#and his chair will always be empty from now on

[five-rivers]

Funeral

“I’m sorry,” said Danny, speaking to the headstone in lieu of anything else to talk to.  He certainly wasn’t going to speak to the empty and expectant grave a few feet away.  “I wanted to wait.  I want to wait.  It’s just–”  He cut himself off, curling his hands into fists.  “There are so many things I haven’t seen, haven’t done.  Jazz got married, you know?  She’s pregnant.  If I was– I could have–”

He fell silent and adjusted the collar of his overcoat, trying to keep the frigid Ghost Zone wind away from his currently human neck.  

“Sam and Tucker are thinking about getting married, now that we’ve all graduated,” he said softly.  “I would have liked to see that, too.  And have a career.  Travel.  I know you wanted to do that, too.  But–”  

He broke off as his voice pitched weirdly, too high, too loud.  Sparks jumped off his fists as his emotions rose.  He flickered in and out of sight and tangibility, and his skin started to–

With an effort, he wrenched himself back together.  

“I’m sorry,” he said again.  “This is why I have to go.  I’m too unstable, and it isn’t like you.  I’m not just a danger to myself.”

(A premonition: Disturbed soil, a hand reaching out, a solid body… but there was nothing there now.  The ground was troubled only by slowly growing grass.)

He turned away from Dani’s grave and walked back to the mortuary shrine.  

The wind kicked up again.  There was ice in it.  

A motto was carved above the threshold of the shrine.  It read, LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR OWN DEAD.  Appropriate.  No one fully living would be here tonight.  Sam, Tucker, and Jazz had all wanted to be, just like they had all wanted to be there for Dani, but there were rules about this kind of thing, old rules, and–

Ice feathered out from under his feet.  And it wouldn’t be safe for them.  

The mortuary shrine was cozy on the inside, not at all like a morgue, or an embalmer’s studio.  There were some similarities, overlaps in function, but the shrine was not organized with decaying fleshy bodies in mind.  The central altar, for example, was high off the ground, for ease of access by the celebrants, but it was soft, bed-like, for the sake of the one who’d lie there.  The other altars were filled with other things, like candles, foods, oils and wines, salt, cloth, books, and strange implements Danny couldn’t name.  All things needed for a burial.  

There was other furniture, too, and the associated accouterments.  Elegant ghost lanterns and a fireplace, burning with cold fire.  Lovely chairs and small tables carved from bright wood.  Plush footstools.  Tapestries and curtains, softening the stone walls.  

Three ghosts waited for him there, the proper number for a rite like this.  Frostbite, his horns only inches from the ceiling.  Pandora, who had taken a smaller form for the occasion.  Clockwork, who looked much the same as he always did, except that he wasn’t changing forms, instead wearing a guise of solid middle age.  

(Danny still had to look up at all of them.  He'd managed to catch up to Jazz, but he'd never reached his father's height.)

“You are ready,” said Clockwork.  

It wasn’t really a question, didn't necessarily call for a response, but Danny understood.  This was his last chance to back out without any more consequences than the ones he was currently experiencing.  

But those consequences were bad enough.  He shuddered as intangibility and invisibility rippled through him again, and he just barely kept a grip on his more destructive powers.  

“Yes,” said Danny.  He looked around the shrine, nervous.  He hadn't been here when Dani did this. He didn't know what came next.  Not in any detail.  “Should I change?”

“No,” said Pandora.  “Not unless you feel the need to.  The ritual will be a guide, as it was for your younger sister.”

“Then we shall begin,” said Clockwork.  

Danny nodded.  

Frostbite came forward fist, and leaned all the way down to kiss Danny’s forehead.  “You are dead, Great One, and we will remember you.”

He stepped back, and Pandora took his place.  “You are dead, little warrior, and we will send you on with honor.”  She pressed a kiss to his forehead as well.  

Then, Clockwork came up.  He looked down at Danny for longer than the other two.  “You are dead, Daniel, and the time comes for all the dead to be laid to rest.”

When Clockwork’s lips brushed against Danny’s forehead, he felt the first strands of the ritual wrap around him like silk.  Still thin and tenuous enough that he could break free, but not without damage to both the weaving and himself.  

Frostbite, meanwhile, had turned to one of the lesser altars.  There was a small teapot chilling there, above a braiser of cold fire.  Frostbite poured its contents into a large mug, then added three scoops of shimmery white powder, each from a different small pot, before stirring three times.  

He held the mug out to Danny.  “For your nerves.”

“Is this drugged?” asked Danny, taking the mug.  He kept his tone light.  Considering the parts of this Danny knew were going to happen, that was really the least of his worries.  

“Drugged and poisoned,” said Frostbite.  “We did research into the best way to ritually account for your continued life.  This is it.”

If Danny was younger, he’d ask if it was going to kill him.  He knew better, now, about how durable half-ghosts were.  Memories of long-ago history lessons, of trivia, of drugged drinks and gentle, honored deaths on cold mountains ghosted through Danny’s mind.  But those were children.  

He raised the mug to his lips and took a drink.  It tasted of chocolate, cream, and a bewildering array of spices and herbs, from capsaicin to vanilla to rosemary.  There was also a bitter undertaste, and Danny would have pulled away instinctively, but as soon as he’d started the reflexive motion, Frostbite put a friendly but firm hand on the back of his head, and another on the bottom of the mug, keeping it tilted back.  

(A premonition: Other hands hovered nearby, ready to assist if Danny resisted.  He could feel them.  One over his nose, another stroking his throat, taking advantage of the remaining reflexes of his human body.  But they weren’t there.  Not yet.)

The rites, now started, would not be so easily refused.  

Danny drank deeply, finding a strange sort of enjoyment in the extended physical contact.  He’d been avoiding touch ever since a nasty scare with his ice powers and Sam’s skin.  There had been close calls before that, too, with his newer, more esoteric powers, but until then…

Frostbite tilted Danny’s head all the way back, ensuring the last few drops of the drink fell past Danny’s lips, then pulled the mug away.  Danny licked his teeth and lips, and swallowed one more time.  He didn’t feel anything yet.  

“What next?” he asked, wincing at the edge of power behind the question.  He should probably just.  Not talk.  Especially not with drugs in his system.  

“After a death, the first step is to clean and prepare the body,” said Pandora.  

Of course.  Danny nodded.  The mortuary shrine… wobbled.  

Frostbite swept Danny up into his arms - which would have been more embarrassing if Frostbite wasn’t huge - and carried him to one of the lesser altars.  It was smooth-surfaced and the neighboring, even smaller altars had bars, bottles, jars, basins of water, and washcloths, all arranged to stand at precise angles from one another.  He was laid down on the altar, and Frostbite and Clockwork started to undress him.  

At first, Danny tried to help, peeling out of his overcoat and sweater quickly.  But then, his movements seemed to… blur.  His mind was still sharp, as far as he could tell, but his limbs were becoming clumsy, slow.  

It was Clockwork who untied his boots, and Frostbite who unbuttoned Danny’s shirt.  By the time they got to his underthings, it felt like there was a barrier between him and his body.  Not anything solid, he could still move, still react, but something muffling, slowing.  Frostbite laid him down so that he was flat on his back on the lesser altar.  Clockwork started going through Danny’s hand with a wet, lightly perfumed, comb.  Frostbite, meanwhile, took out a set of dentists tools and eased Danny’s jaw open with one claw.  

Across the room, at the main altar, Pandora laid layer after layer of cloth.  Some of them were patterned, others plain.  Some were thick with embroidery, others were gossamer thin.  Some were edged with beads or woven with gold, others looked tattered, as if they’d been previously used for something else, the scrupulously cleaned.  

Clockwork, done with Danny’s hair for the moment, moved on to his feet.  It was hard to describe the intimacy of being cleaned like this by someone else.  By someone he knew.  He wasn’t a patient, Clockwork wasn’t a nurse.  He wasn’t an infant, and Clockwork wasn’t his parent.  But this was an act of care and love, offered without judgment.  It was also embarrassingly efficient and thorough.  When a body was cleaned, prepared for internment, it wasn't just the normal surfaces that were cleaned, but areas generally considered private.  

As Clockwork moved upwards, the powers that churned along the surface of Danny’s skin quieted.  They did not go silent - they never did, these days - but they were no longer so maddeningly active.  

Finished with Danny's mouth (which now felt much more clean than it ever did after the dentist's) Frostbite moved on to his nails, clipping and cleaning them, smoothing rough edges and cuticles.  Danny tried to be helpful with this, to at least hold his hands in the right way, but the effects of the drugs were progressing.  His movements were slowing, growing smaller.  

He should be panicking.  The loss of control, at least, should bother him, given the constant vigilance his rapidly growing powerset required.  But, as a human, his emotions were still principally dependent on physical systems and chemical reactions.  His heartbeat was slow, and growing slower.  

They turned him over to work on his back, and Danny half-dozed, eyes barely open, as they diligently scrubbed him clean.  

Then, he was on his back again, anointed with oils and perfumes, smokes and incense wafted over him.  Something wet drew a line from his lips to his groin.  

Danny's heart twitched to a stop. 

Blue-white rings flared from his core in an instant, painfully arresting the moment of death, then swept out to Danny's extremities.  He flinched, twisting on the table, onto his side, suddenly able to move again.  Everything was too bright, too loud, too close, too present.  He covered his face with his arms.

The panic he’d missed earlier was in full force now, shining bright and pure and crystalline in the way only ghostly emotions could.  He was in danger.  He was dangerous.  He could feel his powers coiling, ready to strike, whether it be his will or against it.  He fought them, and paid the price, bones and skin going soft, their fine, detailed structures destabilizing, running like wax, like the flesh of a caterpillar in a cocoon.  

A hand scooped through his sticky, melting flesh and pressed a cool, hard, surface to his lips.  He drank.  It was the same thing Frostbite had given him before, but without the bitterness.  With every gulp, the ritual spun onwards, strands thickening, multiplying.  By the time he was finished drinking, his skin was sticky and damp, but solid again underneath that.  

“No poison this time?” he asked.

“Just because you cannot taste it does not mean it isn’t there,” said Frostbite.  “Do you know what separates a medicine from a poison?”

“Dosage?” hazarded Danny.  Jazz was an MD.  He’d picked up a few things.

All three of the older ghosts chuckled.  Frostbite went as far as to ruffle his hair.

“He does learn,” said Clockwork, unzipping Danny’s jumpsuit (it had grown with him) and gently pushing aside Danny’s hands when he moved to help.  

Whatever was in the second drink, if there was anything at all, it didn’t act nearly as quickly as the first.  He could feel so much more, his sense of touch unblunted.  It made the process of Frostbite, Clockwork, and Pandora undressing him all that much more, especially when they chided him (ever so gently) for trying to help them, for doing anything but lying there like a corpse.  

(Deja vu: Rituals as old as humanity, reaching back, reaching forward.  The preparation of the dead, laying them to rest.  The duty of the family, to clean and prepare, to stand watch, sit vigil, to March the wake, to mourn, to celebrate.  The dead did not move to help.  They did not move at all.)

They washed the spaces between his toes and fingers, his teeth, the backs of his eyelids, the insides of his ears, every nook and cranny they had cleaned when he was in human form was cleaned again.  The stickiness from his earlier destabilization was wiped away, replaced with a dry, fresh feeling.  Invisibility and intangibility stopped wisping across his skin, too tightly bound by the ritual to be used even by accident.  

The perfumes they used now were different, they tickled at his brain and core both, summoning feelings of nostalgia, regret, longing, grief, quiet, peace.  They traced symbols in them, in languages Danny didn’t know but could feel the meanings of, of linear past and spreading future, of the pinpoint present, of decay and rot, of the loosening of muscles, of the blurring of boundaries, of reconstruction, of change, of stability, of things remade, of things caught in time forever.  

Frostbite picked him up and brought him to the main altar.  It was soft, piled high with cloth.  They felt cool and silky on Danny’s bare skin and there was a pillow under his head.  Absently, he ran his palm back and forth across the top cloth.  Or, no, not quite the top one.  The main one he was touching was large, large enough to hang off the altar and pool on the ground, but there was a smaller strip of embroidered cloth, almost like a long belt or ribbon, at the height of his biceps.  

There was, he noted, another such ribbon under his ankles, and another under his knees.  He wondered what they were for.  

He didn’t have to wonder for long.  Clockwork picked up the long ends of the ribbon and wound it around his ankles in a complicated fashion.  The twists and turns showed off the intricacy of the abstract embroidery.  He finished it off with a knot that disappeared under the rest of the ribbon.  

The strings of the ritual gathered faster, wound thicker, tighter, with a physical anchor.  

Clockwork moved on to the ribbon at Danny’s ankles.  The weaving was slightly different, but had the same effect. 

He expected the one under his arms to go the same way.  But instead Pandora, Frostbite, and Clockwork gathered flowers from another altar.  They were all black and white, so it took Danny a moment to recognize them.  Lilies, roses, marigolds, carnations, asphodel, nettle, nightshade, poppies, lycoris.  Flowers for death, for funerals, for mourning.  

Clockwork wrapped Danny’s hands around the bouquet, and pressed the ring finger of his left hand against a rose thorn.  A drop of blood welled up.  Blood, not ectoplasm.  Danny stared, surprised.  But he didn’t get to stare long.  Clockwork produced another ribbon, and wrapped it around the flowers and Danny’s wrists.  

Then, he picked up the other ribbon under Danny and tied it around his upper arms and elbows before tucking the ends into the ribbon around Danny’s wrists.  

It all felt very secure.  

Under normal circumstances, Danny would have been able to escape such flimsy restraints in a hummingbird’s heartbeat.  But it wasn’t just the ribbons that held him.  He could still escape, yes, but it would take a great deal of effort.  

He twitched his shoulder, just to check that he could.  The motion was slow, heavy, and smaller than he expected.  

Pandora put a stilling hand on his shoulder and held a coin up in front of his face.  It was large and silver, inscribed with symbols from languages both long dead and never alive.  Danny wondered if they had made it just for this occasion.  

“A last chance,” said Pandora.

His last chance to back out, is what she meant.  To say something.  He could do it.  He could stop the ritual and suffer the consequences.  He could be a danger to everyone around him for the rest of his existence, however long or short that was.  

He gave Pandora the tiniest shake of his head.  She smiled and pressed the coin against his lips.  He opened his mouth, just enough to take the coin.  It fit comfortably on his tongue, in between his teeth but not jostling against them.  If it wasn’t custom made and sized, it might as well have been.  It tasted metallic and sweet, as if, given enough time, it would dissolve on his tongue. 

Pandora took out one more embroidered ribbon and wrapped it around his jaw and the top of his head, holding his mouth closed.  There was enough tension in the ribbon to press, but not enough for its edges to dig into tender flesh.  Taken together, the coin and ribbon made an effective gag.  

His wail was now bound just as effectively as his intangibility and invisibility, as effectively as his tongue and voice.  For the first time since the incompatibility between his powers and his body became clear, the stress of keeping his wail under control was lifted away.

(A possibility, unraveled: Danny standing at the center of a crater made with his own voice.  No, kneeling.  No, weeping, curled on the ground, head touching dirt and fractured concrete.  He knew those buildings, teetering on the edges of new cliffs.  He knew them.)

This was the right decision.  

The three older ghosts busied themselves at the other, smaller altars briefly, allowing Danny to collect himself and sink deeper into that sense of relaxation.  The wail wasn’t the only thing that had been taken off his shoulder.  All his other voice-based powers were similarly locked away, and he hadn’t even noticed losing his shapeshifting, but he couldn’t touch that, either.  

When Pandora stepped back into his field of view, she was holding a mask.  A death mask, more specifically, styled after Danny’s own face.  Frostbite, next to her, held a small, square cloth, like a handkerchief and a small bottle.  

Clockwork reached out and touched Danny’s face, briefly tracing each of his features.  His lips, his nose, his eyebrows.  He slid his fingers down, pressing Danny’s eyelids closed.  The motion was gentle, but held a strange sort of finality.  

Danny found that he could not open his eyes.  

Fabric, soft and smooth, whisper thin, covered his face and was adjusted, straightened.  Something fragrant dampened it from above, near his nose.  More perfume.  He inhaled.  Exhaled.  Stopped.  

Stopped.  

Stopped.

Before he could have any more thoughts about not being able to breathe, the death mask was pressed into place.  The weight of it pressed the thin shroud over his face snugly into his skin.  It made his other limitations - his eyes, his breath, his general immobility - more acceptable, somehow. 

Other talismans were placed on his skin or tucked into the ribbons.  Some, he could identify by touch.  The ticklish barbs of a feather.  The cold roundness of another, smaller coin.  The familiarity of his childhood stuffed bear.  Others, his powers identified for him.  The sparkling wonder of a lunar meteorite.  The shiver of a carved piece of ghost ice.  The thrumming power and glory of a vial of ectoplasm shed by a god Danny had fought and defeated.  He hadn’t known they’d kept that.  

But other things were too strange to identify by touch alone.  He could make guesses.  Maybe that was a flower petal, maybe this other thing was a coil of string, and while he was sure that last was paper, he couldn’t say what was on it.  

With every token placed, another one of his powers was called up and locked away, like bound by like.  His awareness of the stars winking out as the meteorite was placed was sad.  The powers he’d ‘earned’ from that god being placed firmly out of his reach, however, was only a relief.

He was verging on helplessness, now.  Helpless, but unburdened.  

Clockwork started to speak.  None of the words were recognizable, but Danny knew the feeling of a prayer.  This one was old.  Old old.  Old even by the standards of ancient ghosts.  They hummed briefly in his bones before settling in them like lead weights.  Or golden ones.  

The edges of the sheet he was lying on were lifted up and folded over him, then tucked under him.  Wound around him.  It was a winding sheet.  Of course.  Of course.  The next cloth, too, was pulled up and over him, the motion a little more brisk now that the tokens were held in place by the first sheet.  Then, the next.  Cerecloth and cerements.  

Danny twitched a little, at first, at certain unexpected touches, but when the third wrapping added  its comforting, soothing pressure he was reduced (or, perhaps, elevated) to a state of perfect limpness.  

They added more tokens between the third layer and the fourth, but Danny couldn’t even begin to guess what they were.  They were too muffled by layers of silk - those layers being both the literal layers of cloth and the figurative layers of the ritual.  

Clockwork’s prayers were getting harder to hear, but Danny felt like he could recognize some of them, now.  Snippets of Akkadian, Egyptian, Greek, Latin, a word or two off the Oracle Bones.  Prayers for the dead, for their revenge and their remembrance, for their reverence and their reward, for their repose and their return.  

He was wrapped again and again, until the pressure, the gentle rocking motion necessary to wrap him, and the nearly unintelligible rhythm of Clockwork’s prayers threatened to lull him to sleep.  

He could hear snatches of Esperanto, now, and English.  

“... rest, and rest in peace… until waking… to hope… blessing in memory…”

Some parts of it felt familiar.  Others were strange, so strange, but he was bound so securely, now, that he almost felt as if he was floating.  

“... iron and wood, we entrust this most precious… an embrace… the hallowed graves… deliver and defend…”

No, he was floating, sort of.  He’d been lifted up, sheets and all, and now he was being moved sideways.  Sideways, and now down, down, into a snug cavity.  Was he bordered by flowers?  Pillows?  Both?  He couldn’t tell.  

“... into silk… like dust by sunlight into gold… changed… after a long day, to sleep…”

A faint weight draped over him, a final sheet covering him.  He felt, with a strange sense that lay deeper than instinct, further down and closer to his heart and soul, that Pandora, Frostbite, and Clockwork had drawn closer, that they were kneeling beside his casket or coffin, heads bowed.  

“Now we lay thee down to sleep,” whispered Clockwork, words startlingly clear despite his voice being harder to hear than ever, “we pray thy grave thy soul to keep, until thou choose the form thou take, and the hour thou shall wake.”

“And should thou never wake,” whispered - someone.  It was getting harder to tell the muffled voices apart.  “We shall mourn for thy sake.”

Very slowly, the force pushing in and down on Danny increased, deliciously.  It was almost enough.  

(Danny didn’t know where that thought had come from.)

A loud thump shuddered through Danny.  Another.  They were nailing him in.  Another restraint.  Another limitation.  Another step towards the cumulation of the ritual.  Almost.  Almost.  

Thirteen nails sealed Danny into the coffin.  

(He had been snug before.  Now, he wasn’t sure he could have moved even if the ritual hadn’t removed the ability from him.)

(All his powers were bound.  There was no more sense of responsibility keeping him awake.  His body was cocooned in every way possible.  There was no more fear about destabilizing and melting.  None of his choices would change what would happen to him next.  Only a curiosity about what it would feel like to be buried kept him from succumbing to his soul-deep exhaustion then and there.)

Vaguely, ever-so-vaguely, Danny could feel his coffin lifted, moved.  He knew where he was going.  Out of the mortuary shrine, across the lawn, down the rows and rows of graves, and to one grave in particular.  He’d wanted to be buried next to family, and Dani was his only family available.  

They stopped.  He was lowered.  Down.  Down.  Stopped again.  

A chill stole over Danny, like the cool side of a pillow, but all over his body, as if it meant to draw out the last of the warmth of life from his ectoplasm.  Restful.  

The dirt came down in sifted shovelfuls, like rain on a roof, like distant thunder.  And– he did have more powers, either so subtle he didn’t notice them as such or as of yet undiscovered.  These were buried as thoroughly as the others.  

Up and up the dirt piled, until he could barely feel it as it came down.  Until all that was left was the weighty, solid thump of a headstone coming down.  

Then there was nothing.  Nothing but silence, stillness, silk… and sleep.

.

Danny woke with the comfortable confusion of someone who had gotten their blanket wrapped around them unevenly while they slept.  Slow, unhurried, well-rested, but just slightly less cozy than expected.  

He shifted, mumbling and rolling over.  No, that wasn’t any good.  He made a face.  There was something on his face.  He reached up to wipe it off, and the sheets wrapped around him tore like cobwebs.  

That roused him further.  This… he did not think this was his bed.  It was his, but not his bed.

He wiped something thin and crackly off his face and inhaled deeply.  Dust.  Salt.  Dust, salt, and something like decay, but sharper, fresher, cleaner.  

He breathed, remembering.  His mouth tasted like silver and sugar.  His hands quested outward, seeking, seeking, until he found the edges of the space he was in.  

This was his grave.  His coffin.  

It was bigger than he’d imagined.

His eyes opened to a darkness relieved only by his own faint glow.  The many sheets he had been wrapped in had been reduced to fragile scraps, except a very few that remained stubbornly wrapped around his shoulders.  His mask was a thin shell.  The flowers were desiccated, colorless strands and flakes.  The pillows were flat and torn, showing the wooden sides of the coffin in places.  The only token he could see and identify was the plush and pristine form of Neil Bearstrong.  He gathered the toy close, pressing him against his chest.  

He’d made it.  He was awake, aware, and apparently stable, when before he’d been bracing himself for death.  He breathed out, breathed in.  His breath caught in his throat, and he giggled.  

Did that mean Dani had made it, too?

He rolled onto his back and put a hand against the lid of the coffin.  It looked strange there.  Disproportionate.  But of course it did.  His body had just finished reformatting itself into a stable form.  Frostbite had told him that he’d probably look different, maybe even radically different.  Clockwork had even confirmed that medical opinion, from a temporal perspective.

Positives: his hand was a recognizably human hand.  He was awake.  

He didn’t dare turn human - if he even could - until he had Frostbite and the others look him over.  He wouldn’t be able to phase through the Ghost Zone’s soil.  Teleportation was inadvisable while he was this disoriented.  So were portals.  And most powers, really. 

He’d have to dig his way out.  

Bracing himself, making sure his limbs were free of restraint, he drew back his fist to punch the lid.  The dirt would come in fast, and he wasn’t sure how deep he was.  Six feet was traditional, of course, but it was also traditional for the dead to stay that way.  So.  

The lid flew upward under the force of his strike, all the dirt overhead bending away.  He grabbed the edges of the hole and pulled down, widening it enough for him to claw his way out without warping his body.  He… wasn’t quite ready for that, after the whole melting thing.  

He burrowed upward, feeling like something between a worm and a badger, batting away dirt, crawling, squirming, reaching upward.  Despite his best efforts, some of the winding sheets came with him, clinging, slowing his passage.  Still, his hand hit free air.  Grass tickled at his fingers.  He set his palm down on the ground, and pulled.  

The dirt did not want to let him go.  It pulled back, its embrace offering an eternal peace, but Danny was firm, eager to go, to see, to live.  He pushed himself up, and out, then lay, panting, on the ground.  

That had been… more tiring than expected, actually.  

Someone propped him up, large hands bringing him into a sitting position.  “Daniel,” said Clockwork.  A loose and oddly cut robe was wrapped around him.  

“Mm,” said Danny, his voice cracking.  

A cup was raised to his lips.  He drank greedily, the sweet, floral liquid soothing his dry throat.  

“Shall we get you cleaned up?” asked Pandora, another hand, laid on the center of his back.  

“Can you walk?” asked Frostbite.  “Or fly?”

“Yes,” said Danny, hoarsely.  He reached up to put his hand on Clockwork’s shoulder.  It took some to get it there.  It was further away than he’d thought.  

He was smaller than he had been.  Not entirely unexpected.  Returning to one’s appearance at death was, apparently, one of the more common ways for this to go.  But had he really been this small at fourteen?

They did not go to the mortuary shrine, but made their uncertain way to the other shrine in the graveyard: the revival shrine.  The structure was much the same inside and outside, but it had only one altar.  The rest of the space was reserved for a bath, bed, and mirrors.  

Pandora guided him to a chair in front of one of the mirrors.  Danny stared.  He wasn’t much to look at right now, but what he could see of his body… 

It hadn’t been a winding sheet dragging at him as he’d crawled through the dirt.  It had been wings.  He shrugged the loose robe off his shoulders to see them better.  They were patterned with white and black, star and moon shapes on a dark background. He had antennae.  Long, soft, feathery looking things curving up and back from his temples.  

Clockwork brought a damp cloth to his face and, slowly, began to clean away the dirt.  

“Surprised?” asked Clockwork.  

“Are you?” 

Clockwork chuckled.  

“Did Dani– Is Dani–?”

“She woke seventeen years ago,” said Clockwork.  “She is quite smug about technically being older than you in terms of lived experience.”

“She would be,” said Danny.  

He pulled away from Clockwork’s ministrations to get another look at the mirror.  He had about the same proportions he did when he was a teenager, and his hair was as white as it ever was in ghost form, but it sparkled, as if someone had dusted it with silver glitter.  His antennae matched the color pretty well, too.  Star-shaped freckles littered his cheeks, and when he tilted his head this way and that…  There was an effect like a hologram, depending on the light, of a dark or glimmering domino mask around his eyes.  

And, beneath that, his basic features, the structures of his bones…  They looked about the same as they had when he was young.  Except… softer, somehow.  More neutral.  The change, as subtle as it was, gave him a genderless mien.

(The idea of that trend continuing elsewhere on his body didn’t bother him nearly as much as he would have expected before this.)

He wondered what he would look like in human form.  But… later.  Later.  

For now, Pandora was running a tiny brush though the delicate hairs of his antennae, removing irritating bits of soil and grass.  

“In fact,” said Pandora, “I would wager that she will be smug about physically appearing older than you.”

“She looks older than me, too?” asked Danny.  “That’s hardly fair.”

“That is the way of things, I’m afraid.  She hadn’t truly died until she was buried.”  

“But she’s okay?”

“She’s doing very well, last I saw her,” said Frostbite.

“And Jazz?  Sam and Tucker?”

“All fine,” said Clockwork.  “They visit you frequently.”

Pandora did something complicated with telekinesis that pulled most of the dirt from Danny’s skin and left him feeling distinctly fluffed.  The fuzz along the bases and upper edges of his wings stood on end.  He shook himself all over, then plucked the washcloth from Clockwork’s hands so he could clean behind his ears and in-between his toes.  

“Clothes?” asked Clockwork.  

“Cut for wings?” challenged Danny.  

“Of course.”

[httpkaulitz]

do you think you'll kill for me one day?

PAIRINGS: Mafia!Bill x Female reader

CONTENT: Smut, angst

SYNOPSIS: You realize that Bill is capable of do anything for you.

WARNINGS: dom!bill, sub!reader, kidnapping, mention of blood and guns, unprotected sex, p in v, kissing, fingering(f receiving)

You knew he was dangerous since the first time you saw him, you might not have been sure, but deep down you knew. He had this air of mystery that made you want to watch him and find out what he was hiding.

He was also very handsome and charming. Which made you more curious, since it was strange for someone as young and handsome as him to always be drinking alone.

He would show up at least three times a week and at first he barely spoke to you, just placing his order and drinking in silence. He was always accompanied by at least two security guards and sometimes he seemed very irritated.

It was on one of those irritated days that he started the conversation with you for the first time. He didn't seem to genuinely care about your opinion or want some advice, he seemed more like he was looking for trouble, someone he could take out his anger on.

You could see it in the way he looked at you. Brown eyes shining with challenge, as if he wanted you to say something wrong. And as intimidating as he was, for some reason, you weren't afraid of him.

You have no idea what you said that day to get his attention. But for some reason, Bill - who you now knew the name of - was completely enchanted by you.

As the weeks went by, you understood that he wasn't the type to impose a situation even if he had the power to do so. No, he wanted to win you over. Always telling you everything he would do for you, everything he could give you.

He was always very charming. He spoke looking deeply into your eyes as if he wanted to discover all your secrets and always found a way to put his hands on yours when you handed him a drink.

Bill brought you many gifts, most often jewelry. Jewelry that you could never buy with your bartending salary. You kindly refused all gifts and advances. You're sure that most people would call you stupid, but in your mind it wouldn't make sense to accept gifts from someone you don't want to have relationship with.

The truth is, you didn't know anything about Bill other than his drinking tastes, his wealth, and how dangerous he appears to be. He never opened up to you and you never asked even though you were curious.

Bill on the other hand always seemed more enchanted every time you turned him down, as if you were a puzzle he hadn't figured out how to solve yet. You couldn't figure out if having all this attention was a good thing or not.

And that's how you ended up tied to a chair, blindfolded and a gag covering your mouth. You had no idea how much time had passed since you woke up. You tried to scape for a while but all you managed to do was get tired and hurt yourself. The ropes burned your skin every time you moved too much.

Screaming wasn't an option and you couldn't see anything or hear any noise. All you had was a feeling of emptiness. The feeling of panic was growing inside you by the minute.

After what seemed like an eternity you heard the loud sound of gunshots, your ears rang and your heart raced so much that you felt like it was going to jump out of your chest. In panic you tried to scream and break free, but it was useless.

Suddenly the blindfold was removed from your eyes and you had to blink a few times to adapt to the light.

You were so stunned that it took you a while to realize that it was Bill who was in front of you. He took the gag out of your mouth and your first instinct was to ask what was going on, but your throat was so dry that you choked and swallowed back the words.

"Are you okay?" He asked as he undid the knots in the ropes that bound you.

You waved at him, but Bill noticed you didn't look well at all.

“I thought you kidnapped me.” Your voice was so low that for a moment you thought he hadn't heard you.

Bill stopped his movements for a second and gave you a questioning look. He seemed almost upset that you thought he would kidnap you.

You suddenly felt embarrassed for thinking like that. After all, he never hurt you. “I mean, why would someone kidnap me?”

Now Bill's look was one of guilt. “They thought you knew one of my secrets.” You frowned in confusion. You hadn't been kidnapped by Bill, but because of him. Why?

As if he could read your thoughts he said. “Because you are mine.”

It was scary and exciting. Your ears were still ringing and your heart was still hammering in your chest, but now for a new reason.

Bill seemed to expect some kind of response, but for once you were speechless. You who always had beautiful and kind words to always reject him.

When all the ropes were finally removed, he picked you up bridal style and started walking out of the place.

Without even realizing it, you ran your hand over his neck, your fingers trailing the splashes of red liquid. He probably had more splatter on his clothes, but it was hard to tell because of the black fabric.

“Don’t worry honey, it’s not mine.” Bill said calmly without even looking away from the path. “They won’t have the opportunity to make the same mistake ever again.”

You knew what that meant. Bill killed for you.

The drive home was a blur, your mind was too distraught to register anything.

You only realized you were shaking when he placed you on the bed and handed you a glass of water. Your hands were shaking so much that it was difficult to drink.

“Why am I here?” You finally asked after curiously looking around the luxurious room.

“Where else would you go?” Bill looks at you questioningly as he takes off his clothes until he's down to his underwear. You fight the urge to blush, which isn't that hard considering you're still traumatized.

“Tell me what I can do to make you better.” His voice was so gentle.

You just curled up tighter in the covers and looked away shyly. The last thing you will do is ask him to dominate you to turn off your mind. You spent so long rejecting him and it feels so wrong to want him in the middle of a nervous breakdown.

You don't respond, so Bill just lies down on the bed next to you. He seems hesitant to touch you first, so the two of you just stare at each other. You try to resist looking at his lips, but you know you fail. And you feel the way your heart beats faster every second.

"Come here." He says gently, and you move closer until his arms pull you close and you're wrapped in his embrace, but you feel safe and calmer than before, his hands run down your back.

"I know what you want. I can see it on your face. You can ask nicely or I'll just give it to you anyway." You don't think he would actually do anything against your will. He doesn't seem like the type. But you don't really know what he does; you just know that he won't hurt you. His hand slides and squeezes your ass and you let out an unexpected moan.

“That’s a good girl.” Bill kisses your forehead. “I'll take care of you, sweetheart. Now take off your clothes.”

You just look at him for a moment. His tone makes you feel like you can't disobey and it's not like you want to anyway.

Then you take off your blouse and bra and throw them somewhere in the room; your pants and panties follow easily. And it doesn't matter if your body is hidden under the covers, you still feel shy, but then Bill pulls the covers off you and you lie there naked for his hungry eyes to take in every inch of you.

“What a beautiful thing.” He says, with his hand on your belly. “You were made for me.”

Bill leans over you, eyes heavy as his hand reaches down to palm your pussy. "Open your legs for me."

It's easy to comply. You've always easily given up control in sex and Bill is definitely controlling. It works perfectly.

Your legs open easily and his fingers run through your folds, collecting the wetness that drips from your pussy. Bill moans, taking his fingers to his mouth and licking them, the silver piercing glistening.

You think you're no longer shaking, or at least not from fear, and you look at Bill through half-closed eyes. He smiles at you, fingers returning to your body to press against your clit.

 "You'll listen to anything I say, won't you?"

You moan when one of his fingers slips inside you and curls around. He fucks you slowly with this before adding another as you breathe heavily. His hand moves a little faster and the wet sound of his fingers fucking your pussy fills the air. Your stomach muscles tighten as your mouth opens, a breathy moan escaping.

“Is that all you needed just to feel better?” Bill kisses the side of your face as he presses himself against you, his thick cock against your hip. "You're so easy."

You look at him and he just laughs at you. And before you can scream at him, he kisses you, slipping his tongue into your mouth and practically fucking your mouth with it. You never expected him to be gentle, and you cry against his lips as he slips another finger into you and curls them, his fingertips rubbing a spot inside you that makes you see stars.

"Too much." You manage to say between kisses, and Bill smiles against your lips.

He sloppily kisses you again as you tremble, fingers so deep inside you and thumb rubbing your clit. You’re dripping onto his hand and the sheets as you pant heavily into his mouth. Your cunt quivers and you moans deeply.

“How sweet, if you think you're full now, wait until my cock fills that pretty pussy... now be a good girl and cum for me. Legs wider, love.”

You hear it immediately, legs spreading, one over your hips and the other hanging off the bed. He moves his hand hard and fast and you hear the sound of your juices running down his fingers. Bill rubs against your hips, and you feel the wetness of the tip of his cock that is soaked through his boxers.

“Come now, love.” He whispers. “Let me hear you.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you seek release. You're almost there...almost. Your back arches as you scream in unbridled pleasure. Your wetness gushes down his hand, soaking the sheets and Bill smile looking at you. He continues fucking you with his fingers until you close your legs from overstimulation and only then does he remove his hand from you.

“Next time, I’ll bury my face between your legs.”

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, so you barely register his voice. But you watch as he takes out his cock and strokes it quickly. He is thick and hard, long and slick with his precum. He masturbates with little delicacy, but his grip is strong and his hand moves so fast it seems like a blur.

You want to touch him, so you raise your hand, but he stops you. “Just relax, darling.”

So you lie there in post-orgasmic bliss as Bill masturbates next to you. You mentally ask if he's still going to fuck you or just watch you while he masturbates, he seems to read your thoughts.

Bill laughs and kisses your lips softly. “What’s up baby, you want me to fuck you?”

You look at him with wide eyes as he smiles, tongue running across his bottom lip. This makes you spread your legs wide again and he smiles.

“Calm down, honey. You had a rough night, go to sleep.” You don't know if he's really worried or if he's just making fun of you.

Maybe he wants you to beg after rejecting him for so long, you don't see a problem with that. “Bill, please.”

Bill doesn't need much encouragement, he crawls on top of you, pulls your legs over his shoulders and you're lucky to be flexible enough for this position to be pleasant. Bill rubs the head of his cock against your entrance. “Tell me what you want.”

You choke on the hand that wraps around your throat, squeezing a little too hard to be safe, but you still manage to say. "Please."

He seems dissatisfied, tightening his grip. "Please, what?"

You try to breathe through the tightness. “Fill me.”

"Good girl." He smiles and then he’s sinking into you, a cock almost too big to look like it fits inside you.

You're so overstimulated you're not sure if it feels good, but Bill seems to think so, an unrestrained moan escaping him as he begins to rapidly pound into you. You never expected him to take it slow, and the way he fucks you leaves your white vision around the edges...it could also be the way he's choking you so hard you can't breathe.

“I can’t, I can’t breathe.” You feel dizzy, but suddenly you can take a deep breath and Bill is looking at you with a smile.

“You can barely handle anything, darling. How are you supposed to take care of yourself?” Bill whispers breathlessly as he bends you in half and fucks you hard. “That’s why you should have been letting me take care of you a long time ago.”

You shake your head frantically, speechless. And there's not much you can do while you're squirming, your pussy is so sensitive that the way his dick stretches and slides inside you makes you think you can't take it anymore.

You start to sob, tears run down your face and Bill groans, his hand slides away wiping the tears from the side of your face.

"I know my love." Bill shushes you, but you still cry pathetically. He captures your lips in a filthy kiss.

Your pussy vibrates around him as your body tries to cum again, and it makes the him practically growl. “Just like this.”

You’re not doing anything you can control, so you reach up and rub your clit, walls clenching instinctively. Bill grunts at the sensation and his hips move involuntarily.

He stops. You want to scream in frustration as he stands up, panting. He runs a hand through his now disheveled hair. “This is supposed to be about you, I won’t finish until you finish love.”

“I don’t think I can.” You say weakly, and Bill nibbles on one of your legs that is over his shoulder. You shiver in surprise.

“I’ll help you, darling.” Bill says softly, starting to move his hips slowly. It's a little less overwhelming, but still just as pleasurable. And it's giving you the opportunity to enjoy his thick cock without feeling like it's going to break you. “Just a little too much? That's better?" He hums.

"Yes." You say breathlessly, arching your back as his hand finds your clit and rolls it between his fingers. You're still crying, but it's not as loud or as hard.

“You look so beautiful when you cry.” Bill says with a groan, rolling your clit a little faster. Your walls shake hard and your hips move again. But he continues at a slow, gentle pace that feels enjoyable for both of you.

Bill moves his hips and you let out a high-pitched moan as you clench violently around him. “That’s a good girl. Let go, darling.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, and he just presses against your clit, leaving your entire body tense and your eyes rolling back. It's an orgasm that seems to last for hours as Bill fucks you over and over again.

"Fuck." Bill's hips quicken just a few times, and then he cums with an inhuman noise as you feel satisfied with it.

You really think you're still cumming, even after he stops, your body twitches slightly and your vision becomes blurry.

"Oh, honey, it's okay." Bill laughs above you.

You whimper and shake because it truly feels like you are floating and you don't think anything like this has ever happened before. And the fingers on your clit are unexpected and leave your breath catching in your throat.

"Just chill." Bill says, but his voice sounds distant.

The only thing you can focus on is the big dick inside you and the way your clit is gently massaged. You are so beyond the awareness of your own sensitivity that there is only pleasure.

You’re not sure how loud you are, but Bill says, “louder, love.” And you find that you don't much care if your moans come through the door.

He's thick and erect inside you, and you have a brief fleeting thought about his resistance, which quickly disappears from your brain as Bill violently slams into you. It's a shock from the gentle thrusts and you think you might be screaming with pleasure. Your eyes are closed tightly, but you hear his laugh and it makes your pussy clench with excitement. You know he's saying something, but your mind is too far away for you to hear.

Your toes curl and your legs tremble; you practically vibrate as Bill grabs your thighs to keep you still. And then your mouth opens in a silent scream, eyes widening only to see him glistening with sweat running down his face as he fucks you wildly.

You come so hard with a sharp scream that he leans in to swallow a sloppy kiss. Bill moans brokenly as his hips go still, pressed as deep as possible inside you as he comes for the second time, and when he catches his breath above you, he watches the way your body shakes. You are definitely alert now with electrified body.

He slides out of you and you both let out a moan at the loss of each other. You're still shaking, so he grabs you and pushes you into a sitting position. He reaches over and grabs the glass of water from the bedside table.

“Come on, love.” He brings the glass to your lips and you obey him easily, drinking until he takes it away. You think you'll listen to everything someone tells you to do, and you're happy to be in his hands. You think you never understood what it means to be totally dominated until now.

"You are with me?" Bill asks, and he looks a little worried. You nod slowly, placing your hand over his to reassure him.

Billi studies your face to make sure you're not lying, but you're not and you're glad he trusts you to tell him the truth. You lean in to kiss him; It's soft and sweet and seems to make him hesitant.

You don't really know how to take care of yourself other than the way you wrap your arms around him and hug him against you.

"Do you feel better?" He asks as the two of you get into a more comfortable position on the bed. You nod snuggling against him. Bill holds you securely as your head rests under his chin.

He makes you want to ask about his life. You want to know more about him. But you think this knowledge will only lead you into dangerous territories, even though you now doubt you can escape whatever kind of relationship he wants you two to have. You sigh and close your eyes, finally deciding to rest.

[imtryingbuck]

To Be Loved

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Summary: Y/n realises her self worth. 

Word count: 2,831

Warnings: angst. angst. cheating (I’m sorry). self hatred. Sharon. forms of self harming. Steve and Sharon are scumbags. 

A/N: i was listening to Adele To Be Loved and this idea came to me

Masterlist

Everything was in their correct places, she made sure of it. Seven times. It had to be perfect. Today marked three years of marriage for her and Steve, instead of going out they both agreed to celebrate their anniversary at home with a home cooked meal, fine wine and slow music and to top it off with an intimate moment shared together in their bed.

The plan was perfect.

The house was perfect.

The dress she was wearing was perfect.

The meal smelted delicious as it cooked away in the oven.

The only thing now was for her to wait for her love to come home.

She sat at the dining chair watching as the clock on the over tick on by getting further away from the agreed upon time that he was supposed to arrive. Every time she rang him the call dropped straightaway, her messaged just staying on delivered. Fidgeting ever so often trying to smooth out the crinkles of her dark green dress that he told her to wear for their special occasion.

Two hours, still not home.

Three hours, still not home.

Fou- she finally gave up.

Emptying the plates full of now cold food, she turned off the radio, took her heels off and collapsed on the couch.

It had been a long time since she had cried, and that night she cried until her heart started to squeeze painfully.

She cried until sleep over took her weaken body.

She forgave him the next day when he got in at six o’clock that morning. He showed up with flowers and told her that he was sorry, something about a mission brief that ran way too long.

Though she didn’t necessarily believe him or his lie but she was just happy he was home so she never questioned him.

She plastered a fake smile and made out that she watched a sad movie and that was the reason for her make up - the same she took time in perfecting - was ruined, not the real reason for the dried mascara tear tracks running down her cheeks.

A week later she walked into the tower finding it strange that no one made their way to greet her like they always did before. She walked into Steve’s room to surprise him, when she got a surprise of her own.

Her husband of three years, the man that she had been with for six years, the man that she had been in love with for eight years was thrusting away like his life depended on it into a woman that she had been insecure about since she came back to work for SHIELD, the same woman that Steve had reassured her that she had no reason to worry or to be threatened by.

Sharon.

She had no idea how long she stood there for watching the scene in front of her until she watched them kiss, it was then and only then she stumbled backwards knocking into the door which caused a noise.

The headboard stopped violently banging against the wall, the mattress stopped squeaking and Steve’s face drained of all colour as he saw his wife catching him in the act of his betrayal.

“B-baby” he had the audacity to call her whilst still inside of another woman.

Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest as she forced her legs to take a step in front of the other, shaking as she pressed the elevator button her eyes stung as the tears threatened to break over the barrier.

The moment the silver shiny doors open she stepped in repeatedly hitting the close button just as Steve managed to make it around the corner.

This man who she had loved for eight years, the same man that she had just caught cheating had the audacity to look sad at the heart-breaking expression on her face.

A month had gone by since that painful day, and after weeks of him begging and grovelling and profusely promising that he would never do it again, that he would be better. Promising that he would go to therapy to fix his mistakes.

She asked how many times he had cheated on her and he hesitated before telling her that it had been going on for a month before hastily telling her that it meant nothing, just sex - as if that made it any better.

Now please don’t judge her, for eight years she had loved him more than she had ever thought you could love someone and for six years he was all she knew. She loved him with all that she had even if he did the one thing that she never thought he would do to her. She took him back.

When the team found out what he had done they rallied around to the apartment she shared with Americas golden boy, all telling her that they knew nothing, Tony had told her that he told Fury that he was kicking Sharon out of the tower and how Fury had made her move to a different SHIELD location. The team cleaned up the mess she had made the night she got back to their apartment after catching her husband’s betrayal. 

The team understood why she agreed to take him back though none of them liked it. They thought-no knew she deserved better than their friend, their captain. But they promised that they would always be there if she ever needed them, no matter what.

Steve understood that it was going to take her some time for them to go back to being ‘normal’ even though she didn’t know if they could ever get back what they once had.

She tried, she really did try and put it behind her but every night when she closed her eyes she was plagued by the memories of him with a woman that wasn’t her. Every time she woke up she would look to the right of her to find him facing her sleeping peacefully.

And every night she sneaked into the bathroom to put two fingers down her throat to be sick.

She was trying to be better she really was, she couldn’t help but flinch every time he went to kiss her or when he told her that he loved her.

She tried.

God she tried.

The first time they had sex was four months after his betrayal came to light. She hated how much she loved that feeling of him being on her, that feeling of him being close to her. She hated it because the loud banging of the headboard and the squeaks of the mattress took her back to that moment.

After what was normally an act that she once loved and treasured, that had now become a bittersweet moment between the married couple she went to the bathroom and did her routine that she did now after every meal she was forced to eat.

Though she was struggling, she wasn’t the only one.

Steve had gotten mad more than once about how she would always pull away from him or how she wouldn’t look him in the eyes anymore or how their lovemaking was now him doing all the work. He couldn’t understand why she hadn’t gotten over it like she said she did - she never said that, she just forgave him.

He had also complained not only to her but to his friends about her weight loss, how he would see her flicking the elastic band against her wrist that she would now wear.

What Steve hated most was when a storm made its way through New York she wouldn’t seek shelter in the warm comfort of his arms, no she would now lock herself in the bathroom and sit in the corner with her knees pulled up to her chest, flinching every time the loud cracking sound made it’s way through the apartment.

He had made the biggest mistake of his life and now it was costing him.

A year had gone by, six months of Steve getting solo counselling and another six months of them both going to marriage counselling later they had gone back to being how they once were, don’t get it wrong she still sometimes got nightmares about his betrayal but each time she would talk about it to him the next morning and they would talk it over, just like their therapist suggested.

Everything was going perfectly once again they celebrated their fourth anniversary together where Steve took her to a cabin that had a private lake, they spent the nights looking up at the stars that twinkled up in the dark sky and she would giggle when he picked her up and carried her to bed before making love to her over and over again.

Sometimes she would be okay with what happened in the past but then she would find herself thinking if Steve had what they had with Sharon.

It all came crumbling down six months after their fourth year anniversary when Steve announced that he would be travelling with the rest of the Avengers to help out the SHIELD headquarters in London.

Her heart stuttered hearing that.

That was exactly where Sharon had been located to.

He promised that he wouldn’t go anywhere near her, said that he would never make that mistake again. Swore that he was so in love with her that he wasn’t going to stray away from their marriage again.

She believed him.

She trusted him.

Five minutes after he left their apartment she rang to the bathroom to do something she hadn’t done in months. She put her fingers down her throat.

Every day that he had been away he rang her to talk about everything and anything, she had asked him if he had seen Sharon, he said yes but every time she tried to talk to him he walked away.

She believed him.

She trusted him.

When he came home with a massive bouquet of her favourite flowers, neither one of them left the apartment for three days straight. Both had grown sore from their activities.

One night, three weeks after he arrived back from London she received a text message from an unknown number, two photos were attached.

Her heart shattered.

A photo of a sonogram with Sharon Carters name at the top and a screenshot of Sharon’s messages she shared with Steve. Steve talking about how he couldn’t wait to be a dad, her saying that their time in London was special and him agreeing.

She looked to the right of her and saw him sleeping peacefully.

And once again she crept out of bed and began her routine she unfortunately picked up again.

He told her he was going on a solo mission and that he would be back in two weeks. She nodded and kept her head down. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t look at him or how she moved her head to the side so he only kissed her cheek.

She wasn’t foolish. She had gone through his phone and saw the messages between him and Sharon, he wasn’t going on a solo mission he was going back to London to spend some time with her and the growing baby in her stomach.

Her wrist had now a permanent circular bruise from snapping the elastic band.

She had lost count of the amount of tear she had shed from his betrayal and now that there was going to be a child added to the mix she cried more than she had ever done before.

Finally gaining the strength and courage she went to a lawyer and filed for divorce, it broke her heart to do so but it needed to be done. She could no longer go on like this. She could no longer be made a fool out of.

She needed to finally love herself, once again.

When he came home after being in London with her and their unborn child he frowned at seeing their apartment next to empty, all of her things missing, he saw her sitting on the couch looking just a beautiful as she always had.

“Baby? What’s wrong?”

“I know about London and how you’re having a baby with her. Please sign the divorce papers”

“B-baby no… no she means noth-“

“You told her that you love her. You’re having a child with her. Please just stop and sign the papers”

He got down on his knees in front of her begging and crying, pleading with her to change her mind, told her that he would never have anything to do with Sharon or the baby ever, that they could be happy again.

She responded with telling him to sign the papers.

He cried and cried. Telling her how much of a mistake he had made, telling her over and over again that Sharon meant nothing to him. She flinched and grew angry when he said the baby meant nothing to him. That’s when she snapped.

“How dare you! That baby is innocent, as much as I can’t stand it’s parents don’t you dare say that! Poor child was only conceived because you couldn’t keep it in your pants, because you and its mother are terrible people. Yo-you promised me last time and I forgave you, and yet here we are now and you’re having a child with a woman that isn’t me. Sign the papers I won’t ask again.”

“P-p-please we can m-make this work”

“You honestly expect me to stay with you whilst you have a child with your mistress? No Steven that’s not happening. I choose to pick me first now, I deserve better, I deserve to be happy. You and your mistress deserve each other, you and your mistress deserves to be so miserable with each other. Just sign the fucking papers!”

He flinched at her swearing, his heart cracking as she pushed the divorce papers into his chest, he admits that he only slept with her once in London and the next morning the regret washed over him like a tidal wave threatening to swallow him whole. He didn’t love Sharon, god knows he didn’t. He loves the woman standing in front of him. Heck he wasn’t even sure if the child was his as Sharon has a boyfriend.

He finally took the pen from her hand and shakily opened up the papers, his heart sinking into the pits of hell seeing that she had already signed it. Gazing up to face her once more he realised that she was dead serious about this, he couldn’t let her down again so he signed his name next to hers.

“Thank you. Goodbye Steven have a terrible life”

They were the last words he would ever hear come out of her mouth as she walked straight past him and out of his life.

Months later she was behind the counter of the diner she worked at laughing at what one of the customers was saying about something his two year old son had gotten up to, wiping down the counter as another customer chimed in talking about how it only gets worse from here on out with children when the TV that was hanging in the top right corner said something that had a woman laughing.

It was being announced that the baby that Sharon had publicly announced as Steve’s was indeed not his. The baby had been born not even a month earlier and was already infamous by being the possible child from Captain America’s affair.

“I still can’t believe he cheated on his wife with that thing” Joey a loyal customer scoffed with a shake of his head.

“What’s your take on this sugar?” Lolly - Joey’s wife - asked as she sipped from her coffee.

“It’s a shame really” you answered keeping your eyes on the small television screen watching as Steve walked out of the courthouse where the camera man zoomed in on Steve’s wedding ring finger, seeing the ring that she put on his finger nearly five years ago still sitting there.

As for her, she finally found was it was like to love herself again. She could look herself in the mirror now and not point out her ‘flaws’, she no longer wore an elastic band around her wrist, nor did she force herself to be sick.

She was still sick sometimes but not because she wanted to be.

She was finally happy, her skin was glowing as Kiki - her boss - had kept telling her. Her happiness and self-love continued to grow along with her stomach.

Placing one hand on the right side of her large protruding stomach she smiled up at the screen seeing Steve in his car with tears streaming down his cheeks.

Let it be known that she had survived, and that she had gained the love for herself that she thought she had lost.

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama | @capsbestgirl77

[starxanemone]

꩜ⴰ ࣪˖ YOUR FLOOR'S BETTER THAN MY BED

reo mikage x gender neutral!reader — oneshot.

humor. implied romance. slight tension (if you squint). more of a character exploration.

you and reo mikage were two sides of the same coin—two people living entirely different lives within the same planes of this globe.

— aka, you're a broke mf, surviving on a scholarship, and you find it fun bothering the rich kid in school.

note. wrote this bc i'm actually so broke right now lmfao. i ain't eating breaky and lunch tomorrow hahaha life is so great as a broke college student! 10/10 would not recommend : )

When you hear the name “Mikage” the only thing that comes to mind is money. Call it a stereotypical mindset, but it doesn’t matter because everyone thinks of the same thing as you anyway. You don’t even bother to alter the way you perceive the name either.

Fuck being unique and all that, but really, who can blame you when you’re lacking in that department. The thing that makes the world go round and makes the eyes of people go green whether with envy or whether they’re on the greener side of the grass. Doesn’t matter. It’s the thing that keeps your life at the edge of being “fine” and falling off a steep, brittle cliff to poverty.

Money.

You wonder what it’s like to have an excess amount of it.

“Yo, Mikage,” You wink, sending him finger guns as you pass by his usual seat in the near-empty library.

The infamous Mikage Reo that always had an accommodating smile on his face catches a glimpse of you, and instantly, his lilac irises dulls.

“Oh. Hey.”

“Why so glum?” You cock your head to the side, taking the seat right beside him, legs spread wide and elbow leaning against the backrest of the seat.

You lack the air of dignity that most students inhale in this place like crack. It fogs their senses all the same anyway, and clouding their ability to judge. They get caught up in the image too much that they forget that pictures aren’t alive nor do they breathe. And maybe that’s why they don’t like you. “They” including Mikage.

“You’re probably here to shamelessly ask for money again. And I’m already saying this: no.” He grumbles, pressing his cheek against his palm, gazing into your eyes flatly.

Welp. It’s not like you put in the effort to be likable anyway. Understandable.

“Aw,” You pretend to pout in disappointment. “Worth a shot.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Hah?” You raise your brow at his question.

“Have you gone deaf? I said, ‘don’t you have anything better to do?’” He repeats, narrowing his eyes at you.

Truthfully, you heard him the first time. It was just funny to see him annoyed. No picture-perfect genius Reo Mikage. No giant nepo-baby Mikage. He’s just an annoyed Reo.

“I always got better things to do.” You shrug before eyeing him with a raised brow, grinning lazily. “Unlike you.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?!” He stands up from his chair.

Surprisingly, he has a very short fuse for someone who can handle everyone's bullshit.

“Hey, hey, kid,” You raise your hand up in surrender, speaking to him as if he wasn’t the same age or probably even a year older than you. “Relax, I was joking. Sit down.”

With a sigh, he takes a seat again, although the glare was still intact on his face. He grumbles quietly, but it was surely meant to be heard by you with the way he eyes you as he does so. “Don’t ‘kid’ me. At least I don’t waste my time asking people for money.”

“I’m always kidding, Mikage.” You snort at his words, waving your hand dismissively. “Even if you gave me money, I still wouldn’t accept it. What makes you think I’d take stuff from your hands?”

You wrinkle your nose, pretending to eye his hands with distaste. From the corner of your eyes you see him look offended once again and you hold back the urge to cackle.

Being born loved and admired by the people around him—repeatedly hearing songs of praises like he’s some sort of messiah—made him clueless towards teasing and jabs.

“I’m very clean, thank you very much! I’ll have you know that I wash my hands with only the best antibacterial hand wash imported from Italy. What about you?!” He blurts out angrily, bumping the side of his fist against his table.

“Exactly.” You shrug.

You see the anger melt away from his features before it is replaced with confusion.

“You and I,” You lean closer to him and you know he can smell the cheap fruity cologne wafting off the fabric of your imitation uniform. Hakuho was expensive even for scholarship students. “We’re from different worlds, Mikage. And it’s not your fault nor is it mine, because that’s just how it is.”

He turns quiet at this, seemingly mulling your words over inside his head as he eyes the floor blankly.

You tilt your head, releasing a short and awkward laugh. Think you might have made the air too serious. It must be your lunch, or, well, lack thereof. You don’t usually bring the topic (of your lack of money) up with other people, but his question provided you with the opportunity to do so. You took it all too eagerly (carelessly) and it in turn killed the typical playful nature of your not-so-friendship.

“Uh, sorry ‘bout that. For killin’ the mood.” You laugh awkwardly, patting his shoulder. “Uh…”

“What’s it like?” He turns to you suddenly, tilting his head.

“Uh, what’s what like?” You furrow your brows.

“Having no money.”

“Woah, woah, ya didn’t have to phrase it like that!” You joke, crossing your arms and leaning back against your chair with huff.

“N-No, I didn’t mean it like—” He began, glaring at nothing in defense before you cut him off.

“Kidding.” You wave your hand. “You gotta learn how to remove that stick up your ass. I promise you, it feels great.”

He wrinkles his nose in disgust at your choice of words. He’s probably thinking that you lack tact or class.

“You lack class.” He states in distaste.

Knew it.

“Yeah, anyways.” You think over his question for a bit. “Well, I can’t really explain it.”

His lilac eyes dulls as he stares at you flatly once again. “Hah. What a waste of time asking, then.”

“I got an idea though.” You lean closer, grinning lazily as you prop your elbow on top of his side of the table and pressing your cheek against your palm. His face engulfs your perceptions and you can see the non-existent pores on his skin.

Fuck him, his money, and his skin care routine.

“What.” He leans back slightly, raising his brow.

“Come with me later after class. Let’s eat dinner.”

A puff of air escapes his lips as he laughs at your suggestion. A few seconds later, it transforms into full-blown laughing. Each laugh that escapes his lips comes from deep within his diaphragm.

You stare at him expectantly and a little creeped out. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him laugh like that with anyone in your entire life in Hakuho.

“What?” You ask, still spooked.

“Didn’t know you liked me like that,” He smirks, leaning his face closer, breath brushing against your cheek. “If you wanted to ask me to dinner, you could’ve just said so.”

You could smell the slight mint and it tells you that he had just brushed. Figures. Of course he’d bring a toothbrush to school. Of course he actually brushes his teeth during breaks and not spend it fucking around doing nothing unlike you.

“Stop being delusional.” Your face turns blank at his words and you sit properly again. “Anyways, you said you wanted to know what it’s like, right? Come with me later then. We’ll eat what I usually eat for dinner.”

His face turns intrigued. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll know.”

“What is this place?” You hear Reo raise his voice over the surging crowd of people. He had a black mask over his face to hide it from the people because, yeah, he was actually kind of like a celebrity. An A-list individual among A-lists, coming just below his parents and it clearly shows with the Gucci bag he’s sporting.

Now that you think about it…

You eye his bag. “Flip your bag over, Mikage.”

“Huh? Why?”

You point to the pockets of his bag exposed out. “You’ll get unknowingly robbed that way. Flip your bag— okay, yep, nice. Very good.”

He rolls his eyes at your childish praise as he removes his bag to flip it, the pockets now hidden from the public’s view.

“Oh, yeah, we’re eating street food.” You point to the row of street vendors covering the sidewalks. Each stand glows yellow from the string of lights attached onto their walls and the strong smell of varieties of food mixes together in an almost unbearable manner.

You eye the rich kid beside you. He seems to shift a little, standing awkwardly and a little out of place.

You reach out to hold onto the side of his arm. “You good?”

He glances at you and looks back at the stalls as well as the crowd of people he mostly towered over. He doesn't shove away your hand. “Yeah. It’s just my first time in this sort of place.”

You blink at this, intrigued. “What? Really? Well, we gotta eat a lot, then. Your treat.”

He doesn’t protest when you begin tugging him towards the nearest Takoyaki stall.

“Ten pieces, please.” You tell the street vendor, beginning to pull out your wallet. A larger hand stops you from doing so and you glance at Reo to see him already pulling out his wallet.

“How much?” Reo asks.

The vendor eyes your classmate for a few seconds and then the Gucci bag. You hold back a groan. Ugh, you already know where this is going.

“1000 yen.” The vendor answers him, his face seemingly unsure.

Just before Reo could unknowingly pay the tricky vendor, you hold onto his hand, preventing him from taking out his cash.

“What are you—”

“That’s overpriced.” You cut in, eyeing the vendor flatly, feeling disappointed at his shitty attempt to scam people. “I ate here yesterday and it was only 500 yen for ten pieces. You mean to say that you’re charging double now? Do inflation rates shoot up that high in a span of one day?”

At least the vendor looks ashamed. He brings a hand up to the back of his neck awkwardly before bowing. “Sorry. Money’s tight and I thought it was worth a shot.”

You chuckle at this, handing the vendor the sufficient amount. “Been there, done that. To him too. But don’t go scamming other people, ‘kay? Now gimme our order.”

Once you take the order, you tug Reo away from the stall to head over to somewhere with less people. You lean back against the wall and open the container filled with Takoyaki and raise it up to his face.

“Smells good, right?” You watch as he takes the container from your hands and inspects the food curiously. He brings it up close to his face, gazing at the array of colors from the bonito flakes, to the mayo, to the sauce, and to the golden brown Takoyaki.

“It doesn’t look that different from the gourmet Takoyaki I’ve eaten.” He comments, taking a pair of chopsticks before eating an entire ball. As he chews, you see his eyes widen and he immediately begins to devour another Takoyaki just as he had swallowed the previous one.

“Good, right?” You grin cheekily.

He ignores you in exchange for devouring another large piece.

“Hey, leave me some too!”

You took him to different stalls after that, and by the time 8PM rolled around, both of you were already stuffed full with different kinds of food. You can’t remember the last time you had ever eaten to the point where you felt like your pants were going to burst open at the seams.

You eye the empty paper plates and containers laying haphazardly on the plastic table you both found. There were a little less people now. You draw in a breath, the air now lacking the sharp scent it previously held as you had submerged yourself in its presence.

It was nice. You also can’t remember the last time you’ve eaten a meal with someone like this. Having deadbeat parents that spent more time smoking crack out where you don’t know ultimately meant that meals were eaten alone. And, you admit, sharing meals wasn’t bad at all.

Reo heaves out a deep sigh, rubbing his stomach after releasing a quiet (and somehow dignified) burp. “I ate too much. Too much unhealthy food. My diet is ruined.”

You snort at this. “Relax, princess. I promise you’re still pretty.”

He glares at you. “Not what I meant.”

“Uhuh, whatever you say.” You chuckle before trailing off, watching him for a few seconds. You can see him shifting in place again at the length of your stare, seemingly burning holes into the side of your face.

“If you have something to say just say it.” He grumbles out, crossing his arms with a raise of his brow.

“Well, did it answer your question?” You ask curiously.

He looks up at the dark sky for a second before glancing back at you. “Well, the food was good. And cheaper.”

You shake your head at his obliviousness and chuckle. “Uhuh, but the food we ate today? That’s typically how much I eat in a span of one week. You get it now?”

He blinks and goes silent for a few seconds again.

“Don’t you get hungry, though?” He asks after a short while.

You shrug. “You get used to it.”

“It’s not sustainable though. How are you still alive?” He cockshis head, now looking at you with a slight furrow on his brows. If he was worried, then you were flattered.

“Not sure.” You shake your head. “I still do try to get my vegetables in but fresh produce is expensive. Healthy food is expensive. Some people just don’t have a choice, you know?”

“Oh.”

You don’t think it has sunken inside his brain yet. You can’t and won’t blame him. He’s lived his life that he’s used to just like you're living yours. You were two sides of a single coin—two people living entirely different lives within the same planes of this globe. Both built differently and built to handle different things.

“But I’m also curious now, too.” You hum after a while, eyeing him in slight interest.

“About what?”

“What does it feel like to live yours?” You cock your head.

You see him grin and your eyes squints a little at this.

"Maybe we can go to my place next."

[its-in-the-woods]

Down the Rabbit Hole Chapter 8

Chapter one here, two here, three here, four here , five here, six here, seven here,

Pairing: Walton Goggins x You

Rating/Warning:  As always minor get out. Back to angst, this whole chapter is pretty angsty, some emotional damage, melancholy, self-doubt, self hatred, and almost no Walton (I am sorryyyy) It will get better I promise.. maybe..

Synopsis: Working in film as a make-up artist is hard enough, but then Walton Goggins requests you, well it's way too easy to fall down the rabbit hole.

Note: they are both single, all for fun.

I think I may have an ending now. Posts will continue to be 2-3k long. Every other day more than likely. The whole fic will be around 30k words.

You wake up to an empty bed, you frown and look around. Disappointment seeps into your skin at not getting morning cuddles from the man who had you screaming his name last night. The door is open a bit and you can hear Walton talking. Getting up you grab the shirt and pants, that had started last night’s shenanigans, from the ground slipping them on quickly. You open up the door and walk down the hallway, peaking into the kitchen Walton is sitting at the table. Tablet in front of him, glasses perched on his nose, brows furrowed as he talks into the phone. 

“I am a little preoccupied, can it not wait?” He speaks into the phone, rubbing his hand against his forehead.

You slip in and grab a cup filling it with water, before going to the table. Sitting across from him you can see that he is scrolling through a lengthy email. The water is cool, and your throat a little raw from the evening before. You can feel the material of your shirt rubbing against your fresh bruises. 

“Okay, okay,” Walton grumbles a frustrated sigh coming out. “Yes, I will be on the plane, I’ll be in LA in a few hours.” Your heart sinks a little, realizing he is going to be leaving. A feeling of dread spreading across your sternum, as you wait for him to finish his conversation. 

“Have you called production as well?” He asks, eyebrows raised, throwing his hand up, “Okay. Yes, I know it's important. I actually had plans this weekend. Yes, I know you tried to get a hold of me, but the day before seems a little short notice?” 

His shoulders slump and he leans back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling hand on his head, “Yes, I will be downstairs in twenty.”

The phone gets dropped on the table, the tablet switched off, his eyes looking at you. Running his hand through his hair he lets out another sigh. He looked tired, his usually sparkling eyes a little dim. The man’s usual endless energy smothered into a whiff of smoke. 

“I, unfortunately, have to go to LA, Leo will be here to pick me up in twenty minutes,” He groans and reaches out to take your hand. “If there was any way around it I would stay.” You squeeze his hand, trying to reassure him and yourself. 

You were looking forward to the weekend with him, but your mind drifted to the conversation from last night. His life was unconventional, he was going to be on the move a lot. If you couldn’t deal with that, then you shouldn’t have started down this road to begin with. 

“It’s okay, I know you’re busy man,” You say putting a smile on your face, even if it hurt now, you where determined to at least give it a shot. “I will get an Uber set up and get my things.”

“If you want to stay here you’re more than welcome,” He says softly, and as much as you want to stay in this beautiful space you know it would be better to go home.

“No, I am good.” Letting go of his hand you stand up, and he follows after you as you go back to the bedroom. 

His hands find your hips and he turns you around to face him. “Hey, hey,” You can’t look at him in the eyes. Walton’s fingers tip your head up, and you try to keep yourself from getting emotional. “This was never the plan. I know it’s not ideal, and if I could convince my agent to fly you down with me I would.” You almost hate him for knowing you so well, the way he crawled underneath the careful mask you created. The fact that you let him in so easily. 

You shake your head, “I knew what I was getting into. Get ready to go or Leonard is gonna be up my ass about it.” 

A small smile crosses his face and you kiss him gently before you strip out of the borrowed clothes stepping into last night's. You gather things up from around the room slipping the belt around your waist. A smile crosses your lips remembering both of you running around the room like lunatics. The thought that you would get to do that again helps keep you going forward. 

Walton has a small bag he is stuffing things into. He looks flustered, hair standing on end face flushed as he disappears into the bathroom. He mutters under his breath as grabs a power cord. You grab your phone dig into the apps to find an uber, happy when you see one is less then five minutes from you. Going over to him you tap his shoulder, he turns to you his deep eyes looking you over. That heat pooling in your guts as you meet his, and if both of you didn’t need to be on the road in five minutes you’d be get him out of that shirt again. 

“I am gonna head out,” You say quietly, hand coming up to rub against his stubble. “Message me when you can okay.”

He leans against your hand eyes closing, turning his head to kiss your palm. “I will, as soon as I land and over the next few days.”

You nod, moving forward to give him one final kiss before you leave. Heart sinking to your feet as you close the door behind you, all you want to do is run back. To tell him you’d figure out how to come with him, anything just get anothe day in. 

***

“So, come on tell me all the details,” Trevor all but bounces through the phone. 

“If I wanted you to know the details of my sex life I’d invite you to join,” You chuckle, as you dig through your mostly empty fridge.

“Well, I am sure Walton wouldn’t mind that much,” 

“Oh please, then again he did bite me. Also the belt.”

“Did he spank you?” Trevor squealed into the phone.

“Well not really, he slapped my ass with my belt.” You flush remembering the exchange, the absolute glee on his face. 

“Oooh, you two are going to be a problem. Should have known he has a kinky side.”

“Hush, we are both professionals, I haven’t heard from him since he left this morning.”  You can hear the hurt in your voice. As much as you’ve tried to avoid it not hearing from him since you left had started to cloud your mind.  Your fingers tip tracing over the marks on your collarbone, a stark reminder of what had transpired. 

“Oh,” Trevor says, you can hear his voice soften, “I am sure he is just busy. He will get back to you.”

“I am sure he will,” But that cloud of doubt has already crept in. You know he is busy and probably is going through a laundry list of things to do. But it still hurts that he hasn't texted you back. You could phone him, text him again, but you also didn’t want to push things. The last thing the man needed was a clingy girlfriend. Where you even that? Was it just a fling for him? Pushing that away you tell yourself its best if you let it be, he would get back to you. 

“Now, now, don’t get in the dumps girly. That man is smitten all over you,” 

“Well wasn’t all over me, thought I might have to try that” You giggle trying to change the subject.

“Oh you’re nasty,” Trevor says gleefully. 

“Not yet, but I have a feeling that may change,” You smile, a little spark of hope in your mind. “I am looking forward to Monday.” 

“If you can believe I will be too! Want to see how flustered I can get both of you,” Trevor cackles into the phone. 

The two of you chitchat for a few more hours before you say goodnight. You sit at your small desk slash dining table looking at your wall of artwork. Your heart was heavy, you flipped your phone open scrolling to see anything. But there was nothing. Putting your phone face down on the table, you debate if you should eatt. It would likely have to be take out as the fridge was bare. The thought of food made your stomach turn, maybe it was best to just have another cup of coffee. 

***

The water from the shower spilled heavily over you. You sat in the bottom of the shower tears mixing with the water, snot had long been wiped away. You shiver slightly even with the steam. You knew sitting here wasn’t going to help anything, but you also didn’t want to go out there. Here the pounding water and stingy heat stopped your mind for a moment. Stopped it racing over all the what-ifs of the world. You couldn’t face another blank screen, scrolling through all the unanswered texts. Why did it hurt so much? You had excused Saturday, but then Sunday came. An email from Liz. Saying Walton wouldn’t be in Monday, but that you would be assisting FX with their work. Normally you’d have been happy to help FX, and get a chance to show some of your skills. But knowing that Walton wouldn’t be there and wasn’t answering his phone made your heartache. You had heard how people died of broken hearts, how their hearts just gave out. Was that what this felt like, to feel your heart pounding at your chest with grief? 

You tried so desperately to let go of Friday night. The weeks of flirting, the feel of him touching you, the date at the sushi place and long night on the beach. The way he had and kissed you. Maybe you were jumping to conclusions, but hearing nothing from him felt like a nail in the coffin. You had seen a few photos and interviews of him, promoting his latest released show. He looked happy and cheerful, answering questions with his quirky smile. Your fingers running over the marks that still covered your chest. Pressing on them to feel a slight amount of pain that numbed the hurt. 

“So stupid,” You mutter under your breath, dragging yourself from the floor of the shower. You turn the water off and grab a towel drying yourself off in the humid room. You rub at your scalp trying to scrub memories out of your mind. Purposefully avoid the mirror so you didn’t sese the memories of Friday. 

You don’t bother getting dressed just crawling under the covers. You set an alarm for tomorrow and plugged your phone in. Facing it down against the side table. You curl up under the covers more tears coming out. 

“Go out for two dates, and you’re laying here blubbering like you're sixteen.” You curse at yourself. “It’s enough. You knew it wasn’t going to end any other way. Let it go.”

***

Monday morning comes and you are downing a redbull and breakfast burrito. You don’t bother talking with Trevor, just shooting him a look of ‘please let it be’. You are grateful he doesn’t push the matter, instead, you get your hands deep in fake blood. Helping FX set up the dead bodies and crime scenes. Just happy to have a reason not to look at your phone. You briefly contemplate turning it off entirely. But leave it on just in case, in case of what you weren’t sure. What excuse could he have had for ignoring you for nearly three days. Your jaw hurts from clenching iit so much. You rub against it, fingers moving down to the mark on your collarbone. You still had marks, the thought made vomit sting in the back of your throat. Something had to be wrong here, you walked over to your chair and sit. Trying to hold back the emotions that were threatening to pull out of you. 

Friday night had been, wonderful, amazing, a bunch of other adjectives. You shake your head, fingers still fighting to not rub on the bruises. The way he had made you feel as he touched you. Your face is flushed, both with anger and regret. Maybe you were being irrational, maybe you’d look too deep into things. But had you? You feel your jaw clench again, part of you wants to just leave. Walk away from set, from it all, the emotions gnaw inside trying to find a way out. The AD yells cut and calls lunch, you feel relieved half of the day was done. 

You grab a book from your trailer before going to get lunch it helps take your mind off things. You are sitting in the tent book in hand, trying to avoid everyone, when Leonard sits down in front of you. Stomach learches as you try to ignore him, but he just keeps looking at you. You look over your book at him, the older man doesn’t have a plate of food. Just staring at you with deep blue eyes, hand running down his white beard. You let a sigh and put the book down.

“Hi Leonard.” You say trying not to let irritation seep in. It really felt like the world was against you today. Could no one leave you alone for 12 hours?

“Could I talk to you please, outside,” He was firm and confident, but at the same time something a kin to worry seemed to be crossing his face. 

“Sure.” You do your best not to roll your eyes. He gets up and you follow him, tossing your half-eaten lunch in the garbage. Leonard goes down a side street towards his large black SUV. He opens the door for you, and you sigh. Maybe he would abduct you and you’d have legitimate things to worry about.

He closes the door and goes around the front of the vehicle, getting in and turning to you. “I am here to give you a message. I tried to find you this morning but things got a little hairy and I wasn’t able to get to you.”

“Did I join a gang and no one told me?” You ask words laced with sarcasm, fingers itching to grab the door handle and leave. Part of you wanted to know what was happening, and another part didn’t. It would just make it more real. 

Leonard huffed, “Well if it’s a gang of two dumb-asses then yes.” Hand going over the rings on his hands. 

“Sorry Leonard, it’s been a long day.” You saw his shoulder relax a little, he was just the messenger. Even if the message hurt, he didn’t deserve to be on the other end of your anger.

“Mr. Goggins sends his apologies. He left his phone in his apartment and wasn’t able to get a hold of you”

You blink for a few minutes, eyes narrowing at him. Could it really be true, something so simple? “That’s awfully convenient.”

Leonard narrowed his eyes right back at you, “If you saw how upset he was. You would think otherwise.” You felt like you were being scolded in kindergarten. 

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. “Leonard, are you messing with me? Cause I am not here for any boys club BS.” 

Leonard sighs looking out the front window, arms resting on top of the steering wheel. “Ma’ma. I’ve known Mr. Goggins for a very long time now. He is many things, but he is not someone to pump and dump.” You cringe at the last phrase, making you feel dirty at the idea. You raised your eyebrows, clear disgust on your face. “You know what I mean.” He said quietly. 

You swallow, heart racing with nervous anticipation. “When is he coming back?”

“This evening, I am sure he will want to see you.” The man was so sure of his words, it was hard not to believe him. 

“Well, he has my number,” You say curtly turning and opening the door to leave. 

You walk quickly from the vehicle, hoping Leonard doesn’t follow you. You have nowhere to go, you know you should go back to the trailer and get the end of the day going. But you need just a few minutes alone. You walk yourself into the bathroom trailer and close the door locking it.  

Ignoring the obvious odors you try to calm your mind, it was racing all over the place. You didn’t know how to feel, you had just spent the last three days upset over him. Yet could it have been as simple as him forgetting his phone? You knew he had forgotten it in the trailer before. Your mind races to Saturday morning, you had seen him put the phone on the table. Your heart skips, and you sit in the stall wanting to punch something. You opt for grabbing all the covered toilet paper rolls and lobbing them off the walls. Here you were blithering away like a fool over something simple. It wasn’t like you both had added each other on socials. Not that that would have mattered. A few more breaths and cleaning up the toilet paper you feel somewhat better. You’d sort whatever the hell this was tomorrow, for now you just needed to make it to the end of the day.

chapter nine

*all the love to every single one of you, you are my heroes*

[tallymonster]

Memories of Us Chapter 19

Nothingness, but shining.

AO3 || Masterlist

A/N: sooo im being a little ambitious and adding a whole other subplot now lol. Let's see where this whole thing goes lolololol

Thanks as always to @cheesy-cryptid for blessing this story that came from me seeing their art ❤️

Also wanna thank my besties @micropoe10 @mj-bites and @tragedybunny for letting me pick their brains, for soothing me when the insecurities crop up, and for adding their flavor to my brain soup. I love you guys so much.

Tags: @justporo @satanicspinosaurus @sleepy-timaeus

@davenswitcher @wayward-hel

@hereliesblackdragon @misscrissfemmefatale

(lemme know if you wanna be added!)

Octavia easily slid back into her role at work after coming back from Wyvern Hills; it had been difficult to concentrate lately with everything that she had come to learn. She sat at her desk, drifting in and out of the current conversation.

The black ink from Octavia’s pen danced around the piece of paper in front of her, mindlessly circling the notes Gale had given her.

It had been about a week that she had been back, and it was difficult to take herself out of the turmoil brewing inside her. On one hand, she started to know Astarion as a sweet man, reserved and private, but kind; and on the other, her eyes were opened to some of the struggles he had gone through. She couldn't imagine the horrors he endured, the loneliness he brought into himself, and the things that brought him to where he is now.

He was a mystery she hoped to uncover on her own terms, but whether or not he would let her in was a different situation altogether. She blankly stared at the ink spot on the page that grew with each pass of her hand.

“Octavia?...hellooo???? OCTAVIA!” Gale’s voice cut through her empty thoughts.

Octavia snaps out of her mind, immediately reminded that she's at work right now, and Gale doesn't look too pleased with her at this moment. “Did you hear anything I just said? Look, this is important, and I need you to pay attention. Now, as I was saying…”

Gale’s voice trails off as Octavia loses herself in her thoughts yet again. She tried to get a hold of herself, but with the heaviness of the information swirling in her head, it was beginning to get harder and harder to keep everything to herself.

“Anyway, my sister is getting married and she wants to have her entire wedding HERE! I don't think I can convince Astarion to do that, he's too precious about the museum. It's his raison d’etre, you know? It would be like asking him to trust us with his first born child.”

Gale drops his head to his desk, his fingers intertwined in his hair in a frustrated grip. “My sister Athena is not the kind to take no for an answer, and I know her and her fiance” Gale spits out the word with seething disdain, “are going to make my life a bigger nightmare than they already have! Could you help me talk to him? He’ll listen to you more than anyone else, and he's been a HUGE pain since you’ve been away, please Octavia? I'm begging you!”

Gale lifted up his head, his brows furrowed in a worried way, his eyes were heavy and tired, and his lip was in a little pout. Octavia stared at him with a puzzled look, she quietly asks “He has? Wait a minute, you have a sister? Does Astarion know her too?”

Gale sits up with a quick movement, he rolls his eyes and he frowns deeply. “YES! He’s been so insufferable, it's as if everything I suggest is poison in his ears.” He pouts and slumps back down in his chair, “And no, I didn't think it was a good idea to introduce them before talking to him. Shes…uh..well..” he hesitates, his eyes nervously glanced left and right, he brings his hands together and fidgets with his fingers.

“Gale, she can't be that bad right?” Octavia says calmly. Gale stares at her, the lines on his forehead sinking deeper. “Right?” she asks again. Gale’s frown grows as he swallows, “Well, she's not not an asshole…..” Octavia grimaces, “Oh no, they're going to rip each other apart aren't they?”

Gale groans loudly, placing his head back on his desk. “The worst part is, she's marrying my academy rival, Sirilus Szerban Amarzian.” his voice was full of irritation. “You know he always says it like that too, all smugly and condescending. Of course she had to marry him, we both come from wizarding families so they had to keep it traditional or whatever. He's Rolan’s grandson. You know, Rolan, Master of Razamith’s Tower? Let's just say our grandfathers were not too fond of each other. ”

“Oh yeah?” Octavia tried to hide her intrigue, but when Gale glared back up at her, she had a feeling she failed.

“Yes, Octavia. It's an old family misunderstanding over my grandfather stealing The Annals of Karsus from the vault underneath the tower. Also, allegedly something else about Gale suggesting a fix to Roland when a flashing lights cantrip wasn't working the way Rolan wanted at a party the tieflings had thrown. Gale was apparently already somewhat drunk and went up to Rolan and said something like ‘You call that a cantrip? Step aside and let a chosen of Mystra show you how it's done!’ but I call bullshit!”

Gale bristled a bit and continued, “I'm pretty sure it was when Tav and Gale helped save some people who got captured in Moonrise Towers and it just so happened that Rolan’s siblings were part of that crew. Rolan said some pretty mean things to Tav and Gale stepped in to calm things down, Rolan said something like ‘Oh and Mystra’s ex boy toy finally speaks!’ and well, Gale took that personally of course. I mean who wouldn't?”

“Uh huh…and how does that concern you and Sirilius? I mean they were old men when the two of you were in school.” Octavia responds, she knows she may be opening a floodgate, but she was glad to have something to take her mind off her own family drama.

Gale takes a deep breath, he holds it in for a couple of seconds before exhaling out slowly. “Sirilius and I used to be really good friends, I would even say we were best friends, or at least I thought we were. He and I knew about the stupid fight our ancestors had and still got along so well. Until we had a disagreement about something, I don't even remember what, but what I will never forget what he said to me. ‘Maybe Rolan was right about you, you're just as much of an arrogant know it all prick like your grandfather was.’”

He sighs, “That was the last time I had spoken to him… Athena knew how hurt I was about the whole thing, I mean we were friends until the last couple of years in our studies. That's when he got extremely competitive against me, vowed to prove that he came from stronger magics than I. Even though he knew I wanted to go into artifact preservation, he wanted to make me know that I was beneath him.” Gale frowns, his body drops and his shoulders slump down.

“All I ever wanted was a friend who understood the uniqueness of being from a well known lineage. To have that kind of comradery with someone who has a similar experience. It wasn't until I met you that I got that, Octavia. So you see, it felt like a kind of betrayal from my sister, picking him and our familial expectations over me. I know she didn't, obviously, but it felt like it.” Gale placed his hands on his face, Octavia rolled her chair over to his side of their desks and gave him a hug.

She could feel Gale’s body tense up, slowly recover, and return the hug. “It's okay, Gale. I will gladly help you. It's the least I can do for you.” Octavia patted Gale’s back, a small sigh followed by him pulling away from her, she could see the wave of relief flood over him. “Thank you. I owe you. Uh…I was actually going to go speak to Astarion after the museum closed, do you mind staying back so we could meet with him together?”

Octavia blinks in shock, she didn't feel quite ready to go speak to Astarion, but with Gale in tow he would have to be professional and subdued. She nods to Gale, who smiled wide in return. “Okay, I have to prepare for it. I have to get hold of Athena so she can send me her pictures and inspiration board, food, flowers…”

Gale turns to his desk and scribbles something onto a piece of paper. Then, he walks up to the window and opens it, he speaks some words and moves his hands around, conjuring up a white and gray spotted bird. He ties the little note to its leg along with a small pouch he ties around its body.

“Okay, Ellie, can you bring this to Athena and come back to me before the end of operating hours? I left very specific instructions for her, so if she tries to have you come back with a ton of stuff, don't let her unless she reduces it and puts it in the little pouch. Be good with Archie, alright? Safe flight, kid.”

Ellie takes off as Gale waves them away, he turns around and laughs as he notices Octavia’s wide eyed stare. “You can make a bird? And it listens to you? That's pretty cool!” she exclaims. Gale smiles with a proud beam, he nods and closes the window halfway.

“Yeah! Ellie is a sea osprey, they're captivating and quite abundant in Waterdeep! Athena and I both had familiars we conjured as children. Ellie’s mine and Athena had Archie, who is a fish owl. We would send Ellie and Archie out to hunt when we would practice our spells. I couldn't bring her around my grandfather's tower because of Tara, they never got along.”

Gale hugs Octavia one more time before walking up to the door of their office. “Thank you again, I need to take a walk and gather my thoughts for a bit before Athena responds. I’ll see you in a few hours?”

Octavia nods, “Yeah, good idea, I might go on a little break too. Lots of stuff to think about, you know?”

Gale perks up, “Oh! Do you want to join me? Maybe we can think of some ideas?”

Octavia hesitates a little before shaking her head “No thank you. I wanted to get some time to walk the halls again, I missed being here while I was in Wyvern Hills. See you later?”

“Yeah, have a nice walk in the halls.” Gale says as he slips out of the room, leaving Octavia alone in silence. She slides into her chair and stares at the ceiling. How would she be able to face Astarion and convince him that a wedding is a good idea to have in the museum??

Octavia closes her eyes and puts herself in Tav’s shoes. How was she able to not only deal with all the enemies coming her way, but now Octavia knows she also had to deal with Astarion as well.

Maybe she’d take that walk after all.

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

Octavia rounded the hallway with various statues.

She stops at the gallery full of beautifully carved marble. The lines of their forms were distracting her, reminding her of the night she and Astarion shared a couple of months ago.

His hands run up her stomach, the rough edges of his nails scrape along the peaks and valleys of her body. His own taught muscles glint with the glow of the firelight softly illuminating them as he dips his head between her legs. She gasps as she feels his other hand lower itself slowly between the slick of her core.

She felt herself flush, her body reacting with a low drop of her belly. Octavia gasps with a sharp inhale, and begins to walk a bit more briskly past the gallery towards the end of the hall.

You gotta get a hold of yourself, not only are you working, but Gale needs you to be there for him.

Octavia briskly walks up to the next gallery with the painting of Astarion. She takes a moment, standing in front of the opening leading to it. Her legs suddenly feel like they have a mind of their own, making her approach slowly towards its direction.

She takes a seat on the bench that is placed in front of it, and looks up at the wall. His sad eyes look down at her and she wonders how she kept telling herself that it wasn't him when it so clearly was. “How could I not see it?” She whispers to herself, eyes firmly stuck to his painted visage.

Octavia sat there, wondering what Astarion had gone through for all those years, how Tav must have felt when he left, so many memories forgotten and lost after she went through with the Unburdening. If Tav hadn't gone through with it, would Octavia even be here right now?

She leans back, feeling the cool stone of the bench underneath her. Octavia closes her eyes and lingers in the dull hushed murmurs of the museum. In her mind, she conjures up images of what she had read in the old, tattered journal.

Tav wrote about walking hand in hand with someone after fighting a spectator in the Underdark. She mentioned how fanciful their footwork was, how they shimmered like the star they were, obviously, Octavia knows now that Tav was speaking of Astarion. Octavia wishes she could see him like that. Covered in blood and grime but so beautiful.

“Having a rough day, my dear?”

Octavia’s eyes shoot open, she turns and faces the silky voice that came from behind her. “Astarion..hello..sorry I hadn't returned your notes when I came back. I’ve been, uh, catching up with a lot of things…Gale left me a lot of stuff..I should probably get back to it, actually.” She begins to stand, but he stops her, taking a seat next to her.

Astarion instinctively takes Octavia’s hand, kissing it before asking, “Wait, I'm sure you can take a bit of a break to catch up,right? How was your trip? I missed you terribly, you know.” he looked down at her with those gemlike eyes, voice softened to a low murmur. She couldn't help the way it made her knees weak and her heartbeat a little faster.

Octavia gasps softly, then clears her throat. She feels Astarion’s fingers intertwined in hers, the coolness of his touch a welcome contrast to her heated skin. “Darling? Are you okay?” Astarion leans in, whispering his inquiry to not draw attention towards them.

“Yeah, I'm okay. Just thinking about things. I…uh…” Octavia hesitates for a moment, before deciding to continue on, “ I found a lot of my mom's personal stuff at my dad’s and there were some things in there that kind of shifted my reality about my family. A lot of things have changed for me, and I’m having trouble coming to terms with it all.”

Astarion scoots closer to her, pressing his shoulder against hers. His whole demeanor shifted to that of a giddy schoolgirl, “Oooh family drama? Sounds delightful! Anything interesting?” He glanced up at Octavia, who returns a mildly annoyed look. Astarion pulls back some, defensively sitting up straight. “From the sudden cloud of darkness cast over us, I would assume not. Do you want to talk about it? Or is this one of those instances where it would be best to forget?”

Octavia couldn't help the nervous laugh that came out of her mouth, she quickly turns away from Astarion, unlacing their hands and hides behind her hair. “Sorry, I..” she trips over her words, unsure of what she should say “I mean..I guess you could say that…part of me wants to keep digging into it all, find out more about why things happened in the past the way they did, but on the other hand…”

She trails off, her hands on her lap, looking at the painting again.

“It’s like that painting, I know I could spend my time figuring out who that is, but what would be the benefit at this point? They're either dead or don't want to be found. I feel like I should leave well enough alone. Maybe some things aren't meant to be uncovered. ‘Not every mystery needs to be solved’, as Gale repeated from you once. Good advice, I should follow it.”

Octavia keeps her eyes on the wall, fingers twitching, unsure of what to tell him. She wants nothing more than to be open and honest with him, but how could she? 

“We aren't talking about Gale, Octavia.” Astarion replies. He reaches back out and grabs her hands, steadying them. “You can trust me, but I understand if you don't want to or aren't yet ready to talk about this. Some things take time to come to terms with before you can fully talk about it.” Astarion stands and holds a hand out for Octavia, she takes it and stands beside him. 

“Gale asked to speak with me after hours tonight, would you like to go to dinner with me afterwards? Call it an impromptu outing? Although that does mean you'd have to hang back a bit, I understand if you say no, it was a bit last minute.” Astarion seemed a little nervous himself, as he rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. It was as if he was trying to comfort her as he comforted himself.

Octavia gives a small mischievous smile, “Well…” she teased, “I did have a pressing matter to attend to after work. Maybe I could fit you in afterwards, I'm a very busy woman, you know.” 

Astarion’s eyebrows raise and he chuckles warmly, “Oh do forgive me, I had no idea I was in the presence of high importance.” He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close, “Can’t you spare some of your time for me?” with his other hand he cups her cheek, kissing her softly before pulling back. “I missed you. Terribly so.” 

Octavia giggles and sighs, she can't help the spell he has crafted into her heart. Her inner thoughts are in a torment, was this genuine or was it part of a centuries long practice? As much as she was scared to confront him, she couldn't deny that she missed him as well.

"I missed you too,” she confessed, turning her head away in bashfulness like a youth with a schoolyard crush. 

“Will you wait for me then? I don't think it will be too long, unless he's going to explain something to me, then we could be here all night.” Astarion chuckles, lifting her free hand to give it a quick kiss. 

Octavia rolls her eyes playfully and pulls away from him. “Okay, I can't keep it up. I know what he wants to talk to you about, and I swear it's not bad. If anything, I think it's a great idea.” 

Astarion’s head quirks back, a curious sound hummed from his throat. “Really? You and Gale agreeing on something again? This should be good.” He crosses his arms and smirks, “Go ahead, fill me in on this idea of his.” 

Octavia smiles, this is Gale’s idea so he should be the one to stake his claim. “No.” she sweetly states, backing away slowly, “You can wait a little while longer." She turns and walks toward her office, leaving Astarion in front of himself. 

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

“Alright, Gale. Just remember what we went over, stick to the main points. This is a good PR move, Athena and Sirilius are big names in the wizarding community so that comes with good patronage, people from all over Faerun will see it, the press will love it…all of that. If you need me to cut in, just say so.” Octavia hands Gale the folder he prepared to show Astarion his sister's notes. 

“I’ll be fine, Octavia. I’ve done these kinds of project proposals many times before, Astarion may look intimidating, but he's not. As long as I explain things succinctly, he’ll absolutely agree.” Gale puffs out his chest as he knocks on Astarion’s office door. 

They hear Astarion’s response and Gale opens the door. 

“Alright, Gale, what are you two planning that was so important that I meet with you after hours?” he asks from behind his massive wooden desk. 

Gale and Octavia sit down across from him, Gale places the folder on top of the desk and shakily opens it. He clears his throat and begins to speak.

“As our busy season comes to an end, the amount of patrons we're expected to have is going to dip significantly. I was thinking about ways we could have some sort of capital to keep the museum in the black until the next fundraiser.” Gale wavered a bit, before continuing on. 

“I was talking to my older sister Athena, and she's getting married-” 

“No.” Astarion cuts Gale off immediately. “Gale, I will not have my museum with very delicate and priceless items be put in harm's way just so your sister can have a party and brag about it.” He waves a hand and looks over to Octavia. “And you! You knew about this? Why didn't you say something earlier?” 

Octavia frowns, she couldn't believe the audacity of Astarion to disregard Gale so quickly. “Excuse me? This is a wonderful idea! If you didn't know, Gale’s sister is marrying into a prestigious wizarding family. They're loaded, and that means all their guests will be as well. This could be a huge opportunity for us to not only do this massive favor for Gale, but to raise the reputation and the possibility of potential donors for the museum! Think about it, Astarion. Think of the money.”  

Astarion folds his arms, leaning back into his chair. “Octavia, do you really think-” 

“No, you don't get to cut Gale off, shoot him down, and then think you can do the same to me. Hear him out, it's a good idea. I won't let you deny him this one favor. Not when he's done so much for the museum. This place wouldn't run half as smoothly as it doesn't if it wasn't for Gale. I’ll help and so will you, don't think you're getting out of this just because you're the boss.” Octavia passionately argues. She wants to help Gale and nothing, not even a patronizing vampire, can get in her way. 

Astarion sighs, “Fine, go on, Gale. Convince me it's not a giant mistake.” 

Gale looks between Astarion and Octavia, he stutters a bit before resuming, “Uh..Athena and Sirilius, her fiance and my..ahem..former friend, were wanting to get married and have their reception here.” He passed Astarion the folder, it was full of pictures, fabric samples, ideas, and countless notes about his sister's preferences and wants. 

Astarion’s forehead wrinkled as he went through the massive file, his face changed in expression as he flipped through it. 

“Your sister has questionable style, Gale. These dresses look like a bard that took up dressmaking and kept adding bells to everything. Gods, some of these are gaudy as hell.” Astarion remarks, eliciting a quiet giggle from Octavia and an irritated protest from Gale. 

“I will have you know, that her style is very much the same as every other woman in my family. Waterdhavian culture is a little more showy than some others in Faerun..my own mother had a cathedral style wedding veil that was covered in black pearls that were sourced from the seas of Waterdeep. We show our pride in our family by having heirlooms pinned to our clothing and having family help us prepare for the wedding. That's why Athena is asking me to do this, why it means so much to me, Astarion, please allow this. I’ll work seven days a week even though the museum is only open six. I’ll do your laundry. I’ll get you one of Grandfather Gale’s spell books from his time adventuring, whatever you want!” Gale was almost begging, he spoke quickly and desperately. 

Astarion could feel the love and obligation coming from Gale’s pleas. He may not like the request, but Gale is one of his most trusted friends. Besides, Gale doesn't ask for much. In the 8 years he's worked with Astarion, Gale has only taken a break once much to Astarion’s chagrin.

Astarion sighs and relents, “Fine.”

Gale’s jaw drops and Octavia’s eyes grow wide, both of them reply “What?!”

“Astarion, are you serious??” Gale breathes out, his eyes show the shock and relief build and crash, the tears begin to form behind them. “I can't believe this. I…I don't know what to say.”

“Start with thank you.” Octavia squeezes his shoulder, in a supportive and comforting touch.

“Yes, of course…thank you, Astarion. I'm so relieved that I can tell Athena that you approved of this! She's going to be so excited!” Gale was practically bouncing in his seat. Octavia and Astarion laughed at his giddiness. Gale inhaled sharply and laughed embarrassingly.

“Sorry, I’ve been worried about this for a minute. Thanks again, Astarion. Oh, and to you as well Octavia. Thank you for having my back.” He smiles, grabbing her hand, giving it an affirmative squeeze. He turns to Astarion and grabs the folder, but before he can pull it away, Astarion grabs his hand, staring him down.

“Hold on Gale. I have some conditions of my own. Go ahead and take your seat, please.” Astarion lets go of Gale’s hand and motions for him to take his seat.

Gale and Octavia shoot each other worried looks and then look back at Astarion. Who has his hands pressed together in front of his face. His eyes shift between Gale and Octavia, before he closes them and takes a sharp inhale.

“Condition one: I want to meet the couple. I need to know who they are, and why they insist on having their entire event here. We shall have dinner at the restaurant we had our last meeting, Gale. Let me know what date works for them.

Condition two: I want to join you and work on this together. Three people would be suitable for this type of event and while I trust the both of you, I feel like this will make things even and less stressful.

Condition three: I want to attend the wedding if I'm putting all this work into it. It's not fair that I'm letting you all use what I consider my home for a little party and not expect me to attend.

Condition four: I get final approval on what they wish to-”

“Absolutely not. You get to consult, but you don't have final say. Athena and Sirilius do. You are not the one getting married, Astarion.” Octavia sternly cuts him off, waving an angry finger in front of his face.

Astarion sulks, he didn't like giving up control, and this was going to be the ultimate test of that. He grumbles and lets out a low growl from the back of his throat. “Fine. But no one goes into the offices, basement, archives or galleries with delicate items or statues. No drinks near the paintings. Food outside ONLY.”

“Fine, you can put up ANY AND ALL safeguards to prevent people from going into places you don't want, Gale and I can assist you with that.” Octavia states firmly. She has had it with Astarion’s aggressive negotiations, if his plan was to barrel over Gale and pull some demeaning power play, he definitely underestimated Octavia’s tenacity.

The air between them felt heavy and electrified with Astarion and Octavia’s back and forth. “If I may cut in?” Gale’s soft voice called out from between the two.

Astarion and Octavia turn to Gale, both of their faces flushed and visibly irritated. “Go ahead, Gale, let's just finish this for tonight.” Astarion huffs, arms crossed defensively.

“My sister did write a note to me in the folder. May I read it to you both? I think this might ” Gale asks, unfolding a small piece of paper.

Astarion nods, motioning Gale to continue. Gale smiles and reads aloud.

“Hello little brother!!

I'm so excited that you actually want to help! Siri and I were just talking about how much we were hoping that you could assist us with this whole venue situation. To be honest with you, I can't think of a more perfect place for us to get married. Not only did Siri and I have our first real date there, but the gardens dedicated to the heroes would be the most fitting place for he and I to recite our vows. Right in front of Grandfather, as if he were giving us his blessing and favor for our new lives together. Write back as soon as you're done with your meeting. I’ve sent Archie along with Ellie, so you have no excuses.

Toodles, little bro!”

Gale folds the note and looks up, smiling with a giant grin. “She's going to be incredibly grateful for this, Astarion. You won't regret it. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have a very anxious bride to be to write back to. I will let you both know when she and Sirilius can meet up.” He gathers the folder once more, quickly exiting and leaving Astarion and Octavia alone.

The silence is awkward, they both stay in their seats not looking in each other's direction. Finally, Astarion is the one to break the moment.

“Well, if I say no now, I'll look like a heartless bastard won't I?” He produced a low groan as he laid back in his chair, draping his arms on either side of the armrests.

“Gale has been by your side for almost a decade. He’s given up so much of himself for this place. What he's asking for is not that much in comparison to what he's done for you and the museum.” Octavia flatly replies.

“Are you upset with me?” Astarion asks, his voice a mix of worry and slight annoyance, “Is it because I didn't say yes right away?”

Octavia stiffened a bit and looked away from Astarion, she fought every instinct to interrogate him about what she knew. She settles on a reasonable lie. Shaking her head, she begins to speak in a terse tone. “I can't believe you would question Gale, as if he wouldn't treat this place with the utmost respect?” she folds her arms and turns away from him.

Astarion frowns and gets up from his seat behind the desk. He walks over to Octavia’s side, and sits on the edge of the desk. This position was very reminiscent of their last argument. Octavia’s heart flutters a bit with anxiety, her knees buckle a bit with anticipation.

Astarion leans on the desk, placing his hands at his sides. He gazes down at Octavia with a softened look. “You’re right, but you have to understand. I’m not a terrible person. No matter what my standoffish attitude might tell you. I’m very protective of this place, it’s my home after all, so I hope that you understand if I get defensive.”

Octavia sighs. She couldn't mask her disappointment, but she understood. She quietly asks, “Can we raincheck the dinner tonight? I'm a bit tired from coming back after being away, I think I’d rather go home and turn in.” She turns her head down and looks away.

Astarion places his left hand on her chin and guides her head back. “Has something changed?” Octavia’s eyes meet his, he looks worried. She shifts a little in the chair. “No. Everything is fine.” Octavia replies with a small smile.

Astarion releases his hand from her chin, brings it down to her hand, pulling it close to his lips, and kisses it. “Glad to hear it. You had me worried, dear. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

Octavia bit her lip. I bet you said that to her too.

[moonstrider9904]

Brown Eyes

Chapter 5 of Moonwalker: The Flame

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{crossposted to Wattpad} {crossposted to AO3}

Summary: Now that the race at Safa Toma is done and everyone's safe, Sarah and Tech catch some time alone together.

Tags/Warnings: Explicit, SMUT 18+ adults only. Unprotected vaginal sex, creampie, oral sex, fingering.

Word count: 4.3k

Songs: Body Gold by Oh Wonder

After taking in Tech’s triumph, the squad was joined by Cid, who made her best attempts at lightening the mood now that it appeared Sarah wouldn’t be taken by Millegi after all.

No thanks to Cid, of course. Sarah still avoided eye contact with her as much as possible.

They had really gone from having Cid give Sarah the authority to call the shots during the mission, to Cid striking a standard wage with Millegi, to Cid offering Sarah as collateral to save her own skin—behind Sarah’s back. In the corners of her mind, Sarah thought of Hunter, who always had some sort of wariness around Cid. Maybe Hunter wasn’t wrong about everything.

But when Sarah and the others made it to the empty dive bar where Millegi and his crew were waiting, Sarah decided she could put that aside for now if only to set the matter straight and finally be on her way out of there.

Millegi got up from his chair and spread his arms, seemingly welcoming the winning team, though behind him, his crew wasn’t as happy. One gesture of his hands took care of the matter, and the henchmen stood down, even in spite of how disgusted they seemed with the entire team, particularly with Tech. Still, if anyone understood business, it was Millegi, and though he and his gang were reckless, he wasn’t a cheater.

“A deal’s a deal,” Millegi finally said and extended a hand forward to Tech. “That was some impressive racing out there.”

Tech hesitated for a fraction of a second, but he reciprocated the handshake. “It was all strategy.”

“Motivation, too, no doubt,” Millegi said as he let go of Tech’s hand and glanced over at Sarah. “You would have made a fine addition to our team.”

Sarah did her best to hide her disgust, but she still understood the importance of not messing anything up even at the very end of the ordeal. Offending Millegi now wouldn’t help anyone.

“Oh well,” Sarah said. “I guess I’ll remain with my team.”

Cid was the first one to leave the room, followed by Wrecker and Omega. Tech remained next to Sarah as she gave one final nod at Millegi and began to turn away, but the pair hadn’t given three steps forward when Millegi called at them again.

“I wouldn’t have betrayed you like that, Adhara,” he said.

Sarah stopped in her tracks. Tech glanced over at her, his eyes filled with concern, silently trying to convince her not to engage. Sarah, however, decided that was a remark she wanted to hear developed further, and she turned around and stared at Millegi with a stern gaze.

“And neither would Hondo, for that matter,” Millegi continued. “You should probably reconsider your place in all this. All of you.”

“My place is with my family,” Sarah stated.

Millegi smirked discreetly. “Indeed. Then I suggest you and your family watch your backs. With Cid, it never goes both ways. But I’m sure you realize that by now.”

A sudden twinge of fear pierced into Sarah’s chest, rendering her unable to accept the words Millegi had said. If the facts were all that mattered, she could focus on the fact that she would be returning safely to Ord Mantell, not ending up in Milleg’s crew due to a bet gone wrong. But Sarah also knew that in that world, warnings weren’t to be ignored. A warning was a favor, not a threat.

Sarah remained quiet and nodded at Millegi one more time, and finally, she and Tech left the dive bar and silently walked the corridors of the racing dome, the silence between them tense and eerie even as the crowds in the upper levels of the racing dome were going wild with another race.

“We are set to leave in a couple of hours,” Tech finally broke the silence, his tone cautious. “Perhaps… you would like to grab some sustenance in that time?”

Though Millegi’s warning still weighed in Sarah’s mind, she found it in herself to chuckle at Tech—his beautifully brilliant mind always sending words to his mouth, prompting him to speak even when no one else would… the warmth returned to her marks, flushing over to her cheeks and making the roundness of her face take on a shade of scarlet at the mere fact of being in his presence. It was no surprise to her anymore, though. Those days, the only one capable of washing away any other feelings to substitute them with his own essence was Tech.

“If by sustenance, you mean fried street food, then yes,” Sarah smiled. “Yes, I do believe I could use some of that.”

“The cheesier the better, as Wrecker put it earlier,” Tech added.

“He’s a genius, you know?” Sarah chuckled.

“Yes, in his own way, I will admit it,” Tech replied.

Sarah directed a small smile at him and turned around, walking forward, but Tech remained with his feet glued to the ground, watching Sarah as she paced. Her hair, cut to the length of her shoulders, bounced with every step that she took. Her clothes magnificently embraced her silhouette, enhancing the inwards curve of her spine and how it changed its direction outwards into a pronounced curve on her backside, and when his gaze slid over to her gloved hands, he pictured what it would be like to remove them and expose her skin, feeling her touch him in all the ways she knew… he could only bask in the possibility.

“Sarah,” Tech called out.

She came to a halt and turned around, her eyebrows raising as she noticed he hadn’t moved at all. Without questioning, she paced back towards him and stopped barely inches apart from him, and she looked up to him with a wide-eyed gaze.

“Before you say anything,” Sarah spoke softly. “Thank you… for being so reckless.”

Tech chuckled softly at her remark.

“Reckless enough to save me,” her voice fell into a whisper, and her colorful irises faltered in their gaze, falling from Tech’s brown eyes to his plump lips.

He took notice and, figuring it was as good a time as any while finding themselves in a deserted corridor, his hands went up to Sarah’s waist and found their rest there, his grip steady as she inched her body closer to his. The space between them was sealed, and with a swift movement, Sarah’s arms snaked up around Tech’s upper back. Their lips crashed onto each other, and like a chemical reaction releasing heat, they wasted no time to raise the passion between them. Tech’s arms enveloped the circumference of Sarah’s waist and clutched her, pressing her silhouette to his in an attempt to bring her impossibly closer, and the long wait to be in each other’s arms finally paid off.

The countless moments of flirting, the witty remarks and lingering stares that had evolved into nights of comfort and time spent in silence, their presence complementing one another, piqued in the plenitude of that kiss, bursting all the tension and raw desire that had built up between them for over a year.

The pair stumbled through the corridor until at last they found it within themselves to separate for enough seconds to find a place that was even more private. Meals, leaving Safa Toma—all of it could wait. With their fingers interlaced, Tech and Sarah ran down the corridor and peeked into each door they could find, until at last, with his best instincts, Tech came across the door to an empty cellar. He helped Sarah and, and no sooner did the door close and lock behind them than they were on each other again, kissing hungrily with their hands roaming over the other’s body, clutching and pulling and squeezing, rendering their breaths fast and desperate.

The cellar wasn’t fully dark, but rather, there was a dim light that was just enough for them to see the gleam of each other’s eyes. Tech found his place on top of a large crate, removing his gloves and taking a seat while bringing Sarah up with him, with her legs pressed together and draped down the side. Their kiss didn’t break until Sarah’s hands traveled down to Tech’s chest and she pulled back, panting, gazing at him. Slowly, and almost shyly, Sarah took her hands upwards, letting her fingertips softly graze the sides of Tech’s face until they found the band of his goggles.

Sarah hadn’t been able to get the image of his bare brown eyes ever since he showed her the sight of them before the race, and she knew that, even in the dim light, she had to see them again. She needed Tech to be naked in front of her in more than one way, and now that she’d gotten a glimpse of the unfiltered glow of his gorgeous brown eyes, she needed all of it, plainly, excessively, until she was no less than drunk on it. And so, Sarah clutched the band of Tech’s goggles and slowly tugged until they slipped off his head and she could behold his image, sighing at his beauty.

With a wanton whimper, Sarah quickly shifted her body so that she was now straddling Tech, and the new position allowed her to feel him hardening even through his codpiece. One of her arms draped down Tech’s waist while the other one circled the outside of his shoulder, letting her fingers play with his hair while she kissed him. Her hips began to grind softly on his codpiece, letting drops of her own wetness bleed through, and the sweet friction drew a whimper from her. The sound sent Tech reeling, and he let out a soft moan of his own, his voice drenched with desire as his hands traveled down to clutch Sarah’s ass with a generous squeeze. She continued grinding her crotch against him, and it was clear to Tech how much she wanted more, and with one hand still securing her plump backside, he took his other hand and circled it around Sarah’s hip flexor, making its way to her front side. His expert fingers found the rim of her pants, and with a silk touch, they slipped underneath the fabric, tracing their way dangerously down to the heat pooling between her legs.

Sarah spread her legs even farther apart, and at last, she felt Tech’s fingertip brushing up against her sensitive, drenched clit. With a hungry whimper, Sarah let her head fall back in instant pleasure and sent her hips bucking against Tech’s touch as she ached for more of the delicious sensation. Her mind spiraled at Tech’s choice of touch—applying pressure while letting a single fingertip rub quick and precise circles over the nerve-packed bud—perfect for slowly and torturously building a fire that would have the most shattering release. As the seconds wore on and turned into minutes submitted to Tech’s luscious handiwork, Sarah felt like she would break in his grip. She could feel how close her orgasm was, and she ached for waves of pleasure, expecting them to be better than anything she’d experienced until then, hoping they would heal the innermost parts of her.

And they were as delicious and enticing as she’d built them up to be, even more. Even her wildest fantasies of Tech’s touch on her didn’t match the white-hot ecstasy that expanded to the corners of her body, emanating from her clit as Tech’s antics gave no indication of slowing down. Conscious that this wasn’t the place to openly scream his name, Sarah clung with all her strength to Tech, her fingertips fisting his hair as she rut her hips onto his hand, enhancing her orgasm. She filled his ears with short, sweet whimpers, strained in an attempt to be quiet, an act that made them far more endearing to Tech and caused him to shiver with desire as his codpiece pressed harder onto Sarah with the growing, pulsating confinement underneath. When Sarah’s body began to go soft in his grip, Tech knew it was time for him to stop—he didn’t want her fainting on his watch, even though he was confident he could bring her to such a point. Sarah gave a heavy sigh at the absence of his touch, and she regained herself quickly enough to bring herself to her feet only to scurry down to her knees.

Tech realized there were multiple possibilities as to why Sarah could be heading towards the ground, and each had him smirking with enticing anticipation.

“Care to elaborate why you are adopting that position?” Tech uttered.

With dexterous movements, Sarah removed Tech’s codpiece and freed his length, slowly lowering her face near the glistening tip as her big eyes found Tech’s, her gaze widening with seduction as her warm breath fanned over Tech’s erection and sent raw electricity down his nerves.

“To the victor, the spoils,” Sarah whispered.

Her tongue slipped out of her mouth and brushed lightly, almost teasingly, along Tech’s upper shaft and the start of his tip. Tech’s body gave a light quake and his hand flew to Sarah’s hair, fisting it, while she took in more and more of his length with each bob of her head. Tech growled and threw his head back, and now it was his turn to attempt to contain his own expressions of pleasure—Sarah was certainly skilled at what she was doing. Even the tiny moans she gave into his skin enhanced the experience with the sweet vibrations of her voice traveling through the thin and sensitive skin of Tech’s cock. Shudder after shudder made the pleasure pool within Tech, until at last, he too was at the very edge of his climax.

“Come here,” Tech said just before he reached his peak.

He didn’t have to tell her twice, nor did he have to verbalize what he was thinking. Sarah rose to her feet and shimmied out of her trousers and panties, and she climbed on Tech once more, straddling him as he positioned his vertical erection at her entrance. Sarah sank on him, taking a seat on his thighs once more with a deep moan emerging from both of them. She rested her forehead on his and looked directly into his gorgeous brown eyes without breaking contact with them even as she bounced on his cock. They locked gazes for as long as it was possible, until the overwhelming pleasure burst inside Tech and he could no longer control his expressions. With a strong grip, he helped Sarah bounce faster on him, the friction uniting them both in ecstasy, until Tech at last released inside of her.

Sarah whimpered at the warmth and the fullness inside of her, moaning through closed lips at how utterly good it felt, and she stayed in her same position, straddling him, for as long as she could possibly enjoy it. The two panted, attempting to reach recovery, and when they regained enough of their composure, Tech helped Sarah off him and made sure she could stand properly, after which he handed her clothes to her. She took them with a smile and decided she could dress on her own, and when her trousers were on her again, Tech felt compelled to reach out to her and rest his hands gently on her hips as he pulled her closer. In a brief moment of vulnerability, Tech rested his forehead on Sarah’s shoulders, and he could hear her exhale softly as she turned her head in his direction and nuzzled his temple.

They shared a moment in silence, and when Tech lifted his face, he gazed into Sarah’s eyes with his own, and finally, he pulled his goggles back on top of his eyes and placed his codpiece where it corresponded.

“Now I’m hungry,” Sarah broke the silence with a smirk.

Tech smirked back—he’d heard Wrecker hinting at the fact a couple times before, that “if you’re doin’ it right, you get hungry afterwards.” As such, he took it as a compliment.

“Cheesy street food it is,” Tech offered his arm out to Sarah as he clenched his helmet with the other one, and the two made their way out of the cellar and into the seedy streets.

The way back to Ord Mantell was uneventful. During the journey, Sarah was able to put aside any tensions and resentments and instead focused on the fact that nothing had gone wrong—that time spent alone with Tech had truly worked wonders for her. And it also helped tremendously anytime Tech would sneak a glance or a stare over at Sarah; how very exciting it was for both of them to know what had just happened, without any indication of it to the external world.

Anytime she found his brown eyes already on her, Sarah couldn’t help but wonder, fantasize, daydream…

At last, they were all back on Ord Mantell, and the squad seemed to part ways. Cid headed back to the saloon, and Wrecker went off with Omega to get their traditional cartons of Mantell Mix—now offered in a new and mind-blowing three limited edition flavors that they had no intention of missing. And Sarah had planned to head back to the cantina too, maybe pour herself a glass of her poison of choice before sealing the mission and calling it a day.

But when Tech’s hand was suddenly on hers, she knew her plan would have to change, and she’d welcome it.

She looked at him, smirking with her brows raised. “Yes?”

“If I am not mistaken, there is a spare bedroom in the Ace Auror’s landing bay you have been using lately whenever you want to get distance from the others, correct?” Tech said.

“Nothing escapes you,” Sarah grinned with seduction flashing through her eyes.

“Well then…” Tech paced closer to her, his voice lowering. “Shall we?”

Words weren’t necessary, and no stops had to be made prior to that. Sarah and Tech rushed through the streets and made their way to the landing bay, past the beautiful Y-Wing stationed at the center of it, until they at last found the room where it would happen. Sarah went in first, and when Tech followed, he closed the door with a lock and pulled the blinds over the windows, concealing them from prying eyes.

As Tech finished pulling the blinds over the windows, Sarah had already climbed onto the bed and lay on her side, with her arm draped over her curves. She gazed over at Tech, inviting him as she smirked and lightly patted the mattress under her, and for a moment, Tech felt himself hesitate. He pushed the feeling aside, though—he reminded himself he knew what he was doing. Tech walked himself over to the mattress and set his helmet on the nightstand, and he removed the plastoid of his upper body until he was down to the shirt of his blacks.

Sarah bit her lower lip and smiled hungrily at the way the black fabric hugged Tech’s body. Every line of his muscles was visible, and she could just run her fingertips over each one of them as she felt the wetness pool between her legs all over again. Tech shivered at her touch and he caged her to the bed, tugging lightly at her clothes until he helped her remove them and toss them aside. Sarah reciprocated, and she helped Tech out of the rest of his armor, his gadgets, even the thin fabric of his undersuit, and finally, they both lay naked on the bed.

Tech’s lips crashed down on Sarah’s and he kissed her with fervor. He moaned softly as she ran her fingers over his back and traced soft patterns on his skin, causing him to shudder when her touch traveled to his lower back. The excitement prompted Tech to fully press his body to hers and brush their skins together, and he slowly made his way down until he was between her legs. He still had plenty of theories to test.

When his lips hovered over her glistening cunt, Sarah expected his tongue to brush over her folds lusciously. Instead, she felt Tech slipping two fingers down her entrance, curling them expertly and letting the tips brush repeatedly against the sensitive, spongy tissue. Her eyes widened, and an embarrassingly wanton moan escaped her, pleased that he would get right to it. Tech’s touch inside her was dangerous, and if he kept that up, he’d have her screaming and moaning his name out for anyone to hear.

She didn’t care who heard.

Tech’s fingering was already delicious, but Sarah had a habit of always wanting more when it came to him, and she rut her hips towards him seeking more blissful friction. Tech understood her wordless request and bent down closer to her, and at last, he brushed his lips on Sarah’s pussy, exchanging between licking and kissing, making love to her sensitive flesh while his fingers continued their work inside her. With her body squirming and her figure pressed back towards the mattress, Sarah’s hands traveled up to her breasts and she massaged her hardened nipples, sending even more sensations down her body as she moaned out Tech’s name in a high, desperate pitch. Tech knew by the sound that she was close, and he didn’t relent. His fingers inside her were precise, and his lips on her clit were passionate. He could have her squirming within seconds.

And just as he’d predicted, in less than half a minute, Sarah whimpered helplessly at his antics. Her entire body quaked with each wave of raging pleasure that coursed through her body, and with her eyes rolling back, she lost all ability to form words in her mind. It was pleasure in its most vivid form, unhinged and making her sink further and further until there was no more knowledge or reason, and even with how much it had already lasted, Tech didn’t stop. He was determined, and with each second that passed, Sarah discovered a new level of her orgasm until at last she released between her legs, squirting warm and transparent all over herself.

“Oh… my… stars,” Sarah huffed at the realization of what Tech had just caused.

A satisfied chuckle escaped Tech, rumbling low in his chest. “I am not done, my dear.”

Tech grabbed Sarah’s knees and pushed them into her shoulders, positioning himself at her eye level, close enough that he could whisper to her.

“Unless of course, you need to rest,” he said as consideration flashed through his gaze.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Sarah replied, breathless in all her most genuine softness, smiling up at Tech. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

With a smirk, Tech leaned down to kiss Sarah, and she reached for his goggles and removed them once more, casting them carefully on the nightstand next to his helmet. Without breaking the kiss, Tech pushed himself down her walls, and due to her previous intense orgasm, Sarah was still all too sensitive, instantly squirming and moaning at his movements. With her knees pressed close to her chest and her calves hanging down Tech’s back, the angle of thrusting was nothing short of delicious, and Tech knew how to pace himself. Starting off slowly, then building up speed—and by then, it was obvious in more ways than one that Tech was a very good friend of speed.

Sarah dug her nails into Tech’s back as her back arched with another orgasm, and though Tech thought it impossible, the moans she graced him with hearing that second time around were far more delicious than the first.

“Fuck, keep doing that,” Tech whispered. “Keep making that sound for me…”

And Sarah obliged, her walls clenching at her own pride. She loved that Tech adored the noises she made, and riding out each and every wave of her own orgasm, she didn’t need to hold any of them back. Tech sped up, and the hammering of his skin against Sarah’s set a rhythm for the music of her moans to accompany. During his last moments of composure, Tech looked into Sarah’s eyes, fascinated by the glow of stars that her irises held, humbled by the fact that such an astonishing pair of eyes could be so amazed at his own brown eyes.

Regardless, it was true, and with that realization, Tech finally released inside her once more with a low grunt. Following that, Tech’s body fell limp over Sarah’s, and the pair panted heavily, both dazed, hot, and sweaty, clinging to one another and entwined, without an iota of intention of letting go.

Sarah never wanted to leave that room. If she could stay there with Tech, she would be happy. With her gaze glued to the ceiling, Sarah replayed the events that brought both of them to that bedroom, to the position they were currently held in, and she couldn’t help but smile as a quick aftershock ran through her body, letting her relax even more into the mattress.

“How did you get so good at that?” Sarah asked, breathless.

Tech chuckled and lifted himself just enough to press a kiss to Sarah’s temple. “I am quite the master of bringing theory to good practice.”

“You sure are,” Sarah said as she found the strength to shift her body sideways to face Tech, and she brushed her fingers up his forearm and his bicep. “Say, um… I’m kinda hungry again.”

Tech laughed and he let the pride go to his head, if only for a bit. After the mission they’d had, they both deserved some of that.

“Let me get dressed, I’ll fetch something and bring it back here,” Tech got up.

“Oh,” Sarah said. “Well that’s fine, but… if you bring food back here, I’m never gonna want to get out of here. I might even get creative with some of it.”

Tech chuckled and leaned in close to Sarah as he put his shirt over his upper body. “I encourage creativity.”

Sarah blushed and watched as Tech finished dressing himself, and just as he made his way to the door, he looked back at her.

“I’ll be sure to bring something I can lick off you, then,” Tech said, and with that, he was out the door.

Though Sarah was shocked at his final remark, it was not unwelcome, and she lay with her back on the bed, squealing as she hugged the pillow close to her, grinning like the enamored, dazed girl that she was.

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NEXT CHAPTER -> (COMING SOON!)

[vihola]

How do I get over this

[mxwhore]

learned a very valuable lesson today

[m0e-ru]

if atIus gives iznmi an ounce of personality I'll start biting people's limbs off

[mostly-imagines]

Guard Dog

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s girlfriend

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: mildly creepy guys, standard protective bf methods

Jason’s good at shutting people up very quickly. You’d almost call it a talent.

He shuts you up with a kiss when you get stuck in a rant, or with a hug to calm your worried rambles.

And when you’re in an incorrigibly teasing mood, he’ll throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to your bedroom to really shut you up.

With other people though, he has…different methods.

You sit atop your kitchen counter, trading lazy kisses in between giggles with your boyfriend. He stands in front of you, hands massaging your thighs as he leans in for another. You happily oblige.

You break off the exchange to lay a series of sweet kisses on that spot under his jaw.

His head tilts back, letting out a groan so low you nearly miss it. “Sweetheart…” he warns.

“Sorry…” you resign with a sheepish smile.

A knock at the door bursts you out of your shared reverie. You press a kiss to his knuckles and hop down to start setting the table.

Jason gets the door, greeting the pizza guy with a nod as you shuffle around the kitchen. The delivery guy hands him a receipt, asking for a signature.

Jason uses the door as a surface to sign, giving the delivery guy an apt view into your apartment, where he sees you getting out plates in the kitchen. More noticeably, he sees you in your boyfriend's shirt, which rides up just a little bit when you stand up on your toes to reach the top cabinet. The lift of the shirt exposes the bottom of your underwear, though it falls back into place again just as quickly.

Now, lucky for this guy, Jason’s facing the door and does not see him checking you out in your own home. Unlucky for this guy, he has wildly misread the vibe of your relationship. Or at least your boyfriend.

“Man, how do you get anything done around here?” He jests.

Jason looks up at him, and the pizza man’s eyes tear away from your legs to meet his hard gaze. It does not take him long to realize his mistake.

“Try again.” Jason behests, arms crossed in front of him.

The pizza boy’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head, stuttering. “I—uh, I said have a good night.”

“Mhm.” He grumbles.

The pizza guy hands Jason the box with shaky hands and scuttles back down the hallway.

Thankfully, you didn’t seem to notice the exchange, but even so, your boyfriend still glowers down the hallway after him.

“Jay?”

His attention snaps back to you, demeanor changing instantly. “Yeah, baby?”

You’re sitting in your usual spot at the table, his chair empty and waiting just around the corner from you.

“Come sit.” You say, with eyes that might as well be hearts.

He gives a reassuring nod and kicks the door shut behind him.

You and Jason are sitting on the floor in his old room at the manor, your legs thrown over his. You lean up against his bed, asking him about posters on the walls and trinkets on the shelves.

His knee is propped up and your arm dangles across it, his hand in yours. He plays with your fingers and periodically leans forward to leave a kiss on them.

You’d just woken up less than an hour ago after spending the night post-gala, and it’s a peaceful, if not unusually quiet morning.

Dick shouts your name from another room, audibly booking it towards you. Yeah. That’s more like what Jason remembers.

He grumbles some annoyances, dropping his head against your intertwined hands.

Dick bursts into the room, clearly incredibly excited.

“What’s up, Dick?” You ask, calm as ever. Jason lets an unseen smile creep up, head still down.

Dick’s practically jumping up and down, “You gotta see the shit that Tim just found in the cave!” His face drops as he directs his gaze to Jason, “You’re not invited.”

“Thank God.”

Dick ignores him and grabs your wrist, yanking you up from the floor. This is one place where he differs from Jason—he’s not always quite so aware of his own strength.

His grip doesn’t hurt really, but it’s firm enough that you imagine there’ll be bruise marks there later.

“Hey.” Jason calls out, nodding his head to where Dick is holding your arm. “Ease up.”

Dick follows his gaze and immediately loosens his hold, apologizing to you before pulling you along once again (this time much more gentle).

You grin at Jason as he tugs you out the door, him returning it with an endeared smile as he watches you go.

Fuck he loves you.

Jason had a decent break from his night job for once, and was happy to let you drag him out to a bar for a little date. You’d been linked at the hip for most of the night, his hands maintaining their ever present home on your waist with yours rested on his thighs as you told him about your hectic day.

He’d usually prefer to stay in bed with you for as long as possible when he gets time off, but you’d looked so excited asking him to go out with you—he never stood a chance.

You look up into the mirror as you wash your hands, a strand of hair falling into your face as you do. You push it back behind your ear and smile to yourself, recalling the several times Jason had wordlessly done the same throughout the night as you rambled.

You make your way back to the bar, smile immediate on your face when you see your boyfriend. It gets replaced rather quickly though, when a man slides in front of you, cutting off your view of him.

“Hey there.”

You have to take a step back because of how close he decided to stand to you. He looks sober (enough) but wildly overconfident in whatevers about to happen.

"Let me buy you a drink, pretty thing."

Jason calls you pretty thing sometimes. It makes the blood rush to your cheeks and an inescapable smile creep up on your lips. When this guy says it, it makes you literally frown.

"Oh no, I'm okay, my—"

"You seem like a dirty martini kinda girl." He expertly ignores you, clearly trying and failing to make some kind of innuendo there.

Jason's sitting back against the bar, watching the interaction carefully. You still can’t see him, but he’s close and you can rest comfortable knowing he’s looking out for you.

With that reassurance, you don’t play this out quite as carefully as you would if you were alone.

"Look, I don't want a drink from you, thanks."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to him because his face contorts quickly to mock-disgust that you figure is really just embarrassment.

“Hey, don’t be a bitch just ‘cause—”

You try to sidestep around him, thoroughly done with this interaction, but he grabs your upper arm harshly, pulling you to an abrupt stop.

Jason stands up real quick, yanking the guy backwards by his collar before you can even process what's happening.

Now, you know that Jason is an objectively intimidating guy. There's not many people that will come face to face with that absolute unit of a man and still decide to keep on trying him. However, you tend to forget that when you're so used to your gentle giant that only ever speaks to you kindly and touches you softly.

But his intimidating status becomes very apparent when the guy spins around, looks up at Jason, and immediately takes four steps back. He actually almost bumps into you in the process, not doing anything to tame Jason’s acute distaste for this man.

"Listen to me—back the fuck off before you get hurt."

“She—”

“I don’t give a fuck. Leave.”

The guy hesitates.

“Now.” Jason adjusts his posture to stand at his staggering full height, clearly with no qualms about putting him back in his place.

That does it for him, the man stumbllng away with half-committed mumbles of “whatever” or “something something lame anyway.”

Jason watches him until he walks out the door, before turning back to you.

He delicately takes your upper arm in his hand, pulling your sleeve up to search for bruising. But as harshly as he had grabbed you, it didn’t have the time to cause a bruise before Jason intervened.

“What’d he say to you?” Jason asks, brow furrowed as he inspects your arm.

“Nothing very interesting.” He looks at you mildly.

You smile and comb his hair back from his forehead, “Don’t worry about him. I’m good.”

He lets your arm go, and exchanges it for holding the back of your head, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You take his other hand and guide him back to your seats.

“Besides,” You look over his shoulder and let out a little shocked gasp. “Guess who just walked in.”

He gives you a questioning look before his face slacks, eyes widening in realization.

“No…” And you smile so brightly it almost makes up for what's coming his way.

You redirect your smile over his shoulder and give a wave to the door. Jason swigs down the rest of his drink, hand finding your waist once again.

“Jaybird!”

Jason’s still exhausted from patrol last night but he’d insisted on going with you to the bar to meet your friends. You’d tried to convince him that it was okay to stay in and rest tonight, you’d be fine. But it was a losing battle.

You suspect it has something to do with him not liking when you go out in Gotham at night, especially when you’re drinking.

So he hangs out in the background of the buzz, with you sat in front of him, in between his legs.

You’re talking it up with Roy, who’s been making jokes about how Jason’s “moody ass” tricked you, “the ray of sunshine” into this relationship somehow.

You laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Right, ‘cause you and Kori were in love at first sight.”

"Oh, fuck off." Roy jeers.

He doesn't say it with the cadence of a joke, but it is.

You know he's joking, he knows he's joking.

Jason, who very well may have been tuned out of the conversation up to that point, does not seem to know he's joking—or he doesn't care.

You don't need to look behind you to know that your boyfriend is in defensive mode, though the look of regret mixed with amusement on Roy's face gives a solid hint.

You hold your hand out to block Jason his path as he moves forward. He lets you stop him, though you're certain he could get past you without so much as blinking, no problem.

"Right. My bad, forgot your guard dog was here. Don't fuck off." Roy backtracks, hands up in front of him.

Jason just rolls his eyes, slouching back down. You reach behind you for his hand, giving it two squeezes. You know he’s tired, so much so that he almost punched his best friend for making a typical joke.

“Five more minutes, okay?” You say softly over your shoulder.

He nods at you blearily, and ducks his head down to rest on your back. You adjust your posture a little bit to make it more comfortable for him and continue on talking, his hand still in yours.

If he hadn’t fallen asleep so quickly, five minutes would’ve been five minutes, but instead it became something more like fifty.

He goes through patches where sleep isn’t always so welcoming, a phase he’s been in for the past couple of weeks. You’d been waking up to find the bed half empty, your boyfriend resigned to doing research on cases in an attempt to at least be productive while he’s awake.

You can’t protect him in the same ways that he protects you—you’re not a fighter or necessarily “intimidating.” But you can protect him like this, in these little ways. Letting him nap on you, making him close the case files and rest with you, holding his hand throughout the night so that when he inevitably has nightmares, he knows immediately that you’re still with him. That he’s safe.

So if he can get some much needed sleep while only costing you a stiff back tomorrow, you’ll happily take that deal as many times as he needs.

[coconutdays]

seat taker

s. you have a crush on the smartest and sexiest guy in your lit class who happens to ride a motorcycle with spooky season around the corner. what ever might happen?

w.c. 10.6k

w. fem! reader, biker!geto! x reader , fluff!, smut! (its more so toward the end so u can read until it cuts off to that lol if u want)

a/n: based on this idea I posted about biker!geto from uni lol, I didn't really proofread so ill get to that sometime later after I shower and eat lol just wanted to get this out

"go sit next to him then."

you take a nervous gulp from your water bottle as you walk to your lit class. the effort was a bit clumsy considering you were using one hand to open and close it while the other held your phone, your friend on the other line.

"never, would I ever have the balls to do that. i may be confident but I am not as delusional as the caveman gym bro that took your seat so he could sit next to me in anthropology."

she laughs on the other end, a hysterical giggle at your backtalk.

"well then he's just gonna keep thinking you're creepy cause you stare."

you let out a haughty scoff, "as if I acknowledge his existence." a finger of yours goes up in the air, as if she could see you being a smartass about your discretion, "I never look at him. I only get in a glance or two when he asks the professor a question or when he raises his hand to answer a question."

"you're insane."

"unfixable." you sigh prettily and proudly before giving a more serious response to her first suggestion, "and it would be really awkward if I sat next to him either way. the class is packed and everyone has their assigned unassigned seats, the white haired guy that always sits next to him would probably push me off his seat if he ever saw me there."

"that is true. some girl did that to me in stats and I was like ??? have you not been sitting somewhere else this entire semester? pissed me off that I had to sit somewhere else and take someone's seat."

you're about five seconds away from your lecture hall door when you add to her complaint.

"right. and then that person looks at you funny cause you took their seat and then argh–its just a fucking domino effect." you turn around and take a step into the class, the sight before you bringing emphasis to the last words that you meant to finish off with, "fuck seat takers..."

"huh. what was that last part?"

your classroom is full. every one of the 200 seats are seemingly just taken. it's a sight you're not used to when you walk into class. normally, when you decide to go in, about half of the class is there, and you were starting to curse the fact that you gave yourself the luxury to finish the last of your reading for next week ahead of time. those ten minutes didn't seem like they'd make a difference, they sure do now...

with white haired guy sitting in YOUR seat.

its across the lecture hall from where he normally sits, next to Geto, who just so conveniently has an empty seat next to him, the only empty seat.

poker face, poker face, poker face.

it's all you repeat to yourself as you walk up the carpet steps to the row where Geto is sitting and try to continue the conversation with your friend.

there's no white noise, some people are typing away at their computers and others are chatting with the person next to them or near them, so it gives you room to explain yourself a little without being heard.

"everybody's already in class, and white haired guy is in my seat dude, and guess which seat isn't fucking taken." there's an edge to your voice, however it lays undetectable with your calm face.

"WAITTTTTTTT. AHAHA–"

you can feel your body heating up in nerves when you start walking between Geto's row, to the seat next to him.

"stop f/n. I am on the verge of committing a serious crime. I'm going to actually end up in handcuffs by the end of today. the–"

"AHAHAHAHAHAHA." She keeps laughing at you as you force yourself to not care that you're pulling out and sinking into the chair next to Geto. If he acknowledged you, you wouldn't have known, his mere presence something you deleted from your mind in order to process the current events before you right now.

a high pitched and drawn out HA is the last of her laughs you hear before she speaks again, "I basically manifested this for you. you should be thanking me."

"fuck your manifesting. I'm not excited for this." you don't care to filter your voice into a whisper, it stays at its normal tone even though you're next to Geto because he didn't even know what the conversation was about anyway.

you balance your phone between your shoulder and cheek while you begin to take out your iPad and journal for class.

"ask him for a ride on his motorcycle after heh." she pokes at you and you feel like you can hear her poking out her tongue in malevolence.

even though you're slightly grumpy at your predicament, you manage to make a comment accompanied by a sigh, "with the way midterms are looking, id need a different kind of ride."

"you can ask him for that too~"

"shut up, you menace."

"hehe," she strikes evilly, "well, I'll leave you to your class with your boyfriend."

"no, stop, the class doesn't even–"

"bye!"

and she hung up on you, leaving you to flip mindlessly through your notebook while you try to ignore the presence of the hot hot hot piece of sexiness next to you.

suguru geto has been at the forefront of your mind for weeks now. you had always slightly admired him from afar, considering your actual seat in the lecture hall was across the room from him. he was undeniably attractive, with his long black always tied up in a bun and clean outfits. and his intelligence, he was always one to garner thoughtful debates in class in response to the professors teachings. his calmness towards everything was enough to make you swoon at the thought go him being that patient with you too.

and his stupid motorcycle, the thing that made it all click for you.

you had been walking to the library after class to meet with your classmate to work on an anthropology presentation when you caught a glimpse–stare–of him getting onto a motorcycle and pulling a helmet over his head before he quickly rode off to wherever he was going. for some reason, it really got your gears grinding and wishing you could just jump this man and do some truly desperate things.

he was all you thought about after. none of the other cute guys in your classes could hold a candle to the being that is suguru geto, renouncing you into a pining mess that looked forward to every lit class–even though you pretended you didn't care for him.

god, what even was the point in all of this if you weren't ever going to make a move? if he just SPOKE to you first maybe you could get some rizz in–

"you have pretty handwriting."

"I–what?"

you perk up like a deer in headlights at the sudden voice of Geto, wondering if you're the one he's speaking to.

and he is, he's spinning a pen between his fingers while he looks at you, slightly gesturing towards the journal in your hands, your cursive covering the pages of it.

"oh!" you're still caught off guard, doe eyes in the face of his sudden and scary, to you, comment, "thank you. can't even read it sometimes though, it's like trying to understand another language when I have to study what I write after."

he smiles slightly at your comment, a whisp of his dark hair swaying near his right eye, "I think it'd be cool to try and translate."

you resist the urge to curl into a ball and wish he would just look away from you, but you persevere, holding out your journal to him.

"be my guest." you say without hesitance

he sets his pen aside when he grabs it, immediately flipping through the pages and starting to skim through your notes, his eyes moving side to side as he does. you get a good view of him while he goes about trying to decipher your writings. he's wearing a black shirt today, it's not exactly tight, but not loose either. it gives you the perfect view of his arms bulging a bit, his biceps' size is an eye sore for you.

he's wearing these black stud earrings too, only visible because of the bun that he keeps his long hair. you wish you could see how long his hair actually was sometimes, he had never worn it down to class.

"looks like I'm more versed in your cursive than you are." he glances at you, a faint smile on his lips

your eyebrows raise a little and your eyes widen, "what? you can read it?"

he closes the journal and slides it to your spot on the very long lecture table. geto then leans over to your side a bit, close to your ear, and starts to point across the room to his white haired friend.

"see that idiot with the pitch black glasses?"

the question sends chills down your spine, the proximity making your heart race.

"y-yeah."

"silver spoon baby. learned cursive when he was four and it's basically incomprehensible unless you've been sharing notes with him since high school."

a laugh flows out of your lips, etching a smile on your face. your shoulder slightly bumps into his chest from it before you turn your head to directly face his.

"and I'm taking it that you're well versed in his cursive then too?"

he looks at you with a slight dreaminess in his eyes, his height still domineering over you even if you were both seated next to each other.

"have to be, would have failed lots of class projects if I didn't"

you take the opportunity to poke about the whereabouts of his friend in your seat now that he's been mentioned.

"and why's he sitting over there then?" you blink up at him for a response

at this, geto sinks back to his original position on his chair, face a million miles away from yours now as he goes back to fiddling with his pen.

"he's...trying to flirt with the girl he's talking to right now." he shakes his head a little, although there isn't much of a disappointed look in his face, it's more entertained. he was probably used to his friend's antics by now.

"ah. at least it looks like she's into it." you dispense the weight of your head onto the palm of your hand as you look at his friend with him, "could not have been me."

"what?"

you don't turn to look at him as you respond, "this Andrew Tate gym bro took my friend's seat to sit next to me in my anthropology class the other day. tried speaking to me like those guys who swear all you need is a computer to become a millionaire. worst ninety minutes of my life."

you hear a puff of a laugh from geto

"I can guarantee you Gojo has better skills than that. he's probably talking about his Halloween party for this weekend."

you flip your head to look at him suddenly, "he's that guy?"

every big party that everyone talked about on campus was always held by Gojo. they had numerous amounts of beers and liquor bottles. always the best music, the best hookup stories, the best snacks, everything. you hadn't put a face to the name until now, although it should've clicked when you found out Geto's name. his was always being paired with Gojo, as some would put it, two pretty best friends.

geto could see the gears turning in your head and his eyes creased a little at your realization in a smile, "yea, that's the guy."

you're a bit taken aback by his confirmation and turn to take another look at gojo before looking back at geto.

amused, geto speaks again, "by all means, go for it, he's–"

you quickly shake your head and stretch out both your hands to frantically do the same, "no, god, no. i'm not into him. it's just I didn't know that was him. I always hear good things about his parties."

geto nods, "he has an affinity for making sure everyone has a good time. you ever been to one?"

you shake your head, "never, haven't had the chance to or been invited."

"you should go to the Halloween one." geto suggests, gesturing his pen in your direction before going back to spinning it around his fingers, "you know where it is?"

you shake your head again, now completely facing his direction, the attention you were giving to his friend gone and now placed on him.

geto gestures towards your journal and reaches for it, "may I?"

you nod, curious at what he was going to do.

he flips the journal and opens the very last page, guaranteed to be blank and begins writing something on it.

when he pushes it back to your side of the table, you can see what he's written now, an address.

"that's where the frat house is."

you wiggle your eyebrows a little at him, "you in the frat too?"

geto laughs fully this time and shakes his head, "no. I have my own apartment. that's just gojo's thing."

you acknowledge him and look over the address written on your journal, "I'll think about it. have to wear my costume somewhere right?"

"what is it?" he tilts his head curiously, genuine interest in what you would choose to dress up as.

you try to bite back the smile at the knowledge you have of your costume and choose to leave it up in the air for him, tapping your journal on his shoulder.

"now that is something for you to find out if you see me at the party."

just how it's entailed in mean girls, you dress up slutty for gojo's halloween party. you wore a playboy bunny costume, close to one of the sluttier things you can wear, but it's rare recently for girls to wear as opposed to the trendy fairy and angel costumes lately.

although it isn't exactly halloween yet, its the first out of the two parties gojo was holding in honor of the holiday. next weekend there would be another one on the actual day, but you didn't know if you'd go that one yet, you were going to see what this one was all about though.

you brought your friend with you, hooking her up with the address geto provided you because she had been aching to go to one of gojo's parties too.

your eyes light up when you see geto's sleek black motorcycle parked near the garage as the both of you walk to the door.

"god, there's so many people inside." your friend all but screeches in excitement and you would too if it weren't for the nerves of impending doom that geto, your everything crush and classmate, was going to see you wearing this.

the chills that come from the thought make you rub your shoulders for heat as you walk inside and the blaring of the music becomes even more booming now that it isn't being shielded by the walls of the house.

"where do you think the drinks are?" you try to speak up, a trace of small worry at bumping into geto laced in your voice.

she raises her head up and looks around to see where she could spot the alcohol until she starts dragging you by the hand, "the kitchen is over here I think!"

she pushes the both of you past clusters of people, paving the way for her desire for vodka and it makes you bump into someone a bit roughly.

you try to voice out your apology quickly as she keeps dragging you along, looking back at who you just bumped into.

it's geto.

his eyes show mild surprise, not one for entirely showing his emotions, they're widened a bit and he looks a bit taken aback while his eyes rake up and down your body–still being dragged away. he's not wearing a costume, sporting a white t-shirt and jeans instead.

the words of apology you were going to utter fall off as you make eye contact and realize it was him you bumped into, he who just got an obvious look at your costume.

you're glad the speed of your friend makes the interaction short lived due to her lightning speed in suddenly bringing you to the kitchen, which is lined with beer and liquor of all kinds, every space of the spacious kitchen taken up by alcohol.

you hurriedly reach to serve yourself a cup of strawberry vodka, hoping that the first sip and those after might make your nerves dilute. when you turn around to talk to your friend, who's probably already served herself straight flavorless vodka, she's being flirted with by her anthropology club crush. she gives you a quick glance, a combination of 'oh my god oh my god' and 'sorry' being communicated to you.

you smile at her knowingly and point towards where everyone was dancing and talking, marking that that's where you would be while you left her to go as far as she wanted with the boy in front of her.

you're halfway through the crowd to make it to the patio when a voice is suddenly in your ear from behind.

"is it as cool as people say?"

you jump at the intrusion and cradle the cup of vodka to your chest and look at who just spoke to you.

it's geto, exactly behind you, his large frame towering over your body and leaned over so you could hear him.

you're stopped in your tracks and turn around to face him now, trying hard not to feel intimated by your basically half naked right in front of him.

"yeah!" you nod

geto turns his head a little from his spot at least a foot above you and leans down again, at level heads with you

"sorry, say that again." he looks at you earnestly, wanting to be able to properly hear your answer with the loud music echoing into your ears and his.

"I said yeah! I didn't know parties could be this packed!" you say, taking a nervous sip from your cup as you look at him

"what happened to your friend?" geto keeps his posture the way it is to keep talking to you

"the guy she likes started talking to her!" you exclaim past the loud blare of music.

"ah." he nods, taking a quick glance to the kitchen and spotting your friend smiling eagerly at the guy in a jason costume in front of her. "what are you going to do then?"

you blink cluelessly, haven't actually thought about until he asked you.

"dance!" you look around the room so he could look with you. bodies pressed against each other and bodies dancing by themselves all across the room.

geto smiles and straightens himself before reaching a hand out to you and gives you a look of 'wanna take it?'

you can't help the bashful smile that makes its way to your face as you hesitantly take his hand. he softly brings you closer to him, not as close as the other horny bodies in the room, but it's a little intimate and makes you feel intoxicated. he puts his other hand high on your waist, making sure to avoid the sluttiness beneath that line of your torso considering your outfit, and he starts to sway the both of you to the music. he holds you to himself with you hook an arm over his shoulder and use the other hand to hold your drink, singing along to the music with a toothy smile.

it was playful, the interaction with him, a fun setting between the both of you. the combination of that and the large heap of strawberry vodka you served yourself and managed to finish by the second song with him were the reason for your increasing comfortable nature with him. you were laughing and laying your head on his chest frequently through your endless bursts of energy and gasping breaths for relief.

he was smiling throughout the entirety of it, never getting too comfortable though, and keeping his hands where they had originally been.

"I just wanna be one of your girls tonight!" you sing at the top of your lungs.

geto lets go of one of the hands encircling you and instead reaches for one of the hands splayed across his shoulder and chest, caressing it with a thumb.

you tug at him a little with your other hand and he leans down to hear what you're about to say.

"wanna get drinks?" you ask, craving a sweet hard seltzer instead of another pour of vodka.

"you want something?" geto asks you back

"are there any strawberry drinks?" you blink up at him

geto looks like he's thinking for a second, trying to remember the usual drinks his best friend caters, before he nods, "yeah there are. want me to get you one?"

you nod eagerly at him and follow him to kitchen. he had taken a hold of your hand when he noticed you were going to accompany him, he didn't want you to struggle getting through all those people.

he had been bent over to look through a cooler on the floor before he stood up and held out a strawberry daiquiri to you, "here."

"thank you." you nod before you jump and sit on the countertop so you could rest and drink

you notice geto doesn't have a drink in his hand when he leans against the kitchen island in front of you.

"you didn't want a drink?"

geto shakes his head calmly, "gotta drive back."

"oh." you remember his motorcycle from earlier near the garage and strike another question so he doesn't know that you know he has a motorcycle. incredible logic.

"what kinda car do you have?"

"ah, not a car, a motorcycle." he smiles slightly, the answer was humble

"oh~"you drag out–as if it was new information to you–and continue drinking from your bottle.

"you have a ride back home though?" geto asks, crossing his arms over his chest so he could be more comfortable while listening to you.

"uhh," you reach for your phone and see a message from your friend asking if it was okay for her to go to McDonalds with her crush, "well I was going to uber with my friend, but she just had a change of plans."

"I can take you home." he offers genuinely, tilting his head in await for your answer.

"In your motorcycle?!" you blurt out

he starts laughing heartily at your answer and smirks at you when he speaks again, "never been on one?"

"no." you shake your head, a bit intimidated, "what if I fall. im literally naked im gonna get cut up by the road."

geto smiles at you, "that's a fair concern, but I'll give you my helmet and let you borrow my jacket, it's big, it should cover you up a bit no?"

although the alcohol leaves your brain empty, you think it over which involved nothing but staring at him in supposed 'thought' before you nod, "okay."

"can I give you my number? so you can send me your address?" geto asks, shuffling a little bit closer to you

"mhm." you hand your phone to him and watch as he types away into your phone before he hands it back to you. when you stare back at his contact name, suguru geto, it makes a dawn of realization wash over you.

"you don't know my name, rig–"

"y/n."

you do a double take at how fast he says it and his eyes crease at your reaction.

"what?"

"you get involved in the lectures a lot." he takes note for you

"oh." you sink back into yourself

"do you know mine?"

you shyly respond with a, "yea, you get involved a lot too..."

"good to know." he grins a little, watching as you take the last sip of your drink and gesturing back towards the dancing scene, "wanna go back?"

"yeah." you confirm softly, taking the hand he gives you so you can get off the countertop smoothly. and when your feet touch the ground, you yelp, "ow ow ow ow!"

the hour of pure dancing and jumping around had not been a good rival for your new and tall heels. they were a height you had walked before, but the shoes themselves were new and not worn in, causing a great deal of pain across your entire foot.

geto held you by just below your armpits, the worry he had seeping through in his widened eyes and his leaning over to see if he find out what was wrong with you.

"what's wrong?" he asks quickly

"the heels," you scrunch up your nose in pain and sigh, "they hurt like a bitch now that I got a bit of rest."

you can tell geto feels bad about your pain by the way he grimaces for you and plants you on the countertop again. he suddenly kneels down and begins to work at the clasps of your heels.

"you can borrow my shoes. that sound alright?" he looks up at you from where he's at, already sliding one of the heels from your feet.

you're quick to deny, "but what about you?"

"satoru and I are the same size, I can just ask him for a pair, he has a million."

you give in at his response, embarrassed, "okay."

"you want me to take you home now?" he lightheartedly smiles as he works on the other heel, "I think you can walk in my shoes, but dancing doesn't seem doable."

"well yea." you say dejectedly, a little frown etching itself on your face when he finally comes back up, his lips quirk up a little when he sees it

"wait for me here then." he says, putting your shoes next to you on the countertop before he walks off a little hurriedly to you assume gojo's room.

when geto walks you to his motorcycle, he takes your heels and puts them in the compartment box of it for you, then takes his helmet and immediately puts it on your head.

an 'oomf' leaves your mouth at the sudden weight of it and he looks a little amused as he starts working at the straps of it.

"there you go."

he smirks a little as he looks at the, very large in comparison to you, helmet, and picks up his jacket that he brought back from gojo's room to put on you.

"there we go" he sighs, almost like he's proud of himself and gets on the motorcycle, turning his torso a little to pat behind him for you to get on too.

when you get on and take in the feeling of sitting on a motorcycle for the first time, he's turned around and looking at his phone, pinching and zooming in on the route to your apartment.

"you actually live pretty close to me." he murmurs, noting what roads to take.

"yeah?" you yawn, laying your head on his back

"alright," geto says, starting up his motorcycle, revving it up a bit, "hug me tight okay?"

you nod sleepily and wrap your arms around him, brain so eased by the alcohol in your system that you don't overthink it, as if your sober self wouldn't be screaming and crying on the inside during this exact situation.

geto drives off at a decent pace, some part of you thinking that this might not be the speed he normally drives off and that he was taking it a bit slower just for you. you could feel him breathe in and out all throughout the ride, his chest and stomach were rising and falling underneath your touch. you fell half asleep on him halfway through it, managing to grasp onto him like a child with their stuffed animal, and unable to resist the heaviness of your eyelids.

you blink back to reality at the sudden stop of movement, the stilling air was no longer brushing past your skin and the noise of wheels screeching against the road was gone.

after geto helps you get his helmet off, he hangs it on one of the handles and takes your heels out of the compartment box.

"this is your place right?"

another yawn flutters past your mouth again and you hold out your pointer finger to say yes.

"alright." geto says, watching as you lead the way into and through your apartment and to your place. he had placed a ghost of his hand near your back in case you started to trip up from his shoes considering their size in comparison to your feet. the walk was quiet considering your focus on making it to your door and the overwhelming sleepiness dawning on you.

when you get to your door you slip off geto's shoes and them to him, taking your heels from him in return.

"thank you, geto." you hold try not to yawn again, doe eyes sleepily fluttering at him

"you can call me by my first name." he comments comfortingly, "and no problem. see you in class?"

"yeah." and this time you do yawn, again, before you open your door and walk inside, looking at him while you hold onto the frame.

"alright then." he looks down at you from across the doorway, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto his shoes, "get some rest okay?"

"okay." you almost murmur, your bed calling out to you.

you get to class at the time you usually do the following class meeting. the weather forecast had been a little chilly, so you opted for a cozy, off the shoulder sweater. it was fashionable and you had been dying to use it the moment you saw the weather forecast the night before.

you're scribbling notes onto your iPad this time, going over lecture notes from your earlier class that day. there were some things you forgot to add and that's what you always used this time for before class started. you see the class start filling in minute by minute out of your peripheral vision as you do this.

your habit of pretending to not care about suguru's presence is still existent, so all you can see for a fleeting second when you look into your backpack for a mint is that he is indeed sitting at his normal spot with gojo.

there was no chance to look at him that day in class, he hadn't spoken, which wasn't really rare, sometimes you wouldn't speak in class either. you, however, did speak in class that day, the module that the professor was teaching that day had piqued your interest a great amount and thus called for a great amount of your interaction with the lesson.

by the end of class, you were setting quick reminders on the notes you had taken of what was the most important before you started packing your bag to leave. the sound of feet and shuffling to leave the class a bit noisy, but it could let you make out the distant loud voice of gojo, probably talking to suguru.

"I have been on my best behavior. I do not know what you mean by that Suguru." "No no no that was a favor, look where it got you." "Oh you are such a wuss."

It was only a little appealing considering the fact that you couldn't hear what suguru was saying and the things that gojo was saying didn't let you get any clues as to what they were talking about. oh well.

you wanted to go home and start studying for a test tomorrow, so you started walking out of class, past suguru and gojo's line of view.

you heard a smack, like one of them had hit the other.

and gojo's voice, "idiot."

you were sitting at your desk, going over the last of your test review when you felt your phone buzz across the desk and picked it up

suguru

hey

y/n

hi

suguru

you wanna take satoru's seat next class?

y/n

he wants to flirt with mika again?

suguru

not rlly lol.

y/n

?????

suguru

I think it'd be cool to switch desk buddies every once in a while ;)

y/n

lmaooo. I won't tell mika if that's what you're scared of

suguru

haha, that's not rlly the case, but just take his seat

y/n

okay?

when you go to class again that same week, you hesitantly take gojo's seat. there was no follow up text from suguru after you said your okay and it was a little off putting. of course it had only been that night and the day after that he hadn't texted again, but it was a little weird, especially for it being the very first text conversation he strikes with you. the only thing that had been exchanged between either of you in your messages had been your address to him from gojo's party.

there were no notes for you to go over, there was no test or important knowledge that you had to use soon in any upcoming classes, so you were left to wait for the class to begin while you aimlessly scrolled through your phone and watched people come into class.

three minutes had passed before suguru and gojo were walking into class together. gojo was rubbing his friend's shoulder rather roughly, a fang filled smile on his face as he said something to him. suguru didn't seem to mind it, like many things, his eyes still had that warmth they always had, but it looked like he had said something back.

gojo playfully shoved suguru forward by the back before he laughed evilly and walked to your original seat, if you were right, you could see his bright blue eyes flick to you for a second behind his glasses before he smiled at the girl he flirted with last week.

you look up at suguru as he finally gets to the seat next to you.

"hey." he sighs with a smile as he plops into the seat.

"hey." you smile only halfway, a little tired from staying up to finish a homework the night before.

"sorry about the cryptic texts." he starts to apologize, moving his chair a little closer to yours, "satoru took my phone."

ah. that's why it seemed so out of character

"it's fine." you reassure, "they were a little off putting to read."

suguru scratches at the back of his neck, "I'm sorry about that. I meant to text after but I felt awkward."

"really? about?"

for the first time, you see him stumble on what to say, hesitance obvious when he opens and closes his mouth for a painfully slow second before he manages to respond, "to see if you were coming to the party on actual Halloween night this weekend."

"oh." your mouth opens in a little oh, oblivious to what he really wanted to say, "I'm not too sure. my friend that I went to the party with is spending it with that same guy she left with. so I don't have anyone to go with. plus I already used my costume."

"what's wrong with using the playboy bunny costume again?"

you eye him, disappointed, and lean over to flick his forehead, "i...am not an outfit repeater, suguru. the people who saw me at last week's party are going to remember me and say 'she's using the same costume again, what a loser'"

he gazes back at you as if you pat his head instead of just flicking it, warmth and a hint of mischief seeping into his stare, "you're right, you did catch a lot of attention."

"what?"

suguru leans back in his seat and answers, "you looked beautiful. it was hard to ignore."

"for who?"

"for me and every guy with eyes at the party."

he seems calm and confident when he says it, but his cheeks and ears start to get a slight pinkish hue as he awaits your response.

you try to keep looking at him, fighting the need to look away and wait for the professor to start class, your flustered face saying all too well what you're feeling, "what am I supposed to say to that?"

"you don't have to." suguru moves forward, positions his feet to face you as well as his face, and puts his elbow on the table, slanting his body onto it a little, "The president of gojo's frat asked for your name. He really liked you."

"Zenin?!"

"You like him?" he asks, with the tone of a guy who would try to set you up with the president if you said yes.

you shake your head, gaze looking down in embarrassment, "no no. it just caught me off guard..."

"if you like Toji it's fine," he tries to lower his head so he could catch your eye again, speaking earnestly yet something about it sounds like it's fake, it's weird, "he's like a dog, treat him well and he's loyal. although he can be brutally possessive, probably the type to leave hickeys on your legs if you're going to be with him and wear a costume like the one from the party."

"no, I don't like him. he's not my type." you answer meekly, having felt a bit of pressure from his boasts of the frat president.

"no?"

"no."

and before he can continue with his intense conversation again, you're saved by your professor, dramatically entering the class and bellowing for all of you to pay attention to him.

when your class ends, you try and succeed at scampering away from suguru before he can get a word out. as if she possessed magical powers, your friend called you the moment your professor ended the lesson. within the millisecond her name popped up on your phone, you grabbed at your phone at put it to your ear.

"hello?"

"hey hey! I have a question!"

you pay no mind to suguru as you haul your backpack over your shoulders and begin to walk out of class.

"what's up?"

"do you want the extra halloween costume I bought? levi is taking me to dinner on halloween for our date and I won't get to use it."

"the fembot costume?!"

you can almost makeout the banter between suguru and gojo a way's away behind you as you walk down the concrete steps of the building.

"yeah! you can go to gojo's party in it!" she beams, before her voice gains a bit of malice, "you can dance with motorcycle guy again~"

"go there by myself?" you groan, almost wanting to stomp your feet on the pavement beneath you

"lots of girls go by themselves to parties!"

"well I've never done that." you grumble

"aw come on. use the costume and go for me. pretty pleaseeeee."

"I'm going to give you a reason to be scared on halloween if this goes south for me. got it?"

it's cold when you get to gojo's party and you're beyond psyched out of your mind. from the unbelievably slutty costume that let everyone see your naked body in panties due to sheer babydoll material and the fear of coming across a very handsome suguru or toji zenin, who as handsome as he was might be able to seduce you, but you didn't want him like you did suguru.

you're more conscious of the stares now, due to suguru's previous comment and the fact that this costume was way more revealing.

on instinct you rush to the kitchen and get a strawberry daiquiri like the one suguru got for you exactly a week ago. you didn't want to get drunk tonight considering you came by yourself, so reaching for the strawberry vodka again was not within your list of options.

your eyes were on high alert as you pushed yourself through the countless bodies dancing, trying to remain unseen.

it doesn't give you cause to hide for some reason, considering he's suguru's friend, but you see satoru strut to the kitchen in a slutty firefighter costume. he was wearing the pants and boots, and nothing on top but a set of suspenders. classic.

however, you do a double take when you suguru geto wearing that same exact costume. you swear you feel your eye twitch in frustration when your eyes see his hair finally down, splayed across his back and chest, and get a peek of a tattoo tracing his spinal structure, bone for bone, going all the way up his back until it gets interrupted by his hair. his arms are practically calling to you when he fist bumps a toji zenin wearing a prisoner costume, they flex and bulge at the action. his abs are all perfectly prominent and–

he just made eye contact with you.

you hadn't gojo walk up to him and whisper something into his ear, probably that you were here.

fuck you satoru gojo.

suguru smiles immediately and turns to walk to you, leaving you to stay in place and not run away from him.

"you bought another costume?"

"no," you feel your chest heave at the sight of him, breath getting caught in your throat with his very shirtless self right in front of you. it makes you look off to a girl dancing behind him when you continue, "my friend gave me hers because she didn't end up dressing up."

"you want me to bring zenin?" he points a thumb behind him, towards the kitchen, face the definition of calm and suave.

you glare at him this time and take a sip of your daiquiri

"what? feeling shy?" he smiles down at you, if he weren't such a peaceful seeming person, you would have said it was condescending

"I'm not into zenin." a tinge of irritation already seeping into your voice.

"you sure?" he moves closer to you, your face right smack in front of his chest.

"yes." you jut your chin at him, done with his shenanigans

his lips twitch a little when he tugs your strawberry daiquiri out of your hands, grabs you by the neck, thumb close to your chin, and says, "open your mouth." he immediately starts to chug from your daiquiri and the thought of realization dawns on you of what he was about to do.

you open your mouth and he pushes his body closer to yours as he spits the drink into your mouth, his eyes solely on yours as he does it besides for when he briefly looks at something or someone behind you rather haughtily. he's still holding you and intently watching when you swallow it down immediately. that familiar happy crease of his eyes sketched itself across his face after.

you're heaving a little, star struck by the action the both of you just committed, "what was that suguru?"

"scaring off zenin. you don't want him right?"

his eyelids flutter a bit, something yours did whenever they were sleepy and it makes you search into his eyes more. your curiosity dying when you see the sudden red veins clouding the whites of his eyes. and you push him off.

"are you kidding me? you're high?"

"and drunk." he smiles, not minding your pushing him off and still inserting himself into your personal space again.

you try to speak and can't, solely out of irritation at the fact that he did that because of his intoxicated state. you bite your lip to stop yourself from overreacting and settle for shaking your head.

"you don't like guys who smoke?" he asks, genuine concern laced with his stupid crossed persona at the moment, "I tend to never smoke, but satoru passed me his joint when I was already at the 'whatever happens' point of a tequila bottle ."

"I really don't care about that in a guy, as long as he's not a musty constant weed user that can never cope with his life." you roll your eyes at him slightly, "but you just spit alcohol into my mouth because you're crossed as fuck."

"no." he scoffs, now entirely entranced in his conversation with you.

"yes."

"I spit alcohol into your mouth so zenin wouldn't come up to you."

the response makes you cross your arms over each other, "a simple 'hey she's not into you like that' would have sufficed."

"where's the fun in that?" its a serious question for him, you can tell by the way he patiently waits for your answer

irked, you look up at the ceiling while biting your cheek, trying to gather yourself again before you say, "sober up geto." and turning to walk away.

you made it your mission to stay hidden the entire party, having entered the deal with your best friend that if the night turned sour for you, she would come with her boy whatever to pick you up in his car

after their date.

which wasn't going to end until an hour or two.

the garage had stayed open to the enormous frat house, although there weren't any people in it. people had respected the space, leaving the miscellaneous in it untouched such as the two cars and...suguru's bike.

you eyed it from the rather comfy bean bag in the darkest corner of the garage, feeling a fight or flight instinct at the mere glimpse of it whenever you looked up from your phone.

it had been almost two hours since you last suguru and you were striving to keep the streak going on longer.

"told you I'm going home satoru." a wary and very sobered up voice says when they open the door to the garage, "I drank enough water, I'm sober."

it's suguru.

there is no stagger in his step and his posture is refined as he walks to lean again the trunk of the car furthest from you and closest to his bike. you remain hidden due to the cars covering you from his line of sight as well as the sheer darkness of the corner.

he's wearing a shirt now, another black one, and he rakes his hands across face when he gives a defeated sigh. you hoped he wouldn't notice you.

this was your Friday the 13th movie for sure.

suguru pulls outs his phone from one of the spacious pockets of his fireman pants and he starts to type away immediately. there's a slight buzz from your phone seconds within the action.

suguru

are you still here?

I'm sobered up now.

he shoves his phone back in his pocket after. and you watch as he stays where he is, crossing his arms across his chest while he waits a good five minutes for you to respond, which you don't do. he gets his phone out again after and taps something randomly before he puts his phone up to his ear.

buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz

the strong buzzing of your phone on your thigh make a ricochet that gets's fine tuned ears pick up quickly.

"y/n?" he's shining his phone's flashlight on you, squinting his eyes just a little to try and make you out.

nervous, you mutter, "what."

suguru turns the light off and sighs, walking to your corner, his eyes already getting adjusted to the darkness.

"why didn't you answer me?"

"do you really not know the answer?"

"you're right." he sinks down in front of you, sitting down on the floor and brushing a stressed hand through his hair. his legs are stretched out and basically manspread even though he's not on a chair.

"satoru didn't text you to switch seats with him because he wanted to flirt with mika" he comes forth, both of his hands laying across his knees.

you're confused, "but–"

"it was a wild attempt of his to help me talk to you again." and he laughs, a burst of energy randomly gracing the intense air. suguru raises a hand to rub at the back of his neck while his chest and stomach ricochet and his teeth peek out from his mouth.

"truth is, I really like you." he's still smiling.

the declaration makes you stare blankly at him and a million goosebumps rise across your entire body.

"if you don't feel the same in that regard it's fine of course." he reassures, back to his normal calm self, "I just thought it would help explain my behavior."

"since when?" you peep

"our first class meeting," suguru seems a little bashful at the confession

"I have for a couple of weeks now too." you meekly profess

suguru seems genuinely surprised, his eyes widening, "you have?"

"why do you sound so surprised?" your brows knit.

"it felt like you didn't know I existed until last week." he grins followed by a small huff of humor

"oh...that," you trail off, embarrassed, "I thought pretending you didn't exist was the best way for you to not know I had a thing for you..."

"satoru is far smarter than me in that aspect." he says, "he insisted that you were doing that when I told him."

you giggle a little, "he read me like a book."

suguru hangs his head for a second and groans, still joyful, before he whips his head up and gazes at you, "I apologize for having never gathered the courage to approach you before. I have Satoru to thank for even getting me here with you in the first place."

"it's fine." you shrug, pulling at your own fingers, "we're here now aren't we?"

"we are." he agrees before leaning over. suguru grabs one of your hands and brings it to his lips, placing a soft kiss onto it while his eyes never leave your own.

"want to go back to the party?" you muster past your nerves, focus solely on the warmth of his hand still holding onto yours.

suguru shakes his head lightly, "I'm enjoying it being just the two of us right now. do you want to?"

"no, I like it here too."

theres a moment of silence, where both of you stare at the hands that the both of you have connected until a strong breeze passes and flutters the thin material of your babydoll up and makes you shiver strongly.

"let me." suguru says as he hastily gets up and gets his leather jacket that's hanging from his motorcycle, then brings it back to you, helping you tuck your arms into the sleeves and get comfortable in it.

he's above you when he does it and you can see the small glances he tries to avoid giving your body, especially at the sparkly pink thong peeking through the see through material of your costume. suguru is making sure his jacket is on your properly when you call out to him suddenly.

"suguru."

he doesn't get the chance to respond when he looks back up at you and you pull him in by the material of his shirt to kiss him.

he reciprocates within seconds, after the surprise wears off and places a hand on your thigh, the other next to your head and grabbing at the beanbag. his lips are soft and have no remnants of alcohol on them, a smooth flavor of his skin and flesh meeting your tastebuds when he dips his tongue into your mouth. it elicits a groan from him when you whimper at the contact.

he pushes as much as he can into your space without falling and you follow suit, trying to lift yourself as much as possible off the beanbag to meet him.

a particular whimper has suguru pulling away from you and pulling you up by the arm so he can maneuver you to sit on the trunk of the car next to you. when he plops you down onto it, he slots his torso between your thighs and pulls you for an even deeper kiss. his hands have a strong grip on your thighs as he keeps you against him and you can feel the distinctly large throbbing of something against your panties through his pants.

"are–mmmm–you hard?" you ask through kisses

suguru can't help the grind of his bulge against your core when he answers and keeps kissing you, giving small nips to your lips, "yes."

your eyes are closed into the kiss when your hands navigate to the waistband of his pants, about to reach for–

"not here." suguru mutters and keeps both of your wrists clamped under one of his large hands.

you pull yourself away from his lips and heave, a pout of sexual frustration illustrated on your eyes and lips. "okay."

he raises a hand to caress your cheek as he smiles fondly, "what?"

"nothing."you look away for a quick second, leaning in to kiss him again after.

suguru stops you before you do though, clamping one of his hands against your mouth while the other holds the back of your head.

he's smiling even wider this time, "now what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you touch me before I get to touch you?"

you slouch in his hold, too upset by the fact that you couldn't touch him or go back to kissing him to care about his words.

"you know, even satoru couldn't keep his eyes off of you in this little costume of yours." he looks down for a second so you could too, "god knows what toji was thinking. I saw the tent in his pants when you took my spit and booze like a good girl."

suguru sees the way you shift your hips for a smidge of relief at his words. "are you my good girl?" he leans his forehead across yours, hand still on your mouth. you try your best to let out a muffled 'mhm' and incessantly nod your head, eyes pleading and hands gripping onto his shirt.

"are you going to answer the phone when I text you next time?"

you give him the same answer again.

"god." he warily eyes you, gaze wandering towards the outline of your breasts and the rest that wasn't covered by your thong, "you're so beautiful."

the hand at the back of your neck trails down and moves some hair away from your shoulder, then ends up holding you by your lower back as suguru leans down and starts to mouth at your neck. he starts off small with his intentions, simply placing soft and subtle kisses, eliciting a ticklish response from you until his lips become searing and he goes in with the intent of leaving hickeys on you, it makes you squirm and suguru lets you, it's not like you can break away from his touch anyway. you use your legs to keep him caged in and closer to you eventually after the third 'pop' you heard coming from his mouth on your skin, it makes him audibly laugh for a second too.

you tug at the hand on your mouth, expecting for the task to be hard considering his build, but suguru lets his hand fall away easily and hold onto your thigh.

"what are you thinking pretty?" he asks mindlessly before going for the opposite side of your neck

"mmmm–about how good–mm–this feels."

"yeah?"

"mhm"

"tell me what you want to do. do you want me to drop you off at your place after this?" he blows on your most recent hickey and smirks when he sees you jump a little, "do you want me to get you food?"

"I want–ah!" suguru bites into your neck fairly hard, enough to make you moan and yelp at the same time, "I want to spend the rest of the night with you at my place. can we watch a scary movie?" the suggestion is simple and it isn't to hook up with him, although that's what you want more than ever now, but you don't want him to think you're that desperate so its what you settle for.

"couldn't imagine a better halloween than that." he smiles

you're under suguru, on your bed later that night, the movie you had been watching was long forgotten and the t.v. was turned off the second things started to get out of hand. it wasn't his fault no, suguru's a gentleman and when you said you just wanted to watch a movie, he was just going to watch the movie with you. you were the instigator. after you had been cuddled into his arms, near his neck, you decided to place a few loving kisses...that eventually turned into what this was with suguru getting up to take off and throw away his shirt while you hastily yanked off the long gloves of your costume.

he was needy, grinding his hips into yours the moment he came back down to kiss you.

"you have no idea how fucking bad I've been wanting you." he mutters, hissing when a particular rub pleases him the right way

it makes your back arch, "I think I do suguru."

"really?" he groans into your mouth, "you touch yourself to me like I do for you?"

"yeah." you sigh, clinging onto him even more, splaying your hand across the soft skin of his back.

"move your panties to the side."

when he feels your hand move down and follow his directions, suguru moves his down too and slides a finger across your soaked folds.

"fuck, this pussy is so wet for me. were you even trying to pay attention to the movie?"

"yes, I was." you complain, and whimper when he starts rubbing circles across your lower lips, gathering your slick for added stimulation after every rub.

he separates himself from kissing you to look down at his ministrations, mouth opening in a soundless moan at the sight.

"listen to this sloppy fucking pussy." he rubs faster and you start to jerk your hips up by natural defiance at the stimulation, but he holds you down "no, let me touch you baby." he says sternly

your breathing starts to pick up and you feel that familiar knot that only you can give yourself starting to build up in your stomach and suguru notices, looking up to smile at you.

"are you close angel?"

concentrated on the feeling, all you can do is nod your head and he speeds up his pace at it, garnering close to wanton moans from you and screech like whines.

"come on come on, cum for me pretty girl, cum cum cum cum–fuck, atta girl." suguru talks you through it, mouth opening in awe at the sight of your body going limp and your breathing slowing down, his cock even twitches at how cute it is that your legs kick a little when you cum too, he thinks he'll be able to keep them still when he gets make you cum on his cock.

you start to hiss at the overstimulation when he keeps rubbing your clit after your high, "'s too much suguru."

he doesn't stop, "you want to stop now then?"

the shake of your head makes his eyes light up and bite his lip with a grin, "then just let me keep going."

it takes all of your strength to lean up with one of your elbows and grab his wrist with the other, obvious strain written across your features when you huff, "I want you inside me."

like he knew that was what you wanted, suguru's grin grows wider, "are you sure?"

you nod your head in confirmation, followed by suguru saying, "so cute." before he gets up and pushes his pants and boxers down in one swift motion and climbs on top of you, manhandling your legs by pinning them to either side of your head into a mating press.

he lets his cock teasingly rub up and down your folds while he leans down to nip at your ears, "let's leave your little costume on yeah?"

you nod and make a face when his tip catches on your entrance

suguru lifts his hips at your confirmation and pushes his tip in, savoring the way you're beginning to invite him inside you.

" 's so big sugu." you whimper in shock at the larger than expected intrusion

"never taken a cock this big?" he pulls out and pushes in again a little deeper

"no." you rake your hands down his arms

suguru laughs, "good thing I'm here to provide then right? see, look at you creaming around me already."

the words make you look down at where you both meet and when he pulls out again, you can see the ring and slick on his dick, it makes you shiver.

"I'll–make–this–little-fucking–pussy-take–me." he punctuates each and every one of his words with a thrust that pushes himself deeper and deeper inside you until you can fully feel his tip grazing your cervix and every vein on his dick ridging against your walls from how girthy he is.

every sound that comes out of your mouth after is incoherent when suguru starts to punishingly pummel into you and god does he keep talking to you.

"you look so pretty taking this dick baby. god, you sound even cuter than I imagined. you like getting stretched out like this? fuck, take it take it take it. wish I could make you sit on it, you'd look so cute trying to ride me."

it's all so much, especially when every thrust is accompanied by a moan or groan of his or with a sentence.

"couldn't fucking wait to get home after the party last week too. wanted to rip off that costume and fuck you till you couldn't even scream. and when you wear those skirts with pantyhose to class?" suguru groans, "all–I–can–think–about–is–bending–you–over–and–stuffing–this–pussy–with–my–cum."

"suguru!" you squeal, "im–I'm gonna cum!"

suguru tightens his hold on your thighs at the admission and starts jackhammering into you, "cum around me baby. let me fuck you through it." it almost sounds like he's starting to beg, "just cum for me, cum for me, cum–"

a silent scream leaves your mouth and you trash in suguru's hold while he keeps his furious pace.

"so pretty, angel." his eyebrows knit as he watches you orgasm and feels you clamp down on him. it has his peak lurching across his body and his thrusts grow erratic as he starts spurting his cum into you.

he leans down to kiss you as his cock twitches inside of you, leaking his cum into you each time.

at the end of the kiss, the both of you are heaving against each other, smiles on both of your faces until you erupt into laughter and giggles.

suguru is still inside you and places a loving kiss on your forehead, swiping away your sweaty baby hair, "you're cute when you cum. you kick your legs a little, I like it."

the confession has you trying to shy away and suguru laughs again, caressing your head, "why are you shying away? you wore this costume for everyone to see just a couple hours ago."

"well this is you telling me you think the way I cum is cute, its quite different than guys looking at my thong." you shakily grab onto his shoulders

"I suppose so." suguru nuzzles into your neck, "do you have a bath?"

"yeah."

"let me start one for us then." he pulls out and both of you look down at your lonely entrance until his cum starts to leak out. suguru seems entranced and you can see his cheeks start to gain a red hue accompanied by the blood starting to rush to his cock too.

suguru looks back at you the moment you do too. you reach a hand out to him and he crawls back on top of you.

"we can do that later right?"

"right."

[smutstationchoochoo]

Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room. 

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

  Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?”  His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

 You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

 His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?  

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment.  It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.  

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up.  Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

[peachesofteal]

Cool girl

ghoap x female reader / 18+ warning: the boys are foul - could be considered dub con / part one / part two

Two (three) can play at that game.

"When you're done being a brat, call us."

You decide within a week, that you're very much not done being a brat.

And you're very much done with them.

Fuck them, you coach yourself in the mirror as you fix your makeup. Fuck them both. And her, whoever she is, though you know she doesn't deserve your wrath. She probably has no idea the tangled web she's walked into, she's the one stuck in the trap, now.

The doorbell rings, and you check your reflection one more time, satisfied with your dress, the way it gathers across your breasts, how it flatters your shape. It's a tad short, there's a bit of cleavage, little pieces that make it more than perfect. Something about this style, the way it fits, always drove the boys nuts, so it should be more than good enough for your date.

Fuck them.

You bring him to the dive. It's a safe choice, the bartender knows you, pays attention. You feel safe here, familiar. It's a great option for a first date.

And because you're a cool girl, you don't know how to play pool.

Of course, he's happy to teach you.

You start with a tequila. It scalds on the way down and settles like fire, but it takes the edge off. One turns to two, and it's enough to get you closer, allowing him to rest his hand on your knee at the bar, allowing him to keep a hand at the small of your back as he guides you to the finally empty pool table.

He's handsy, and normally, you'd be a little put off.

But not tonight.

"Okay, it's simple. You use the white ball to break." He lines up your shot for you, folding you into place, bending forward, hand brushing against your thigh as he leans beside you.

You intentionally short the shot, barely breaking the triangle of balls free. He chuckles. "Not bad for a first go."

"What do I get if I win?" Your smile is shy, and it's only half forced. You do like this guy, he's very nice, very attractive. Tall with a strong jawline, kind eyes. His fingers find yours, and his touch is gentle, patient.

"A kiss?" He ventures, testing the waters. You nod.

"Sure thing."

You're halfway through the game when the energy in the bar shifts. It's like everyone freezes, a collective whoosh of air washing through the bodies hunched over at the bar, loitering on the walls, perched on the wrought iron chairs out back.

The regulars look at one another and then return to studying the TV, or each other, their half empty drinks.

You don't need to look, to know.

You can feel them.

Apparently, so can your date.

"Don't look, but there are two guys staring at you, across the bar." You bat your eyelashes.

"Who?" It's innocent, this kind of play. Playing dumb. It's pure, until your chin turns over your shoulder and find them, white knuckled and focused, Johnny alight with anger, Simon stoic as ever. Sadness, and rage, roar inside your head, and you force yourself to look them in their eyes. Force yourself to be brave.

After a second, you turn away and into your date. He pulls you closer, palm resting on your lower back, mouth dangerously close above your ear. "Are they bothering you?" What a nice guy.

"No." You assuage immediately. You know what would happen, if he tried to be your knight in shining armor. You know how it would end.

With blood. Broken bones. And tears.

"Let's keep playing." You suggest. "Will you show me how to hold the stick?" Your teeth hold onto the last syllable, hand wrapping around the polished length of the wood, slowly moving it up and down. Your heart pounds, but a thrill rushes through you at the same time. Fuck them. Your date raises an eyebrow, mouth cocking into a sly smile, and nods.

After your third drink, you can't delay using the bathroom anymore. Skin tingling from all the places his hands have traversed, you're dizzy with the pulse of power, the high of your performance. It's wrong, and twisted but...

they deserve it. They deserve worse.

"I'll be right back." You promise, tracing a fingernail down his arm. "Get another round?" He trots off, eager to please.

The chairs scrape as soon as you turn into the dingy hallway, and their shadows fill the air, sucking it dry. You resist the urge to turn, palm flat against the swinging door of the toilets.

"What are ye doin'?" Johnny rages, and you turn to mouth off, only to jerk backwards at the realization of how close he is. You can count the flecks of gold around his irises, see the shimmer of cerulean blue. Simon stands at his back, a wall blocking out the rest of the hall, hiding you from view.

"I'm on a date." Simon laughs.

"You call this little show a date, sweetheart? Is that what you think that is?"

"Not sure you'd know what I'm like on a date since you never took me on one." You spit, and Johnny goes rigid, muscles hardening.

"Not sure that little boy would know the first thing about handlin' ye."

"Handling me?" The squeak your voice makes is embarrassing and incredulous at the same time. "Handle me? You think I need handling? I'm a full grown woman. I don't need-" He presses closer, close enough you can smell him, and your mouth drops open when he pushes you against the wall, cock hard under his jeans. "J-johnny."

"Aye, we think ye need handlin'. Ye're only supposed to be handled by us. Not by some sad wank who cannae stop droolin' like a dog."

"Stop." The resolve in your voice wavers, your resistance cracking and crumbling as Simon appears beside him, mouth pressing to your ear.

"You think that boy has a fat cock to feed you, sweet girl? Think he knows how-" One of them cups you between your legs over the fabric of your dress, palm grinding against your clit, and you grit your teeth against the friction, the moan it tries to pull from your throat. "to take care of this pussy?"

"She's high maintenance, ye know." Johnny snickers, lips dotting your cheek, down to your neck. He cups a fistful of your breast, thumb stroking where your nipple strains beneath your bra. "Ye think he'll be able to make ye gush for him? Make ye cum on his cock?" You're boiling, anger and desire feeding twin flames, trying to sputter out a response.

"What's going on here?" Your date practically shouts from the edge of the hallway, and Simon's grin turns feral. Predatory.

Fear strikes, and turns you cold.

"D-don't." You try to implore.

"Are you okay?" Your poor date catches your gaze, and you try to will him away with your eyes.

"Leave him alone." You plead.

"Fuck off mate. This is between us and our girl. Ye're done here."

"Excuse me?" He steps closer, and Simon pushes off the wall. Desperate, you latch onto his forearm.

"Simon, please. He's not-"

"He said you're done here." Simon snarls. "Run along like a good boy."

"Fuck you." He postures, and you shake your head frantically, trying to step out between them. Johnny doesn't budge, keeping you half pinned against the wall.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Maybe you'd like to watch us fuck her, after we make you beg for it. After we stretched out your neglected little hole." Johnny laughs, a cackle full of crow, smart and mischievous, and you nearly faint. Your date looks sick.

He takes one look at you, another look at the boys... and then flees. Johnny whistles. "Coward."

When they both turn back...

you burst into tears.

[kleftiko]

❦ CAN’T GIVE IT TO ME

“your best friend has always been the person you turn to when times are tough. so when your shitty husband refuses to give you a baby, what else are you supposed to do?”

cw: infidelity, unprotected sex, cream pie, breeding kink, pussy eating, squirting

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

It was never a surprise when you made a stupid decision.

Sometimes, people thought you were purposely being an airhead, not paying attention, or being reckless in your life because Satoru was always there to fix things for you. It didn't stop him from letting you know his thoughts on your actions, but he was always there when you called.

When you married your husband, Satoru told you he didn't like him. Didn't think you married for a good reason, either.

Did you love your husband? Maybe. Maybe not. But you liked the freedom he gave you—credit cards and a house to yourself most days—while he was constantly away on business trips. You could spend your days spoiling your girlfriends on a shopping spree and your nights in expensive clubs.

You don't know when you began feeling lonely and bored, though. But one day, you started noticing mothers with their kids. playing in the park, shopping at the grocery store, and taking photos on vacation, and you began to think that maybe you wanted something else in life besides waking up hungover to an empty bed.

So when your husband got home that evening, tired and immediately pouring himself a drink, you proposed the idea. The look he gave you said it all, but he still told you no. He was a busy man; he didn't have time for a family, and you should know that.

It's not like he ever fucked you anyway; for most of your marriage, your orgasms and libido were taken care of by vibrators, dildos, and your best friend.

Which is why when your husband left the next day, you called over Satoru.

He never had to try to look good, showing up with a plain shirt, sweatpants, and those signature glasses. You, on the other hand, changed three times before he arrived, not being able to decide which outfit was going to help you get what you wanted. The formal dress was too much for daytime, the skirt was a bit too juvenile, and eventually you just decided on shorts and a tank top, loungewear that to anyone else would look like you were just having a day in, but the way the short fabric loosely covered your ass told a different story.

Satoru accepted the glass of red wine you offered when he walked in the door and took a seat at the kitchen table, spreading his legs casually as he took a sip.

"I want a baby." You told him straight up.

Satoru smiled as he looked at you over his glasses and said, "Nice. Congrats."

"With you," you clarified. He raised an eyebrow.

"Seems like something you should ask your husband," he said, nimble fingers playing with the neck of his wine. "I'm just here for the drinks."

You pouted, taking a seat in the chair beside him.

"Please, 'Toru?" you asked.

His eyes drifted down to your fingers as they trailed lightly over his thigh, knowing exactly what you were trying to do.

"And why would I help you?" He smiled lazily.

You got up and straddled his lap, setting down his glass of wine in favour of moving his arms around your body.

"You've helped me before." You whisper, and he nods casually, as if that was a good point.

You couldn't count the number of times Satoru let you use his fingers or sit on his face when you were needy. Or how many times you repaid him with your lips around his dick or riding his thigh. But no matter how many times he made you cum, he never gave in to your pleas to stretch your pussy on his thick cock. He refused to, as long as you were married. Was it right? Probably not, but Satoru had his rules.

And you've never minded the mind-numbing pleasure he would give you with his hands and mouth until now. Because now, what you wanted required something else of his that was previously off limits.

"I've helped you a lot of times, sweetheart." He sighed in defeat. "And you always ask for more."

You were confused, not understanding the meaning of his words until his fingers slid between your legs. With a soft gasp, you instinctively start grinding yourself onto his palm, forgetting what he was saying.

"I'm at your beck and call when you need my fingers or tongue," he said, letting you continue your ministrations. "And now you're asking me to fill your cunt and expect me to be okay with our kid calling your husband 'dad'?"

With a harsh press to your clit, you freeze, and a small whine escapes from your lips.

"You think that's fair, sweetheart?" He asked, eyeing you with contempt.

But instead of answering, you try to move your hips against his hand again for friction, only to get a harsh pinch to your thigh.

You yelped, but answered him. "No, it's not."

He seemed happy with your response and said, "What's in it for me?"

You furrowed your brows. In all the years you've known Satoru, he had never asked for anything in return; he always gives, gives, gives. There honestly wasn't any answer you could come up with. But when his long fingers started circling your heat again, making you melt, you asked.

"What do you want, 'Toru?"

He grinned at how easy you were and let you rest your head on his shoulder in response to his fingers. "Say you'll leave your husband, and I'll fill you up as much as you want."

You whined in response, but with your body rocking against his, breathing in his cologne, and hearing his husky voice in your ears, it didn't seem like a bad idea. So you nodded, light gasps dusting over his neck as you breathed out, "Okay."

Satoru's strong hands then left your pussy, but you didn't have a chance to complain when he grabbed the back of your thighs and stood up. When your head leaned back to look at him, you saw a dangerous look in his eyes.

"Good girl." His voice was low as he said, "Let's make you a mommy."

With that, he dropped you onto the table, the wine glasses shaking beside you as a result. Satoru dropped to his knees between your spread legs and reached for your shorts. Already wet with your slick, they stuck to your heat slightly as he slid them off, and you hissed at the feeling of the cool kitchen air against your pussy.

His breath grazed your thigh as he licked a harsh strip up your slit. Your body trembled as his tongue traced its way up, sending shivers of anticipation through your entire being. The dangerous look in his eyes intensified, fueling your desire for him. You couldn't help but arch your back, offering yourself fully to his skilled touch. As his tongue continued its tantalizing journey, your moans grew louder, matching the rhythm of his movements. The intensity of him led you to grasp at his soft silver hair in an attempt to ground yourself, but he smacked your hand away.

"You're gonna feel everything I give you." His sunglasses were discarded, so you saw every emotion in his darkened eyes. "And you're gonna take it."

After you nodded quickly, Satoru wrapped his arms around your thighs, locking your cunt against his tongue as he devoured you. His careful mouth probed every inch of your sensitive folds, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. The way he smoothly flicked and sucked on your clit had you on the edge of ecstasy, unable to control the moans that escaped your lips. As his tongue delved deeper, you surrendered completely to the overwhelming sensations, losing yourself in the intoxicating bliss he was giving you.

In an attempt to warn him, you could only stutter out an, "g-g'nna."

But Satoru seemed to understand as his lips attached themselves to your bud, and one of his arms freed your legs so he could thrust his fingers inside your sloppy cunt. The combination of his skilled tongue and the added penetration sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Each thrust of his fingers matched the rhythm of his tongue, intensifying the pleasure and pushing you closer to the edge. As you reached the peak of ecstasy, your body convulsed uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the mind-blowing sensations he was delivering. You briefly understood your legs spamming as you painted Satoru's mouth with your cum.

It took a moment for you to calm down, your eyes opening to look at the ceiling as you realized your back was on the table. Unable to remember when you had laid down, let alone move your body on your own, Satoru pulled you to stand on your jelly legs.

His eyes held your gaze as he wiped his face and licked his lips clear of your cum. Before you could say anything, he gripped your hips, his wet hands sending shivers up your hot skin as he turned you around and pushed your stomach onto the table.

You looked over your shoulder at your best friend; his head was tilted back, eyes closed as he hissed in pleasure, the hand covered in your slick stroking his hard cock. The reminder of the fact that his dick was finally going to be inside you made you whine and wiggle your hips to gain his attention again.

Satoru looked down at you with a smile.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm right here." He lined himself up with your hole. "I'll fuck a baby into you," he whispered before slowly pushing himself inside you.

The sensation of him filling you up sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making you moan and bend your back in response.

"T-'Toru..." You drawled, unable to think of anything else, as he stretched you open.

"That's it, baby, remember who's gonna breed this cunt for you." He hissed.

Your mind became consumed with the overwhelming pleasure as Satoru continued to thrust deeper into you. Every movement he made intensified the sensations, leaving you completely lost in the moment. The sounds of his grunts harmonizing with skin slapping against skin filled the room, adding to the urgency of the experience.

Your eyes locked on one of the wine glasses beside you. The table rocking with Satoru's harsh thrusts caused the silverware to fall over, staining the beautiful tablecloth beneath your face. You don't know why, but the physical reminder of how hard Satoru was going inside you made you moan. The combination of the sensory overload and the unexpected disruption heightened the raw passion between you and Satoru. As your moans echoed in the room, you realized that every element of this encounter was pushing you both towards an adrenaline-filled climax.

"Sa-Satoru—please!" You babbled incoherently as he slapped against you, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips.

"Fuck!" He groaned. "You're gonna look so hot pregnant with my baby."

Your pleas only fueled Satoru's desire, intensifying his thrusts as he whispered dirty promises about knocking you up in your ear. The intense connection between you both grew, driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy. With each moment, it became clear that this intimate encounter would forever be etched in not only your memory but also your life. And it turned you on so much more.

"You gonna great your husband today with your pussy filled with my cum?" You whined at his dirty talk. "S'it gonna drip down your legs when you tell him it's over?"

You don't know why, but the reminder of the fact that Satoru wasn't your husband was what did it for you. You came to the realization that it wasn't your husband fucking a baby into you, but your best friend. This forbidden affair intensified the pleasure and excitement coursing through your veins, causing you to clench impossibly tighter around Satoru's cock.

He groaned loudly at that, folding his body over yours as he reached his own orgasm.

"You're all mine now, sweetheart." He whispered into your ear as his cum shot into your cunt, filling you up better than you could've hoped for. The intensity of the moment left you breathless as you lay there, sweat clinging to your forehead as the scent of wine and sex filled your senses. You whimpered pathetically when Satoru slipped out of you and crouched down to watch the globs of his cum drip out of your pussy with each clench around nothing. Your trembling legs couldn't stop him when he scooped up the slick and pushed it back into you with a dissatisfied hum.

"Don't think it stuck, sweetheart." He sighed. "Might need to fill you again."

[danveration]

That no-good-first-man-on-earth

Parings: Alastor x reader

Summary: Alastor opens up to you (kinda). You confront him about his cane being gone, asking what happened after the early extermination attack.

Word count: (Around) 1154

Warnings: Mention of Adam dying, mention of death, mention of Al taking someone’s soul, ummm.. yes I think that’s about it!

A/N: YES I MADE IT !! the ending might be a bit rusty but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless! :’)

It was a week or two after the early extermination attack. The hotel has gotten a bit more residents and attention due to Charlie and the original residents protecting hell and successfully winning. The hotel has gotten an upgrade, that’s for sure. Lucifer now approves of its looks, so that says something.

During the attack you noticed how Alastor disappeared for a while and came back when it was all over. It made you question what happened when he went up against Adam. He was fine, physically. But you noticed something in his eyes that changed. Of course, he still smiles the same as before.. but it doesn’t always seem like he wants to. But the biggest, most obvious thing you noticed is that his staff/cane is gone. Nobody really seemed to question it but it set off an alarm in your brain because, well, he always has it on him.

You’re currently sitting in one of the lounge chairs in the lobby of the hotel, when you see Alastor confidently stroll in. He gives the lobby a quick look all around to see who’s all in there. In which, right now it’s just you.

“Hello, my dear!” He says, smiling and starts walking towards you.

“I must say, it’s rare that it’s empty in this area. Peace and quiet is often something I don’t have the luxury in experiencing, especially now that the hotel has gotten the attention that Charlie desperately craved.” He laughs.

He’s now standing beside you. You look up and smile back at him.

“Yeah, I’m happy for her though. She seems very overwhelmed, you know? But in a good way.” You say.

“Mm yes, she does, doesn’t she?”

You want to bring up how he doesn’t have his cane anymore, but you don’t know exactly how he’ll react. Though, he hasn’t ever snapped at you so you think it won’t be bad. Knowing him, he’ll probably just avoid the question by saying, “that’s for me to know.” As he does whenever someone brings up why he was absent for 7 years.

“Hey, Al?” You say, looking at him.

He raises his brow in question.

“Hm? What is it, dear?” He asks.

“I have a question.. you totally don’t need to tell me but I’ve just noticed that your um.. cane? You don’t have it anymore.”

You notice as you bring it up, Alastor tenses up and smiles more, darting his eyes away from you. You can feel that this was something he didn’t think you’d bring up.

He doesn’t seem to be saying anything, so you continue. “I was just wondering.. why is that? You usually keep it on you at all times. And also I’ve noticed that you’ve been a bit different since-“ You are stopped suddenly by Alastor using his shadow magic to teleport the two of you to his room.

You are caught by surprise, looking around disoriented, but than you realize where you are.

“Uhm- Al?” You question.

You assume he took you two to his room because he didn’t want anyone to hear the conversation, so you don’t question it. Which makes sense, he doesn’t want anyone else questioning his motives.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes and looks at you. “That is for me to know.” He says in a neutral tone.

Wow such a surprising statement.

“I knew you’d say that. Listen, you know you can talk to me, right? I’m here for you.” You assure him.

He looks at you weirdly, as if he is waiting for the joke line to happen. But it doesn’t. You care for him. That’s definitely new. Sure, Alastor has friends. Or, acquaintances, as he calls it. But you seem to deeply care for him and what happened.

He isn’t sure exactly how to react. “How amusing! That’s very kind of you.” He says and chuckles. You notice something in his eyes that doesn’t align with the emotion he is trying to project.

“Alastor, I’m serious. You don’t need to put on a show for me.. I want to know the real you.” You say, looking at him.

He debates if he should continue with his charades, but knows you’ll just see past it. He never ever would be this laid-back with anyone else accusing him of “putting on a show” or accusing him of having alternative feelings. He would’ve surely taken their soul or.. well, killed them by now. But you and his relationship has always been good. You guys always chat about whatever nonsense comes to mind, he showed you around the place where he records his radio broadcasts, and even let you attended once. He always had a soft spot for you. You never had a fear of him and never liked it when Husk or other people badmouthed him. He once caught you ranting to Niffty about how much you adored him. It made him smile.

Alastor squints his eyes and thinks of what to say.

“Well, my dear. You know that no-good-first-man-on-earth? Adam, I believe his name was.” He emphasizes the word “was,” seemingly to be very happy and satisfied now that he’s dead. He laughs continues, “he used his no-good angelic waves to break in half!” He says.

You’re in shock. Not because you thought his cane was indestructible or anything. It was because he actually told you what happened. You guess he trusts you more than he lets on.

“Oh..” You look at him sympathetically. “I’m so sorry, Alastor.”

“Mm, yes. Me too. But no worries, dear. I can live without it.” He says trying to cover up the fact that he cares quite a lot.

Without thinking, you place a hand on his arm trying to give him comfort. He slowly moves his head to look at your hand. He doesn’t mind one bit, in fact, he feels the complete opposite of how he usual feels when people try to touch him.

You quickly remember he doesn’t like physical touch very much, so you move to pull away.

“No.” He says quickly.

You’re confused and question what he means.

“No, what?”

Your hand on his arm felt like a new sensation he hasn’t felt before. He quickly became embarrassed of his sudden outburst decline of you not taking his hand on his arm.

Something inside him snaps and his persona cracks, and he then does something that you’ve never expect.

He hugs you.

Your heart feels warm and you have butterflies in your stomach. THE Alastor, the radio demon is hugging you. You don’t see him as those labels though. You see him as HIM.

Despite your incredible shock in what is happening, you hug him back, wrapping your arms around his suit jacket.

“I do apologize.” He mumbles while hugging you.

“You don’t have to apologize, Alastor. This is what I wanted. For you to open up.” You say softly and smile.

He doesn’t pull away yet, and you don’t mind one bit.

A/N: IM THINKING OF MAKING A PART TWO WHERE THE READER MAKES HIM ANOTHER CANE AS A SURPRISE. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!!!!