the contrary evidence to the weaponized narratives and help them understand the larger picture.

Personal experiences can overtake primed information--so the best thing to do right now to help these people understand the reality and the stakes is to do the most grassroots form of activism and have the conversation with them that counteracts the priming. When they receive personal experience with an alternative viewpoint, it can start to at the very least cast doubt on the instant mental connections they might have made otherwise.

Here are three ideas of what to say:

Fact-check misinformation. If they're repeating something false, provide the truth as specifically as you can.

Highlight the policy aims of a second Trump administration-- and why these are the greatest threat.

Personal anecdotes that highlight how the narrative being told is false-- share with examples why the things the right-wing is saying isn't true based on your own experiences or those you know, as well as how a second Trump term might hurt you or those you know.

You already know to vote. I don't need to tell you that. But I think convincing other people you might know who could fall victim to the narratives of the larger situation and don't know what's really going on of the importance of using THEIR votes wisely is perhaps the truly important action right now.

#us politics #politics tw

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sprinkler-ashes · 1 year

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gold rush // aaron hotchner x reader

aaron hotchner x fem!reader

description: in which aaron hotchner hates social media – unless it’s yours. inspired by gold rush by taylor swift.

words: 2.2k

warnings: hotch is down bad, curse words, a bit of pining and jealousy

a/n: i love the idea of the bau being active on social media + hotch having no idea what any online terms mean lmao anyways i just really like this little fic. happy reading!!

i don’t like slow motion, double vision in rose blush

i don't like that falling feels like flying ‘til the bone crush

everybody wants you

but i don’t like a gold rush

Aaron Hotchner is not a fan of social media.

Maybe it’s because of his job. He knows that posting too much information online could sometimes lead to bad situations because there are always people lurking – it’s impossible to know who, exactly, is watching online. Or maybe it’s because he simply didn’t grow up with it. It didn’t really matter – he just knows he does not like using it.

Penelope had shown him quite a bit of Twitter after several BAU cases started trending while the cases were actively going on, even somehow agreeing to let her set him up an account. Aaron didn’t really want an account, but it was almost impossible to say no to Penelope Garcia who Aaron genuinely liked a lot.

Facebook was another one that he had. He didn’t even have a profile picture and only harbored a small amount of friends – entirely family. The site was strictly used to keep up with Jessica since she was an avid Facebook user. If he couldn’t get a hold of her through her phone, he would send her a message on Facebook’s messaging platform, Messenger. She typically responded that way.

The last social media account Aaron had was a new one. Or, well, new-ish. It had just been created a little over a month ago. He didn’t want the account, but Penelope wasn’t the one who asked him to get an account that time.

It was you. And saying no to you was even harder than saying no to Penelope.

A group photo was taken at Rossi’s last month during a get-together after finishing a case. Penelope went straight to Instagram to post it, tagging everyone except Aaron who wasn’t shy to say he didn’t have an account. He was the only one – even Rossi had made an account.

“You’re not on Instagram?” You’d asked Aaron only moments after that.

He shook his head. “I don’t really use social media.”

You frowned like you were in deep thought before turning to him again with a smile. “We should change that.”

All it took was a good minute, maybe even less than that, and one of your signature smiles to convince him to let you help him create an Instagram profile.

He accumulated a small amount of followers since then, which he had to approve, of course, as Aaron made sure his account was set to private – mainly family, some friends, and the team. However, that was as far as it went. He was still figuring out the app, but completely forgot about his new account due to his busy life.

Except for now.

It’s a slow Friday at work – mainly just a day spent catching up on paperwork – and Aaron never really complains on days like this. Yes, it’s usually boring, but having a day without a case means he actually gets to see his son at the end of the day, so it’s a win for him.

But a slow day creates boredom, especially when he’s actually ahead on paperwork. Aaron can’t recall the last time he was this bored at work – probably because he usually has something to do – but when his eyes ghost over the time on his expensive watch, he has to resist letting out a sigh of agitation because, somehow, there are still four more hours left in the workday.

Aaron puts the pen he’s holding down and moves the file he’s in the process of reviewing. He grabs his phone from one of the drawers in his desk and turns it on. The lock screen, which is his favorite photo of Jack, lights up before he enters his passcode.

He does errand-like things at first, including responding to a couple of texts, checking his personal email, and even spending a minute, or five, on Twitter, not that he would ever admit that to Penelope.

Eyeing the colorful app with a white outline of a camera, he hesitantly opens Instagram, still not really used to it considering it’s been over a month since the last time he was on it. He waits a second for it to load up until a photo appears on his feed from JJ, who posted a picture of Henry and Will before she left for work.

jj_jareau: My two favorite guys <3

Aaron knows that the symbol on the end of her caption is supposed to represent a heart because you often send the same symbol in the BAU group chat. He’s not sure why you never use actual emoticons – he’s never asked you – but he associates the symbol with you.

Not that he’s associating hearts with you specifically. Or overanalyzing all your texts in the group chat. Of course not, it’s just because you use it often. That’s all.

When Aaron tries to scroll, he accidentally presses on your username that was showing up in the preview of the comments, sending him straight to your own Instagram page.

He’s about to click the back arrow above your profile picture that he’s assuming will take him back to his feed, but Aaron can’t stop himself from glancing over your profile. Your page is filled with photos from moments in your life that go back years.

Looking up from his phone, he can see you from his chair as the blinds in his office are currently open. You’re chatting with Spencer who’s sitting across from you, a smile on your face as you continuously glance from him and back over to your computer screen where you’re typing, making sure Spencer knows you’re still listening to whatever bizarre fact he’s probably ranting about.

Aaron looks back down to his phone. He’s never been on your page, nor have your posts ever shown up on his feed during the rare times he’s actively gone on the app. It almost feels too personal – like he’s not supposed to see the side of you he doesn’t work with.

He carefully presses on the last post you made. It’s a post from only one day ago, but you’re not in any of the seven photos you’ve posted, which makes him frown with a tinge of disappointment.

Your caption reads, September photo dump, with a couple emoticons.

Wondering what the hell a photo dump is, Aaron looks through the set of pictures again. Everything is random. They range from a sunset to a picture of a meal you must’ve eaten at some point during the month of September, which just passed, and even one of Emily’s cat.

He scrolls down to the next post from three days ago. This time, you’ve only posted one picture and luckily for him, you’re actually in it.

You’re sitting at a dinner table, head resting gently on your hand with a sweet smile while your other hand is gently holding a glass of what – Aaron brings the phone closer to his face without knowing he can actually just zoom in – appears to be champagne.

It only takes him a few seconds after admiring how you look in the photo to wonder about who’s on the other side of it.

Aaron doesn’t know who took the photo and is getting to see you smile like that, but he does know that he wishes it was him because you’re just so damn pretty.

The man is pretty sure he would quite literally melt down to the ground if you looked at him like that.

He’s attempting to push these thoughts to the back of his head as he prepares to scroll to the next post. Aaron is well aware of the fact he shouldn’t be thinking about you in any way that isn’t strictly platonic. He is your boss and even aside from that, the two of you are not only co-workers, but friends.

Friends, he reminds himself. That’s all.

But as he scrolls to the next post, every thought of friendship leaves his body.

It’s a photo taken with the flash on from exactly a week ago, last Friday night, of you, Emily, JJ, and Penelope in what appears to be a club that Aaron can’t say recognizes. You’re standing on the end, your arm snaked around Emily’s waist with your body turned towards the camera while mid-laugh.

The black dress you’re wearing hugs every inch of your body perfectly – you’re showing more skin in the photo than Aaron has ever seen out of you. He’s seen you dressed up before – even seen you in person at clubs himself – but nothing like this before. Ever.

Much needed girls’ night out, your caption says.

Aaron’s not even sure he’s still breathing when he swipes to the second, and last, picture in the post.

This time, it’s only you. You’re still in the same dress, looking at the camera with a sultry smile. You’re not in the club this time. Aaron can’t tell where you are, but that doesn’t really matter because you’re looking straight at the camera with one of the most attractive looks he’s ever seen – it almost feels like you’re looking directly at him.

prentiss_emily: Baddest bitch in the bureau

yourusername: @ emily_prentiss Only behind you ofc

Though he knows she means it in an endearing way, Aaron doesn’t want to call you a bitch, but Emily’s comment on your post technically isn’t a lie. Unfortunately, he also can't seem to figure out what "ofc" means.

A part of him feels guilty. He knows he can’t have you, yet he’s going through your Instagram right now imagining a thousand what-if scenarios, a tinge of jealousy running through his veins at the idea of you ever looking at anyone the way you’re looking at the camera in your photos.

Aaron spends so much time trying to convince himself he doesn’t feel the way he does for you because there are so many reasons why he shouldn’t have the feelings he does. He can’t think of a scenario where you can be his nor can he think of a world in which you feel the same.

So, after he looks at this photo for another couple of seconds, he’s finally going to close out the app and forget about the way you look in that dress.

He can’t get the chance to do that because the door to his office is opening abruptly, startling him to the point where he drops his phone onto his desk.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, hands fumbling to lock his phone so your Instagram will go away.

There you are, mouth open to say something until you notice him fumbling with his phone.

A sheepish look appears on your face. “Sorry, I forgot to knock.”

“It’s fine,” he says, hoping his voice is even and doesn’t scream: Hello, I just looked through your Instagram. “What do you need?” He lays his phone down – it’s finally locked – and looks up at you, trying to appear like he was actually doing something.

“Oh, I don’t need anything. Reid and I are going to try that new place that just opened up down the street for lunch. I was wondering if you wanted me to grab you something.”

“Do you have a menu?” He asks.

“Yeah, give me a second. I’ll text it to you,” you tell him.

You’re pulling your phone out of the pocket of your pants and if Aaron had been paying attention and not pretending like he was working, he would’ve seen the way you glanced up at him, back to your phone, then back to him, a giddy smile on your face.

You do as you told him you would and send him the menu. “Take your time looking over it. Just text me what you want within the next fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks. I’ll look over it in a minute.”

Aaron really does go back to work this time, his hands moving to pick up the file he moved earlier. He hears the door open and assumes you’re on your way out of the door, but you don’t leave yet.

“Oh! Before I go,” you say, your body out the door and your hand lingering on the outside knob of his office door. He looks up at you, pen in hand. “Thanks for the like on Instagram.”

Aaron thinks his heart has stopped upon hearing those words. Before he can even say anything, you shut the door, and you’re making your way back to where Spencer is still sitting.

He swallows hard, closes the file, and sets it away once again. His fingers frantically type in his passcode, and Instagram immediately pops up, still open from when he tried to turn his phone off.

To Aaron’s horror, he sees the Instagram heart that’s used to like photos filled with red and seemingly glaring at him. It was too late to unlike it now. You’d obviously already gotten the notification.

Meanwhile, as Aaron is mentally panicking, you’re whipping out your phone again to send another text. This time to Emily who is currently in a meeting.

I will never doubt you again – Operation post-a-thirst-trap worked!

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch x y/n

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localkiss · 6 months

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Chris is totally into breeding, primal play(chasing?? Idk how to word it), and size kink (manhandling manhandling manhandling omf!!). I said it!! Death island Chris got me feeling all hot n bothered 🫣oof!

"You better fucking run. Don't let me catch you, or else I'm stuffing that needy hole with my cum." And then he literally pounds you into next week. Loving the way your hole quivers around his fat cock. Pushing you into the dirt/floor, not letting you run away from him as he pushes himself further inside of you. Filling you to the hilt!!!! Will get mad if you find a way out of his grip and run. But he's obviously much bigger so he'll tackle you to the ground and resume his rough pace. Not giving you any time to readjust to his size (will apologize later about it tho). He will stuff you full and then snap your panties back on, patting your butt and carrying you back home/into the bedroom.

"Shh, baby... It's almost all the way inside.. mmh.. there you go," He presses a kiss to your forehead and watches your lips tremble before his eyes drop down to your stomach. Seeing that his cock is so big it's literally bulging out of your tummy. So hot!! Will literally put you into a mating press and just lay almost his entire weight on you. Barely leaving your hole as he thrusts into you, so focused on the way your body is so tiny underneath his. "Baby, god. You feel too good, don't think I'll ever pull out of you. Fuck." The way he has to constantly be careful because of your smaller figure (even if you aren't tiny weight wise! 😇)

Chris will definitely growl in your ear and make sure you only look at him while he fucks his cum into you. "Look at me while I fuck you. Don't be a fucking brat, I said. Look at me." Obsessed with the idea of having kids with you, even if you can't get pregnant or whatever else reason there may be, he'll always cum to the thought of having something more permanent with you. He needs stability and the thought of kids with you makes his heart swoon and makes him fight harder at his job. Possibly sending you Facebook posts about kids to hint that he honestly wants something like that with you. Even if it has to be an animal, he will take it.

Also, I think he would enjoy snuggling into your thighs or your tummy. Falling asleep to the small sounds your body makes. (I used to do this when I was younger and idk why it was so comforting😭)

Idk he's an old fart. I love him sm. Thought about this whilst playing re5 for the millionth time. (im a d rider for re 5&6. Sorry not sorry!!!) also im really slowly working on my wips so.. yes. ! Take this for rn as i try and figure out my fics …⁠ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ it's about to be 4am rn </3 buenas noches everyone.

#resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #chris redfield x reader #chris redfield #chris redfield smut #localkiss #rambling xd #rebhfun #chris resident evil #resident evil chris

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immaturityofthomasastruc · 7 months

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Hope Morphin Q&A

About a few months ago, I got a message from a surprising source: @hmrphin/Hope Morphin.

In case you don't know, Hope Morphin is a model and makeup artist who the character of Marc was based on. I also made a post about how their friendship with Astruc had ended thanks to the Rising Sun Flag controversy, which they had actually read one day. We talked a little, and they told me to message them on their Instagram to confirm that this is the real Hope.

They said they'd be down to answer some questions, I came up with a few, and I got their permission to post this on my account. So, without further ado, as Sid the Science Kid once said, let's go get some answers.

Question: When did you and Thomas first get to know each other, and how?

Answer: It was years ago, when the series premiered on TFOU. There were a lot of people complaining on twitter that the characters of the show were in 3D instead of in 2D, and I answered one of Thomas' tweets saying that characters' butts looked better in 3D rather than in 2D (yeah, I had a terrible sense of humor back then, glad I don't do that anymore) and he answered "yeah we could say that lol". Then, it became a running gag between us on the web, and we met for the first time at a french convention called Japan Tours, the 2015 one. So yeah, I think it was when I was... 20/21 years old, something like that.

Question: It's okay. We've all been cringe at some point in their lives. Did you two meet up again after the convention?

Answer: Yup. In fact, after the convention, he sent me a friend request on Facebook. Then, we chatted for a bit and he asked me if I wanted to be a model for him, and I met him for the second time during that model session.

Question: How did Thomas approach you about creating a character in his show based on you?

Answer: So, it was after I modeled for him. It happened after S1 has ended, so when we were chatting, he asked me which one was my favorite character. I answered Nathaniel, because at this time I felt quite close to this one (we love the angsty artist boy lmao). He told me that he didn't understand people liking Nath because he found it was a very empty character aha, but then he told me that they were searching for inspiration to create a boyfriend for him. He told me he wanted the persons to be happy that he got a boyfriend and that they would “stop bothering him with Nathaniel”, and as he wanted to take inspiration on someone looking androgynous he thought I was a good inspiration, so I accepted.

Question: Interesting story. Didn't know Nathaniel was so popular before Season 2. Did you have any input in the creation of Marc in terms of stuff like his design or personality?

Answer: Yeah he rather was, I remember a lot of people wanted to see more of him ehe. Not at all, I even though that he was joking on the moment, then one day he sent me Marc's characters sheet. I had the same haircut back in the day. Also, I was always wearing armor rings and I was wearing those kind of rings when I had this conversation with him, and he told me that Marc was going to have one of those as his miraculous. I was also still writing a lot back in the days, so I guess he still did took some stuff there and there in my personality to create him.

Question: You mean this design?

Answer: Yup! I was wearing only black sooo yeah the red and rainbow wasn't in my wardrobe aha.

Question: Do you know why they made the design rainbow themed?

Answer: Nah, he didn't told me :/ My guess is to make him more LGBT+ themed...

Question: Okay, sorry. Next question: What are your thoughts on Marc as a character? What do you think of his relationship with Nathaniel and his respective villain and hero forms, Reverser and Rooster Bold?

Answer: To be honest, when he first appeared, I really liked him. I thought he had a lot of potential as a character, his villain form was really cool and I really liked the ideas behind him, and I liked the relationship that he got with Nathaniel, from enemies to associates ehe. But after that... meh. There wasn't nothing much on the LGBT+ relationship with Nathaniel (we had to wait until the end of season 5 to see them hold hands... wow), and I didn't really find myself anymore in his character. I liked the design of his hero form and I liked the concept of his power, but like the other heroes that appeared during this episode, we didn't see Rooster Bold that much and I think that doesn't really make him feel appealing. I have the feeling that Marc and many other side characters could be way more develop in very cool subthemes but this is never really done in the series. Instead, now, they are just the characters getting out a whiteboard and giving terrible ideas to Marinette for her to date Adrien =="

Question: Just for fun, do you have any personal headcanons for Marc?

Answer: Well of course ehe, I have ton of those :D

Mmmh... For example, I think he is a dog person, that he's also fond of fashion such as Marinette but that he just don't have the patience to learn how to draw and how to design clothes... Also have the headcanon that him and Nath often meet at one of their places to do some little workshops together to work on their series and on tons of other projects :D

Got also tons of headcanon for future!Marc, such as him being a model for lgbt+ brands and Nath designing his clothes, I would love to see this shy patootie being at the front of the spotlight ehe, full of confidence and all :D There's tons of ideas to have with this character, I remember when I saw lots of artists drawing him with alternate clothes back in the day, such as shishitsunari or hazy (will try to find them back but it's been a while lol). I wish those clothing styles would be canon, with Marc rocking those kind of genderless clothes.

Links to fanart of Marc with different outfits: (https://www.deviantart.com/hazydayclouds/art/72918-756895643) and (https://ladyofacat.tumblr.com/post/176231424098/rises-from-the-underworld-marc-is-perfect-i-want)

Question: This one's a little tough, so if you don't want to answer, that's perfectly fine. What exactly went down before Thomas blocked you? Did you have any conversation online or in real life regarding the use of the Rising Sun Flag in "Ephemeral", or did Thomas just block you with no warning?

Answer: Honestly ? Blocked me without any warning. We were talking less and less, and, since I have affective dependancy, I had the feeling that I said / done something wrong. He was often answering only when I was defending him on social medias during these times. But we didn't have any harsh conversation from what I recall. So, I did the tweet about ephemeral, pointing out the use of the rising sun flag, and, well, maybe he had a plugin on twitter that blocked everyone using the term "flag", and maybe it blocked me automatically. The thing is : he has my number, he has my address (well, my old address now, lol). He had many ways to tell me this was a misunderstanding and that he didn't want to block me. He didn't call me, didn't send me any text after that to talk about it, so he clearly didn't want to make anything to sort out the problem. To this day, he still hasn't send me any message to talk about it. He commented on some of my facebook posts I did last year (I posted some makeups I did for my school) just saying it was cool, so... Yeah, not the type of friend I want to keep. I still have him as a friend on FB if I ever get the guts to try to send him a message to tell him everything that was wrong towards me and towards other people, but I clearly have other things to deal with lately.

Question: So he blocked you and didn't say anything else?

Answer: Yup, exactly, blocked me and didn't say anything else :/ After years of supporting him lmao.

Question: I'm really sorry to hear that. And you still haven't heard from him after all this time?

Answer: Well, apart from some comments he made on my facebook posts (I posted my makeup from my makeup school and he commented "very nice!") nothing at all. But honestly I'm not too bothered by that. I heard new stuff that he did prior and I really don't think it's a good idea that I interact with him again. I keep him in my facebook friends because maybe one day I'll send him a message to try to confront him, telling him that he had a very terrible behavior towards me and other people... But not today, I have other stuff to deal with.

Question: Despite everything that's happened between you and Thomas, do you still keep up with Miraculous Ladybug? If so, what do you think of it?

Answer:

Well, I've kept up with it because I still have lots of friends who are watching it (for example Octolady, Kogenta and Candy...), and they help me keep a little hype.

So I watched the episodes... There are some stuff that I like. There's good LGBT+ representation, and I like seeing an international known cartoon doing that (especially a french one since we have lots of far-right rising lately).

But honestly, I don't have the same hype as before. At the beginning, I was hyped because S1 looked awesome and had lots of cool fights, lots of wholesome characters and all, but the animation problems and differences are really making me bothered. Also, I have the feeling there's a lot of characters who could be more elaborated and who aren't, and... That's kinda sad, because there's a lot of topics that could be explored thanks to them and not just brushed off in one episode.

Plus, to be honest, I didn't really like the ending of S5. And I don't like the idea of it going on for seasons and seasons and seasons, milked until there's nothing more for it. The fewer the better in my mind...

I also seen the movie and didn't really liked it. Too much fanservice and didn't really made sense. The animation was nice, though.

Honestly, I love the writing team, they are wholesome people and they are doing their best for this show, but people like Thomas and Zag are the kind of people I don't want to support anymore. So yeah... To sum it up : still watching it from afar to see if nice stuff is happening, been pleased with some little stuff, displeased with a lot more, but I don't think I'll keep watching it both because I'm not that hyped up anymore and because I don't want to support anymore these 2 people. I supported Thomas too much before, was too attached to him and was a terrible person towards fans who didn't deserved it because I was too blind, so yeah, won't happen anymore.

Still, I'm glad there's still some people who are fans of Marc and who felt helped thanks to this character. I really hope he will have a better representation in the future (clear relationship with Nath, maybe even some trans / non-binary representation ?) in order to inspire young people.

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

I'd like to personally thank Hope for being willing to answer my questions, and I highly reccommend giving their Instagram a follow.

#immaturity of thomas astruc #iota #thomas astruc #thomas astruc salt #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug salt #marc anciel #rooster bold #reverser

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tanoraqui · 8 months

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Girl Genius Spontaneous Fanwork Event: #GetWellSoonKaja

Sat Feb 10 – Sun Feb 11

As you may have heard, our beloved Professor Kaja Foglio—writer, webmistress, and all-around madgirl—has been in and out of the hospital this week for emergency gallbladder surgery + some ambiguous, painful complications thereof. So we haven’t had any new content in a full week, not even a sketch…which means idk about you, but I am both:

jonesing for new Girl Genius content like an addict who, quite literally, is pretty sure I haven’t gone this long without some sort of update since I started reading in 2014, because these people are insanely good at regular delivery; and

very much wanting to send Kaja my support!

So! Do you have a Girl Genius WIP that’s nearly done, or could use an update? Do you have a plotbunny that’s lurked in the back of your brain for years, which you always meant to write but just never got around to? Or do you want to just grab a brand new idea from one of these event prompt lists I just scrounged up?

Event Week 2023

Event Week 2020...2: Celebrations

Event Week 2020!

Event Week 2019: Fics That Pass in the Night

Event Week 2018

Write, draw, record, film an interpretive dance or an homaging science experiment, or create any other fanwork your mad mind can dream up, and share it this weekend with the tag #GetWellSoonKaja

She will not, technically, legally, be able to read any fic, but it is the thought that counts.

Depending on where you’re posting and/or linking, I encourage you to also tag the Foglios directly to be sure she sees it! Sites include:

Facebook

Twitter

Instagram

TikTok

Feel free to ask me any questions, but really, the logistics on this one are minimal. You're just energetically encouraged to spend 48 hours making and posting Girl Genius content, and to tag it #GetWellSoonKaja.

ADVANCE WITH EXCITEMENT! [x]

#girl genius #GetWellSoonKaja

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jeridandridge · 3 months

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For Lovers At Night part 5

My too much gene kicked in so there’s one more chapter of this fic coming. Enjoy! Previous chapter

The text puts a knife in her chest causing her to let out a sob, hand flying to her mouth to cover it. Getting up she walks with her phone in hand out the hall through the doors breaking down only when she’s outside. Letting the sob escape her throat she doesn’t care that it’s starting to drizzle. Taking several deep breaths she tries to stop crying long enough to call you. As the dial tone rings, Melissa feels like her heart is going to fly out of her chest and not in a good way.

“Hello?” A voice on the other end sighs.

“Hon, can we talk please? I need to talk to you.” Melissa’s voice wobbles as she speaks a mile a minute.

You’d never heard her sound like this, so small and unsure of herself in the time that you’ve known her.

“There’s a lot we have to talk about apparently.” You hum. “I need a bit of time, Melissa.”

“Time?” She asks quietly, “how much time?” She’s all but pleading with you at this point and she doesn’t care how she sounds. “I can’t lose you.” She whispers.

The line goes quiet for a moment until you speak again. “I need to gather my thoughts about everything. I think you owe me that much.”

“Okay,” Melissa takes a deep breath. “Just please don’t shut me out.”

“I’d never do that. I’m not an asshole, Melissa. I’m hurt and I need time. I’ll talk to you soon.”

The call ends and Melissa brings her hands to her face holding in a scream. In a matter of hours her entire life got flipped around in a way she never thought would happen. After a few more minutes outside Melissa breathes trying to calm herself to go back to her kids. Going back inside Abbott she cleans up her desk and tucks the card you sent into her purse before the tears start flowing again.

A couple blocks over you busy yourself cleaning up the store and bar in prep for the night ahead.

“you’ve been cleaning that same spot on the bar for ten minutes.” Your friend and colleague Jacob says coming up beside you.

“I’m- yeah,” you shake your head moving down the slab of granite. “My head is in the clouds.”

“And you don’t have that dopey lovesick smile on your face.” Jacob hums, “was it too soon for flowers?” He winces.

“Considering her husband posted on her Facebook for their anniversary last month, I’m gonna say yeah too soon,” You huff tossing the rag down with a sigh.

“Oh no,” Jacob lets out slow and full of pity.

“Don’t do that, dude. I dont need that right now okay? I need to get through this weekend and figure out what the hell to say to her.”

“How did this all happen?”

Looking at your friend with a sigh you slouch forward crossing your arms.

“I looked her up because she’s so mysterious ya know? I looked and she came up, still has old pictures of him and that damn post on her wall. I don’t know what to think at this point.” You shrug completely confused and hurt.

She definitely wasn’t lying about being with women before, that much you knew and the way she looked at you felt real. She looked at you like she loved you. Talking to her on the phone and hearing the sadness in her voice made you even more conflicted.

“You have feelings for her right?” He asks leaning against the bar.

“I’d be stupid not to wouldn’t I?” you scoff.

“Theres your answer. Hear her out and talk to her when you’re ready.” Jacob advises the only way he knows how.

Thinking about your friend’s words for the rest of the day, you go through the motions at work putting on your best fake smile as you greet and chat with customers. As you cater to your patrons your phone sits on your office desk buzzing with a text chain from Melissa you don’t see until much later.

When you get up to your apartment that night you get ready for bed shuffling over to the mattress feeling almost disgusted with yourself. You slept with a married woman and you had no idea if she was telling the truth or not about how she was treated by her husband. The post you saw online rubbed you the wrong way, you were still friends with enough people from your hometown to know what a bad relationship looks like yet you still didn’t know for sure.

Laying on your back you look at the ceiling with a sigh. Now or never, you grab your phone looking at the long string of texts you have from Melissa.

I know you said you needed time but I need you to know I meant everything I said to you. About my family, work, how I feel about you.

I know I fucked up and I’m so sorry. More sorry than you’ll ever know, Amore.

Please don’t push me away.

Dropping the phone onto your nightstand you turn over curling under your blankets wanting to sleep the day away. Only sleep doesn’t come. Tossing and turning with racing thoughts of the redhead you dissect every moment carefully from when you met up until you kissed her goodbye after your date and every single moment puts a ghost of a smile on your lips. Her still calling you ‘Amore’ in the texts made this even harder for you. Closing your eyes you listen to the raindrops hit your window and thunder rumble in the pitch dark.

At the same time, Melissa is overtired and wanting desperately to sleep but she can’t stop the tears or her thoughts from keeping her body awake. She’s never felt like this before in her entire adult life and she knows it’s her fault. She should have never lied in the first place and she sure as hell should have never let Kristen Marie put her on Facebook.

when Joe posted that message on her page it didn’t effect her, she already knew it was for the show he constantly put on for her family of being a good husband when they are all aware he is anything but. What she hadn’t known was he made it public, and now the thought of losing you and explaining everything to her family makes her chest ache.

The following day for you is strange. When you wake at your usual ten am, it takes everything in you not to grab your phone and send Melissa a good morning text as you’d come accustom to. Instead you lay there for a few minutes enjoying the sound of birds outside along with the usual traffic. Getting up and going about your morning proves difficult for you. Once ready for your day you check the time, realizing Melissa had her lunch break in less than two hours. Picking up the device with a sigh you send a quick message.

Can you meet me the cafe near Abbott during your lunch?

In a classroom not far away Melissa’s heart jumps when she sees her phone light up. Opening it immediately she feels hopeful reading the message, glad her students were in gym at that very moment. Not wanting to test her luck too much she replies with a simple yes I can then gets up practically jogging to Barbara’s classroom.

“Hey, I have to cancel our lunch plans today. She wants to meet at the cafe.” She can’t stop the smile from crossing her lips.

“Melissa, be careful with that woman.” Her best friend warns. “You still have to deal with all the legal proceedings with Joe and your mother.”

Melissa nods shoving her hands in her pockets. “I know, I know that. I just really need to see her Barb.” She shrugs with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Barbara looks at her friend in astonishment. “You love this woman.” She comes to the realization. “Go on during lunch, you text me as soon as you get back here.” She points.

As Melissa’s break time approaches you walk the couple blocks to the cafe on the corner, wondering if you’d see her coming from the school from the window. Sitting there waiting you order a water trying to keep your cool while mindlessly scrolling on your phone. As you do you receive a text from Jacob.

Hear her out and remember she’s hurting too

Letting out a sigh you tuck the phone in your pocket. When you lift your head you’re met with the sound of the door chime and green eyes landing on you. Standing up at the table you don’t make a move, gesturing for Melissa to sit across from you.

“Hey,” you let out not breaking eye contact with the woman. Even dressed in her work clothes she was absolutely stunning. “You look as tired as I feel.

“Yeah,” Melissa takes a seat wanting so badly to hug you. “I didn’t really sleep.”

“That makes two of us,” you nod pushing one of the two coffees in front of you forward.

Melissa looks at you with a grateful not picking up the drink. Just how she likes it she thinks.

“So uh, I’ve never had to do this before.” You shrug not sure where to start.

“And I’m not good with the whole feelings thing.” Melissa adds playing with the corner of a napkin. “I know you owe me nothing, but let me explain everything?” She asks softly.

While you were upset, an explanation is exactly what you wanted. Nodding, you urge her to go on.

Taking a breath the redhead fiddles with the napkin between her fingers. “What I told you about him, everything is true. The cheating, the lying, the not caring, it’s all true. We were young and stupid when we got married, and he didn’t wanna miss out on being one of the guys.” She shrugs taking a breath.

“You’re not gonna tell me you two have kids are you?”

“No,” Melissa shakes her head immediately. “No kids, just an overbearing family on my side.” She chuckles. “In fact, my brother and cousins threatened to kill him after they found out he cheated on me the first time.”

Letting out a puff of laughter you shrug. “Can’t blame them. It’s the Italian-American way.”

Melissa ducks her head with a small smile, eyes going to the paper. “Yeah. And I ain’t saying I’m a saint, I cheated when I was a teenager but as an adult? Never did. My marriage started out fine, but a few years in he got sloppy with hiding it. I never cared enough to ask for a divorce because growing up my mother made a big deal about marriage but anyway,” She shrugs it off not wanting to get emotional. “I didn’t think any of it mattered and I wasn’t good enough for anyone else so why go through the hassle?”

Looking over the woman’s features you see a mixture of sadness and pleading in her eyes as she nibbles her bottom lip.

“What changed?” You ask quietly resting your hand on the table almost touching the redheads.

“you made me feel like a woman that was desirable and worth talking to.”

“Melissa, I can’t mess around with a married woman.” You sigh shaking your head. “I meant what I said in that card, I-“ before you can finish your sentence Melissa hits you with another bomb.

“I asked Joe for a divorce.”

Sitting stunned you just blink at her for a moment.

“He was there at the school when those flowers were delivered. Which are beautiful by the way.” The redhead gives a shy smile.

“Well fuck.” You sit back in shock taking in the information.

“Hon, It was the best thing that coulda happened to me, I finally told him how miserable I was and that’s what I needed to do,” Her eyes water, the dam about to break again as her voice turns to a whisper. “And you gave that to me even- even if that means I lose you.”

Extending your fingers you turn your hand, palm up to the redhead, your fingers entwining together a moment later. “You’re not gonna lose me, Mel. I just-“ you sigh, “I need to process everything and I bet you do too.” It had been a strange twenty four hours and you still couldn’t believe the woman you were in love with was still someone else’s wife.

Feeling the warmth and gentle squeeze from Melissa’s hand you lean forward slightly meeting her eyes. “Let’s take things slow, start over.” You suggest.

“I can do that.” The redhead nods. As long as she could keep you that’s all she cared about.

“Okay,” you give her a soft smile gently pulling away. The rest of your short time together comes easy, the awkwardness chipping away as you two sit and talk as you usually did.

Tapping the screen of her watch Melissa sighs knowing the forty five minutes she spent with you wasn’t long enough but would have to do for today.

“Back to the rugrats?” You ask knowing her lunch wasn’t very long.

“Yeah, Barb is getting ‘em from recess for me. I uh, thank you for talkin to me, hon.”

“I’d never ghost you or ignore you, Mel.” You shake your head leading her out the door of the cafe. “I really, really like you. I meant that. Now we can just pump the breaks a bit yeah? You and your family are going through a lot now.”

“Yeah,” Melissa lets out in a puff of laughter. “I can’t wait to be interrogated by my ma and Nana later at dinner.”

“In that case I’d say that’s punishment enough.” you chuckle putting your hands in your pockets, still a bit of space between you two as you stand there on the sidewalk. “Well, I’ll see you later, Mel.”

“Can- hon, can I have a hug?” She asks almost unsure of herself.

Unable to say no to the woman you step forward wrapping one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist in a warm embrace. Closing your eyes you take in the feel of her body, her signature smell, how her hands feel playing with the back of your jacket.

“Thank you, Amore.” She whispers, most definitely needing the loving touch as much as you did. The redhead pulls back first, giving you that shy smile that has just the corner of her lips up slightly.

“I’ll see you soon.” You assure her, knowing that you really couldn’t stay away from her long, especially now.

In the Schemmenti household a weekly dinner happens at Nanas house, and this week was no different except when Melissa pulls up with a large tray of ziti she only sees her parent’s car in the driveway. Coming into the house with the tray she smells food cooking and her nana talking, that was a good sign.

“Is a hit happening?” She pokes her head into the kitchen.

“My mia Cara!”

Maria Schemmenti crosses the kitchen going right to her granddaughter kissing her cheeks and taking the tray from her. “Come sit, food is almost done.”

Even though she’s up in years the oldest redhead that Melissa took after the most in looks and actions moves swiftly going back to her many dishes on the stove.

“Hey kiddo, you okay?” Johnny Schemmenti was a no nonsense guy, always ready to jump into action for his family especially his mini me Melissa. Sharing the same green eyes the two hug and Johnny places a kiss to his daughter’s head.

“Ya know what dad? I’m better than I’ve ever been.” She smiles moving to sit back down with her dad. “Ma looks pissed.” She says quietly watching the blonde woman move around the kitchen.

“Hi, ma.” The youngest redhead calls out getting no reaction from the woman.

“Melissa I will speak to you when I’m done helping your nana.”

“Caterina don’t give that girl the cold shoulder.” Nana points at her.

“That’s okay, Nana. I’m the only one here so apparently I’m in for an ambush. Did you put the hole in the backyard, Ma or is it somewhere else?”

Johnny has to bite back a laugh hiding his proud smirk with his beer bottle.

“Melissa this isn’t an ambush. I’m only wondering why you had to cause a scene instead of telling us you weren’t happy.”

“Mi stai prendendo per il culo,” Melissa huffs.

“Melissa Ann!” Caterina snaps.

“If this is how dinners gonna go tonight I’m outta here. I don’t need all this. Nana, dad, I’m sorry I’ll see you on Sunday.” She gets up kissing her dad’s cheek, grabbing her purse as she goes.

“Sit back down, Tesoro. Your mother means well but she ain’t going about it the right way.” Maria shoots her daughter in law a look that gets a huff from the blonde.

Melissa listens to her Nana, sitting back down next to her dad. Elbows on the table she covers her face with her hands taking a breath feeling like she’s a little kid that was caught and is now getting in trouble.

“Look you wanna know what happened? Joe cheated on me for years, did ya know that? That weekend the guys had the cops called on them and I had to sweet talk the cop? Yeah, they were ready to kill him. We done here now?” Melissa lets out with a challenging look to her mother.

That night almost ten years ago had been a rough one. A bunch of the cousins rented a house in the Poconos and the long weekend in the summer heat ended with Joe taking off on a four wheeler and Johnny Junior having his hand stitched up in the cabins kitchen after a drunk Joe made a joke about another woman he was seeing. Junior and the cousins scared him good, eventually the cops came ruining the weekend for Melissa.

“The boys knew this whole time?” Caterina asks quietly.

“Of course they did. So did Barb, and Nana.” She nods to her grandmother taking a breath.

Melissa’s mother looks at the oldest woman with an agape mouth.

“Mel, we want you to be happy. You happy with splitting from Joe?” Johnny asks his daughter.

“I can’t put into words how happy I am, pops.” She shrugs with a small smile.

“See, Cat? That’s all I need to know.” He nods to his wife, getting up to get the plates for the table.

“At your wedding I knew he was no good.” Maria shakes her head. “The negativity sheds off of him like his hair does.”

Melissa chuckles staying put as her parents move about the kitchen setting the table. As they do, Maria comes over kissing the top of her head.

“Mia Cara, when we’re done you make a plate and take it to your new friend. Give her a sneak peek of family dinners.”

The redhead looks at the matriarch of the family with a warm smile knowing her Nana would understand everything that Joe told the family.

As Melissa has dinner with her family you move around your apartment cleaning up and ordering groceries as you usually do on your days off. Seeing Melissa that afternoon was nice and you knew as soon as you saw her the anger you felt would lessen. You were upset but not so much with her. Now you were upset with her husband and how he treats her.

If her being free of him and the cage she felt trapped in meant you had to feel bad for those few hours from finding out to the moment you met up with her for lunch then so be it. You were tempted to text her an invite to come over for the night to decompress and talk more. As you leave your apartment and hop down the stairs to the alleyway out back to get rid of your garbage you see a car you do not recognize parked almost blocking the alley, and a man getting out of the car.

A man you recognize as Joe.

Final chapter

#abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #Melissa Schemmenti #Melissa Schemmenti x reader #lgbtq+ fiction

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slutshamethesquirrels · 3 months

Text

Lost Lamb

pastor's son!geto x fem!reader

length: 12.8K (oof my apologies)

cw/tw: prison, arrest, religious shenanigans, implied/referenced child abuse

Your ex, your first love, Suguru Geto has been granted parole after spending several years in prison for manslaughter. You want closure.

A Disclaimer:

friends, please listen to me before you start this fic: there is implied child abuse in here.

i intentionally left it vague, because i didn't want to dwell on it for any longer than i had to. i dont have any particular headcannon about what happened to the girls in this au. assume it's bad, basically is what i'm hinting at here.

Suguru Geto’s arrest had taken your small hometown by storm.

In the following weeks, everywhere you turned there was a reminder. His empty spot in the back pew on Sunday morning, his jacket on the door hanger in your bedroom, his mugshot plastered all over facebook. You wished every middle aged mother that commented on the posts accidentally got their fingers caught in the garbage disposal. You’d made the mistake of voicing that opinion to your own mother, who’d called you hateful.

Wow!! He was always such a sweet kid!! What happened!! PRAYERS!!

Is that pastor getos boy??

It’s that damn Gojo kid he's been hanging out with.

Sad. what happens when you take god out of schools.

i cant believe this!!

I knew the minute he refused to cut his hair and stretched his ears he was a lost cause.

Your parents had eventually taken away your phone, and after a particularly rough point, your bedroom door from its hinges.

Initially, he’d received a few charges. Murder in the second degree, and attempted kidnapping. Tacked on were lesser charges; unlawful possession of a firearm, simple possession of controlled substances. Eventually, those charges had been dropped and reduced until he was left with nothing but second degree manslaughter. It was a hell of a plea deal, and most of the town suspected it had to do with the family’s influence, however the judge had simply sighted “mitigating factors”.

You do your best to ignore the whispers, the rumors, but they bled in anyway. He was gone, long gone and yet he was right there on every local news station, in every tear, in every nightmare, falling from people's lips in the local diner:

“Did you hear about the pastor's kid?”

You can't see the nasally woman behind you, but you mind conjures up an image. Middle aged, bob cut, wrinkly and judgemental. You bet she collects expired coupons like Pokemon cards.

“Yeah! I actually went to that church a few times! Isn't that so scary?! I heard that he always sat behind those little girls at church. Creepy!”

Her equally as nosey friend wasn't wrong. Suguru did sit behind the Hasaba twins every Sunday. What they didn't know was he had confided to you once that they had a rough home life. Apparently his parents had temporarily taken them in for a while as toddlers so their parents could “sober up”, the details of which were unclear. He wouldn't give you specifics, but you could garner that whatever was happening behind the scenes since they’d been returned home wasn't good. You always thought Suguru was lying in wait for something to happen, though you never knew just what.

“I mean, how do you kill someone, kidnap their girls, and only get ten years?!”

“You have a preacher for a daddy, that's how.”

“That's crazy! And a possibility of parole after only three years?!”

“Girl, I know! And poor Mr.Hasaba! He always seemed so sweet, you know? He just had kind eyes.”

She had no idea what she was fucking talking about. That man was a creep. Your mother had an awful habit of making you hug older church members goodbye, and his hands always slid a little too low, held you a little too tight. He was insistent upon cheek kisses, and they always felt disgusting; sloppy clamps of his lips instead of soft polite pecks. Once, you’d tried to tell your parents you didn't want to hug him goodbye anymore, but they'd simply told you it was the polite thing for a little girl to do.

“I wonder what he had planned for those girls?”

“Thank god we’ll never know!”

But you wanted, needed to know. There wasn't a single part of you that didn't crave the answer to the question that had plagued you for weeks; What happened to him?

Suguru had always been a sweet boy. Your playground protector, puffing up his chest to kids twice his age when they pulled your pigtails. You recalled a time he'd found a dead bird on the lawn of the church, and promptly went and buried it by the woodline, complete with a few verses of Amazing Grace and a moment of silence. He'd cried, and you pinky promised to never ever tell anyone he'd gotten so upset.

A few years later, he’d become the envy of all your friends. Any girl in your grade would've killed to have a boy two grades above them walk them home every day. You had let them be jealous, and hadn't dared to tell them that you were pretty sure Suguru would never like you like that. In fact, when they started a rumor that you two had been caught kissing behind the bleachers, you didn't deny it at all.

Turns out you were wrong, and you’d never been happier than when Suguru had asked you to prom three years later. Your parents had been absolutely thrilled. By that point, Suguru had been around for years, and he had always been respectful and well-behaved.

Doors stayed wide open when he was over, but usually he didn't seem all that interested in whisking you away from the other members of your family, much more happy to sit in the living room, talking business with your father or future plans with your mother; she liked to prod him with intrusive questions, all of which he handled with exemplary grace. That doesn't mean they weren't mortifying for you, though. Suguru was your friend and here she was asking him about grandchildren.

You had a sneaking suspicion that it was less about your relationship with Suguru, and more about your relationship with Suguru, the pastor’s son. Your family name wasn't known for much in this town, but the Geto’s held control of the church and therefore, control of the town itself. To be related to them was your mother's golden ticket to sit with the uppity tennis-skirt wine moms at every ballgame. When he started sitting with your family every Sunday, she saw an opportunity and was more than willing to take it.

It didn't hit you until he arrived at your door in a fitted suit that night that maybe one day that could be a real possibility. You hadn't expected to feel like you did. Standing in the lowlight of the gymnasium, for the first time you noticed he'd grown to something beautiful. Long gone was your playground hero. He'd been replaced by someone taller, leaner, more… handsome. The chub of his cheeks was fading, but his dimples still appeared when he smiled, and everytime they did you got this roller coaster-esque feeling, like you were free falling right through the floor.

Your mom had reminded the two of you to leave room for Jesus when dancing, but that didn't stop you from wrapping your arms around his neck as you slow danced, pressing your body against his, making a mental note to repent later. His hands had fallen against the small of your back as you swayed, and it struck you just how big they'd gotten. The thought made you shudder. His forehead fell down against yours, awkward bangs toppling out of his bun and falling across your own forehead. You tried to keep your eyes open, memorize the way his lashes fluttered against his burning cheeks, but found the sight too powerful to withstand, instead shutting them. Which was maybe worse, because without the distraction of eyesight everything else felt so much more intense. You found the rise and fall of his chest comforting, the hotness of his breath fanning across your face intoxicating. You, somehow, hadn't expected it when he leaned forward and captured your bottom lip between his own, but it lit a fire in you that to this day you hadn't been able to quell completely.

He left for college your Junior year. You had tried to hold it in, not show any sign of weakness, but every minute you spent with him felt like a countdown. He was going to the city, where the girls were gorgeous and knowledge was a bottomless well. You couldn't convince yourself he'd still think of you, the girl from down the street with braces and bargain bin jeans when he had the whole world to choose from. It had all come to head on move-in day. For the first time, your parents allowed you to be alone with him. You were angry that it just so happened to be the day you'd have to leave him here, hours away. His assigned roommate hadn't arrived yet, so he got to pick which uncomfortable mattress and study desk would be his. Your hands shook as you pulled his clothing from bins, folding them and tucking them away into the stow-away drawers beneath his bed.

“Are you okay?” He’d asked, and that was all it took for the dam to bust. You’d frozen, one of his hoodies still gripped in your hands, but when you opened your mouth to assure you were just fine, your body had betrayed you. All that had come out was a broken sob. He’d immediately dropped to the floor beside you and pulled you into his lap, squeezing you like his life depended on it. He’d promised you he'd come home whenever he could, that he was definitely not going to forget about you.

”Y/n, I love you. Distance can't take that away from me.”

”You-. You love me?”

”Unconditionally.”

He buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent and planting gentle kisses to your scalp. It wasn't until he sniffled that you realized he was crying, too.

”I love you too.”

He couldn't come back until two summers later. Initially, you’d stayed in daily contact. But daily video chats had turned to weekly calls, and then texting only. Those texts spaced out and dissipated just like you’d always feared they would. You were surprised when he’d asked you to meet up, even more shocked to find out that he wanted you to meet him at a hotel, away from the prying eyes of your parents, or his for that matter. At first, you'd been elated, excited that he still wanted to see you after all that time, but on your drive over you’d become angry. Every moment you'd spent waiting to hear from him, every tear you’d cried, every helpless night spent laying awake hit you all at once.

You remembered your eighteenth birthday, spending most of your party glancing at your phone, hoping, just praying he’d call. You remembered your mother's funeral, when you’d listened to his father preach over her open casket, alone. You remembered that party where you’d been caged against the wall by a man much larger than you, when his lips had grazed your skin and you tried to close your eyes and imagine it was him.

He was waiting for you outside the door to the room he'd paid for, but instead of the boy you expected you were met with a fully grown man. He was chiseled, defined, from the angle of his jaw to the curve of his bicep fighting the fabric of his t-shirt. His hair was so long, silken loose locks flowing freely from his scalp and tumbling down his back.

“Hi.” He said, casually, like he hadn't broken every promise he made you and ruined every potential date since just by existing, and being him, and looking like that.

Tears well in your eyes, and you don't exactly know what the emotion behind them is; some combination of sorrow and infuriation and relief because he was here. He was finally here.

“Fuck you.” You half spit, half choke, a gurgled laugh escaping your throat because it was almost funny, wasn't it? The way he was fine and you were a fucking wreck.

He blinks, and then nods slowly, and has the audacity not to fight you back.

“I deserve that.” He pulls a white card from his pocket and keys the door open.

“You do. You really do, Geto.” You almost sound like you're pleading, but when he takes your hand and yanks you through the threshold you don't stop him. And when he backs you against the door you don't stop him. And when his lips crash into yours with an unprecedented fervor you kiss him back, lips and teeth mashing together, desperation taking hold as his tongue bullies it’s way past your lips. He moans into your mouth and you feel yourself absolutely gush at the sound, your body's reaction only serving to piss you off more.

You pull away and he dives into the crook of your neck, one large hand smacking flat onto the door above your head, the other reaching down to hike your knee around his waist.

“I’m fucking serious, Suguru! I hate you!” You cry out, but your hands tangle in his hair as he suckles on your sweet spot, marking you. You were his, you were always his, and you would always be his.

“I know.” He breathes, rocking against you and grunting as his clothed erection grinds against you, slowly at first, and then quicker, whimpers and whines mixing together in the heated air as sparks dance in your belly.

“You broke my heart.” You tell him as the hand against the door moves to hike your shirt up, bunching it around your neck as his head dips to lap at your skin. It’s messy, needy, the way he laps at you like a dog in heat.

“I know.” He repeats, and you realize he's sinking to one knee when he drops your leg, his fingers instead fumbling for the button of your jeans, doing his best to get them off before you change your mind.

“You fucking ruined everything. You ruined me.” Despite your words, you help him remove your pants and panties all at once, lifting your legs and balancing with your hands on his shoulders.

“I know.” He throws one of your legs over his shoulders and his eyes trail slowly from your face to where your core drips right in front of his eyes despite your protests.

“Who’d you shave for?” His eyebrows raise slightly in curiosity as he realizes you're free of all body hair, his eyes lifting to meet your face again.

“Did you expect me to wait for you?” You ask, chuckling incredulously “It's none of your business, really.”.

You don't tell him you have a boyfriend. Partly because you feel a sense of shame about being a cheater, but mostly because despite everything, you don't want to hurt him. Besides, it was nothing serious, just someone to attempt to fill the gaping hole left in your chest by the man kneeling in front of you. The man whose eyes had gone dark and predatory at your words. You’d never seen anything like it from him before. Your pussy clenches around nothing at the sight.

“Did he make you cum?” He hums, presses his lips into your thigh.

“Oh, fuck you, Suguru.” You spit, and then immediately yelp when his teeth sink into your soft flesh as a reprimand.

“Answer me.” He chuckles against your skin and he moves higher, his tongue flat and warm against the sensitive surface.

“Make me.”

“Bad move.” He deadpans, and then licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, agonizingly slow, smirking against your core as you whine. He repeats the motion once, twice, three times and then slurps at your entrance. The sound is disgusting, but you can't care when he's buried between your thighs, teasing you, playing with your cunt like a toy. You think you hear him mutter something about how good you taste but the blood pounding in your ears drowns it out.

“Come on, y/n. Answer me, baby. Did he make you cum?” He finishes his question off by parting his lips and blowing on your clit, the cool air icy against your arousal and his spit. You shake your head back and forth, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth and glaring down at him.

“ ‘No’ as in ‘No, he didn't.’ or ‘No’ as in ‘I’m not telling.’?”

“I’m not- ah!”

You're quick to swallow the rest of that sentence when he leans forward and begins eating you in earnest. That desperate motion is back, the flat tongued lapping he’d done to your chest earlier, eager to taste and take and pleasure you. His hand grips and the underside of your thigh that's hiked over his shoulder, nails leaving red crescent marks on your skin.

Your hands fly to grip his hair and you begin to rock against him in time with his strokes, crying out with every flick and swirl and lap of his tongue. The pressure builds as he learns your body, repeating motions that get the most reaction out of you until you're basically doubled over his head, white knuckle gripping his inky locks as you feel that white hot coil in your center wind tighter, and tighter, and-

He pulls back, laughing as you sputter out “Nonono please, please!”.

“Are you ready to tell me whether he made you cum or not?”

You could absolutely fucking scream. How dare he dangle your orgasm in front of you and rip it away, just like he’d done with every hope you had of a future with him.

“Ohmygod, he didn't make me cum but he also didn't abandon me after promising he wouldn't!”

His face falters beneath you, that devilish smile melting away just briefly as your words seem to hit him in the face. For just a second, he looks familiar again, and you realize those eyes are the same ones that wept for the bird in the courtyard all those years ago.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” He breathes, and before you can cry he's returning his mouth to your clit, closing his eyes and sighing into you as if the taste was soothing him somehow. His movements are now steady and fluid, and he uses more lips than before, almost making out with you in expert timing, lips smacking and slurping against you in a rhythmic motion. Below the lewdness, you can make out the sounds of him moaning, whimpering even as he drinks you down and if it didn't feel so good the fact that he seems so desperate for you would send you spiraling. This was the Suguru you knew. Honey sweet with an eagerness to please. You melt against him, gasping for air between whines. You couldn't even care that he was all but supporting your entire weight on his shoulder, but for what it's worth, he didn't seem to mind either.

A rough palm slides up the skin of your inner thigh, followed by the intrusion of two thick fingers gliding into you, not pumping but rather curling inside of you, sliding against a spot that has tears stinging at the corner of your eyes. Or maybe it is the fact that he’d come back to you after all that time, and you didn't know if he was planning on staying. Was he on his knees begging? You couldn't tell.

“Suguru, m’gonna- fuckyes, please! Cummingcummingcum-”

When your orgasm arrives, it washes across your body like ocean waves, one large crash of pleasure buckling your knees followed by several smaller ones, certain and steadfast.

He places your leg back down on the floor and you immediately fall to your knees, scrambling into his arms like he might run away if you don't, and he's quick to reposition himself beneath you so he can hold you in earnest. You think about the last time you were on the floor of some unfamiliar room with him and can't do anything but cry into his shoulder.

“Y/n?” He murmurs, and you hum inquisitively between hiccups.

“I don't believe in god.”

You draw a quick and stuttering breath as you brace yourself to sit back and look at him. His eyes are closed, though, like he can't look at you.

“I’m confused.” You admit, sniffling.

He opens his eyes to meet yours, his expression morose.

“I think I maybe never did. I always guilted myself, though. I thought-” He sighs and looks off to the side, his cheeks flushing as he speaks “I thought that it was the devil, trying to tempt me. I thought if I just prayed hard enough that it would go away-”

“Suguru, where is this coming from?” You ask, and he shifts underneath you, splaying his palm out behind him to support his weight, his free hand coming up to push his hair backwards, sliding through the root at his scalp and shaking the knots out, maybe anxiously.

“Just- just listen, please?”

That was years ago, when he’d explained to you how he lost touch with his faith. He called religion predatory, said it relied on offering desperate people a chance at salvation, at forgiveness, at love- only to take their money and run. Or convince them to vote one way or another. It was all a game of mind chess, at least to him.

He thought you’d hate him. He didn't want to hear you cry, beg him to come back home. He said hearing you devoutly defend the very system designed to harm you and keep you subservient would've been too much to take. He still loved you, by his own admission.

”There hasn't been a single day you didn't occupy my thoughts. I couldn't bring myself to rip you away from everything you've ever known.”

He would hate to see you now, crumpled at the altar, sobbing at the feet of his father, his mother's arms splayed across your body, her fingers intertwined with yours from above as she murmurs a prayer in your ear. She smells of the same laundry detergent his hoodies were always washed in, and it makes it all the more painful.

His parole hearing had been on Friday. His request for parole had been granted.

“Heavenly Father, we come before you with a heavy heart, burdened with the pain of one who has strayed from your path.”

It was always a little jarring, the way Suguru’s loss of faith came first in his list of sins in the forefront of his parent's minds. Still, all these years later, there's no one that still held this hurt the way you did.

”We know that your love is unconditional and your mercy boundless. I pray that you will lend us your grace to envelop my son, my sweet boy, in your grace and help guide him back to your light.”

You didn't know if you wanted to be a part of that. You wanted answers, mostly. You knew there had to be some reason, some explanation for his actions. You cry harder.

”Lord, I ask for y/n to be a vessel of your strength and wisdom in this difficult time. Help her to be a model of your love, showing patience, understanding, and unwavering faith. Grant her the courage to stand firm in her convictions while extending compassion and support.”

You can't argue with her, can't tell her that God has had his line disconnected for you since the day Suguru was arrested. At some point, you realized Suguru was right. Religion was a ploy for desperate people, and god were you desperate.

”Touch the heart of my baby, Lord. Open his eyes to your truth and fill his spirit with a yearning for your presence. May he feel your divine touch and hear your gentle whisper, calling him back to the fold.”

You didn't know what you could possibly say to him. Two weeks. Two weeks from today he would be home. You can't imagine what he’ll look like with a monitor strapped to his ankle. Your brain feels like sludge, so you focus on inhaling that familiar scent, imagining that it's him draped over your shoulders, the same way he'd hold you at football games in highschool.

”We trust in your divine plan, knowing that your ways are higher than our own. Let your will be done, Father, and give us peace in knowing that you are always at work, even when we cannot see the path ahead.”

For a while she just sobs into your shoulder, her white hot tears scalding your skin through your blouse as she cries.

”God, thank you. Thank you for bringing my baby boy home.”

***

“Y/n! Please, come in!”

The Geto household had been a second home to you growing up. As you stepped past Suguru’s mother into the entryway and began to remove your shoes, memories flooded your head like raging waters. Everything was so comfortable, so familiar. The gentle years-old carpet cradling your newly socked feet had been the backdrop for countless play dates, one- sided wrestling matches, and forts built from the blankets that had always been strewn across the leather couches and the barstools you knew awaited you just around the corner in the kitchen. You can almost see where your feet had worn a permanent path from the front door up the stairs to his bedroom door, though there's a part of you that knows that's unreasonable.

Pastor Geto and his wife both stood at the foot of the staircase, looking tense as they watched you shed your jacket and hang it on the coat rack. When you turn, you brush yourself off and wring your hands together. Despite the familiar place, everything feels uncomfortable. The skin of your hands feels like sheets of sandpaper grinding against each other, your jeans are pinching your waist uncomfortably, your shirt is constricting, it's too cold, it's too hot-

“Where is he?” You finally ask. You don't know why you're whispering.

“Upstairs, sleeping. He's…” Pastor Geto trails off, lets his head fall forward, and then up to the ceiling. Anywhere but your face.

“He's struggling with the adjustment period, we think.” Suguru’s mom cuts in, taking on the classic too-soft voice of an evangelical woman “He's been sleeping a lot.”. She nods, as if it's herself she wants to convince.

Your eyes trail up the stairs, and you nod and go to take a step forward, only to get stopped by the Pastor's hand on your shoulder. You lift your apprehensive eyes to meet his.

“Before you go, we wanted to know if it would be better for us to stay or if you wanted us to go. It's whichever you think will be best.”

Geto’s mother cuts in, quickly elaborating:

“We thought it may be best to give you privacy. We know this is emotional for everyone involved, but if you're worried…”

Oh. They don't want to leave you if you think he's going to hurt you. The thought almost makes you laugh, and then you remembered the whole reason you were here is because he was violent. Your Suguru, the one you knew, wasn't. But this one…

“It's okay, you can go.”

You wonder if that was the right choice as you watch them go, but ultimately you knew it was. If he could- if he did harm you, it couldn't be any worse than what he’d already done. At this point, a swift death would be a mercy.

Every step from the ground floor to the second is a labor, but you couldn't decide if it was one of love or desperation. You felt like twenty pound weights had been attached to your ankles, each stretch of your muscles burning like you’d just run a marathon. You know that twelve feet of altitude does absolutely nothing to air quality, and yet somehow with each rising inch you feel like the atmosphere thins. You reach the top of the stairs and creep your way down the hall, making eye contact with the pictures on the wall. Cheesy mall-quality photoshoots of him and his family, all wearing matching outfits and smiling in perfectly practiced photos. There are others, too; family dogs that had since passed, distant relatives you didn't recognize, your prom photo.

You physically recoil from the image. His hands resting on your waist, the butterfly kiss of the tip of his nose against your cheek that was covered in just a tad too much blush, the genuine smile you both held as you laughed not for the camera, but in spite of it. You remembered that night like it was yesterday. You remembered how gentle he’d been with you. Did he still know how to do that?

You pause to take a deep breath before you knock on his door, wrapping lightly at first to no avail, and then a little harder when you remembered he was asleep.

“Yeah?!” His voice echoes from the other side and from the tone alone you realize he thinks it's one of his parents. You bite your lip and try not to cry. Not yet.

“It's-”

God, why did your throat fucking burn like that?

“It's me. It's just me.” You call out.

For a second, all is quiet, and then your heart drops straight through to the ground when you hear frenzied shuffling coupled with the uneven slap of large feet against the floor from the other side of the door. He's flung it open in less time than you can back away, a t-shirt still following over the lower half of his abdomen as he stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide and his lips parted open as his breath seems to get caught in his chest. His hair is messy and his eyes are tired; soft purple circles beneath the expansive brown irises you’d always adored.

“Y/n?” It comes out as a question, like he can't believe you're actually standing there.

“Hi.” Is all you can manage.

You weren't sure what to expect, but it wasn't for him to sink to his knees in the open doorway, folding into himself and bowing whether he intended to or not. On the way down, his hands reach out for you, but stop just short of touching you, instead he pulls them beneath him, hugging them to his chest like he was simply trying to disappear into his self. You understood the feeling.

“Fuck, y/n.” It comes out as barely more than a whimper.

Moments pass like trying to pour cool molasses. You're stunned by indecision, stuck between what you know you should do and what your instincts demand of you. You’d never seen him so vulnerable before. His pride always, fucking always, won out over his emotions. But here he was, crumpled beneath you like a wounded man, assuming the same position you took at the altar every sunday. Was he asking of you what you asked of god? For grace and mercy and relief? For love?

You notice beneath the mass of knotted hair a tremor in his shoulders. It was quiet, near silent, but you could hear the faintest sniffling. He was crying. You had only ever seen him cry once before.

You sink to your knees in front of him in a much more controlled manner, but your fingers still shake as you shuffle forward on all fours until you can reach out and slot your fingers through his hair, grazing his scalp with your fingertips. His hair wasn't as soft as it used to be. You doubted they had his ridiculously expensive choice of shampoo in prison.

“You’re a wreck, Suguru.” You point out, and although you meant for it to sound very tough and strong-willed, it comes out in a breathy, shaky murmur.

He chuckles in a low rumbling tone, and then sits back on his knees, his palms rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to wipe away the tears before you can see them “I guess you could say that.”.

You sit back as well, planting your hands on your thighs and rolling your lip between your teeth and nodding slowly. It was too easy. You were too comfortable. You had the urge to throw yourself into him just like that, but you wouldn't. You couldn't. Right? You open your mouth to ask him why, or to scream, or to tell him that he was the lowest of the low, but nothing comes out, so you shut it again.

“Y/n” He breaks the silence first “I understand if you hate me, you have every reason to, but holy shit you have no idea how happy I am to see you.”.

His face is blank but there's a hopeful spark in his eyes. He looks just like he did the day he asked you to be his girlfriend, just like he did when he'd touched you under your skirt for the first time, just like when he'd met you outside that hotel room all those years ago. He doesn't want to show you his entire hand, but the cards reflect in his irises.

You despise yourself for your reaction.

You crawl towards him until you’re close enough to touch him, your arms slithering around his neck as you pull him into a hug. For a moment, he tenses, like he’s unsure if he should reciprocate, but then you squeeze tighter, practically begging him through action alone, and he concedes, strong arms snaking around your center as he buries his face in your shoulder. The sensation was both foreign and familiar. You’d been wrapped up in him more times than you could count on ten fingers and all your toes, but yet this one felt independent of the others. His palms were still warm, inviting, splaying out across either set of ribs from behind as if to guard your very breath from the open space behind you, but he was bigger now, buffer, his arms almost swallowed you whole and you find yourself briefly pondering if he’d spent his time in prison exercising. You refuse to let yourself think about him in an orange jumpsuit, or how his biceps would flex as he did pushups. It was not the time.

“Are you not afraid of me?” He murmurs, and you shake your head slowly.

“I know I should be.” You admit “I just can’t- I, I don’t- I missed you.”.

Your voice cracks and you choke a small sob into his hair. You were no stranger to crying by this point, but this time was less violent then the fits you’d become accustomed to dealing with thrice daily since the day of his arrest. These were tears of relief, you realized. It didn’t matter what he’d done, he was still Suguru. You still felt at home in his embrace. You still slotted perfectly against his form.

“I missed you too, y/n.” He squeezes you, just slightly, to accentuate his words “You were on my mind from the moment I saw those blue lights in my rearview all the way up until I fell asleep this morning, please believe me.”.

You pull the world's biggest breath in through your nostrils, leaning back with your hands on both of his shoulders, looking into eyes you’d dreamt about for years.

“You have so much explaining to do, you asshole.”

He cracks a small, tight lipped grin “I know.”.

A few minutes later, you're sitting on the foot of his queen sized childhood mattress with your legs crossed in a spot you’d been in many times before. In fact, it was “your spot” if you were to ask Shoko or Nanami. When you were younger, Suguru’s house had been optimal for studying. Your room was too small, Shoko’s family was dysfunctional, and Nanami swore he’d rather fail pre-calc then to ever let the three of you inside his house. Plus, Suguru had the biggest bed out of the three of you, plenty of room for laptops and papers and textbooks and snacks. The rules set by the Geto’s were that the door was to be left wide open and you and Shoko were to remain six feet apart from the boys at all times, so they would settle themselves at the top of the bed and you and Shoko would nestle yourselves at the foot. No one dared to even dream of mentioning that Shoko was way more likely to make a sexual advance towards you than either of the boys.

Suguru grabs a hairbrush from atop his dresser before settling into the head of the bed, letting muscle memory take over as he rakes it through his hair, as if he was suddenly conscious of the way he looked. It catches on the knots intermittently, causing him to wince against the feeling.

“Nice anklet.” You attempt to soothe the awkward tension with a joke “Where’d you get it?”.

His eyes flash down to his ankle monitor, and he laughs, a little mirthless, before shooting back:

“Claire’s.”

You snort and shake your head at him, trying to find a way to ask the questions that really needed to be asked without making it awkward, though at this point it seems almost impossible. He finishes up with his hair and tosses the brush onto his nightstand as he speaks.

“I wouldn’t recommend getting one, personally. You have to plug yourself into charge twice a day or you go to prison.”

“Mmhmm,” You hum “You know, your mom used to tell me this thing- something about actions and consequences, no- games and prizes-”. You sarcastically attempt to lament over just what it was, but you both know the answer.

“Would that be, uh, ’Play dumb games, win dumb prizes.’ ?” He plays your game with a smirk as you nod enthusiastically, sarcasm practically dripping from your hair as it shakes with the motion.

He rolls his eyes and chuckles, but heat floods his face and his eyes land on the carpet of his childhood bedroom. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? Shame was good. Shame meant he knew he’d done something terrible. Shame meant there was hope.

“I know you’re waiting on answers.” He breaks the silence for you with a sigh, leaning forward and pawing at his forehead with his fingertips, as if he could rub away the clutter in his brain “But I don’t even know where to start.”. A sigh.

You nod, swallowing thickly, your eyes tracing the plaster on the ceiling “How about the beginning?”.

You didn’t mean it as a joke, but he giggles anyway “Yeah, I guess that would be a good starting point, huh?”. And so, following a brief pause, he tells you everything.

It started when the girls had been taken by child protective services. Panicked, their mother had called the Geto’s in a frenzy, begging them to take temporary custody while the Hasaba’s sorted out whatever it was that was going on at home. Seventeen and sheltered, Suguru’s parents had never given him all the details of why they were there in the first place, but in the sixth months they’d been there he’d undeniably grown attached to them. He described Nanako as “spunky”, said she had an affinity for fashion and anything shiny and pink. She was your stereotypical little girl, full of sass and glitter. Mimiko, on the other hand, was quiet, reserved, and spent her afternoons sat at the kitchen table with a handful of crayons and a few sheets of printer paper. She preferred not to be seen or heard.

Suguru was good with kids, he always had been. The girls were quick to shove into the role of big brother; protector. It was where he fit naturally. A fact you yourself had taken advantage of throughout your own childhood. There were no bullies, no monsters, no fears when Suguru was there. Nothing could get you. The girls seemed to have felt much the same. Nanako enjoyed pestering him, even at the big age of four whole years old. She’d beat on his bedroom door while he was studying, demanding he play with her. Drop Legos down in his boots when he wasn’t looking, force him to sit in the living room for hours on end while she knotted his hair up with sparkly elastics and butterfly clips. Mimiko, on the other hand, seemed to be afraid of him for the first few weeks, peering at him around corners as her sister made him her personal bitch.

“Eventually, she let her guard down.” He smiles fondly, shaking his head “I remember the first time she actually hung out with us. She brought her bucket of blocks out in the front yard and set like, six feet away from us while we drew on the sidewalk with chalk- well, I drew on the sidewalk. Nanako drew more on me than anything else. I’ll never understand how she figured out if she wet the chalk first it would stick to my hair. That was the longest shower I’ve ever taken in my life-”

With each passing day, Mimiko would sit a little closer, look a little longer at whatever Suguru and Nanako were getting into. Eventually, she spoke, asked if she could play, too.

“We were eating dinner one day and Nanako asked if I would be coming home with them when the time came. I had to tell her no. I didn’t even think Mimiko was listening, but she got up with her food and just went to her room.”

For a while, Mimiko had reset, if not backslid to a state worse than the one she had arrived in. This all came to a head after their final meeting with their case worker, after which Pastor Geto had enthusiastically told the girls that they would be returning to their parents soon. That night, Mimiko had simply strutted into Suguru’s open bedroom door to find him slaving over his laptop in the middle of the floor, diligently studying for his SAT’s. She’d come in with the force of a person four times her size and began absolutely pummeling him to the best of her tiny ability.

“I didn’t know what to do with that.” His brow furrows, troubled as he recalls the memory, his eyes darkening “It’s not like it hurt, you know? Not really, she was a preschooler and I was over six foot tall but still- kids aren’t supposed to hit, you know? And it was… she wasn’t hitting me like a child hits people, y/n. She was throwing legitimate left and right hooks, with follow through, and I just remember wondering where the hell she learned that. Anyway-”

He’d gripped her arms, just enough to contain her, and she’d shrieked with all her might, kicking and screaming at him to let her go while he begged her to calm down.

“Mimi, what’s wrong? Why are you being cruel to me?”

”I don’t want me to leave you!”

The immature phrasing breaks your heart. You could imagine what his reaction had been. The same soft pout he’d given you over and over throughout the years.

“I just held her, rocked her, tried to convince her she could come play whenever she wanted, y’know? But she was absolutely inconsolable. So I asked her why she didn’t want to go home, and she… God, she said-”

”He hurts us.”

“Their dad?” You interject, your voice trembling against your heightened emotion. You can feel dread pooling in your gut as he nods, confirming.

“What-” You swallow, feeling nauseated “What did she mean by that?”.

He looks you dead in the eyes and your blood runs cold. You had never before seen that expression cross his features. His eyes were always dark, but in that moment you were peering into a lightless cavern. He doesn’t elaborate, only shakes his head ‘no’. You don’t push it, and the momentary lapse of sanity seems to fade. You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

He’d taken that information directly to his parents, who had reminded him that redemption was always possible. That we as people had to have grace for others. Jesus was friends with societal rejects. Whores, thieves, and beggars. All they could do was pray about it, they’d said, the rest was up to God and the state.

He left for college not long after that, but he couldn’t get the thought out of his head.

God and the state.

He tried them both. Over and over, spending his free time on his knees at the nearest chapel to his college campus, spending the drive home calling and anonymously reporting what he knew to any government official he thought would listen. All of his calls went unanswered, ultimately.

“The longer it went on, I- I don’t know. I went insane a little bit, I think. It’s kind of a blur. I just tried to knuckle down and study. The less I thought about it, the better I felt. And then Satoru-” He chuckles at the name, shaking his head incredulously and pawing at his eyes as he giggled like a little boy “Fucking. Satoru.”.

His college roomate, who you’d met briefly the summer before the arrest. You thought him to be a little wild, a little brash, but nothing prepared you for Suguru to tell you he was a little more than into psychedelics. He was always trying to get Suguru to loosen up a little, let himself experience something outside of the mundane small town life he’d always lived. Satoru was spoiled, rude, a nepo baby who’s daddy “allegedly” paid a large sum of under the table cash for him to attend the same prestigious college that Suguru did despite having a GPA lower than the Mariana Trench.

“He isn’t dumb, though. He’s actually a genius, I think. He could comprehend academic concepts I had to study hours for in minutes. He just has this thing with authority-”

It wasn’t until Satoru convinced him to start smoking pot that Suguru began to question the existence of god.

You screw your face up, and he puts a hand out to halt you from saying something you were never intending to say in the first place.

“Weed had very little to do with this. I didn’t get high and decide to murder anyone, it’s not like that. It just took the edge off of everything. I don’t think I knew I experienced anxiety until I smoked for the first time and knew what the world felt like without it.”

Without the cutting edge of his inner turmoil, and away from the prying eyes of his parents, he came to a conclusion one night while sprawled across his dorm bed as his high pulled him off to sleep; maybe God couldn’t do anything because he didn’t exist, and the state couldn’t care enough to do something about it, but he could.

He fought himself on it for a long while.

But every time he'd come home, he'd sit behind the girls in church, already perturbed by his irritation with religious ideologies, already uncomfortable with the way his Sunday best was digging at his skin- and Mimiko would throw glances at him over her shoulder, her eyes begging for him- for anyone to intervene.

“Do you remember the last Sunday I saw you before it happened?” He asked, and you nodded, your throat feeling tight at the memory.

You knew he hated church, it was all he’d ever talk about on the drive to the local burger joint after. You hated thinking of him in this way when he was so frustrated, but you always thought he looked incredible pulling his hair loose from his signature bun, thought his fingers looked so pretty tugging at the top buttons of his shirt, thought his snarl looked just as enticing as his smile in the afternoon light. Sometimes he'd pull his car off an old dirt road after, hike up your dress and take you right there just to blow off steam.

That Sunday was different, though. He had driven you straight home, his hands white knuckle gripped on the wheel at ten and two. Precise, methodical. His jaw clenched so tight you worried for his teeth. You’d considered asking if he was okay, but your mother whispered to you from the grave not to bother with men when they get like this. So you’d sat in thick silence, not even the radio on to help dampen the hellfire you could feel omitting from his pores.

“You know the Hasaba’s?”

He'd asked you, his voice grim and his eyes never leaving the road. You had nodded, a small

”Yes.”

Falling from your lips. His fingers had tapped against the steering wheel as he inhaled through flared nostrils.

”You ever notice how the dad's always a little weird with young girls?”

You didn't recognize his voice that day.

”Yes.”

He chewed on his cheek, nodding slowly, swallowing back bile.

”He ever make you uncomfortable? Push any boundaries?”

You’d gone silent, fixing your face to your passenger window, your breathing going uneven. You couldn't explain it, but you felt like it was wrong to answer that question truthfully.

He spoke your name like a warning.

”No.”

He’d laughed. Not the laugh you knew him for, but once that was low, humorless, painted in disbelief.

”Liar.”

“You were a real prick that day, y’know?” You half-spit at him, but your animosity is quickly quelled by his response.

He nods, pursing his lips “Yeah. I know. I don't know where my head was at the time, I think I had long since lost it. I could've at least told you I loved you before I pulled away-”.

“But you didn't.” You whisper, almost accusatory.

“You’re right. I didn't. It's one of my biggest regrets.”

When he’d dropped you off at your house, he hadn't walked you to your door or chatted with your dad like he usually did. He hadn't even looked at you, or waited in his car for you to get safely inside, instead speeding away before you'd even made it six feet from the car.

Three days later around dawn, the town was rocked by the news of Mr.Hasaba’s murder. He was found face up in his living room with a singular bullet lodged in between his eyes. It hadn't taken long for the authorities to lock in on Suguru. What are the odds that one man dies and another disappears in the same county at the same time? What are the odds that they attend the same church? What are the odds that the families would be intertwined and blended by way of two vulnerable little girls? It was obvious.

“The girls…” You struggle to find your words. This was the biggest part for you “What happened to them? What was your plan?”.

“I had them in the car before I ever pulled my handgun out. They were watching a movie on my phone with headphones in. Y/n, I know what people must think but you have to believe me, I would never hurt them.” His voice becomes rushed and hurried at the end, crackling on the edges and you can't help but scoot closer, holding your hands out for him to take. He does, and you give him a pointed look.

“I know. I believe you.”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment and then reopening before he continues.

“Satoru has this Aunt that lives upstate. She's middle aged, super rich, and has always wanted kids but can't have them. Uterine cancer took that away from her in her twenties. I always thought she'd be a great mom so I-”

You nod, understanding, your body sagging as you feel more weight than you knew you’d been carrying falling off your shoulders as he tells you about his plan to get the girls to her. He’d been apprehended about an hour out, but he'd begged the officers to call her.

“I told them I’d take whatever punishment they gave me without a fuss if they'd just get the girls to her. Life in prison, death row, whatever. The officers told me that wasn't for them to decide but they called her anyway and she was there within the hour filing an emergency protective order.”

He smiles a little “She’d never met them, y'know? But she heard there were kids that needed her and immediately rushed to get them. That's exactly what the girls needed, that type of love.”.

Apparently, the system smiles fondly at those who take down child abusers. Or at least, in his case they did. The D.A. had thrown out a hell of a plea deal in record timing after reading over his case.

“I still had to go to court for sentencing though. I think it helped that the girls were there. They were technically classified as 'victims’ but they got so excited to see me that Satoru's aunt had to take them out of the courtroom before anything had even started. They were yelling at me, yelling that they wanted to sit with me. I think the judge was a little amused.”

You squeeze his hands, smiling up at him through misty eyes.

“Don't look at me like that,” He breathes, his eyes soft “I’m not a hero, y/n. What I did was awful-”.

“I know. But you're not a monster either. I was so scared that…” You trail off and shake your head, not sure of what you're denying.

“It's okay,” He reassures with a placating smile “I get it.”.

“You don't, though.” You tell him, watching as his face contorts in confusion “Do you remember the first time you told me you loved me?”.

He nods “In my dorm.”.

“Right. Do you remember what I said?” You're slowly inching forward, crawling into his lap.

“You asked me if I loved you, like you couldn't believe it.”

You hum the affirmative, settling yourself on his thighs “And you told me you did. Unconditionally.”.

He nods, obviously still confused, and you let go of his hands to run your fingers along his jawline, noticing the way his cheeks flared red beneath your proximity.

“Whether or not you meant to, you set a precedent for me. Unconditional love is all I’ve ever known with you, Suguru. I was scared that if I came up here today and found every rumor to be true that I’d still love you… because I would. I’m glad that doesn't have to be the case.”

His lips meet yours, hesitantly at first, his hands carefully cupping the sides of your face and his thumbs swiping at the skin there, almost petting you in a way. His tongue pokes past his lips, just slightly, swiping against your lips deliberately. You're happy to part your lips for him, whimpering as he swirls his tongue with yours and washes you in the familiar taste. The wet sound and a pitiful handful of whines from somewhere deep in your chest fill the once stale and silent space as he guides you down and backward until your spine is flush with the mattress, one hand moving to cradle your head like you were breakable, like you falling against even something as soft as the plush of his bed without his protective grip may shatter you.

He pulls his lips from yours and hovers over you, planting both hands on the comforter on either side of your head, his hair tumbling down around you like a veil, until all you can really see is an obsidian void and him, him, him. His lips are pursed, eyebrows furrowing as he inhales slowly and his eyes flutter shut.

“I’m sorry, you didn't come here for this. I lost control, I-”

“Suguru Geto.” You reach up and let your fingers dance along his devastating jawline until you're gripping his chin between your pointer and your thumb. He opens his eyes slowly. You always thought he looked a little fox-like, his features pointed and sly, yet so soft on the edges. Gorgeous. He was always so god damn gorgeous.

“I don't believe in god. I can’t anymore. But every fucking night I’ve prayed for you. Just in case.”

His eyes flick across your features, some combination of reverence mixing with guilt painting his features.

“I’m sor-”

You cut him off again, this time by taking your fingers and sliding between his parted lips, pressing against his tongue to silence him. His eyebrows widen in shock at your dauntlessness.

“No. No more apologies. What I’m trying to tell you is that I love you, Suguru. If you want to apologize, fuck me like you're sorry.”

His eyes darken as you speak and he swirls his tongue around your fingers before sliding his mouth off of them with a wet popping noise, reaching up to grab your wrists and pin them on either side of your head, laying flush against your body as he dips into the soft curve of your neck, slurping and lapping at the skin there like all he ever wanted was to taste you.

“Since when did you get bossy?” He questions between kisses, a hiss pushing through his teeth when you grind down on his thigh “I’m not gonna lie, I kind of like it-”.

His teeth sink into your flesh and you rock harder against him, whining pathetically as he dips his head lower, letting go of your wrists only to rid you of your shirt and yank your bra down, not bothering with taking it completely off before he's got his mouth wrapped around one nipple, lapping in fat motions back and forth across your areola while one hand gropes your free breast, his thumb swiping back and forth over your stiffening nipple.

You curse and keen, writhing beneath him as he teased, relishing in his expert conduction of your body as he alternates between your breasts, sucking on your sensitive nipples and looking up at you with blown out pupils, drinking in the way your face contorts when he gets it just right. It isn't until your entire chest is damp with his saliva that you grip his hair, pushing on him and urging him downwards.

He chuckles but doesn't move, smirking up at you with sparks in his eyes “Use your words.”.

You pout, huffing dramatically “That's not very apologetic behavior, Sugu.”.

“How can I apologize appropriately when I don't know what it is you're asking for?” He coos, his grin carrying a wicked edge.

“You’re impossible, I’ll do it myself.” You push him back from you and he cocks a singular eyebrow as he watches you wiggle around and rid yourself of your remaining clothing, re-settling on his bed with your legs parted, your pussy practically dripping down your ass and onto his sheets. You realize as you trace over his still and captivated expression that you weren’t the only one that no longer knew the other. Just as you’d spent years apart from him, he’d spent years apart from you. You are different now. Older, wiser, more bold, less likely to take his shit.

You trace your body with your hand until the pads of your fingertips slip through your folds and make contact with your clit, your movements slow and deliberate, for now. Suguru’s eyes trace your every movement as he stands on the side of the bed and begins to shed his own clothing.

“Who’d you shave for this time?” He asks, the sound muffled as his shirt slides up over his chiseled frame and then his head.

“Why? Jealous?” You tease, and he scoffs incredulously as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down and shedding them one leg at a time, taking a little longer on the leg that has the ankle monitor.

You move your fingers a little faster as you shamelessly reach out your free hand to palm him through his boxers, a moan escaping your lips as you begin to feel the pleasure of your own hand.

He grunts and tosses his head back, shamelessly thrusting against your hand “What if I am?”.

“Then you’d be dumb,” You fight to keep your tone even and confident “because I did it for you.”.

“Fuck.” He spits, seemingly losing all patience as he lunges down and flips your body until your front is flush against the mattress, your legs dangling off the edge and your toes barely touching the floor “Are you serious? Tell me you’re serious, y/n. You knew you were going to fuck me today?”.

“I didn't know, exactly- shit!” Your hips buck involuntarily as his hand slips between your thighs to roll your clit between his fingers, hard and slow “B-but there was a part of me that- nngh!- hoped-”.

That seems to be something akin to the answer he wanted, because he straight up moans into your shoulder blades before slathering the area in sloppy kisses, trailing down your spine with fervor.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” It's a question but you can't formulate a response, not when two of his fingers are slipping inside of you, stretching you out so deliciously “From here on out, I’m gonna be the best fucking husband you could ever ask for. You'll want for nothing. Just say it, tell me you belong to me, y/n.”.

“Husband?!” You half question half squeak, but he ignores you, only curling his fingers inside you with precision, hitting that gummy spot you could never reach with your own fingers that had you burying your face in the comforter to muffle your moans.

He pulls his fingers out of you and you almost protest but then he's on his knees, burying his face into your cunt from behind and causing you to nearly scream into the mattress. You give his college days credit for how fucking good he is at giving head, his thumbs spreading your lips wide so he can trace around your clit with precision, tracing figure eights around the sensitive nub before flattening his tongue and sliding one slow and wide stripe through your entrance. You expect him to stop there but he doesn’t, continuing his trail across your other hole and all the way along the crack of your ass.

“Suguru!” You're unsure if you're reprimanding him or crying out for more, and when you throw a glance over your shoulder he simply keeps his gaze locked on yours as he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of your asscheek, causing you to yelp.

“Say it.” He tells you, his hand moving to toy with your clit.

“Say what?” You know what. You just wanna see how far he'll take this.

He tsks disapprovingly, his free hand moving to push two fingers into you again, curling in time with the stars he was drawing in your clit “I can do this all day, you beautiful little brat.”.

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, your eyes scrunching shut as he adds a third finger, the stretch making you see stars. The flame that had been on a low simmer in your gut was now a roaring fire, flames lapping at every inch of your exposed skin with every well timed movement. It wouldn't be long before you fell apart on his fingers and you knew it.

Apparently, he did too, because he slows his movements to a torturous pace, chuckling as you attempt to shove yourself backwards onto his fingers as he pulls them back in time with your movements, seemingly amused with the way you’re squealing his name in frustration. It’s not enough, and too much. It’s so mean, and yet you can’t imagine yourself going a day without it ever again. You can’t imagine yourself going a day without him ever again.

“Make me cum, please-” You beg, and he hums condescendingly.

“You know I’d love to, doll but unfortunately I’m still waiting on those magic words.” He sighs dramatically and picks up the pace again, waiting patiently for your walls to start spasming around his digits again before returning to the same daunting pace.

“Oh my god!” You groan in frustration, slamming your face down into the mattress like a petulant child, one fist meeting the space beside your head in a shaky dejected punch.

“It’s actually ‘Suguru’, thanks.” He quips, and you’ve officially had enough.

You scramble forward until he’s pulling out and off of you with a slick lewd sound, and then flipping around to face him, all but climbing his body like a tree before twisting ever lock of hair you can find in one fist, yanking him down to eye level with you and using your unoccupied hand to shove your finger in his face with a exasperated pout.

“You, sir, are supposed to be groveling.” You remind him, and he smiles genuinely, with his whole face, his eyes scrunching into crescent moons and the white of his canines shining through plush and soiled lips. You have the same realization you had at sixteen; he’s so beautiful. Even now, even after everything.

…And then his tongue darts out and swipes a stripe up your pointed finger, and you cry out in protest and yank him back a little by the hair that was still gathered in your fist like he hadn’t just licked your literal genitalia, and he laughs the same way he did when you were kids, and your heart explodes in your chest.

“Is that what it takes?” He asks, his words coming out a little breathless, accompanied by a small chuckle “If it’ll get you to tell me you’re mine, I’ll grovel.”.

You roll your eyes, but he's undeterred as he reaches back and grabs your wrist, squeezing lightly to signal for you to loosen your fingers. You do, and he pulls your wrist to his lips, kissing languidly in gentle motions up your arm until hes reached your jawline, murmuring against your skin as he does so.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I never ever wanted to leave you. I love you, please. I love you, I’m so sorry.” His lips tickle against your skin, and he remedies it with kitten licks that have goosebumps erupting from your skin and heat pooling in your core.

His lips find yours and you feel yourself swelling with emotion as he speaks between sloppy wet smacks of your lips.

“M’ gonna get my shit together.” He promises “Gonna give you everything you want and then some. Doesn't matter if that's a camper that we drive around the country or a big house with a picket fence and a couple kids. I'll spend my life worshiping you, y/n. It's all I know how to do.”.

“Okayokayokay-!” You concede as you push yourself backwards as far as possible “I give up, I’m yours. Shut up and fuck me before you make me cry again.”.

He giggles and it sounds the mid-notes on a piano. Comforting, familiar “Since when are you afraid to cry in front of me? That's kind of our whole thing; crying.”.

“I’m not afraid, Suguru.” You scoff “I'm just sick of crying. I don't want to anymore.”.

You dip your hand into his boxers, taking his weight into your hand, causing him to hiss directly into your open mouth in response. You hadn't realized just how much you were affecting him, but the head of his cock is already slathered in precum, making it easy to stroke him in the way you know he likes, applying more pressure at the head and a little less at the base, pausing occasionally to press your thumb in circles across his slit, needy whines escaping your lips every time he blesses you with another drop of wetness, every time his cock twitches in your grasp.

“Shit, slow down-” He gasps, but grunts as he fucks into your closed fist regardless, like he can't help himself.

“Awh, Sugu, gonna come from a two minute handjob? Who are you?” You tease, and he can't even bother to giggle along with you, his brow furrowed in concentration and his lips parted in pleasure as he reaches down to push his boxers down to his thighs so he can watch you work his body, a needy, uncharacteristically high pitched keen escaping him at the scene below. You don't fail to notice the way a ridiculous amount of precum dribbles from his cock onto the soft skin of your stomach the minute he takes in the sight.

“A man who's thought about this every night for the past four yea-”

You pick up pace, causing him to cut himself short with a moan. Smirking, your free hand moves to gather the precum splattered across your abdomen, gathering the salty liquid with your index and pointer, grinning maniacally as he follows your fingers all the way to your mouth with wide, almost devastated eyes. You lick them clean, providing him with an overly dramatic whimper as you swallow, and his whole body tenses.

He snatches your wrists with force, pinning them above your head as he gasps for air and swallows thickly, his lips pursed together and his eyes scrunched shut as he wills himself not to cum, his dick spasming against your belly.

“No.” He says it in the same manner that one would use when correcting a mischievous dog, and now it’s your turn to giggle at him.

“Y/n, I am going to fuck you until you forget I was ever gone. I’m telling you. You've really done it now. Whatever happens next is your own fault.”

The words have you leaking, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“Please?”

“God. Fucking. Dammit.”

He all but tosses you up towards the headboard, rising briefly to shed his boxers before he kneeling between your parted knees, licking his lips hungrily and taking in a shaky breath as he grips to his last string of self control.

“You on birth control? Say yes.” His voice is distant; far away and fucked-out.

You confirm, but barely get the words out before he's flipped you into your stomach, pushing you practically flat against the mattress with his hands on the small of your back, using one of his knees to part your legs as far as they’ll go. It almost hurts, but before you can complain he’s pushing into you, a needy groan escaping his lips as you suck him in inch by inch, panting like he’d just run a marathon.

“Easy, easy, Suguru, please-” You beg, and his thumbs rub apologetic circles into your back.

“Sorry love, I'll be gentle.” He huffs, desperate “You just feel so good. Better than I remember. Tell me when you're ready, yeah? We're about halfway there.”.

Halfway? What the fuck do you mean halfway!?

…Is what you intend to say, but it comes out as a muffled jumbled mess as you do your best to accommodate him. You throw a glance over your shoulder just in time to see him gather a large wad of spit in his mouth and allow it to drain from his lips onto the place where your bodies meet. Your pussy clenches around him as his spit slides down the crack of your ass and flows over his cock, dripping down beneath the two of you onto the bed below.

“Like that, huh? You’re a freak, baby.” His grin is absolutely demonic.

You rock yourself back on him in response, effectively wiping that egotistical look off his face with one buck of your hips. He begins thrusting, shallowly at first, and then quicker, deeper, until he’s pounding into you with force.

Every thrust has you crying out into the mattress, mewling as he slides against your g-spot over and over, pushing down on your spine to angle you just right, and you silently thank god that he knows you so well. His slightly obsessive tendencies were more useful in some areas than others. You remembered the first time he fucked you, his eyes analyzing your body with surgical precision, mentally mapping every sweet spot in academic detail, committing you to memory and since then he seemed to know exactly how to use you to his satisfaction. You knew him well enough to know that nothing got him off quite like knowing he could get you off harder, faster, better than anyone else. Better than yourself, even.

He groans, allowing his head to fall forward until his forehead rests between your shoulder blades, sweat mixing between the two of you as he slows temporarily, rolling his hips rather than thrusting, leveraging his cock inside you and grinding down against your walls, the pleasure rolling over you in one never ending wave instead of repeated splashes.

“Fuck, Suguru-!” You keen, gripping at the sheets for some sort of purchase “Please, please, I wanna watch-”.

You slap at his forearm to signal him to let you move and he does, pulling out of you and watching with a fucked-out gaze as you settle on your back underneath him, moving to lock your legs behind his waist as he settles between your thighs and reaches down to guide himself back in with a hiss.

His thrusts are slow and methodical as he presses his lips to yours, swirling your tongue with his and allowing you to capture the wet muscle between your lips and suck, earning yourself a groan and a change in pace, lust overtaking his determination not to bust. He reaches down with one hand to rub the most delectable circles on your clit, whining and whimpering as you clench around him in response, the pressure in your stomach building at an exponential rate.

“I swear to god, it's like I can't get close enough.” You can't tell if he's blathering to you or himself but he reaches down and grabs the underside of your knees, throwing your legs over his shoulders and fucking into you impossibly deeper until you're certain he's bruising something inside of you. The pain mixing with the pleasure has you teetering on the edge of euphoria, your whole body tensing as tears pool in your eyes and you yelp with every thrust, trying to formulate words even though he's effectively smoothed over every ridge in your brain. All that's left is him and how good his cock feels reshaping your body from the inside out.

“I, I’m-” You attempt to announce your impending orgasm but no words come out, only an illegible mess of jumbled stuttered moans.

His hand slides down between your bodies to toy with your clit again “Please, baby, please cum for me, I can't hold out much longer. Not when you look like that.”.

The sound of him begging for you is the final nail in the coffin, your whole body spasming in an explosion of pleasure as you cum on his cock, damn near screaming his name, curling inward and gripping at his hair with desperation as he only pounds you harder.

“F-fuck, fuck, baby- yes. Holy fuck you're incredible. All mine. You're mine.” He's a blubbering mess above you as he blatantly chases his own high, his breath labored with effort, his eyes wide and drinking in your expression as you fall into the territory of overstimulation from the continual force. Your legs tremble against him, every thrust making you jerk and twitch beneath him.

“S-say it baby, fuck. Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Suguru! I’m yours, please-!”

His orgasm hits him so fast it almost shocks him, his whole body stilling as his dick spasms inside you, painting your walls with an obscene amount of cum.

His muscles relax as he rests his forehead against yours, trying desperately to remember how to breathe. You tap at his shoulder and he mumbles an apology, helping you to pull down one leg at a time.

He pulls out and flops down beside you on his back, comfortable silence overtaking the familiar room, nothing but the sound of your breathing slowly evening out echoing off the walls.

You turn your head to look at him and he’s already staring at you, smiling gently.

“Hey.” He whispers cheekily, like an awkward teenager as he reaches over to brush locks of sweat dampened hair away from your forehead.

“Hi.” You respond in the same tone, grabbing his hand and bringing his knuckles to your lips, pressing kisses to each one.

“I think your parents wanted me to come up here and convince you that God was real.” You tell him, and he laughs, bringing his hands up to cover his face in embarrassment. You giggles meld with his, adding “I think I got a little distracted.”

“A little?” He questions through the laughter, and you nod.

“Mhm!”

“I mean, I think I saw him there for a second if that counts for anything-”

“Oh my god, you're so dramatic!” You playfully slap at his bicep and he catches your wrist, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“I love you.” He murmurs, pressing kisses into your hair, inhaling your scent like he couldn't get enough.

“Unconditionally?” You ask.

“Unconditionally.” He confirms.

masterlist

#jjk fanfic #geto smut #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk geto #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk suguru #geto x you #geto x y/n

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