#and the actual struggle of trying to carry the dead body of your best friend back from the cliff so you could bury him

[sealrock]

decembhyur, day 5: struggle

little dark age, little dark age... — ♫

[ilguna]

Can you do prompt 11 from aisle 1 with peeta or finnick? Like reader or whoever u choose is almost killed in the games then they get yelled at n stuff🩷🙏

☼ bloody flowers (Peeta Mellark) ☼

warnings; swearing, death, death mention, blood, ehh gore, weapon use. peeta’s mean.

wc; 2.3k

prompt; 11. yelling at them because they thought they’d lose them.

notes; no katniss, roles for mockingjay are reversed.

—

“I’m going to try to tap a tree.” You tell Peeta and Finnick, breaking the silence.

Finnick is on his feet, slowly wading further into the saltwater, carefully rubbing it on his skin to ensure he’s got all the poison out. He barely looks over his shoulder to acknowledge what you’ve said, nodding. He’s having a hard time speaking, his throat is raw from the amount of fog he breathed in.

As you get to your feet, brushing the sand from your skin, Peeta looks over at you, eyebrows drawing in. “Let me make the hole first. You stay with him, you’re better friends.”

“That’s not…” You shake your head, but he’s heading into the jungle, knife in hand.

When you turn your head to look at Finnick—afraid that he’s heard what Peeta said—you can’t find him immediately. You shuffle forward in the sand, eyes searching the water. You spot him beneath the surface, easing your anxiety.

With that, you leave him be. You trust that he won’t accidentally drown himself, since he’s the best swimmer out of your group. And he’s going to need some time alone, after losing Mags to the fog in the jungle.

It was quick, you didn’t even have time to intervene. Finnick saw that you were struggling to carry Mags down the slope, after the two of you had switched, because Peeta was entirely too heavy to be leaning on you for support. In the brief break you took to regain your strength, Mags kissed Finnick goodbye and walked straight into the fog.

What happened didn’t register until Finnick was pulling you to your feet, ordering you to grab one side of Peeta, so the two of you could work together. You don’t have to say anything to Finnick to know that he’s hurt, the look on his face alone is a dead giveaway.

You find your melted jumpsuit strewn in the sand, alongside Finnicks and Peetas. It had been ripped off of you by Peeta, who was so desperate to get you in the water, that he’d forgotten how much it’d hurt being submerged. It could’ve been worse, you weren’t covered in nearly as much of the fog as Finnick had been.

You crouch next to Peeta’s suit, flipping it over to find the mockingjay pin still holding on tightly. You unhook it from his clothes, and move to pin it to the front of your undershirt to hold onto it for him. You then reach to touch the gold necklace to make sure that it’s still hanging around your neck.

The floatation belts seem to have not been affected by the fog at all. They look brand new, actually. You pull it around your waist, buckling it back on. As much as you’d wish to leave it, you’re not the best swimmer in the alliance. Peeta and Finnick are far better, which is why they’ll feel comfortable enough to leave theirs behind.

You stand again, stretching your arms above your head, feeling the soreness throughout your body. And then, you reach to pull the hair tie out to let your hair down, which has been severely damaged by the fog. Barely touching it, clumps come out, stuck between your fingers. The sight is only slightly nauseating. You comb your hair the best you can, watching as the collection grows. When it seems to have slowed, you pull your hair back into a ponytail, and fling the dead hair into the trees.

Speaking of which, Peeta’s found a good one ten yards in from the beach. You can hardly see him through the trees, but the sound of him drilling is unmistakable. You keep an eye on him the best you can, but Finnick splashing around is distracting.

He stretches, slowly, testing his limbs to see if they’re working properly. Gradually, he begins to swim, which is mesmerizing to watch. It’s nothing like the way you were taught to. There’s a rhythm, a pace. He dives, surfaces, rolls like a log of wood in water. He sprays from his mouth, and then he’ll sit underwater for minutes at a time.

When he finally comes back up, he looks better than he did earlier. He pushes his hair out of his face, walking in your direction.

You offer him a smile, “Feeling better?”

“Considerably.” He says, eyes finding the pin on your tank top. He touches it, squinting slightly. “Left the token, huh?”

“He knew I’d grab it.” You wave him off. “Let’s go help him, he’s going to need the spile.”

Finnick leads the way into the jungle, you follow behind him, fiddling with the necklace. He holds the trident to his side, the pole bouncing off his thigh when he takes steps too hard. You briefly look away to pop the locket clasp open, suddenly afraid that the fog might’ve damaged the delicate photos inside. You slam straight into Finnick’s back, having to catch yourself on his shoulder.

A question raises on your tongue, but he presses a finger against his lips to keep you quiet. He looks upward, into the branches that belong to the trees that hang above you lowly. You follow his gaze curiously, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of what’s been watching you.

You press your lips together, your left hand falling from your necklace, and your right readjusting the sword in your hand. There’s a mass of orange monkeys weighing down the branches. More than just five or ten, there’s easily two dozen, sitting there, waiting for one wrong move.

This isn’t the first time you’ve seen them. There was a pair of them right after you’d escaped the fog, Peeta had pointed them out. Those ones retreated, not wanting anything to do with the three of you. These ones don’t have any intentions on leaving.

“Peeta,” Your voice wavers slightly, Finnick glances at you. You take a breath, “I need your help with something on the beach.”

“Just a minute (Y/n). I think I’ve just about got it.” He tells you, still occupied with the tree. “Have you got the spile?”

“I do, but we’ve found something you might want to see.” You murmur, noticing how the monkeys are reacting to Peeta’s movements. They don’t care if you move. “Only move toward us quietly, so you don’t startle it.”

“I don’t want to lose the tree.”

“We won’t, we’ll be right back.” You tell him, motioning for him to come toward you.

He lets out a sigh, but listens. You chew on the inside of your cheek, listening to the noise he’s making. Still, the monkeys don’t move, because that’s not what causes them to be aggressive. He’s only five yards from the beach, when his movements become stiff, eyes darting up for a second.

It’s enough. The shrieking begins, as the monkeys all begin to move at an impossible speed to jump at him. They slide down vines, leaping large distances, fangs bared, claws shooting out. One word comes to mind.

“Mutts!” You snap, shoving past Finnick to get to Peeta.

You swing the sword carelessly, hitting the vital parts of the monkeys the best you can with the amount flying out of the trees. When you make it to Peeta, the two of you switch weapons, him slapping the knife into your hand for you to take so he can begin to do real damage with the sword.

Peeta’s got a better technique, bringing down almost as much as Finnick is with the trident. He’ll spear the mutts, and then fling them aside, off into the trees. The three of you form a triangle formation, trying to kill them efficiently. Only, you can’t keep up with your knife, they’re forced to cover you.

You feel a pair of teeth sink into your thigh before Peeta’s slicing through the throat, forcing the jaws to unhinge. The air grows heavy, from the trampled plants, the scent of blood, and the musty stink of the monkey mutts that hound you.

Peeta swings at one of them, and instead of landing the hit, the monkey secures the sword, and throws it into the trees, permanently making it out of the question. Then, it grabs a tight hold of Peeta’s arm, and swings him out of the formation, in the open. Where another monkey spots this, sprinting for the kill.

You begin to run for him, throwing the knife at the mutt that’s racing you. The mutt manages to dodge the attack, and you’re about to throw yourself at Peeta to save him, when someone else beats you to it, first. A woman materializes out of a tree, screaming loudly as she throws herself into the monkey, arms wrapping around its body.

It sinks its fangs into her chest.

Finnick’s trident hits the monkey with such force that it makes a loud squelching sound when the trident collides with its body. The mutt releases its jaw, Peeta kicking the body off.

“Come on, then!” Peeta shouts. “Come on!”

The mutts don’t seem to be interested anymore, retreating into the trees the same way they had done before. You reach to grab Peeta, hands shaking, when he suddenly points toward the beach, eyes hard.

“Go.”

Your mouth pops open, eyebrows drawing in, but you don’t argue, walking the five yards out of the jungle, onto the beach. The two boys follow behind you, with Finnick carrying the woman, who you’re able to recognize as the morphling from District Six, when you get a good look at her.

Finnick lays her in the sound, and Peeta follows behind him with your knife. He kneels next to her, cutting open the wetsuit that covers her chest, revealing the four deep wounds. Her blood is slowly emerging out of them, staining her skin. You’d say she’s fine, if it weren’t for the damage the monkeys did inside of her body.

She’s gasping for air, struggling to breathe. This could mean a punctured lung, maybe even her heart. Her skin is shaded a sickly green, sagging to reveal each one of her ribs. This is caused by years of abusing the pain medication.

She takes your hand shakily, squeezing tightly to ground herself. You lean over her, moving the hair out of her face.

“I’ll watch the trees.” Finnick says before walking away.

Peeta settles in the sand, voice soft, “With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable. Pink. As pale as a baby’s skin. Or as deep as rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice on water.”

She stares at Peeta, hanging on to every word.

“One time, I spent three days mixing paint until I found the right shade for sunlight on white fur. You see, I kept thinking it was yellow, but it was much more than that. Layers of all sorts of color. One by one.”

Her breathing is growing shallow, calming, dying. Her free hand dips into the wound on her chest, touching the blood as she swirls it on her skin, the same way she had in the Training Center.

“I haven’t figured out a rainbow yet. They come so quickly and leave so soon. I never have enough time to capture them. Just a bit of blue here or purple there. And then they fade away again. Back into the air.”

She lifts up the bloodied hand, painting a flower on Peeta’s cheek.

“Thank you,” He whispers. “That looks beautiful.”

Her face lights up, as she makes a small squeaking sound. And then her hand falls back onto her chest, giving out her last huff of air. The cannon fires. Her hand loosens in yours.

You sit there in the sand, watching as Peeta carries her into the water, carefully settling her on her back. She floats toward the Cornucopia, and when the Gamemakers are sure she’s a good distance away, the hovercraft appears to take her away. The claw drops, carrying her into the night sky, and she’s gone.

You get to your feet when Peeta comes back your way, but with the look on his face, you’re not exactly eager to touch him.

“What were you thinking?” He asks you. “Running at me like that. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Your mouth opens as you shake your head. “I—the mutt was coming right for you, I thought—”

“You thought what, (Y/n)? You were going to kill it with this?” He asks, holding your knife out for you to see. It’s stained red, sand sticking to the blood that refuses to dry. “Oh no, that’s right, you threw it at the mutt.”

You stare at him. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“No, not okay!” he shouts. “Were you even thinking?”

“I just—”

“I don’t need you trying to be the hero.” He tells you. “I had it handled.”

“I’m sorry, Peeta.”

“Don’t do it again.” He says, shaking his head. “It’s hard enough keeping you safe when you’re not running into danger. So don’t start doing it on purpose.”

“I won’t.”

He looks over your face, judging whether or not you’re being truthful, when his eyes dip toward your chest. His face smooths, holding his hand out, palm up. “Give me the pin.”

Wordlessly, you unhook it from the cloth and place it in his hand. “I didn’t want to lose it.”

“That’s fine.” He says, closing the distance between the two of you. He directs your chin up carefully, raising his eyebrows. “You know I love you.”

“I know.” You whisper. “I’ll be more careful.”

He presses a kiss to the middle of your forehead. “That’s all I ask.”

—

this is part of my 3k celebration!! you can join until the cure is released on October 31st, at midnight!! everyone is welcome to join :)

[coryosbaby]

Your Face .

Fandom: “Saw (2004)”

Pairing: Adam Faulkner Stanheight x fem! Reader

Synopsis: you’ll never leave him again.

Cw: angst, mentions of past murder, injuries, money struggles, mentions of past sex work, night terrors, codependency, attachment issues // nsfw . hand jobs, nipple play, cum eating, praise, mommy kink, oral (f recieving)

🪚

Couple’s therapy really isn’t easy when the both of you were victims of a fucking serial killer.

If you can even call it couples therapy— talking about how you feel towards each other and trying to fix your relationship is some sort of therapy, you guess.

Maybe it’s not healthy to stay with the person you were held in captivity with. But even before that, you were attached at the hip. Even if you were both on and off before the incident, you were still both incredibly infatuated with one another. You would never be able to escape that face: Adam’s beautiful, almost angelic face. It’s been that way since the end of high school graduation, and it’ll be that way until the end of your life.

You know why Jigsaw had chosen you. It was obvious, wasn’t it? Your money situation had been terrible before he had taken you, and in his mind, you were a whore, a dancer, a prostitute. But never in your mind could you ever contemplate why he chose Adam: your sweet boy, your best friend, your sweetheart. Adam.

You still dream about the last day you were there, sometimes. When you had carried out the plan Adam had come up with: just shoot me. Shoot me in the shoulder so he thinks I’m dead. And then get us both out. And when you had, trying every desperate attempt to find the key to the chains, you had reached your hand down into the sink drain. It was a wonder you had somehow escaped those chains without having to cut your own foot off. Adam’s cries sounded a lot in your ears, now. In your own haste to go and get help you had left him there with John Kramer. Even when he had begged you not to. Even when he almost died.

It was a wonder you both got out alive. It was a wonder you had managed to come back, fight the man off, and get him out of there.

And ever since, it’s like Adam has only ever though about that. The moment you left him in that room. The fear he felt, the impending doom.

Maybe you both need an actual therapist .

Some nights, nights like these, Adam has problems sleeping. When he does, it’s like he’s placed back in there in that room with you— being tortured, shot, and humiliated. And on some nights like these, he wakes you up for your affection and assistance. Eyes shooting open, an extreme amount of fear goes through the poor boy’s tired body. He’s there.

He’s quick to shake you awake. Your eyes open with confusion, and then once the situation settles in you understand it’s one of those nights. Lifting yourself up, you frown when you see the tears beginning to well in Adam’s eyes.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

He sniffles, trying to cover his face now that he’s being half brought back into reality.

“I just woke up. I don’t—“ his hands grab at his hair, pulling, as he cries. “— I don’t know. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, sweetheart..”

You push his hands out of his hair and replace them with yours instead. You soothe his scalp with your fingernails, and kiss him. You used to have night terrors for this same reason, so you understand how this must feel for him. He moves down so he can lay on your thighs. He feels sad and embarrassed and scared. You stroke the outline of his face with gentle fingers: beautiful, strong nose, sharp jawline, gorgeous eyes, plump lips. Any woman’s dream.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You murmur to him. He quickly shakes his head. He lets out a pained little moan, almost like a scared little rabbit. You lean down, and kiss him on his nose.

“I know, honey. I know it’s hard. But you aren’t there anymore, okay? You’re right here. I’m right here.”

He nods, but you know he’s just trying to stop you from seeing how deeply the night terrors affect him. He’s always been such a strong boy.

Your forehead pressed against his cheek, you whisper to him.

“Do you want something to drink? Some water, some tea? I can make you some..”

“Y-Yeah. Maybe some water, momma, if that’s okay.”

That sweet little nickname you adore so much from him. You smile.

“Okay.” You lift him off of you, rounding the bed to make your way out of the bedroom. “I’m gonna go into the kitchen—“

“Please don’t leave me!”

It’s immediate, the way you freeze up and stop at the end of the bed. You almost start to cry yourself.

Adam is embarrassed at his outburst, and he sobs, all of his emotions flooding out. He crawls over to you and wraps his arms around your waist. He rests his head against your thighs. You know now that the glass of water will have to wait a bit when he utters that familiar set of words. The same tone, same amount of fear lacing his cracking voice. It brings it all back to you, just as Adam’s dreams bring it back to him.

You let him cry out for a few more minutes, stopping to grab some tissues from the bedside table and clean him up when he’s calmed. Your fingers settle into his hair; soft and wavy under your fingertips, you shush him with a gentle hum.

“I’ll never leave you, Adam,” you whisper, soft. “Never. I swear.”

And you know that it’s true. Your fingertips move down to his jaw, lifting his face up so he can look at you. He’s coming back down from his nightmare, and real life is starting to seep in. He isn’t in that bathroom anymore. He’s in his apartment— our apartment, including you, in his brain. Not the one he got taken from. Not the bathroom. This is new, this is safe— and jigsaw is dead.

You sit down next to him on the queen sized mattress you had bought together. He buries his face in your neck, breathes in the familiar scent of vanilla, laundry detergent, and sweet strawberry perfume. Unadulterated bliss.

“Promise?” He sniffles, sticking his hands in between the valley of your breasts and traveling down to your tummy. He rests it there, soft.

“I promise.”

And when he’s calmed, when you’ve wiped all his tears away, you go and get him a glass of water. Only this time, his arms are wrapped around you from behind tightly the entire way to the kitchen.

Safe.

He drinks about two glasses. When you guide him back to your shared room you sit him down on the bed.

“I don’t think I can go back to sleep,” he murmurs, embarrassed. You make sure that he doesn’t become ashamed of nights like these.

“It’s okay,” you reply. You smile as you kiss his forehead “Im off tomorrow. We can just stay up and go to sleep when you feel like it.”

Adam is now thankful that you’ve moved on from your life of sex work and into retail, because that means that he doesn’t have to worry about you as much. So it puts him in a good mood to remember that, and also to remember that he’s gonna have you for the rest of the day. He leans forward, plants a kiss to your lips. He smells like cigarettes.

You kiss him again. Harsher, a bit. Tongue slipping inside the warm canal of his mouth. Perfection.

You don’t want to urge him to do anything sexual with you right now unless he doesn’t want to. So you pull away, thumb brushing over the scar on his shoulder. It’s a spot you’ve come accustomed to— one that he’s sensitive about, but not with you. Never with you.

He leans in again and his kiss is heavy. He’s desperate, now, not only craving your body but also craving a distraction.

“Wait,” you breathe against his lips. “Are you sure, baby? Sure you wanna do this right now?”

“I want it..” he whines. His hand grabs yours and places it over his bulge. “Please? It hurts..”

You can’t resist him when he gets like this, and you know it helps him forget the things that plague his thoughts. So your palm grinds down into that spot that he laid your hands on. He breathes out a small breathy sound, one that makes him grind up into your hand. His body is slowly making its way down onto the bed. Laying down, he can see the lace slip adorning your body starting to fall down, down, down. Your cleavage is pretty, he thinks. Nice and soft enough to stick his cock in between.

He’s wearing one of his white shirts, and you lift it up to his shoulders to expose his bare torso. He’s gained a bit of weight since that wretched room, a little bit of his tummy beginning to fatten up. You find it absolutely adorable. Kissing there, you make your way up to his chest and pepper small bites on his chest. Marking him there is your favorite activity.

Your tongue laves over one of his areolas, kissing and scraping your teeth on it. He mewls, a small little “‘s good.” leaving his pretty lips. He’s always had sensitive nipples, and you love to play around with them.

He lifts himself up so he can slide the rest of his shirt off. Pretty muscled biceps replace the white fabric of the sleeves, and on one of them the gunshot scar sits. He’s still so perfect.

“My perfect boy,” you coo. “God, look at you. You’re gorgeous.”

He blushes, a thank you making its way from him. You move away from him, farther up to the head of the bed, and lean against the bed frame. He knows instantly that you want him up against your chest. You reach towards the bedside table and reach into the drawer where you keep your special things. When you pull out a vibrator, Adam crawls towards you with morbid curiosity.

You’ve used toys on him before, but for some reason, not this one. He leans back against your chest and adjusts so you can take his cock out of his pajama pants. It slaps against his lower belly, wet and dripping. He’s always had such a pretty cock, all thick and hard and red. He’s got a lot of girth, enough to make it hard to close your fist around him.

The vibrator has a lot of power to it; you know this because you’ve used it on yourself many times. You hold Adam’s cock with one hand, and with another you switch it on. He gulps as he watches the toy in your hand.

“Okay?” You ask. He nods, pretty lashes fluttering shut as you watch his confirmation. His head tilts back and his mouth falls open in ecstasy when you press the vibrator to his aching tip.

“Oh, god.” He moans.

You move it down to his base, rubbing teasing circles into the soft skin there. Adam wraps his hands around your arms, desperate to have something to grab onto.

“So pretty like this,” you praise him. You move one of your hands up to his hair so you can rest it there. You kiss his neck gently. “My sweet Adam. Your cock is so hard, isn’t it? So hard for mommy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He chants, whimpering. “It’s ‘s good.. love you so much.”

Your heart flutters, breathing in against his neck. He smells so nice that it almost makes your head tingle.

“I love you too, sweet boy.” You say. You move the vibrator down to his balls, and a moan rips through his throat. He sounds so heavenly that you can’t resist reaching down in between your thighs and rubbing your clit. When you pull away your slick coats your fingers, and you rub them up against the boy’s lips. He accepts them greedily, keening at the taste of you on his tongue. Crooking the digits, you make sure to keep them flush against Adam’s teeth; he loves having them in his mouth.

“Never gonna leave you again, honey. Gonna stay with you forever and ever, gonna make this fat cock cum… ”

And god, if that doesn’t make Adam’s balls draw up tight then he doesn’t know what will. Precious noises spew from his lips as his orgasm approaches him.

“Yes! Please, mommy, pleasepleaseplease, gonna cum—“

And although he didn’t last long this time, it doesn’t matter to you. Once his cock is dripping white, you set the vibrator aside. Your fingers scoop up some of his creamy spend, and with a lolling tongue you lick it all up. He tastes amazing, just perfect. Your perfect boy.

Sighing, he leans against you for a moment. He turns around, gives you a sweet little sultry smile, and returns to you the same perfect amount of pleasure. He does this by shoving his magnificent tongue in between your thighs. And skilled, the boy is— he loves to please. He thinks your pussy is the best he’s ever tasted or smelled in his entire life, and while he rubs his soft wet muscle against your clit his eyes roll back and small moans leave him. When you cum he makes sure you have two more orgasms— one from his fingers, another from his cock that had somehow gotten hard for you again.

And in the scene where his cock is inside you, you’re on top of him while he lets out little grunts and moans. You bounce up and down on him until your slick is white and wet, dripping down his thighs and onto the sheets. He had lit a cigarette somewhere between three fingers inside you and now, and his lips are wrapped around it while he watches you ride him. Holding it between two of his fingers, he exhales smoke at the same time that your teeth scrape along his nipple and your nails dig into his shoulders. He gasps— angelic. Then he tilts his head back, and cums.

That face is another one you’ll never forget— his pretty eyes shutting, mouth agape and cheeks ablaze. You don’t think you could ever leave this pretty thing ever again.

© 2023 bratty-lxndry444 🤏🏻 all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, repost, or claim as yours !!!

[lesbianlotties]

Hello. I hope your having a good day. I have never watched Yellowjacket but I do think it looks interesting and I follow you and a few other people who love this show so my ask is can you tell me what it’s about. Also feel free to share some opinions about characters and storylines as I don’t mind spoilers and they actually help me watch new shows so I’m not as anxious about it. Also do you have a favorite head canon that isn’t talked about??

Hi!! omg this is so exciting. okay. here we go!!

First of all, I love the show very much, I recommend it 100%, if you're interested in some of the most fascinating female characters on tv right now and you can handle a little bit of horror, you should totally watch it!!!

This includes spoilers from the very beginning and all the way to halfway to episode 06 of season 2...

Basically, Yellowjackets is about a group of teenage girls, a high school soccer team, that crashes in the wilderness (some forest/mountains situation in Canada) and they spend a shocking 19 months surviving out there. At the same time, it tells the stories of the survivors, 25 years later, and the crazy, crazy amount of trauma that all of them are dealing with because we are told that did some horrible, terrible, awful bad things in the wilderness in order to survive. aka it is heavily implied that they resorted to cannibalism. but not just that! because that is pretty much established since the first episode! actually, things get even weirder, probably supernatural, and all signs point to a teenage girl cult!

The drama between all these characters is *chefs kiss*. Their lives are so messed up, their choices are so questionable, they are so much much. There is some horror, I'm not sure how to measure that... like, enough to make it a difficult watch if you're too squamish, but I'd say not unwatchable. (for example: an amputated leg, face torn by wolves, chopping a dead body, and lots of unsettling imagery! the cannibalism itself wasn't Very explicit but it Has happened)

Now about the characters! (i'll try to be brief because I could talk about them for days) We have...

Shauna Shipman! My poor little meow meow. As a teenager she lived under the shadow of her best friend Jackie (popular girl, team captain, with the "perfect boyfriend) but did she? because actually Shauna was sleeping with Jackie's boyfriend, had a lot to do in Jackie's extremely tragic death, and now she carries the heavy burden of her guilt and more trauma than anyone would know what to do with!

Taissa Turner, miss senator!! Distinguished lesbian and chaotic lesbian at the same time. She's a leader, she's pragmatic, she's stubborn, she occasionally sleepwalks when she's stressed!! which prompts her to eat dirt, scare the people around her, and possibly built creepy altars that will ruin her marriage <3

Natalie Scatorccio!! my girl was traumatized even before the plane crashed. she was very important in the wilderness for being the best one with a gun. and yet she suffered from "wristers pushed her into a terrible relationship with the one male character of the show". after they were rescued, Natalie struggled with addiction for years until we meet her at a very rough moment in her life, after said male character dies and she's more and more haunted by their past

Misty Quigley!! My absolute beloved!! She's never done anything wrong ever, except for the atrocities committed <3 She's basically insane, but she's an absolute delight to watch on screen. Your next problematic fav! She's the nerdy outcast that nobody liked until they needed her medical knowledge in the wilderness, and nobody liked after she drugged them all, and as an adult she's just Christina Ricci trying her best!

In season two we get to see much more of Van and Lottie!! Van was dating Tai when they were teens but now she's just a very iconic lesbian, more trouble than she's let us know so far, and she'll be your next unproblematic fav! Meanwhile Lottie is leaning more toward the insane, cult leader, and absolutely gorgeous. she starts off as the rich girl that under different circumstances would've died right away but here's the twist... prophetic visions ✨ my girl will raise as a cult leader in the past and the present and i just want the best for her.

there are more characters! including Travis, the guy i hate. and his younger brother Javi, who's sometimes there, and sometimes isn't! there's Coach Scott! he's just gay and struggling. there's Mari being mean, Akilah also trying her best, some random girls sometimes? and for my favorite headcanon that isn't talked about (enough)... Laura Lee!! i don't even know why I got so emotionally attached to the character of the angelic devout catholic girl that died a tragic dead on season one but i just love her so much!! and especially her relationship with Lottie! trust me on this, they were so gay together. they turned a baptism into a lesbian ceremony! Laura Lee's ghost saved Lottie's life!! the potential these two had!!!

✨ the end ✨

i hope this was somehow coherent and that i possibly convinced you to watch the show? there's a lot that i missed talking about here, i'm so sorry about that but i'm so ready to asnwer if you have any more questions!!

[fanficwriter284]

I was in a silly goofy mood.....so I wrote a goofball fic for fun...for pure entertainment so it's kinda scattery and quickly put together...but it was a fun write.

"CHUCKY YOU BETTER NOT FUCKING LET GO"

"DON'T LET GOOO"

"Brother no pressure but don't let go of that ledge unless you want us to plummet into the sea"

"ARGH...I--I'M, SLIPPING"

"DON'T LET GO THE WAVES ARE GETTING BIGGER"

Ok pause, you're all probably wondering how exactly me, and my brother are now currently dangling off the side of a cliff about to fall into the ocean....and yes, I realize I broke the 4th wall bitches....let's just take it back a few moments ago.

....

A Few Moments Earlier

The brothers had been strolling back from a 7/11 eating gummy worms and drinking sodas, happily enjoying themselves. Till Chucky decided he wanted to take a shortcut through the woods, for a fun detour. It went fine up until Slap had slipped knowing all the brothers over dangling off the large and steep cliff right over the ocean.

...

So now you're all caught up now back to me getting one hell of a arm work out

...

"PULL US UP"

Before the redhead could throw them over the ledge back to safety the rock supporting the four of them snapped.

"AHHHHHH"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

".......Ohhhh dddeeeeaaaarrr......"

All four of them collided with the ocean. When Chucky landed, all the air blew out of his lungs, leaving him breathless. Filling his lung with salt water. He felt his body begin to sink further and further into the ocean. Before he could descend further into the darkness he was pulled to the surface, by his best friend.

They both broke the surface with a loud gasp, and Chucky coughed up loads of sea water, now catching his breath.

"You good?"

"Y---Yeah t--thanks bro"

He swam by himself now and saw that they all struggled to stay afloat. The mass waves crashed in violent collisions, trying to them all below the surface.

The four eventually washed up on land in the middle of the forest. With wild terrain, dead leaves scattered across the ground and branching leaning down on them, curious to see the newcomers.

"Ugh....what the actual fuck"

"Where are we?"

"What the--"

"Where on earth, did we wash up?"

"Don't know"

It had been hours of searching only to find more forest and not a single human in sight. They all had to eventually come to the realization that they all were hungry. Feeling their stomachs begin to eat away.

"So....who's getting the food?"

"How about we go hunting"

"Alright"

"Ok"

The newly devised hunting party began to scout the area and found nothing. After what felt like years of searching, they spotted a deer. It's head down eating away at some grass, completely unaware of the men stalking it. The four men bolted after it, Chucky was right at it's rear till his leg had worn and tweaked, causing him to faceplant.

''FUCK ARGH DAMN IT"

"CHUCKY"

"CHUCKY"

"CHUCKY"

"ARGH FUCK.....Ow.....god damnit"

The three carried him back to the makeshift camp and rested his leg upward, keeping it elevated.

The three brothers left him and continued their search.

Chucky simply hung back and waited for his brothers to return.

After many hours they finally returned.

"You three snag something?"

Slappy only grinned holding up a bunch of weeds and grass.

"The hell is that?"

"This my dear crippled brother, THIS is salad"

".....in other words we found nothing"

"Yep"

Chucky just shook his head disapprovingly groaning in annoyance.

"Oh shut up Mr. Judgey I'd like to see you do any better. With your damn injury"

Chucky raised a brow and held the dead carcass of a deer up and proud.

"........HOW THE FUCK"

"I have amazing aim with my knife fucker"

"......I'll start the damn fire.....whatever....."

"HAHAHAAA"

They all munched down on the meat, eating away till there was nothing left but bones.

......

The next morning they searched around, Chucky had used a walking stick to get by so he wasn't stuck in one place and had the capability to roam where he pleased.

"SHHH"

"What?"

"SHHHHHH"

"....."

"...."

"..."

"Do you hear that?"

"What?"

"haHaaha"

"The laughter of children"

"Exactly"

"Then that means....."

"PEOPLE"

The four followed the kids laughter and ended up at a school....the twins school to be exact.

"....uhhh....well this ain't awkward"

"......"

"Let's just head home"

"Agreed I need a shower"

[tirednerd2012]

An Older Brother’s Guilt

Part 2 of Not What You Think I Am. Will finds out Jonathan blames himself and tries to comfort his brother.

What was he doing back in Hopper’s cabin? Why was it so fucking hot?

Jonathan looked around and saw Will strapped to the bed in the center of all the heaters. He was thrashing and screaming. Jonathan looked around for Nancy or Joyce, but he was alone.

“Jonathan!” Will cried. “Please, please let me go! It hurts!”

His brother looked at him with pleading eyes, begging and crying for him to let him go. It’s not working. Whatever the plan was, it was failing. All this was doing was killing Will. He needed to get him out of there. He reached for Will, but the bed pushed back and the dark particles started swirling around him.

“Will!”

“Jonathan! Help me! Please!” Will screamed again. Jonathan tried again to reach his brother as the Mind Flayer surrounded Will, who struggled as it circled him.

“No! No! Will!” Jonathan yelled, but he couldn’t reach him no matter how hard he tried.

“Jonathan?”

He suddenly woke up to someone shaking his arm. He flinched as he sat up and was immediately greeted by Will, who looked like he had been crying.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he asked. Will shook his head.

“I had another nightmare. I didn’t want to wake up Mom,” he explained. Jonathan nodded and sat up completely, holding out his arms to Will, who accepted the embrace.

“What did you see?”

“That day on the field,” Will answered. “It was so tall, Jonathan, and-and it just hit me all at once and I thought it was never going to end. And he made me do all those horrible things. I killed all those people in the lab.”

“No, you didn’t. That thing did it, you were innocent. You did nothing wrong.”

“I almost got you and the others killed.”

“Again, that is not your fault. You went through more than any of us,” Jonathan responded. He hugged Will tightly and started playing with his hair like he used to when they were kids and their parents were fighting in the next room. Always a perfect way to keep him calm.

“I just don’t want to become more of a burden, you know?” Will confessed in the dead of night. “Like you’ve always had to take care of me. I know you lost a lot of your childhood-.”

“Don’t. Don’t think like that,” Jonathan cut him off firmly. “I didn’t lose anything because of you. I love every time we hang out. I meant it when I said you’re my best friend. Nothing will ever change that.”

“Not even all this?”

“No, not even all this changes the fact you are my little brother and best friend in the entire world. I know I became really overbearing this last year, but that’s just because I don’t want anything to happen again. Every time I leave, something happens to you and-.”

“You don’t really blame yourself for this, do you?” Will cut him off. When Jonathan didn’t answer, Will separated himself from the embrace and looked at his brother with disbelief. “Jonathan, this wasn’t on you.”

“We don’t have to get into this.”

“No, I want to talk about it. We’re going to talk about it,” Will argued. “We promised no secrets between us.”

“Will, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but this is my burden to carry, not yours. You are not responsible for my feelings about things."

"Please tell me. Please,” Will said. Jonathan paused for a moment. He had never actually told Will when things bothered him or when he got stressed. He’s sure his brother just picked up on it because when it started to get too much, Will would try to make him laugh or smile, or he would draw Jonathan something to cheer him up. This would be the first time Jonathan ever openly admitted to any negative emotions on his part.

“I-I just feel bad for taking that shift the night you got taken. I didn’t think anything would happen, I just wanted to make some extra cash for the house and-and the next thing I know, you were gone. And when the people from the lab put that body there…”

“You thought I was dead?”

“I was the one who planned the funeral. Mom, understandably, was a mess, and I can’t count on Lonnie for shit,” Jonathan shook his head at the mention of their biological father. “I would have done anything to get you back, Will, nothing was going to stop me or Mom.”

“I know, and I’m here now.”

“And I’m beyond thankful for that. I just.. feel bad sometimes. If I had been here, I-I don’t know, I could have stopped it from taking you.”

“Or it would have taken you instead and you would be dead right now,” Will said. “I can hide. You can’t.”

“I know that,” Jonathan responded. “I’m your big brother, Will. And I know you hate that I’m overprotective, but I honestly can’t do right by you half the time. I just want to keep you safe.”

“You’ve kept me safe our entire lives. Jonathan, no one could have predicted what would happen that night. You have watched over me as long as I can remember and you kept me safe from Lonnie. You’re one of the only people I can feel safe around,” Will said. “You’re my best friend, too.”

“Don’t tell Dustin that,” Jonathan said and the two laughed. “Don’t worry about me or my feelings about this. Above anything else, I’m just glad you’re back home safe. That’s all that matters to me.”

Will hugged him again. It hadn’t been uncommon between them, especially as of late. Will frequently woke up with nightmares and sometimes any type of physical affection reminded him that he wasn’t alone in that hell anymore, but at home with his family. It was just as comforting to them as it was Will, too, because God only knows how many times Jonathan and Joyce woke up worried sick about Will and the reminder that he was back relieved them every time.

“You should get some rest. It’s late,” Jonathan said after a moment. “You can stay here if you want.”

Will laid back down and his shoulders relaxed when Jonathan pulled the blankets over him. He laid back down, too and saw Will falling back asleep almost immediately after.

“Jonathan?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“You really are the best big brother ever,” Will informed him, which did cause a genuine smile that for a moment, pushed back all the guilt he felt.

Will fell asleep after that, and the elder took a little longer. He still wished he had been there when Will needed him to be. And he wished he could have been the person his family needed, but the thing that mattered was Will was here, safe and sound, and he would stay that way. Even if the Mind Flayer somehow came back, or any other weird ass thing that happened in their lives, they would figure it out. Nothing would take Will from this family again, though, that was a promise Jonathan made a long time ago.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO X FEM READER

Gojo’s living that hard life as a single father at the tender age of 16, so to prevent Megumi from putting himself back up for adoption, you step in. It turns out that raising a child with someone can cause complicated feelings.

wc —10k

contains — vomit, goldfish death, JJK spoilers, (1) instance of Megumi slut shaming Gojo but it is resolved, minor mention of violence (it’s jjk come on), Gojo is significantly nerfed because he’s about 10 years younger and I needed it for the plot 😁, part of teen dad gojoverse

The first time you see Gojo again after he murders his best friend, he has a child clinging to him, which says a lot about his mental state. Of everyone in your generation, your first pick to be a parent would not be the man who is currently holding the still unknown child by the scruff of his neck, like a cat. 

A sad, traumatized cat with a head that looks too big for the rest of it’s body. The child makes desperate eye contact with you, arms and legs dangling helplessly. You’re not sure how long Gojo’s been holding him like that, but judging by his expression, it’s been long enough. 

Shoko finds her voice first. “Did you...steal a baby?” 

The lump of black hair and seething eyes that Gojo’s carrying grits out, “I’m a first grader.” 

“Gojo, this isn’t like some stray cat you can just pick up off the street,” you try to interject, but he shakes his head, still grinning like it’s perfectly normal to show up one day after an extremely traumatic incident with a newfound child. It’s not his right? God, it can’t be. They don’t look anything alike. 

Gojo doesn’t seem to care. “Well, he’s mine now!” 

The child starts struggling in earnest now, batting and clawing at Gojo’s arm like he’s actually a cat. Gojo sets him down, ruffling his hair a little. “Come on, Megumi, work with me. Can’t you look a little cuter?” 

Megumi frowns harder so apparently that’s a no. Gojo tries again, squishing Megumi’s cheeks together. It would be cute if he didn’t look like he was in danger of getting his hand bitten off.

“Look at him, are you really going to make me turn this poor kid back into the streets?” He shakes his head in faux disapproval. “And you guys call me a monster.” Megumi makes bored eye contact with you, looking like he would be anywhere but here. He still hasn’t done anything besides announce his age, but as much as you hate to admit it, Gojo is right. You’re not going to refuse to help a kid in need. 

“Where are his parents?” Shoko frowns. Gojo doesn’t flinch, but turning Megumi’s head to the side so he can’t see, he not so subtly draws his thumb across his throat. Oh. So it’s like that. 

You can try and convince him otherwise, but this is Gojo. Once he’s put his mind to something, he never backs down, and his stubbornness has only gotten worse after his best friend’s passing. Still, it’s not like you can just let him become a single dad at sixteen. The kid would end up dead in his care. You don’t want to co-parent the kid, but it’s the right thing to do (it’s probably what the best among you would have done, before he went insane, and now the rest of you have to pick up the slack) so while Shoko takes the child in for a check up, you let Gojo know that this is now a two person job. He opens his mouth, maybe to argue, more likely to accuse you of having a crush on him, but you shake your head. “I’m not asking.” 

He’s never been the easiest person to get along with, Utahime can testify to that, but at the end of the day, he’s still your upperclassmen, and he’s still another sorcerer. There’s so few of you, and no one as strong as Gojo, so you have to stick together. The world needs him too much. You volunteer to take on another burden of his, the way you have been since you came to the academy and saw the acclaimed heir to the Gojo clan for the first time. Instead of being impressed, you were extremely grateful to not be born with the Six Eyes. Gojo has always shouldered the sky for everyone else - it’s what he was born to do. It’s all he can do, another path for him is unimaginable. Gojo Satoru was born to save the world. Regardless of all of his faults, Gojo’s never hidden from his duty, and neither will you. You’ll guard his back if it means he can keep lighting the path for the rest of the world. 

Besides, being a good sorcerer doesn’t mean he’d make a good dad.

He proves your assessment of his parental skills right a day later when Megumi asks for candy bars for breakfast and Gojo hands him chocolate without blinking. It’s like they’ve never heard of vegetables - either of them, but when you serve up a traditional Japanese breakfast, complete with miso soup, rice, tamagoyaki, and an array of colorful vegetables stir fried in tempura, they dig in like they’re starving. Megumi gets sent off to play games with the neighborhood children while you and Gojo work out your arrangement. Firstly, you refuse to be the only one cooking. It doesn’t matter how or where he learns it, Gojo has to be equally helpful at meal times. It’s surprisingly easy to get him to agree, which means you’re more than prepared for something to go wrong. 

The only shock is that it isn’t Gojo’s fault, but Megumi’s, who took ‘playing with the neighborhood kids’ to mean ‘beating them up until he accidentally became the leader of the local high school gang.’ It’s only the first day, but you already have a feeling taking care of him isn’t going to be easy. 

The first challenge is school. Megumi’s required to join a sport because his principal is convinced reducing his free time will keep him out of delinquency, so Gojo takes you with him to one of Megumi’s baseball tournaments. He brings a professional camera, from where you’re not even sure, but Megumi is determined to ignore him, even when he’s taking 300 pictures of him per second, as close to his face as humanly possible. It’s a difficult task because Gojo screams and cheers louder than any parent. On the pitch, Megumi drowns in embarrassment as Gojo starts pulling out the poster board. At this point you’re tempted to pretend you don’t know the grown man bullying kids literally half his age. He’s booing Megumi’s opponents - who are in elementary school, like Megumi himself. The referee has to stop him from getting on the field to throw down with a specific pitcher who keeps targeting Megumi, and he constantly argues with other parents over whose ‘kid’ is better. When Megumi storms past him after the game is over, he has the audacity to act confused even though he knows damn well what he did. 

The principal seems to have it out for Megumi, but you can’t even blame him because Megumi’s a delinquent. He calls home one day to inform you that he’s gotten in another fight (multiple, actually) and while you’re on the phone trying to work this out, Gojo is useless, dying of laughter in the other corner of the room. When you go to pick Megumi up, the first thing Gojo asks is if he stole their money. 

“They’re delinquents, they didn’t have any money.” You want to point out that technically, he’s a delinquent too. 

Gojo groans. “You’re so boring! Fine, then did you teach them a lesson at least?” Megumi responds with just a glare because it’s obvious, and Gojo cackles and reaches over to ruffle his hair affectionately. 

“Good job, I’m proud of you,” he says, completely offhand, and you’re about to tell him to knock it off because it isn’t anything to be proud of, but the two of you notice the way Megumi stiffens. You don’t say anything in the moment, but if he finds it a little strange how much touchier the two of you are after that incident, Megumi doesn’t mention anything either. You lavish praise on him for the smallest things. When he figures out how to do the laundry for the first time, you call him ‘your good boy.’ When he puts his plates away after dinner, Gojo pats his head. 

However, he also immediately breaks their temporary peace by showing up outside of Megumi’s school the next day with a megaphone to demand that whoever fought Megumi come outside right now, like Megumi wasn’t the one beating them up. In return, Megumi acts like Gojo’s invisible, giving him the silent treatment for a week. If he needs to tell Gojo something he turns to the nearest empty space and addresses it instead, or he tells you, but Gojo’s too flippant to stop teasing him. 

It’s like he thinks the way to Megumi’s heart is to annoy him as much as possible. The one time Megumi asks him for a favor, a simple request for him to pick up a specific brand of cookies while Gojo was out, he demanded that he call him dad, ignoring your scolding. Megumi held onto his pride and cursed him out instead, but in the following week, he has a school project that requires picking up glitter glue from the store and it’s past twelve. You’re in your apartment in Kyoto and he can’t walk to the craft store - Gojo’s the only option he has. He gives in.

Reluctantly, he lets Gojo change his ringtone to a recording of Megumi calling him dad. You don’t think Gojo even wants Megumi to call him dad as much as he just wants to pick on him, but in a meeting with the higher ups, Megumi’s flustered voice rings throughout the room in the middle of Yoshinobu’s speech, and Gojo drops everything to go. 

“Sorry gramps,” he grins, ignoring Yoshinobu’s outraged cry for him to respect elders, “my son is calling.”

Because Gojo has never learned what a filter is, he tells Megumi how all the elders heard him call Gojo ‘dad’ as soon as he gets home.  Completely deadpan, Megumi tells him, “I’m running away.” 

How was Gojo supposed to expect for him to actually do it? 

Because he’s a competent, and frankly, scary, child, no one messes with him on the train ride to your apartment in Kyoto (lucky for them, not him). When he shows up on your doorstep, green froggy umbrella clutched in his hand and rain pouring overhead, your first reaction is to drag him into a shower and leave dry, warm clothes for him by the door. The second is to curse Gojo out in your head for letting him take the train by himself. You have no idea when you got so used to taking care of him, but you have, regardless of how little time it took, and now it comes as easy to you as breathing. After his bath, he needs hot food, but he doesn’t like red peppers, so you amend your grandma’s recipe. He’ll have to get used to spices if you’re the one cooking for him, but for now he’s just a child, so you opt for the milder ingredients. It runs through your head over and over again - he’s just a child. 

He is competent, but he shouldn’t have to be. Who had taught him to take the train on his own, or had he taught himself? Had Gojo just abandoned him at the station and expected him to find his way to your apartment? You had no way of knowing about Megumi’s declaration of his intent to run away, so you were understandably, and justifiably, furious. 

Megumi wanders into the kitchen, water dripping down the back of his shirt from his slicked back hair, and sticks his face in your pot, completely unafraid of burns, and completely unaware of your very complex internal dilemma. He squirms out of your grip when you force him to take a seat next to you on the couch so you can towel dry his hair for him. Gojo had said that he had an older sister, Tsumiki, who was in the hospital now, and that they had survived off of her parent’s money, but how could they have lived without their parents? Clearly not well if Megumi only ate candy for breakfast. You’ve always had a bleeding heart, a soft spot for troubled things in need, so it makes sense that you would fall into your arrangement easily, but you grip your spoon tighter as you remind yourself that Megumi wouldn’t appreciate your coddling. 

He tries so hard to act like an adult it breaks your heart, even more when he oh-so-politely asks you to help him up because your bar stools are too tall for him, and the only table that isn’t covered in weapons is the kitchen island. Megumi looks too normal in the middle of your maelstrom of killing utensils and other instruments of death, and you wish he didn’t. It would have been easier for him if he hadn’t been born a sorcerer, but there’s no turning back time. He’ll have to go down the same lonely path as all of you who came before him, with no thanks and no salvation waiting at the end. It's an endless cycle: fight, die, and the next generation will rise to fight again, never winning and never losing - except for Gojo. He’s the only one strong enough to have a chance at changing everything, but you don’t want that for him either - it’s too much for one person to bear, even if that person is Gojo Satoru. 

It’s like thinking about him somehow summons him. To his credit, Gojo only arrives twenty minutes after Megumi does, but for you, that’s twenty minutes too long. He crashes through the open door and skids into the dining room, shoes squeaking terribly on the floor as he barely manages to avoid falling, long limbs tangled. He’s never appeared so scattered in his life, but even then, he still manages to exude an aura of innate superiority. It can’t even be called cocky, more like he was just born on a different level. There’s an innate difference between him and you, just like there is between you and non sorcerers. You don’t want to argue in front of Megumi and his already too wise eyes, so you pull Gojo into the kitchen to tear into him, but before you can speak, Gojo’s pressing his hands over your mouth. 

“I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me -” 

For a minute, this technique is effective in silencing you, but only because you’re too enraged to retort. As soon as you regain your voice, you go off on him. “Are you an idiot? He’s a child, you can’t treat this like all of your other missions -” 

“What do you mean? I’m careful with all my missions,” he tries, but you can’t take it right now. 

“Gojo Satoru, if you can’t take this seriously, then just let me handle it, because he doesn’t deserve this.” 

You’re prepared for him to retort with another lighthearted joke, another reason you can’t trust him with Megumi, but he surprises you, dragging his hand through his hair in frustration, the first real emotion you’ve seen from him in a while. “Look, I get it. I’m sorry. I thought he was bluffing when he said he was going to run away, I should’ve taken it more seriously.” 

While you’re glad he’s being reasonable for once, you have to take a moment to process what he’s saying because - to run away? What could have he done that was so bad Megumi felt the need to escape? It’s like he can read your mind, and for a second, you’re paranoid that his six eyes does let him do that, because nothing is beyond Gojo, but he can tell what you’re thinking in that moment, too. 

“I didn’t do anything! Okay, actually, yes I did, but it wasn’t that bad, he’s just being dramatic - and yes, your thoughts are loud.” 

You shoot him a horrified glance, and he cracks up, like convincing you that telepathy is another one of his long list of talents is funny and not absolutely terrifying, because that means he knew all about your ridiculous crush on Nanami in your first months at jujutsu academy - and you have to stop that thought from going further than it already has, just in case. He sobers up as you do, explaining how he embarrassed Megumi, and promising to never do it again - or as long as Megumi “can’t take a joke.” 

You resist the temptation to remind him that Megumi is only half his age. It’s as you’re about to return to Megumi in the dining room, when you notice his right hand, still half hidden under the cuffs of his jacket. He jerks back when you touch him, or more accurately, touch the space between you and him. When you command him to lift his hand, he only hesitates for a second before he does as you say. It’s not bad, but there’s a light bruise spreading over the bottom of his fist, almost as if he had slammed his hand into a table. 

“Who did this to you?” You ask, dumbfounded, because he’s untouchable, and his answer is even more shocking, because he says, “Myself.” 

“I couldn’t concentrate enough to teleport, and I figured this would help.” He looks too smug for a man sporting a self inflicted bruise on his hand when he says, “Of course it worked.” It’s hard to remember sometimes, that he might be so powerful he’s basically a god, but he’s also sixteen and in charge of a kid half his age he picked up off the street. Being able to erase entire forests with a snap doesn’t help him here. 

His hands twitch in your grasp, reminding you that you’re holding weapons of mass destruction, more dangerous than an atom bomb. His infinity is already so powerful, and he keeps pushing the limits - at this point, you’re not sure there’s anyone who will be able to catch up to him. Satoru, meaning enlightenment. His mother sure knew what she was doing when she named him. You push these thoughts to the side as you get up, careful to keep your grip light, though you know logically that he would never hurt you. Probably. If you don’t end up losing it like Getou, which is always a possibility in your field of work. 

He comes when you beckon, doesn’t put up a fuss as you pack ice into a bag and press it against the injury. You don’t need to tell him, but he knows to come find you when he and Megumi are finished, so you let him go. When the sound of Gojo’s bright laughter and Megumi’s exasperated groan take the place of low murmurs, you come in to find Megumi finished with his soup, booted feet kicking against the legs of the chair, and Gojo, apparently once again on neutral, if not good, terms. 

Days with Megumi alternate so he has at least one person with him at all times, three days each and one altogether. Being a second grade sorcerer surrounded by the strongest means that you’re used to adapting to strange circumstances, but even you wonder at how quickly you become used to Megumi’s presence in your life. You start every shift with a text to Gojo to see how he’s doing today, and end every shift wondering what you should make him for breakfast when it’s your turn to watch him. 

Gojo is surprisingly accommodating when you run late to pick Megumi up from his apartment in Tokyo, though he doesn’t spare you from his teasing, insisting on the right to a date and being treated to at least two meals. Still, he probably didn’t expect encouraging you to take your time to mean having to take an extra two hours to speak to the victim’s families of the latest curse you exorcised. 

It’s unreasonable to expect you to get there in time to protect everyone, you know this, it’s been drilled into you since your first class - but somehow, you can’t keep yourself from replaying the fight over and over in your head. You see the mistake you made then, then think of a way you could’ve gotten there just a little faster, if you had been smart enough to think of it on the fly. In the extra time you have when your life isn’t in danger, you see all the way you might have saved another life if you had taken on just a little more risk, and wasn’t that worth it? You were born for one purpose and one purpose only - kill curses, save people. If you couldn’t fulfill that, what good were you? 

Gojo’s apartment doesn’t have a key like yours, but a card, like hotels. Having to try six attempts at sliding the card in the correct way doesn’t improve your mood, but when you walk in, the apartment is dead silent - too silent. It sends your heart rate up. What if you had been late again? Gojo’s the strongest, you remind yourself, there’s no where Megumi is safer than with him, but the fear persists. It tends to do that. 

You only let yourself relax when you see them sprawled out on the floor in the living room, a deck of Uno spread out across from them. You scoff, but a smile creeps up on your lips anyways. How tired were they that they had just gone to sleep on the floor, not even bothering to go to bed? Megumi is curled tightly into Gojo’s side, the way he would never be if he was awake - but his eyelids flutter. 

He is awake, and he’s doing a poor job at hiding it. Still pretending to be asleep, he shifts further into Gojo, burying his face into his shoulder. Gojo groans but doesn’t move away, lifting his hand to pat his head roughly twice before it sinks back onto the floor. Surprisingly, Megumi lays still and accepts the affectionate treatment, meaning he’s definitely forgiven, though he’ll probably never tell him outright. 

It’s tempting to take pictures, but then Megumi will probably never forgive you. You thought that would be the first and only instance of Megumi pretending to sleep, but it happens again, and again, and again. Winter is curse season, and both you and Gojo have to take on more missions. The only reprieve Yaga can grant you, being run ragged himself, is to have the two of you placed together on a team, though, as much as you wanted to avoid it, Megumi sometimes ends up being dragged along with you on safer trips. 

You say nothing when the higher ups inform you that Megumi needs to become accustomed to the Jujutsu world as fast as possible, with a talent like his, especially with curses on the rise, but Gojo fights back, as he always does. It should be impossible to condescend to elders as important and terrifying as they are, but as you’ve learned, nothing is impossible for Gojo Satoru. Still, no matter how much he argues, and threatens to bring down the whole world with him, in the end, they’re higher ups for a reason, and Megumi’s presence becomes a requirement on lower grade missions, especially if Gojo is training him. 

Gojo takes you aside after the meeting and promises it won’t be like this forever, though you have no idea what he means. He just grabs your shoulders, stares into your eyes, and swears on his eyes that one day, the higher ups will no longer be able to recklessly move you around like puppets. You don’t think you’ll be around for that to happen, but because Gojo trusts you enough to tell you, you trust him. 

Megumi pretends to fall asleep when the missions drag late into the nights, but he never quite gets the hang of making it appear convincing. You can both tell but Gojo carries him home anyways instead of making him walk, and in his safe arms, Megumi really drifts off to sleep. It’s at times like this that you can really tell he’s only 16 because he holds Megumi so tenderly. Even if he teases him for falling asleep so early, the face he makes reveals all. When Megumi’s sleeping on his shoulder, his eyes are honest, filled with a mix of love and fear. 

Gojo’s ego only extends to things he can easily control, like people’s blatant attraction to him, or killing curses. Megumi is not a variable he factored in, but it’s why he has you, to watch his back, pick up the slack when he fails. No matter how tired you are when the day ends, you treasure these precious moments, Gojo’s whispers carrying to you in the dark, your silent laughter at his attempts at flirtation, because you’re trying not to wake Megumi, his brilliant smile, the rare and real one, bright against the night sky. 

The night gives the two of you cover. When you wake up in the morning, you’ll once again be soldiers on the front lines of a war between good and evil, the unrecognized heroes of mankind, but no matter how much you have to sacrifice to the cause, no matter how much you’re expected to give and not complain, the night is yours and yours alone. When the stars glitter, you can still feel like a kid, a girl in your second year of high school walking home with a boy, even if he’s carrying a child and you’re carrying blood stained knives. 

Megumi only wakes up briefly when you tuck him in, raising his arms slightly so you can tuck him under the covers more easily. Gojo leans against the door while you smooth down the sheets and then, with only a second of hesitation, press a light kiss against his forehead. He mumbles goodnight after you, and Gojo closes the door quietly before he moves, not to his bedroom, but to the couch, head in his hands. His hands are shaking, and his gaze shifts when you enter the room after him, looking at Megumi’s door. He brushes off your silent questioning and worried expression easily. 

“I just need a minute.” 

Sitting next to him on the couch, you lean over to pat his knee, only for your hand to bounce off. Unsubtly, he leans away from you. You’re reluctant to leave him when he’s clearly not fine, but you also don’t think he’ll appreciate you hovering over him while he has a slight mental breakdown.

When you get up, he grabs your wrist, which is as close as you’re getting to him admitting he needs you here for this, so until the sun rises the two of you sit together in silence, a foot apart but infinity between you. 

After that, reading him comes easier. You never talk about that night, about the one vulnerability he has, but when you see him start to get nervous in the ways only you notice, like his jaw clenching and then relaxing immediately because he can’t let anyone think he actually cares what Megumi thinks of him, you take over. 

This is especially useful when Megumi hits him with the old one-two of “I hate you,” and “I don’t know why you’re trying to act like my dad when you’re not,” because he hit his teenage angst phase early and Megumi, for all his maturity, is an 8 year old, and Gojo, for all his invincibility, is an 16 year old trying to raise an 8 year old. Megumi pushes, Gojo pulls, and you hold everyone together. 

Eventually, Megumi graduates elementary school, and you have to figure out what to do then. For the first few months of this arrangement, Megumi being shuttled between your apartments in Kyoto and Tokyo like the child of a divorce works fine until he finally asks if he can just go stay at the famed Jujutsu High instead. 

(“He takes after me,” Gojo boasts. Megumi makes an affronted face like nothing could be worse.) 

At first you refuse because you’re concerned about him not being able to keep an actual family dynamic in his life. As poor at instilling parental guidance and security Gojo and you have been, surely you’re better than nothing? Your partner balancing a chopstick on his upper lip instead of paying attention is not soothing your worries. Megumi quells all of your frantic thoughts by explaining that he’s only sick of Gojo, not you, and he hates the commute between Kyoto and Tokyo.  

You think, of course, Gojo only pays attention to the first part, but later when Megumi is safely tucked into his sheets, he pulls you into the kitchen. You’re not willing to leave Megumi alone, and Megumi isn’t willing to continue putting up with the constant moving, so the solution Gojo comes up with, obviously, is to move all of you into Jujutsu Academy. 

At some point before that, Megumi meets the principal from Kyoto to see if he would like the campus better even though Gojo really wants him to pick Tokyo. On one hand, Kyoto is your alma mater, so you will always hold a soft spot for it in your heart, but leadership has gone severely downhill since your graduation, and it’s not the type of place you would want to send him to. 

Megumi insists on being fair, however, and you all go, even Gojo, though he complains the whole way there and insists on scaring Megumi with stories of monsters locked in the basement. For the record, Megumi does an admirable job of tuning him out. Upon arrival, Principal Yoshinobu holds a record of restraining himself for a full ten minutes before he gives in and slanders Gojo because they hate each other. 

Megumi acts like he doesn’t care, but he pulls you to the side and asks to go home, forcing Gojo to hide his smile. Of course, Yoshinobu can’t let him get the last laugh, so he grabs your arm before you go. Leering at you and Gojo, he sneers, “Little girl, you’ve made him ruin himself for love.” 

Gojo yanks your arm away from him, a little too harshly. Later, he’ll apologize in the dim lights of your room, turn off his Infinity in a rare moment of vulnerability to personally apply the ointment, though you could do it yourself. It’s his way of begging for forgiveness. At the moment, he directs his attention to Yoshinobu. 

“Careful if you don’t want to end up kicking the bucket too early, gramps.” His startling eyes flash over the rim of his glasses. “You look like you’re about to go any minute now.” 

You leave him, and his outraged yelling that he’ll get Gojo expelled for his threats (an empty promise) behind. In the car, Megumi informs you that he doesn’t like the old man. 

The first week of living together is rough because neither of you are used to having to share your personal space with someone. Fights are rare between the two of you because no matter how provocative Gojo is, you refuse to give in, but for some reason, hogging all the hot water is more infuriating than lording his superiority in fighting power over you. 

Of course, Gojo’s dramatic, so when Megumi tells him he looks like shit, he responds by telling him to let him wallow in his misery. Megumi’s more than willing to let him give himself over to his moping, but Gojo has other plans, dumping his relationship problems on this poor ten year old, completely unequipped to deal with him.

“Fine, Megumi! Since you insisted, I’ll tell you what’s wrong.” 

“I didn’t ask.” 

“I’m sure you’ll be heartbroken to know-” 

“I’m not.” 

“But your mother and I are getting a divorce.” 

“I’m not sure what that has to do with me.” 

Gojo groans and takes his revenge by ruffling Megumi’s hair until it sticks up like a crow’s nest. (He’s so delighted with the result that he ends up doing this every day, until Megumi becomes used to it and it becomes his daily hairstyle.) “You’re so cruel to me, Megumi! This is why you don’t attract women. If you were more charming like me, maybe someone would like you.” 

“I’m ten.” 

“I’m ten,” he mimics. 

Megumi says that he doesn’t care, but when he gets home, he drags you into the living room with Gojo. 

“What’s this? Are you calling a family meeting?” Gojo coos. “You’re so cute -gah!” Megumi shoots him a deadly glare at the same time you knock him on the back of the head.

“It’s not fair to gang up on me,” he complains, rubbing the back of his head. Megumi makes the wise decision of ignoring him. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to work out your problems because it’s annoying me,” he announces, at once self important and considerate, the way only children can be. It’s a wake up call for both of you because you’re never sure if you can be good parental figures for Megumi but you’re damn well going to try and you’re pretty sure forcing your kid to tell you to get your act together is not doing a good job at raising him.

It’s probably not good to take your kid on monster-hunting missions either, but there’s nothing you can do about that. Nevertheless, you do your best to train him, even Gojo pulling his own weight and taking him along when he works out. You’re suspicious because well, it’s Gojo, but you let it be because it’s very cute. 

What’s less cute is when you pop in to check on them and Gojo is in the middle of handing twelve year old Megumi a two hundred pound weight. You can see the despair in his eyes, and at that point you have to step in. 

On more dangerous missions, you leave Megumi at home. It’s on these trips that you get to watch Gojo’s rapid growth, which is a privilege, he boasts. You’re not sure if he can even be called human anymore - he tripped once, during a mission (he swore you to secrecy afterwards) and still manages to unleash catastrophic damage on an unimaginable level, curses falling left and right. 

At that point, there was almost nothing for you to do besides get rid of the one curse left. You don’t mind because it’s only natural that he gets to show off and you guard his back, but you start thinking about being reassigned, because if Gojo doesn’t need you, then you can be useful elsewhere. Your purpose is to rid the world of curses, and you’re not exactly doing that right now. 

Sometimes, missions require reconnaissance, not because of the curses, on which spying would be useless, but because of the non-sorcerers involved. To keep them out of harm’s way, it’s important to keep track of generally how many there are, when are rush times, and such. Normally the managers handle that, but they’ve been run ragged (especially poor Ijichi), so you offer. 

“Hey, beautiful.” 

For a second, you almost think it’s Gojo, the voices are so similar - deep and smooth, but when you turn, the man has blue eyes (not as bright, you think), but black hair. You’re not sure why you’re disappointed. It’s not like you mind the attention - it’s been a while since you’ve gotten to enjoy yourself, between eradicating monsters and taking care of Megumi, so you’re willing to indulge in a bit of harmless flirtation, but Gojo has other plans. The man leans in, maybe to tuck your hair behind your ear, but an arm slides around your waist and pulls you into Gojo’s side. 

You promptly try to elbow him off, but he leans down to nose his way up your neck, making you shiver. You can’t see him, but you can tell he’s smirking as he whispers in your ear, “I missed you.” The man seems to be confused. 

“Do you know him?” 

“I saw you an hour ago, leave me alone to do my mission,” you hiss at Gojo under your breath, then smile politely at the man as you continue trying to push him off, to no avail. “No, I have no idea who he is. He might be drunk!” You suggest brightly. 

Gojo pouts as he rests his chin on the top of your head. “First I catch my wife cheating on me, now she pretends not to even recognize me? It’s downright shameful,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re setting a bad example for our Megumi!” 

At the mention of marriage and a possible son, your suitor dips immediately. You can’t blame him, but conveniently, there is a 6’3” waste of air leaning on your head that you can blame. “Gojo!” You start, but he’s already laughing and walking off, forcing you to run if you want to catch up to him and his obscenely long legs. 

“I’m not your wife,” you huff, and he slows down so you’re walking together. After a narrow accident with a bicycle, he keeps his hand on your lower back, guiding you. 

“But you admit we have a kid.” You don’t deign to give him a response. 

In retrospect, this probably should have been your first sign, but hindsight is 20/20. Gojo starts acting weirdly not long after that. He starts slinking around your apartment half dressed, looking like fine art, all angles and lines, lean like a sprinter. You’re not sure what he’s trying to do, but you don’t like it, not because you don’t appreciate the eye candy, but because this is Gojo, and he’s always trying to pull a fast one on you. 

It’s almost like he’s trying to seduce you, lounging on your couch with his shirt unbuttoned, padding around in nothing but sweatpants riding low on his hips, stretching so you can see his shoulder muscles in prominent definition. He never wears a tie, to the eternal consternation of Nanami, who considers them an essential piece of clothing, like boxers, but he starts wearing them - and no shirt with it. He can’t even tie one either, so it’s up to you. 

Whenever he asks for your help after he inevitably mangles the long strip of fabric, you hold your breath when you stand in front of him, working as fast as possible and trying to avoid touching any exposed skin. He teases you, as he always does. 

“Why are you so shy, hm? Never seen a man naked before? Should I fix that?” 

Luckily, Megumi comes to your rescue. “Maybe you can treat your body like a free for all buffet, but we’re not interested,” he sighs, looking up from his math homework. “Megumi,” you gasp. Gojo blinks hard, which is the closest he’s ever come to showing genuine shock. After an important family discussion in which Megumi becomes a feminist, Gojo starts wearing shirts again, though he keeps trying to get your attention in other ways. 

In fact, he starts competing with Megumi, a literal child, for it. At the end of dinner, you wipe Megumi’s face clean for him, chuckling a little as he squirms away and insists he can do it himself, until Gojo coughs and draws your gaze. He’s smeared sauce across his lips. 

“Uh. You got a little something,” you gesture at the corner of your mouth, but really it’s more like the entire bottom half of his face. 

“What?” He says. 

“You have sauce on you.” 

“Can you get it off?” He leans across the table to you, but Megumi’s quicker and throws a towel in his face. For a minute, they lock gazes - but Megumi wins. 

This cat and mouse chase that you weren’t even really aware of goes on for several days until Gojo gets frustrated and just throws himself on you like an overgrown puppy who doesn’t know his own strength while you’re minding your own business on the couch one day. You yelp. 

“What?” You ask, looking down at him sprawled over your lap, but he doesn’t say anything, just grins up at you. Reaching down, you shove him to try and push him off, knowing full well it’s not going to work (damned Infinity), but your hand actually collides with his shoulder and sends him rolling onto the floor below. 

You stare at him in shock. Gojo whines, “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” like trying to goad someone into touching him instead of just letting them know is a rational thing to do. 

“When?” is the first word out of your mouth when you recover. You thought you’d be happy to know you can touch him, happy to hear that he trusts you so much, but actually, you’re horrified. What if Yoshinobu is right, and you’re making Gojo weaker? He reads your mind, and grabs your arm, tugging you down onto the floor on top of him. When you try to get up, he pins you in place, running his hands down your back soothingly. “Just when I’m with you, when I’m in the apartment.” Stop worrying, is the unspoken sentiment behind his words. 

“Gojo,” you try, your voice cracking on his name, but you don’t have to finish - he knows. He always knows. 

He strokes your hair. “I know what I’m doing, I promise. I just wanted-” he gestures in the space between you two. You know what he means, too. 

“I need you,” he mumbles into your hair. You’re tempted to tell him he doesn’t need anything - Gojo Satoru is a force of his own. Like he can tell what you’re thinking, he wraps his arms tighter around you. 

Megumi comes in a minute later to ask what the two of you are doing sleeping on the floor. 

Though you often don’t need words to communicate, your connection isn’t perfect, as much as you’d like it to be, as much as Shoko jokes it is, because if it were, you wouldn’t have accidentally hurt him. Who would have thought that a grade 2 sorcerer could actually do anything to Gojo Satoru, but injuries go beyond those that can be seen. One day you make the mistake of bringing home KFC because Gojo never told you where exactly he murdered his best friend. 

He takes one look at the bag in your hand and runs to the bathroom. You chuck the bag at the table, not even bothering to check if it lands, because you’ve never seen him make a face like that before. 

From the bathroom comes a sound a little like a dying cat. He’s vomiting into the toilet, and you kneel next to him helplessly, rubbing his back for comfort. His eyes are wide and frenzied, seeing something that’s not there. While he shakes in your arms, you brush the fallen hair back and out of his face, tuck it behind his ears. There’s nothing you can do but sit with him until he’s ready to tell you what’s wrong, but the whole time, your heart is racing. 

When Gojo’s finished, he leans back, his eyes red, but he isn’t crying. He should be. You almost wish he was. You want to pet his cheek, kiss his forehead, make it all better, but he seems half feral at the moment. You’re not scared of him, you’d never be - but you’re scared for him. 

“It reminds me of him.” He doesn’t need to tell you who him is, there’s only one him that could have such an effect on Gojo. His one and only best friend, the man he killed with his own hands. “Did I tell you where I found him? Where I killed him?” You could guess. 

“I can’t smell it without thinking about his blood on my hands,” he gags again and lunges for the toilet. 

Even Gojo’s shocked when the first tear rolls down his cheek, but when it starts, he can’t stop it. You pull him against you, wrapping your arms around him tightly like you can hold him together with sheer force alone. When was the last time Gojo cried? When was the last time he let someone watch him cry? He buries his face in your shoulder and you let him hide his face from the world. 

As long as he needs you to, you’ll watch his back, make sure no one can catch him in this vulnerable state, just like you guard him when Infinity is off. You stroke his hair rhythmically until his breathing evens out and your shirt dries, and then Megumi creeps into the bathroom and curls up on your other side. Gojo’s Six Eyes means he can reach out with freaky accuracy even with his face buried in your shoulder to hold Megumi’s hand. You hold them both tightly, feeling fierce, even with your limited strength. If that’s what it takes to protect them, you feel like you could become something like Gojo. 

On an innocuous day, Mei Mei drops by, but one question from her starts the beginning of the end. “Megumi,” she asks, “Who’s your favorite parent?” 

He looks her straight in the eye and says, “...between my deadbeat father or my unavailable mother?” 

“Kid, what? The ones you have now?” 

“Oh, we never formally adopted Megumi, we kind of-” 

“Picked him up off the street!” Gojo supplies helpfully. 

Mei Mei takes a moment to process this. Then she continues because she never knows when to stop, “Cool, so Gojo or her?” Megumi doesn’t even hesitate to nod in your direction, which you take as a declaration of undying affection. Gojo, on the other hand, is devastated. 

Now he’s determined to be the better parent by spoiling Megumi rotten but all it does is creep him out because he’s suspicious of an ulterior motive. As part of his attempt to become the favorite, Gojo gets Megumi a pet. He brings home a spider, which you hate but it’s too late, Megumi loves it. He names it Gogo (because it has eight eyes). 

His demon dogs eat Gogo. 

You get him a goldfish. 

The goldfish dies. You swap it out for a new one every six month for several years before he notices. 

Megumi’s too gullible for a kid as smart as he is - and he doesn’t even go to school that often. Of course, it’s when you willingly give him the chance to skip that he refuses to stay home. He forces himself out of bed when he’s sick, insisting he’s fine. You know better, and no matter how much he complains, argues, and negotiates, he’s firmly bedridden, but the promise of his favorite soup brightens his demeanor, even while Gojo fools around and teases him instead of helping. 

You don’t have much experience being a nurse, most of your experience being throwing medicine at Gojo and being generally annoyed while taking care of people, but Megumi brings out the best in you. He doesn’t say anything, but when you get up to leave after he’s finished his soup, a strange, wistful expression passes over his face before he can control it and Gojo grabs your arm to pull you back down into your seat by his side. 

“Stay home, let’s read him a bedtime story,” he suggests. 

“I’m twelve,” Megumi complains but the fever makes it hard for him to put up his usual indifferent demeanor, he’s pleased. 

“Never too old for a good bedtime story,” Gojo shrugs. 

By the second day, Megumi insists he’s better, but you should’ve known better than to trust him, though Gojo shrugs it off. “He’s a grown up -” 

“Twelve.” 

“Same thing! I was crazier when I was twelve-” 

“I know, I was there for half of it.” 

“He can handle himself.” 

Of course, Yaga calls to inform you that your son (can you call him that?) has passed out on school grounds. Guilty, you tell him that you’ll be right on your way to get Megumi, but he says there’s no need because Gojo’s already got him. 

By the time you get home, he’s already put Megumi to bed but you confront him in the corridor. The cursed corridor, always the site of your arguments. There’s probably just something about it that has bad vibes, like the Shining. 

Gojo’s powerful but not omniscient, so how did he know? You’re trying not to raise your voice because Megumi is asleep in the other room but no matter how you try to control your volume, it steadily gets louder because you're furious. 

“Did you know? Did you know he was too sick to go and did you let him go to school anyways?” 

You’re yelling at Gojo and you know deep down you’re not mad at him, you’re mad at yourself for not noticing. Maybe you’re not the right person for this job. Maybe if you were older, maybe if you were actual parents and not barely of legal age you would have been able to tell, but Gojo just lets you tire yourself out screaming and when you’re done, he looks you in the eye, dead serious for once in his life. 

“No. I would never let him go if I thought he would get hurt, you know that. I went to bring him medicine and hot chicken noodle soup from home and found out he was sick.”

You wilt and apologize profusely, “I’m so sorry, I don't know what came over me.” You promise that you know he would never endanger Megumi like that. And for once in his life, Gojo Satoru is a good person, because he makes exceptions for you. He just ruffles your hair and tells you it’s fine, that you were being a good mom, and you tell him to shut up because you’re too young to be a mother while rolling your eyes. Megumi opens the door and asks if you’re done fighting because he hates it when you yell at each other and you tell him to get back into bed. 

This is what a family is, isn’t it? 

Not like the Zenins, where Megumi would have grown into a warped version of himself. Something about the people of that clan was unsettling, their thirst for power, their disregard for those they considered weak. You should’ve known, with their greediness for strong cursed techniques, that they would one day take Megumi from you. When the Zenin clan figures out that Gojo stole an ace out from under them, they take it to the elders. While Gojo’s off on a mission, the higher ups take Megumi, and there’s nothing a second grade - second rate - sorcerer like you can do to stop them, as the Zenin patriarch so kindly informs you. 

You try to go with them, but they tell Megumi that for every moment you hold them back, they’ll take one of your fingers as payment. You’re not sure if it’s an empty promise or not - the Big Three Clans were like that. He goes alone. That doesn’t stop Gojo though, when he comes home and finds you, not crying, but numb, hands clasped in front of you like you’re praying for a miracle. He raises hell for Megumi, and the elders are getting sick of being challenged by the young upstart, but what can they do? Gojo Satoru is invincible. 

He never tells you what he had to do but when he comes home, he has a death grip on Megumi’s hand. His eyes are crazy, the kind you hoped you would never have to see again after Toji Zenin and Getou Suguru. Megumi doesn’t tell you anything either, just that they were in the middle of questioning him (and he swears that nothing else happened) when Gojo walked in and slipped his blindfold over his eyes. When it gets taken off, the room is empty of everyone but the two of them, and Gojo says he’s taking him home. 

He tells you he doesn’t like the Zenins, which is his way of saying they’re scary without having to actually say it. 

He hesitates before he asks, “You wouldn’t send me to them, right? They said…” 

It breaks your heart that he even had to ask. He sleeps between you and Gojo that night, though he’s too big for it now. Gojo insists on it, says that he’s scared and he needs Megumi to protect him from all the bad guys. Megumi is so tired of him. 

No one calls it what it is, but when Gojo gets a list of the most dangerous missions on the roster to complete within the next two days, there’s nothing it can be besides punishment for going against the hierarchy. No one can actually kill Gojo, for one, it’s impossible, and two, they need him too much, but he can still be injured, still run himself into the ground working. He’s only 20, and he’s so close to perfecting Infinity (as he tells you with a maniacal light in his eyes) but he’s not quite there yet. 

Just a little further. 

He’s just 20, still far too young, but Gojo believes the only way to improve is to test his limits. Near-death is near-victory for him, but death doesn’t come anymore, not even when he’s asking for it. 

You come, even when he asks you not to. 

“No.” He says it like he’s not expecting an argument, because no one challenges him, but of course you are. You watch his back and he keeps the world moving. It’s not even worth an argument, just an arch of your brow, a silent test, and he knows that he could tie you to a chair in your living room and somehow, you’d still make it to him. 

Grinning, you walk over and drape your arms over his shoulders, leaning your head against his chest to breathe in the warm cologne he uses, something like a mix of amber and patchouli spice. Home. “Where else am I safest but with the strongest sorcerer?” 

He hesitates, but in the end, there’s two people in the car on the way to the Japanese countryside. Megumi stays with Shoko, who’s not particularly excited to become an aunt, and probably a bad influence, but Nanami’s leaving the Jujutsu world to become a salaryman and Mei Mei is even worse. 

Every year, the curses get worse. You’ve never heard of a cluster of special grade Curses all appearing in the same place before, but new phenomena occur all the time. For Gojo, it’s easy, for you, a task meant for gods. While he works on eradicating an entire nest of Special Grades - how is that possible? You’ll have to make a note of that in your mission report - you dispel the minor curses. 

He’s a playful fool, but when it comes to work, Gojo is good at what he does, and his instincts are never wrong. “There’s something at work here. It’s no coincidence that all the Special Grades are gathered in one place,” and as he says that, he lifts his blindfold and snaps his fingers. The world explodes around you, Infinity razing the building to nothing but rubble (thank god for Curtains) and suddenly, there are curse users everywhere. 

Even at twenty, Gojo is a monster. He blinks, and the men don’t scream, or die, they simply disappear into a black void. They would have been insane to hunt him without a plan, a card up their sleeve. Gojo Satoru’s one weakness is plastered all over the black market, your smiling face presented with a bounty on your head, just like the star plasma vessel. 

You’re not weak, per say, but weakness is all perspective. Second grade curses are easy to hunt and kill. Actually, you’re on your way to first grade after an amazing stunt you pulled off in Ginza, using an domain expansion to eradicate several curses at once, a feat that Gojo celebrated by making a romantic dinner, but the cold hard truth is someone that goes after the strongest sorcerer probably outclasses you by a lot. It’s an idiotic move, even by your standards - Gojo has Six Eyes, he would have seen it coming, but when you see the movement in the corner of your eye, you move towards him without thinking. Always towards him, always covering for him. 

You shoulder burns, when you clap your hand to it, blood trickles through your fingers. Gojo is making that awful face again. Someone shot you. Guns don’t have cursed energy. Bullets don’t exist in your world. Curses can’t shoot. But people can, and when you look up, the gun is still smoking in the hand of the man who shot you. 

“Someone should have learned their lesson after Riko Amanai,” sneers the nearest bounty hunter. Gojo doesn’t bother responding as the man is erased from the face of the planet. 

Gojo has many enemies, but none of them can lay a hand on them. You, however, are touchable, and of all the people Gojo has pissed off over the years, these were the wrong kind:  willing to die just to hurt him even a little bit. 

You can’t say you don’t understand the feeling of being furious with Gojo, but it’s hardly fair to drag you into it. 

Back in your hotel room, Gojo desperately applies pressure to your shoulder. It would have been better if he was angry, if he tried to rub it in your face that he told you not to come, if he bragged about how he avenged you, but the silence is worse. It’s unnatural. 

“Hey,” you try to smile through the pain in your shoulder. “If you wanted to feel me up you could’ve just said something.”

“I don’t need an excuse to feel you up,” he retorts immediately, instinctually, and you don’t mind the herculean effort it took to speak if it got that awful look off his face. 

“Stop talking,” he adds. You couldn’t have said something if you tried, your shoulder burning as you try to lift it and you keel forward, into his lap, trying not to scream. He already tried using a reverse cursed technique on you, but so far, he can only do it to himself. It should be awkward but it isn’t, the way he babies you, letting you lean against him and peppering your cheek with kisses. You giggle. He doesn’t. 

Quietly, he says, “I had Infinity on. You should’ve just let it hit me.” 

You look up at him. “Are you suggesting that I should've just sat there and let you walk into danger? You said you needed me. Infinity hasn’t been perfected yet.” 

He slides his blindfold off to look at you. His eyelashes are so long, you want to reach out and touch them. Instead you let him tug you between his legs, your back to his chest, his chin on your forehead. 

“You heard what Yoshinobu and that bounty hunter said. I make you weak. I just wanted to prove that I could do something for you.” 

His arm drops so he can reach for your hand, for a second you think he’s about to comfort you, but it’s Gojo, so he says. “You’re right. You are my weakness.” 

You make a motion like you're going to slap him, and he doesn't move, but he knows you won't, and not just because you’re curling in on yourself from the pain of moving. He threads his fingers through yours, let’s you play with his hand. 

“I like you as my weakness.” You give him a concerned look. Maybe Infinity really has fried his brain. 

“You’re right, I need you. I don't want to be a god. I don't want -” he inhales harshly. “ I don’t want to be alone. You keep me from ending up like Getou.” He hesitates, and then he adds, “I love you.”

Your eyes widen. 

“Yeah,” he grins. “Surprise!” When you don’t respond, he tries to backpedal. “I was just kidding?” 

“Not a surprise, you jackass,” you say, and then lunge forward so you can bury your face in his shirt. He does you the favor of pretending like he can't see you cry. 

 “I need you,” he says between pressing kisses to your hair. “Guard my back. Stay with me. I love you.” 

You don't need to tell him that you need him too. He knows. You know. The car ride back is agony, all the movies lied to you - love does not cure all pains, and Gojo trying to hold your hand does not magically fix your shoulder, but Shoko does. It’s way past his bedtime, but Megumi is still up, waiting for the two of you, his distinct black hair silhouetted in the window.

“Shoko! We trusted you to look after him.” 

“It’s not my fault he wouldn’t go,” she says, reaching in her pocket for a cigarette you slap away. 

“You’re telling me a ten year old bullied you into letting him stay up past curfew?” 

“Oh yes,” she says, deadpan as ever. “He’s very scary, aren't you, Megumi?” Unfortunately for Gojo, they’re best friends now. Before you leave for home, you see Shoko sneak Megumi something, probably blackmail (hopefully not cigarettes, because that’s the type of person she is), but that’s a problem for another day. 

When you turn up for work the next day, Yaga refuses to give you or Gojo any missions. The latter is the most unexpected because Gojo hasn’t had an unscheduled break since he was ten himself, but in light of your recent injury, Yaga wants the two of you to have family bonding time while you recover, giving Gojo the perfect opening to cash in the date you owe him from running late. Because it’s Gojo, he chooses to spend the day at a cafe. 

The waitress adores Megumi, his grumpy face on a little boy just making him cuter, but she makes a mistake when she asks Gojo, “Is this your nephew?” 

Gojo looks at her over the top of his sunglasses and announces, in a voice that is too loud for the small cafe, “That is my son.” Megumi tries not to shrivel up in embarrassment. His ridiculous offense is unwarranted because, as you inform him, he doesn’t look anything like Megumi. 

The poor boy keeps suffering, because when Gojo orders strawberry shortcake, he insists on feeding you by hand. 

“Come on, ahhh,” he says, pressing a strawberry against your lips. You accidentally bite down on his fingers as well, but he just winks and calls it a love bite. Megumi gags somewhere in the background. 

(Gojo asks to stop at the pharmacy to bleach Megumi’s hair white after you leave the cafe, and you almost have a repeat of him trying to run away from home.) 

The nights have always been yours, and when Gojo pulls you from Megumi’s room to dance in the living room with only the stars for light, you feel happier than you have for a long time. For a while, neither of you say anything, just sway back and forth with his hands on your waist, your head on his shoulder. 

“Hey.” 

“Hm?” 

“Can I date you for real?” 

“It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?” 

He starts to protest, “You said you loved me!” But you shut him up with a kiss. For the strongest sorcerer, Gojo melts into you surprisingly easily, hoisting your legs around his waist so he can carry you to the kitchen and prop you up on the island to keep kissing you more deeply. When you pull away, foreheads resting against each other, he grins against your lips. 

“Gojo, we skipped the dating stage and went straight to having kids together.” 

“So that’s a yes, right?” 

You just smile and hop off the counter to drag him into your room by his belt loops. Most couples sleep in each other’s arms, but you’re the big spoon when you sleep together - someone has to guard his back. 

Epilogue !

On one of his rare vacation days, Gojo takes you and Megumi to the pool. He tries to teach Megumi to swim by dropping him in the deep end of the pool because that’s how he was taught to swim, but Megumi is a spiteful little kid, so instead of struggling or learning, he just sinks to the bottom and looks up expectantly. Gojo has to dive in to go get him because Megumi is putting absolutely no effort into staying alive. He makes it up to him with ice cream, and you give Megumi the floaties you bought beforehand, teaching him how to swim in the shallow end like a sane, normal person. When Megumi decides he’s ready for the deep end, Gojo’s right there with him to keep him safe. 

Maybe Gojo’s not a great parent - he’s really only 8 years older, after all, but it’s hard to hold anything against him when he presses a finger against your lips to shush you because he just got Megumi to sleep, carrying him on his back the whole way home. 

I don’t like kids bc if I wanted a parasite I would’ve gotten a tapeworm but I’ll make an exception for 8 year old Megumi 

[buckyownsmylife]

Just One - John Winchester smut

The one where John has been obsessed with killing you but now that he found you...

Warnings: smut, as close to hatefucking as I can write, witch!reader, masturbation (f), oral (m, f), dirty talk, degradation laced with praise?, hairpulling kink, namecalling (bitch, whore), John wants it to hurt, slight size kink (blink and you’ll miss), p in v, spanking, biting, unprotected sex, cumplay, unspecified age gap

Word count: 2.2k

A/N:  This one is a part of my kinktober celebrations. My original intention for this October was to work exclusively around prompts that my wonderful friend @darkficsyouneveraskedfor created for her challenge and dedicate each story to a different friend. My new plan became then 31 days of different kinks, which expanded on a poly relationship with Stucky, as you might know by now. However, some of the stories I started were already truly loved by me, and so I kept on writing them. It worked well because as it turns out, I am fortunate enough to have more than 31 friends on Tumblr, so here is the story I wrote for @negans-attagirl​. This most likely celebrates my last time writing for John! Special thanks to my @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​ for reading this even though she’s not really into Supernatural! I love you for it!

I knew he was there. Watching. I’d been running away from him for so long, it felt like second nature now - to look over my shoulder, hold my breath when a stranger got too close. Watch the shadows and see if they took the form of a well-built man who wanted nothing more than to see me dead.

But I didn’t just wait around for my inevitable ending, oh no. I’d studied him just as much as he did to me, prepared myself for what was to come as I fled the state and traveled borders in the hopes of throwing him off. I concocted potions and spells and thought about everything I could do to him whenever he found me again.

Most of all, I thought of him. How could I not? Not only was he my main concern in this life, but the man was just walking sin. And if I were to go down, I was determined to at least go down on him before he killed me.

So I slowly left the diner across from the motel I’d been hiding in for the last three weeks and returned to my room, making sure to leave the door unlocked while I took off my clothes. The sound of the door closing behind me wasn’t unmistakable, and we both knew that. “Feel like joining me?” I asked as I sat down on the bed and spread my legs for his eyes, my hand traveling down my body, playing with my nipples before settling between my thighs. He didn’t look confused, not even for a moment.

This sexual tension between us, it’d never been one-sided. It was there from the beginning, electrifying our interactions as desire swirled in the air around us. I was convinced it was the main reason why he couldn’t just let me go.

He leaned his head to the side, but didn’t say anything. He was too focused on what I was doing, the way my fingers rubbed my clit before dipping inside my hole only to come back up wetter, the sounds of my actions filling the air around us.

“I don’t see why not.” The words sent a thrill up my spine, and without even stopping to consider what I was doing, I dropped to my knees before him, reaching out for his jeans. “Can’t let you get off all by yourself.”

I hummed appreciatively as I stuck out my tongue to lick the red head of his cock, already intoxicated with his taste. “Such a gentleman… even when you’re planning to kill me.” His chuckle was like thunder, reverberating through me and making my clit throb as I wrapped my lips around his member.

“It would be a waste if I didn’t put this pretty mouth to work.” His thumb brushed against my lower lip until I licked it and enveloped it with my mouth, making him groan. “So fucking warm. I’m gonna enjoy filling this hole with my cock.”

His words had me clenching around nothing, the overwhelming wetness that dripped from me now slathering the inside of my thighs, no doubt reaching the floor. It made me desperate to please him, desperate to fill my mouth with his cock.

So I wrapped my lips around the head of his member and began sucking, at first looking up to see his darkened, lust-filled eyes before actually closing mine to fully appreciate his taste, the weight of him on my tongue.

I licked every single inch of his skin until my saliva coated his member. It was a beautiful cock, a cock that deserved to be worshiped. I wasn’t one to enjoy being on my knees too much, but his thickness was just too tempting. I needed to pay it the proper respects.

So I took him as well as I could, ignoring the way tears rose to my eyes as I willingly choked myself on his cock, trying my best to breathe through my nose in an effort to reach his navel.

I wasn’t able to. But he didn’t seem to mind, hand wrapped around my hair, forcing my movements as I slobbered all over his dick. “Such a good little cocksucker…” he absentmindedly commented, almost to himself.

“Were you expecting me?” I looked up to see him looking down at me, actually waiting for an answer. So I pulled away, wiped the spit from my jaw before replying honestly, “Always.”

Because, well… How could I sleep peacefully without thinking about the man who wanted to kill me?

But his answer was a chuckle and an almost condescending head pat, his deep warm voice making me even wetter when he complimented, “Good girl.” God, he could kill me right now. I’d go willingly and happily.

I eagerly sucked him off a bit longer, losing myself in the almost-sounds that I could pick up from his body: the little groans and pants, the way he cleared his throat instead of growling his desire for me. He wouldn’t give in, wouldn’t show his satisfaction to a little witch.

I could live with that.

“Stop that.” His words were accompanied by a harsh tug on my hair, pulling me up until I was standing on my tip toes, my face mere inches from his. “Wanna fuck you now. I can kill you tomorrow.”

The fact that he never kissed me didn’t escape me. This was a quick fuck, it would not be mistaken as anything else. Still, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t drag as much fun out of it as I possibly could… especially considering these might very well be my last hours of living.

“So you want me?” I questioned, smirking at his answering huff. He didn’t want to admit it, of course - that would be recognizing I had some sort of power over him. So he opted to tighten his grip on my hair until I moaned from the pleasurable pain, eyes sparkling in their darkness as he took in just how desperate I was for him.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he settled for saying as I laughed. “Always a fucking tease. Is your cunt as bitter as your soul, brat?” I bit my lip as he threw me on the bed, already anticipating his next move.

“Find out for yourself.” His expression made it clear that he was doubtful when he tore off my underwear and threw the scraps of it over his shoulder, pulling me to the edge of the bed by my ankles without much care.

He pressed on the inside of my thighs to keep my legs spread for him, and when his tongue licked a line up my cunt, I clenched around nothing, eyes closing for just a second to relish in the barely-there sensation.

“Oh, fuck…” His voice was barely over a whisper, but I still heard it and when I opened my eyes to look at him, he was staring directly at his meal, like he couldn’t believe what he had just tasted. “So fucking sweet…”

He went back there with a newfound hunger, and although I knew he wasn’t doing this to make me cum, I also knew he would achieve that - easily. It didn’t take many of his long swipes over my hole, the twirls around my clit to make me gasp for him, hands flying down to pull on his hair.

I think the only reason he didn’t slap them away was because he seemed to like the slight sting I provided him.

“Fucking cum, bitch,” he growled at some point, surprising me until he revealed why it was that he wanted me to orgasm. “I want to drink all of your essence before I shove my cock into you, make sure it’ll really sting.”

But I knew it was more than that - I knew he wanted more of my taste. It was everywhere now, dripping from his beard, smearing the inside of my thighs, but he kept his eyes focused on me, waiting for my breaking point.

I saw embers of flames when it arrived. Maybe it predicted my death at the stake, but I couldn’t mind it. Not when John was rising to his full height and very easily turning me around to lay on my stomach, keeping my legs dangling off the edge of the bed when he kicked them apart.

I was trapped under his much larger body and I didn’t mind it at all. He shoved my face against the bed, like he didn’t want to see it as he slowly started to stretch me out.

I bit my lower lip as I struggled to adjust around his thickness, and by the sounds John was releasing, I could see he was just as overwhelmed by me and the pussy he wanted to destroy.

I couldn’t believe how good it felt to be ravished by John Winchester. No one had ever fucked me like this before, and I was sure he knew, with the melodic moans that kept slipping from my lips, try as I might to reel them in.

“Those fucking sounds…” He groaned behind me, seconds before his hand landed harshly on the right cheek of my ass, making me whine even louder. “You’re a filthy little whore, aren’t you?”

I was too far gone to even try to deny it, fucking myself back against his delicious thick cock, desperate to cum again, this time feeling completely full of him.

“Who would have thought…” He panted, hips maintaining their onslaught against me. “Nasty fucking witch, such a tight little pussy.” Each word was accompanied by a particularly brutal thrust and I relished in it. I relished in witnessing the great John Winchester get carried away because of my body.

“Fuck,” he cursed after he managed to locate my sweet spot, which in turn had me instinctively clenching around him. “Why do you feel so fucking good?”

Under him, I just giggled, my hand easily locating the spot above where we were connected so I could rub myself to an orgasm. “I’m convinced you’re the devil, little witch.”

Stifling a laugh, I started to move my hips back so I could fuck myself on him, showing him how I liked to be treated - even harder and rougher than he was already treating me. And because I really was a brat, I couldn’t help but taunt, “Do you feel sorry you have to destroy it?”

I knew he understood I was referring to my pussy, and when his hand slapped mine away so he could take over the motions over my clit, I closed my eyes to let bliss take me.

“Almost,” he grunted, a confession I almost lost in the fog of my high. But here lied an opportunity, and I wasn’t about to let it slip away without a fight.

“I mean… you could just keep it,” I offered, barely over a whisper so as not to anger the man who kept fucking me. I didn’t want him to stop his movements, so I hoped even if he did get pissed at my suggestion, he’d just take it out on me. “Use it whenever you want.”

I didn’t get a response from him - at least, not verbally. But he did speed up his movements, pounding me so hard the bed started to hit the wall and I knew we were seconds away from having the neighbors banging on it, telling us to keep it down, but I couldn’t care less.

Not when John was burying his face in the crook of my neck, beard tickling me as he bit on my shoulder to keep his roar from reverberating in the room when he shot his cum deep inside of me.

He didn’t wait even a second before pulling out. I missed his weight on top of me, but the feeling of his cum slowly slipping from my used pussy was enough to give me some comfort.

“Shit, I really opened you up, huh?” He chuckled, rubbing his cream around my hole before pushing it back into me, making me whine. “I’m still fucking hard. Did you put a spell on me, brat?”

I laughed as he massaged my ass, apparently incapable of fully retreating his touch from my skin. “Is that why I’m still aroused?” He insisted, rutting his very much, still hard member against my thigh. “Tell me.”

Stretching, I giggled at his silly accusation. “I think I just turn you on, old man,” I teased, wiggling my ass at him. He took the bait and spanked it, before I felt his weight leave the bed altogether.

“Well, I’m going to take a shower, wash you off of me,” he explained, stopping at the door of the bathroom to stare at me. “You better be there when I come out,” he warned and I bit my lip, understanding exactly what he meant.

“I don’t think I can walk if I tried,” I giggled, but he just tipped his head back, humming noncommittally. Before long, I heard the shower turning on, the sound of the water running down the drain almost lulling me to sleep.

I made sure to leave my panties right next to the note I wrote for him to find when he got out of the shower. Three simple words, a promise: “Until next time”.

[martelldoran]

WHAT'S THE CAUSALITY LOOP THEORY

Why Emma, thank you so much for asking. I’m not going to waste time before jumping into this because this is gonna get long so without further ado...

Steve Rogers’ Ending and How Endgame Doesn’t Support a Causality Loop and other such rambles

Last month, I came across a TikTok that proposed that Steve’s ending made sense because it existed within a causality loop. I would link the TikTok but I didn’t save it at the time and trying to find videos on that app is impossible. You think Tumblr’s search function is bad? 🙄 But I digress. The TL;DR of the video is that due to time travel and Steve choosing to go back in time to be Peggy’s husband, it created a causality loop where he was always meant to be her husband because he went back in time and stayed there. The TikToker supported his argument by using Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (PoA), another film that uses time travel and has a clearly defined example of a causality loop. However, his argument is fundamentally flawed so I’m going to combine my knowledge of my two biggest fandoms to tell you why.

Continued under the cut because I have no chill. Beware, it's long.

To first tell you how Endgame (EG) doesn’t support a causality loop, we must establish how PoA does establish one and does it successfully. The TikToker specifically mentions the scenes that take place at Hagrid’s Hut surrounding Buckbeak the hippogriff’s execution, so we’ll look at those first. What the film does really well is establish early on that there is something weird going on well before anyone actually goes back in time. There are three things that happen in quick succession during this scene which sets up the causality loop we see later in the film. First, a rock flies through the window and breaks a jar. Second, another rock hits Harry in the back of the head. Third, once outside, Hermione hears a branch snap and thinks she sees ‘something’. There are also two additional moments later on in the film once the Harry, Ron, and Hermione have come out of the Shrieking Shack which should also be noted: a wolf howl that distracts Remus Lupin in werewolf form from attacking the group and somebody casting a full-bodied stag patronus at the edge of the lake to save Harry and Sirius from the Dementors.

Of these occurrences, the first is arguably the most important because it does the most to establish that there is something going on outside of the Trio’s current understanding of their situation. The film makes a point to frame the jar breaking as Important Information the Audience Must Remember because it shows a visibly confused Hermione reacting to it as she picks up the rock for closer inspection and we the audience are given close up of it in her hand. Not only is it framed front and centre in the shot but the rock itself is very distinctive. It’s almost wholly smooth but for a swirl of fossil, thus marking it as not just any rock but An Important Rock To Be Remembered. This was an intentional choice by director Alfonso Curon because he uses this rock to connect this moment to its mirrored scene later on once Harry and Hermione use the Time Turner.

The audience and the characters find out about the causality loop at the same time. There are clearly stated rules of time travel that say that they aren’t to meddle with time but when Harry and Hermione see that Dumbledore, the Minister for Magic, and the executioner are on their way to Hagrid’s hut they panic because their counterparts aren’t leaving. Then, we see Hermione notice something in the pumpkin patch: a distinctive rock, smooth with a swirl of fossil. Again, we see have a close up shot with the rock centred to show its importance. Stylistically, it’s very similar to the shot we saw earlier in the film which gives the audience an emotional pay off for noticing the connection. When Hermione throws the rock and breaks the jar, it sets the causality loop in motion. The jar was always going to break because they went back in time to throw the rock that breaks it.

And it’s the same with all the other instances. Hermione throws the second rock that hits Harry in the back of the head to alert him to the fact they need to get out of the hut. Hermione snaps the branch and is almost seen by her counterpart in the past. Hermione makes the wolf call to distract Lupin from attacking. Harry, and not his father as he had assumed, casts the patronus to save himself and Sirius from the Dementors. But each of these moments are set up clearly in the ‘first run through’ to set up their payoff when the characters realise, ‘Oh, I did these things. They were always meant to happen.’ From a narrative standpoint, these are planned out moments to clue the audience into the fact that there’s something bigger at play. It keeps them ‘in the loop’ as it were.

This doesn’t happen in EG.

To successfully have set up a causality loop that made sense and had the same kind of set up and pay off as we see in PoA, it would have had to have been established as early as 2014 in Captain America: The Winter Soldier (CA:TWS). This does not happen. One of the main themes of CA:TWS is moving on from the past. Peggy Carter herself even says, “I’ve lived my life, my only regret is that you didn’t get to live yours.” Then saying soon after, “Sometimes the best thing we can do is to start over.” Peggy’s character in Captain America: The First Avenger is set up as someone who acts as the backup/back bone of Steve’s own moral compass. When Steve falters at Azzano about what to about the captured 107th, Peggy is there to remind him of what is right. She serves a similar narrative function in CA:TWS. Steve is struggling with life in the present. He’s just seen the helecarriers and argued with Nick Fury about protection vs fear after the botched Lumerian Star mission. Morally, he’s in turmoil and has turned to Peggy for council because he’s trying to find purpose in world where his rigid morality seems to have no place.

From the point of view of creating a causality loop, one would think that this scene in the hospital would be the place where an initial set-up could be made and alert the audience to the long term plan for Steve’s character. Instead, we have Peggy mourning the fact that Steve didn’t get to live his life the way it should have played out, and why would a woman who has supposedly been married to another version of Steve tell him to move on? In addition, when Steve visits the Smithsonian, he watches a video where he sees Peggy talking about how he influenced her life and how during one of his missions, he saved the man that would go on to become her husband. This is the only mention of Peggy’s husband in the entire franchise until Steve reappears as an old man at the end of EG.

Captain America: Civil War (CA:CW) also offers an opportunity to set up the causality loop at Peggy’s funeral but again, this does not happen. The only family we are introduced to is Sharon Carter, Peggy’s grand-niece. When it comes to filmmaking, every choice made is intentional. From the hair and makeup to the clothes, to the music used, everything in a film means something whether it is to further character development, world-building, or the plot. Filmmakers have a limited amount of time to convey a story and anything that doesn’t matter isn’t shown. Therefore, we can conclude from the text of the film that Peggy’s husband doesn’t matter to the narrative. The person in Peggy’s family who matters to the narrative is Sharon Carter which is why she is given prominence during CA:CW’s funeral scene. Had the causality loop been set up here, there would have been a defining moment like in PoA where the audience is clued into the larger story arc. Maybe someone says something, or he meets his older self, but that doesn’t happen. It should also be noted that apart from a small scene in Ant Man, Peggy isn’t mentioned again until EG.

In Endgame itself, the film still fails to set up a causality loop. It could be argued that this is the most important film for the set-up because this is when the audience gets the payoff. The first thing we see after the 5-yer time jump is Steve in a group therapy session for those that survived Thanos’ snap. Survivors share their stories and Steve talks about Peggy, a woman who has been dead in canon for 7-years and who died of old age. It’s incongruous and sticks out because narratively it doesn’t make sense for him to talk about her and not someone he watched disintegrate in front of his eyes. Steve watches his best friend and hundreds of others turn to ash around him and that film ends on his horrified face as he sits by his best friend’s ashes. Narratively, this is the thread that should carry through to EG but instead, he talks about missing his chance with Peggy. However, unlike PoA, there is no indication whether through dialogue or framing that clues the audience into Steve’s eventual ending at the end of the film.

Even when he goes back to the 70s, we see him looking mournfully at Peggy through the blinds in her office and a picture of him, pre-serum, on her desk. Steve and Peggy’s relationship prior to Endgame is supposed to represent the bittersweet loss of the life he could have had had he not sacrificed himself to the cause in CA:TFA. Then, since the audience knows from Steve and Peggy’s conversation in the hospital in CA:TWS that she moved on from Steve to live a happy life, we can assume that this picture is meant as nothing more than a fond memento of someone that meant a lot to her. Once more, there is no indication that Steve is ever meant to be her husband.

It’s impossible to infer a causality loop here in the same way as we saw in PoA. In PoA, there is a payoff for every single unusual or weird moment the story presents the audience before and after the use of time travel but this is something that’s completely absent from Endgame’s narrative. Steve himself doesn’t even vocalise a desire to go back in time at any point in EG nor at any point during the other films he appears in. In fact, when questioned by Tony Stark about the possibility of ‘going home’ in Avengers: Age of Ulton, he says, “The guy who wanted all that went in the ice 75 years ago. I think someone else came out.” While it is indicative of his unhappiness in the modern-day, it does indicate a level of acceptance of the fact that this is his life and he has to make his peace with it. He’s taken what Peggy said in CA:TWS on board. He’s starting over and moving on.

With time travel, and Steve choosing to stay in the past came the fan theory that one of the pallbearers carrying Peggy’s casket in CA:CW is Old Man Steve, her husband. When presented with this fan theory, writer Christopher Markus said during an interview with the LA Times at SDCC 2019,

“I would very much like that. There is no set explanation for Cap’s time travel . . .I mean, we’ve had public disagreements with [directors Anthony and Joe Russo] about what it [time travel] necessarily means, but I love the idea of there being two Steve Rogers in the timeline. One who lived a long life with Peggy and is in the background of that funeral scene watching his young self carry his wife’s coffin up. Not just for the time travel mumbo jumbo of it, but for the just weird, personal pain and satisfaction that would be happening between two Steve Rogers there. I kind of love it.” [emphasis mine]

This shows that unlike in PoA there was no intention of creating a causality loop prior to Markus writing EG with his writing partner Stephen McFeely. In fact, it makes clear that the actual rules of time travel were in contention and that even those making the film didn’t have a unified idea of what they wanted to create in the first place. The fact that there is confusion surrounding EG's time travel is due to the fact that the people behind it, didn't seem to know what they were writing or consider the consequences of it.

What all of this shows is that an argument of a PoA style causality loop doesn’t hold water. The film doesn’t support it, nor do any of the previous films, because there aren’t any indicators for the audience to latch onto. There is no moment of the rock breaking the jar, or the patronus chasing away the dementors, no moment where that the audience is told to hold into this information for later because there’s some timey wimey stuff going on. Ultimately, when examined, there is no set-up for a causality loop that supports the theory he was always supposed to go back and be Peggy’s husband, particularly when examined against a film that successfully lays it out from the start.

Right, the more academic (lol) part of this post is done. I just want to address one more TikTok that bothered me because I have opinions and MCU Captain America is my Mastermind specialist subject.

The TL;DR of this one was that Steve’s ending made sense because he got out of the fight and was at peace and that that has been the ultimate goal of his character arc. This person argued that Steve used the Avengers to distract himself from the fact that he’s this man out of time and he can’t find peace without a fight which to some extent, I agree with. I don’t deny that that is a major driving force to his story. We see that in Age of Ultron with his WandaNightmare. I don’t deny that that is key to his character. However, this creator then made a comment at the end of this video to the tune of, ‘bUt BuCkY iS hIs StOrY aRc’ and tried to play it off like this wasn’t true or that people were wrong to think that this is the case.

These two things aren’t mutually exclusive. They’re both true. They’re intertwined. But you cannot say that Bucky Barnes isn’t at the heart of Steve Rogers’ story. Bucky was the catalyst for every single one of Steve’s movies. He becomes CA because of Bucky. He goes against SHIELD because of Bucky. He defies 107 countries and the Sokovia Accords because of Bucky. You take Bucky out of the equation and what do you have? What happens in those films if you take Bucky Barnes out of the equation? Viewing it objectively, and even without shipper goggles on, you simply cannot sit there and claim that Bucky Barnes isn't a defining component to Steve’s story. Steve Rogers is motivated by Bucky Barnes. Steve Rogers is motivated by the depth of their relationship and the fact that Bucky Barnes is one of the few things connecting his new present to his old life.

You can definitely see the fact that Steve is uncomfortable in the modern world. He doesn’t address any of his trauma but he still attempts to move on. However, if they wanted him getting out of the fight and finding life as a civilian to be the natural end to his story arc then there was a way to do it which didn’t require him going back to Peggy. It would have been a better and more satisfying ending if he’d actively chosen to retire because I often see the argument that him going back to Peggy is him finally allowing him to be selfish after shouldering so much over the past decade or more. If Steve chose to retire and put himself first, then that sends a better message. He’s still getting the chance to ‘be selfish’ but he’s not throwing the life he’s built away. At this point in EG, he’s spent a huge portion of his adult life in the modern-day. This isn’t the future for him anymore, it’s the present and he’s lived a life and made real connections with people. The MCU does a piss poor job of showing the interpersonal relationships between the Avengers but he is at least shown to be friends with Sam, Nat, and Bucky.

But he goes back to a delusion. Or an idea of something that was never his in the first place.

When I see people make these videos and share their opinions, I can see their points but it’s like they’re taking EG on its own when that's impossible. Endgame only ‘works’ if you have the context of 10 years’ worth of films. You have to at least be somewhat familiar with the characters, who they are and what they’ve done up until now to be able to make sense of it.

However, in saying that, they wrote and filmed the movie in a way to make you think you didn’t have to take into account anything you’ve seen in the past ten years. If you only watch Endgame, you only see a grieving man mourning the love he never had. You see a man, regretful that he didn’t get to be with woman he loved. So at the end, of course it would make sense that he goes back to her. But you can only do that if you completely divorce Endgame from its ten-year canon and in a franchise like this where they make a big deal about everything being interconnected, it simply doesn’t work. Steve’s story arc in Endgame is incongruous to the narrative arc we’ve been presented in previous films.

Ultimately, Endgame is a movie you’re supposed to watch once and then not think about again. It’s made for that first viewing when everything is shocking and exciting because if you stop to think about it even a little bit, it falls apart under scrutiny.

Finally, I think that the downfall of a lot of these ‘Steve’s ending makes sense’ posts is that made by people who are most certainly MCU fans but not Steve Rogers fans and it shows.

[gotnofucks]

Lover’s Quarrel

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Summary: You have the powers to resurrect if you’ve been murdered, and a jealous Steve Rogers indulges heavily in your abilities. He would not let you steal his best friend, that was for sure. So what, if your rivalry regularly caused fire and harm to public property? You just couldn’t let the other win. 

Words: 4.3k

Warnings: Smut, enemies to lovers, violence, killings and murders (but reader cannot die, it’s weird. She has some sorta powers that help her revive when she’s been murdered), language, 18+ ONLY

A/N: Is this crack fic? Idk. Maybe?

The sixth time Steve killed you, you decided he needed to be dealt with in a similar way. It doesn’t matter that he cannot come back from the dead like you. He just needed to go. You were tired of him offing you every time he felt threatened by your existence. But this was the last straw. He had pushed you off the Quinjet while flying home from a mission and you’d fallen into the lake and drowned. You would NOT recommend dying that way.

Bucky had dragged out your dead body and watched over you as the blessing of the necromancer worked its magic over you and brought you back to the world of the living. The first words out of your mouth as you spewed out water were, “I am going to kill your best friend and you can’t be mad at me for that.”

Bucky, far too happy to have you back – poor guy still mourned every time you died – ignored your comment and pulled you into a hug. He’d never quiet gotten used to seeing you die. You patted his back, muttering a few there-there’s until he was calm enough to press quivering kisses on your head and temple.

“You need to stop dying.” He said into your hair, holding you close.

“I would not be dying if your best friend didn’t murder me every time! He is a menace, Buck!” You cried in exasperation. The said best friend was watching you from a few yards away, and he rolled his eyes as your words reached him. He scoffed loud enough for you to hear and you sharply turned your head to glare at him.

“You!” You shouted, quickly standing up and marching over to him. “You rascal!” And then you pried out your wet shoe from your feet and threw it at his stunned face. Unfortunately, it didn’t hit his face but smacked against his chest, leaving the wet print of your soles against his far too tight t-shirt. He gaped at you open mouthed before baring his teeth in warning.

“Oh god, every time you come alive again, you’re even more awful than before!” Steve shouted, and then just because he is fucking drama queen, he threw out his hands. You sneered before turning to look at Bucky meaningfully, the most obvious ‘see what a dick he is’ look on your face.

Bucky shuffled uneasily, caught between your quarrel once again. He came behind you and gave you his jacket to wear to shield you from the cold. And just like that, your anger melted a little. Somehow, with his steel blue eyes, Bucky Barnes could sooth every wound you’d ever had. Even those given to you by Steve Rogers.

“I am so sorry. I should have seen what he was about to do. I wouldn’t have ever let you fall had I known.” He apologized and you swore your heart physically quivered. You pulled Bucky into a hug, hiding your face in his chest, savoring his arms coming around you to hold you tighter. You could have stayed in his embrace forever, but it was an annoyed groan that ripped you both apart.

“Is there any way you can stay dead a little longer?” Steve asked, breaking your moment. “I mean, I’ve tired a bullet and knife and water and poison. What can I do that you’d be gone for just a little longer?”

He was worked up, a red flush creeping on his face and neck. Pacing, he was muttering, and you wondered for the millionth time how Bucky could be friends with him. He was just so extra! You wanted to tell him to shove a stick up his ass, along with the one already there when he turned swiftly like the wind and threw a dagger at you. A metal hand caught it before it could hit you and you were pulled into the warmth of Bucky’s body quickly.

“Steve! Cut it out.” Bucky yelled, glaring at Steve. “You will not kill her again. I don’t care if she can come back alive again. You won’t hurt her.”

With that, he dropped the dagger on the ground and walked away with you. Unable to resist, you looked over you shoulder and flipped Steve off. Fucker could kill you a hundred times and yet he would not be able to do anything. As far as you were concerned, Bucky was as much your best friend as his. And if Steve Rogers couldn’t control his jealousy without trying to behead you every time he felt you were stealing Bucky from him, you would just have to make his death look like an accident.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that you can’t kill him either?” Bucky said teasingly, his eyes soft and fond. “I need you both to survive.”

You groaned, bumping your shoulder in his and snuggling into him as a cold breeze hit your wet clothes. He could read you like an open book.

“You are no fun Barnes.”

There was rubble and fires and shrieks. Natasha was yelling in Russian as she ran about with a fire extinguisher and Clint crawled out of his vents to help Bruce out who was turning a dangerous shade of green. Tony was sitting in the ruins of his kitchen, his mouth half open as he spied on the ensuing battle in the middle of it.

Sam was using his shield to push Steve away who was shouting curses that had probably not been invented yet. Bucky was holding you back by your middle, yelling in your ear to calm the fuck down but all you could think of to do was smacking Steve’s face with that chair that was currently on fire. You suppose once everyone was calm, you’d feel guilty about your part in destroying the Avengers kitchen but right now that wasn’t important.

What was important was that Steve had tried to kill you. Again. He had actually thrown a fucking grenade at you. You barely had the time to kick it away where it exploded in the kitchen and then Steve was on you, calling you a bitch in all the 9 languages he knew.

“Calm the hell down, Steve!” Sam yelled, struggling to keep Steve at bay from you. You were glad to see that Steve’s nose was busted. That will teach the bastard to ‘look down his nose’ on you now.

“She pierced my ears! The fucking bitch pierced my goddamn ears!” Steve yelled. Even you had to admit, the golden hoops looked amazing dangling from his ears. Just perfect.

“You are lucky I didn’t stick a knitting needle in your eye Rogers!” You sassily replied, “The only reason you’re still in one piece is because I promised my best friend that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

The muscles in Steve’s arms tensed and Sam groaned, barely keeping his own footing. A dark shadow seemed to have crawled over Steve’s face, turning the blues of his eyes an angry shade and had you been a weaker person, you would have trembled. This was the face of someone who had stood against armies alone and came out victorious. But for all you cared, he could kiss your ass.

“He is MY best friend. Mine. Not yours, not anyone else’s. Bucky Barnes is mine and I will kill you a thousand times until it sinks in your thick skull!” Steve growled. You scowled, a scathy remark bubbling on the tip of your tongue when you suddenly stopped. Why say when you can show? So, looking Steve directly in the eyes, you went limp in Bucky’s arms, turned around and cupped his face. And then you kissed his cheek.

Steve let out a strangled cry behind you, but you focused on Bucky who was blinking in disbelief at your audacity. And so, just for the heck of it, you kissed his other cheek. And then his forehead.

“Bucky Barnes, you are my best friend and always will be!” You said, hugging the life out of him. You heard Steve break away from Sam, heard Bucky yell out a curse and holding you protectively as his jealous pal came rushing to claim him. And all through that and the chaos that ensued later, you just smiled broadly.

Tony was giving a lecture, and he sucked. He gesticulated too much for your liking, and you really didn’t like how he kept emphasizing things by looking pointedly at you. It wasn’t even that much of a big deal, and even if it was, it was not your fault. Like every other time, the only person who could be held responsible was the blond super soldier sitting beside you, wearing the same shade of annoyance on his face as yours.

“I repeat” said Tony, his hair askew, “we do not use Friday to settle idiotic, absolutely ridiculous personal vendettas!”

“You have Friday tell you how pretty you look every day!” You countered and Tony slammed his hand on the table.

“Because I am!” He huffed. “You, on the other hand, stopped a mission in the middle to ask Friday who had a higher score! I mean, what the actual fuck? And what score?”

Steve had the decency to look at least a little sheepish. You however didn’t put up with any of that nonsense. It was his idea anyway, and you wouldn’t take the fall for him. Not when Tony looked murderous like this.

“Rogers bet me he’d take down more enemies than me. We only asked Friday to keep a count. I had literally nothing to do with it.”

Tony turned the ire of his glare at Steve who was too busy giving you a dirty look. He was just pissed you won, and that Bucky had spent the entire ride back tending to your wounds rather than Steve’s. It wasn’t your fault his jealous ass always threw a fit whenever he saw you and Bucky together.

“You said the team could use Friday as we saw fit.” Steve said, though he did look a little guilty. It wasn’t like him to lose command and control. Even when he’d been Captain America, he had never let anything rattle him. Not until you had come prancing in his life and stealing his best friend.

“I said the team could use Friday, not stop everything in the middle of a high risk mission to see who has a bigger dick.” Tony said, and then he just collapsed in his chair. Poor guy had been working too hard to carry the team forward, and in that moment, even you felt guilty. Your rivalry with Steve shouldn’t have to affect everyone else, not when they had been so welcoming and loving to you ever since you joined.

You walked over to Tony and dropped a kiss on his head, caressing his hair. “I am sorry Tones. You won’t have more trouble from me.”

Tony looked at you as if seeing an angel. He looked at you as if you were the solution to all his troubles. Despite every furniture of his you’d broken and set fire to, he was so grateful to have one sane voice between them. Cupping your hands, he looked imploringly at you and asked, “Really? You’re gonna stop fighting with Steve?”

At that, you solemnly nodded and patted his hand gently. Poor him and the poor team going through hell because you and Steve couldn’t settle your differences. It was obvious what had to be done.

“Of course I will” You said magnanimously, because of course you were the better of the two. “Steve just needs to find another best friend and there won’t be any reason to fight anymore.”

If any of them had been drinking water, they would have spit it out. Since they didn’t, they just kind of choked on their saliva and sputtered at you in absolute disbelief. Tony actually looked betrayed and Steve seemed to have licked a lemon, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

“She” He said, voice thick with contempt, “needs to go away. We can launch her in outer space or somewhere from where she can never return. You know why? Because Bucky is my best friend. Since we were yay high!” And he raised his arms a foot off the ground to show just how high.

And just like that, the moment was gone. Rogers opened his mouth and any goodwill you had had went poof. So, you did the only reasonable thing any sane person would do right now and that was to flip him off and call him a pig. You knew he was inching to strangle you; you could see his fingers twitch. A part of you was anticipating it, for Bucky would never forgive him for killing you again. Just as he would have lunged at you, push Tony out of the way and did you away for good, Bucky burst into the room with the expression of a cantankerous 100 year old grandpa who had had enough with the world.

“For fucks sake! Just shut up you both!” He yelled and paced the room. His eyes were bloodshot and hair disheveled, a clear sign that your rivalry was taking a heavy toll on him. Steve opened his mouth to say something when Bucky raised a finger to shush him. “No no no! You listen to me you oblivious, utter moronic fucklets!”

Your mouth dropped open. Bucky never cursed at you. He had never called you a fucklet before.

“You two need to stop. You hear me? You need to STOP!” He raked a hand through his hair before kicking the ground in frustration. “I can’t eat. I can’t sleep! I can’t fucking breathe without you both arguing over who is a better friend to me. So, here’s an idea. Instead of fucking me over in the middle of your sexual tension, why don’t you find a room and fuck each other? Because I tell you now, I cannot fucking take it!”

Silence sat pregnant in the room. You blinked at Bucky. Steve blinked at Bucky. Tony blinked at Bucky. And Bucky didn’t blink at all.

“That – uh – what?” You said, eloquent as ever. “That is so stupid.” And you laughed awkwardly.

Steve glanced at you and then stammered, “What? That – I haven’t – that has nothing to do with it. She and I – what?”

You both found each other’s eye, quickly looked away and just became silent. The tension in the air was suffocating you, and a terrible heat was settling in your stomach. Without another word, you walked out of the room, muttering about how ridiculous the whole idea was. The three men watched your exit, and a moment later, Steve left too, still very much in disbelief.

Tony and Bucky sighed, sitting across from each other and just taking in the fact that the elephant in the room had finally been address. A moment later, Tony began drumming on the desk, looking up at the ceiling.

“I couldn’t have put it any better myself.”

You felt antsy, as if staying one more moment in your room would drive you mad. You kept jerking your legs and arms, a weird restlessness in every action of yours. What the hell was Bucky saying? The sheer nerve to imply that you…you and Steve had some sort of feelings for each other. You hadn’t heard that kinda crap since you nursed your nephew who’d had diarrhea.

The only reason you and Steve fought was because you wanted Bucky. He was supposed to be your best friend, and clearly it was his inability to decide who he preferred more that had led you here. And to pretend, on top of that, that it was you who was at fault was just ridiculous. As if you’d touch Steve Rogers with a ten foot pole.

But…would you? You suppose he couldn’t be that bad to touch. He did have gorgeous eyes that got all dark and dilated when he fought with you. And his breath hitched when you got him mad and he bit his lip to stop from cursing you and he flushed a very becoming shade of red that started from his cheeks and disappeared down the neckline on his tight shirts that –

Holy fuck!

The realization rocked your world. What the hell? When you thought about it again, it seemed as if you’d just described Steve being aroused. Did you really fight him and got him mad to stimulate yourself? Oh god. Bucky was right. You wanted to fuck Steve.

This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all. You quickly changed into your work out gear and rushed to the gym, intent on sweating out whatever feelings you might have for Steve. After all, nothing says fuck you like imagining someone’s face on a punching bag and just going to town on it. Thankfully, when you arrived the gym was empty.

You’d been working on your stretches for only a few minutes when your worst nightmare entered the gym. He probably had the same idea as you and froze the moment your eyes met. His blue eyes narrowed at you and you stood up straight. You hated Bucky for putting the thought in your head. Now all you could think of was tackling Steve to the ground and fucking him senseless. You still wanted to beat him, but in a very different way.

As Steve entered, his eyes fixed to your form, you decided it was time to leave. After that fiasco in front of Tony, you didn’t think yourself capable of talking to Steve. Staying alone with him was something you didn’t trust yourself with. So you picked up your bag and started for the door when his voice stopped you.

“Running away? Am I to believe that there is something that finally scares you?”

Anger, red hot anger simmered under your veins when you turned to face him again. He had a mocking smirk on his face that made you grit your teeth. His eyes, dark and challenging beckoned you to him, but they didn’t hold resentment there either. Something between you had changed today. The very air around you was different, thick with tension and apprehension that had your nerves tingling.

“Scared?” You scoffed, dropping your bag on the matted floor and walking until you stood right before him. He towered over you in height, but he’d never been able to actually look down at you. “Me, scared of you? You wish Rogers.”

One corner of his lips lifted up, and he put his hands on you. One hand hooked around your waist and pulled you closer, the other trailing a finger down the side of your face to your neck, following the path down your arm until his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Oh, I so do wish” He whispered and his lips met yours. You rose up on your toes, mashing your body against his and mapping the planes of his body with your palms. The smell of his sweat and soap surrounded you, your arms coming to hold him around the shoulders as he hitched you up so you could wrap your legs around him.

Like everything in your relationship, the kiss was explosive. You didn’t melt against each other like people do in books; you collided like two warring armies intent on conquering the other. You collided like night and day, basking your surroundings in the dawn and dusk of your lust. Steve took your bottom lip between his teeth and bit down, smiling as you shamelessly moaned.

“What do you say?” He asked, pushing you against the wall, his hardness digging between the heated center of your legs.

You pulled him closer, letting your lips trail over his jaw and neck before you branded him with a quick bite. “You’ve always been so aggressive Steve, let’s see you let loose some other way. I sure do hope you fuck better than you fight though, or I’ll just be disappointed.”

Steve growled, kissing you again as he ground his cock against you, trapping you between the wall and his hard body that prevented any escape. Your hands slipped under his t-shirt, meeting the firm muscles on his abdomen that rippled under you. He pulled back just enough to allow you to remove your clothes, his own being flung sideways without any care.

Even before, you’d never thought of Steve as anything but beautiful, but now, seeing him in all his glory, you could only look him up and down in appreciation. He was trembling slightly, as if holding himself back with effort, his eyes not leaving you for a second. You both looked at each other, naked and unashamed before frantically coming together. His hands were everywhere, squeezing your ass and thighs as his lips pulled at your breast.

Your fingers rolled his nipples softly until he moaned, and then you pinched them. He jerked under your touch, kicking the back of your knees so you collapsed down, and he covered your body with his. Anger, arousal, lust and longing, all emotions built together in a storm of incoherent desire that had you both rolling over each other, fighting for dominance and power. Steve pinned you down with effort, holding your wrists in one hand over your head as he gave a smug smile to you.

“Will you finally surrender today?” He asked, positioning his cock at your entrance that was drenched. You would have loved to taste him, to have him taste you, but as of now, all you wanted was for him to slide inside you. You hungered for him, burnt for his touch. For years you’d been left wanting, and now with the prize so near, you weren’t about to wait any longer.

“The only surrender today will be yours.” You whispered sweetly before slamming your head against his. Steve jerked hard in surprise, allowing you the opportunity to free your hands and roll over him. You sat on his pelvis proudly, his throbbing member right underneath you and as he blinked at you, stunned, you rose up over his tip and slowly sunk down.

Steve groaned as your wet channel fell like velvet heat along his shaft. You had never been so full before. He stretched your limits, as he had always done, and you decided you very much preferred rendering him speechless like this under you than your usual punches and throws. His hands dug into your waist, helping you bounce on his cock and you threw your head back at the feeling.

It was a beautiful ache, one that took your breath away. As you rolled your hips and clenched down there, Steve’s voice rose in appreciation and you grinned. You finally had the golden boy at your mercy. You fucked him, changing your pace to punish him, never letting him up. For every time he killed you, you bit on his lips and neck, marking him. It was punishment and cherishing, a culmination of feelings you didn’t understand.

“Touch me.” You brokenly said, and his fingers found your nub. The slapping of skin, the sounds of debauchery and the smell of sin filled the air. You leaned over him to meet his lips, the heat in your gut bubbling until you snapped and came atop him, falling blissfully. It was one moment of weakness and the world titled, Steve having finally pushing you on your back.

“You’ve always been strong, because I’d hate to break you when the fun has only just begun.” He said and thrust into you hard and fast. He was an animal in heat, a man possessed, and you didn’t mind one bit. You met his every thrust with a raise of your hips, you clawed at his back until he bled, your lips tasting of the salt of sweat and tears and desire. He brought you impossibly closer, looking right into your eyes as he took you.

For the life of you, you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t get enough of his grunts and moans, of the breathy whispers of your name that slipped between curses, of the way his lashes would flutter over the dark blues that kept your eyes captive. He had you completely in that moment, mind and body; and for some reason, his gaze felt infinitely more intimate than his cock that was currently spearing you open. You keened in pleasure, whimpering as he touched your overly sensitive clit and had you coming again.

A minute later, he twitched inside you, his warmth flooding your core and you sighed. You laid entangled and sweaty, both of you spent and tired and yet completely overtaken by the urge to be closer still. To think this is what you’d both missed for all these years.

“So, what do you say, still feeling aggressive?” Steve asked and you looked at him with a grin that you couldn’t have suppressed had you wanted to. Oh yes, some battles were never meant to end, but they sure could be altered to meet new demands.

“With you? Always.” You replied, kissing him deep until he couldn’t think of anything but you. “Just remember one thing.”

“Oh yeah, what?”

“I am still a better best friend to Bucky. I did fuck you to keep him happy after all.”

Steve frowned darkly and before you could blink, he was over you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I think this time I’d fuck some manners into you.”

“I think this time you should actually put your back into it. I did all the work before.” You taunted and he dived at you.

Meanwhile, in Tony Stark’s office

“Friday, what’s the score?” He asked smugly, offering Bucky the packet of blueberries. Bucky was sitting with his feet on the desk, a small smile on his face.

“I am afraid I am not at a liberty to say Boss.” Friday replied. If the AI could blush, she would.

“Seems like they are at an impasse.” Tony suggested, and Bucky shrugged, licking his lips.

“Well, some things never change.”

[s-brant]

Baby Names

(gif: @mishellejones) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: Y/N gets frustrated while putting the crib for her and JJ’s baby together and finds herself missing her dead brother more than ever.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Fluff and minor angst.

A/N: Asks and ye shall receive, here’s a little blurb about what happens after Tokens! You don’t really have to read the other parts to enjoy this fic if you don’t want to, but I do recommend it for some backstory. This was slightly inspired by this fic by @cognacdelights, so go give her stuff a read! Let me know if you liked this. Have fun!

Y/N Routledge thought she got over her brother's death long ago.

Though you never truly "get over" losing a loved one, though there will always be a small part of you, however small, that aches for their presence again, she thought she moved past the tragedy to the best of her ability...until last week.

To say that the pregnancy was a surprise would be the understatement of the century. She and JJ were both on the same page about children when their relationship began, and that page was that neither of them wanted them yet. Sure, the idea of it in the future stirred their hearts with fond emotion, but considering that they had yet to graduate high school and barely scraped by on their own, they weren't jumping headfirst into that aspect of adulthood.

They were meticulous about safe sex. They couldn't afford another mouth to feed, she wasn't sure she could handle the emotional trauma of having an abortion, and, underneath it all, he had some reservations about being a father. It wasn't that he didn't envision a future with kids in their relationship, he did, but the topic of fatherhood always took him down a dark path within his mind.

So, she went on birth control once they started dating and they went along with no scares for the next six years as they graduated and started figuring out what the next step for their lives was going to be.

Y/N could get lost thinking about it, honestly, but she tries not to get too swept up in the minor mistake that led to this.

"You, my friend, need to stop moving around in there," she whispers down at her protruding belly with a hand cradling the heavy weight of it, "I'm trying to get your crib set up without JJ yelling at me for not asking for help, and if you don't stop kicking me, I'm not gonna get anything done."

She's sprawled out on the floor in the living room of the Chateau with her legs stretched comfortably in each direction while she hunches over to read the directions of the Ikea furniture. The sugarcoated description makes her want to hunt down the company CEO for sport, because for how "simple and easy!" the construction of it claims to be, she is at her wits end.

The last thing she needed after having her grief over John B's death reignited by their decision to name their kid after him last week was to stress herself out over something as stupid as this, but she won't quit. With how much JJ has been coddling her the further into the pregnancy she gets, she wanted to prove that she could do something for herself.

Whenever she brings in the groceries from the car and goes to lift the bag of dog kibble out of the trunk, he rushes up behind her back and scoops it out of the trunk before she dares to touch it. It always ends with her hollering after him that it's under twenty pounds, the upwards limit of the weight she's allowed to carry according to her doctor, but he refuses to hear any of it.

Inside of her, she feels a sharp sensation of something hitting her right in the ribs in response to her comment, and she groans in frustration. It's as if he did it because he knows she wants it to stop, the feisty little fucker.

"You're definitely your daddy's son, aren't you? It's already enough having one of him, the last thing I need is a JJ clone."

Their three-year-old Rottweiler rescue huffs a sigh from where he lays, frog-legging it, on the floor next to the unboxed crib pieces she can't put together to save her life. His drooping jowls produce a puddle of slobber on the her favorite carpet that is past the point of saving from his constant wear and tear. After a year of having him, she decided to stop trying to prevent him from ruining it. There’s no point.

She smiles at him as she leans forward to read through the directions for the billionth time, saying, "I actually think he'll be a lot like his uncle, but that's just me. If he isn't, I'll feel a little stupid over the name situation."

John Booker Routledge-Maybank.

Hell of a name if you ask her yourself, but for every internal struggle it reopened inside of her, she couldn't help but love it as soon as JJ casually proposed the idea on his way out of the door for work one morning.

Going on without John B has been a learning experience in every aspect. Any time she wanted to turn to him for advice or tell him something about the recent events in her life, she had to walk out back to their dying magnolia tree and sit under the shade to talk to the wind. Then, once the tree finally died and they were forced to cut it down, she took to sitting on its stump and doing it there.

It got easier as time went on, but she can't keep herself from wondering what it'd be like if he didn't die ever since she saw the results on the pregnancy test six months ago. Whenever she does something like going to her OBGYN appointments or, case in point, setting up the crib, she pictures him there.

She can see him here now, petting Bowie's shiny coat until he falls asleep with his head propped onto John B's outstretched legs. He'd be twenty-three years old by now with his life barely starting to blossom to its full potential, yet here they are. Correction, here she is, and he's off somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, already decomposed to the extent that not even his bones can be salvaged anymore.

Her chest sinks in another sigh, and she flips through page after page of the instructions with increasing aggression.

"This crib is so fucking—"

"What are you doing?"

The sound of her yelping in surprise at JJ's voice coming from the door is enough to make him laugh to himself, though his amusement is buried partway by what he's walking in on. He specifically asked her to wait for him to put the crib together, knowing damn well it wouldn't be the easy task she thought it was, but he should've known she'd do it anyway.

She looks over her shoulder with a mixture of guilt and frustration painting her features as she throws her hands up in the air and gestures vaguely to the unassembled crib. Her eyes are shining with the rapid onset of hormone-induced tears.

"I can't put this crib together 'cause the instructions aren't right, all the pieces are labeled wrong, your son won't stop kicking me, and I miss my brother so much right now," she spews the words with no pauses to breathe until the very end, when she stops short to suck down a breath as soon as she gets the last part out.

It leaves JJ standing at the entrance to the house with this stunned expression.

There's no amusement to be found anymore. Once she turned and flashed those wide, teary eyes that never fail to spark an ache in his heart at him, his tired smile vanished and his feet started moving before he could say anything to her.

The floorboards creak beneath his half-laced boots on his way across the room to her. It prompts Bowie to pop his head up from around the side of the coffee table to catch a peek of whoever it is that's approaching his emotionally distraught owner. Upon seeing JJ's familiar face, the dog relaxes back into his lounging position atop the carpet and tracks JJ’s movements until he's seated next to her.

"This is about John B?" he asks.

Her cheeks are flushed in embarrassment at her sudden outburst, and she can't bear to meet his gaze right now. Despite him being her closest friend and husband, she feels as small and vulnerable as she did six years ago when she first learned of her brother's death from Shoupe. Time might as well be shaped in the form of a never-ending circle for them, directing them back to their seventeen-year-old state of mind every time things turn sour.

Y/N finally lifts her hanging head to look over at him after another few seconds and thinks she might crumble at the look on his face. He hates watching her cry.

"I guess," she says through a sniffle, "It's about the crib too, but I've been thinking about it a lot more since we picked the name. Our baby’s gonna grow up never knowing who his uncle was..."

With that, JJ takes it as his cue to pull her closer.

He scoots up behind her and lets his chin rest on the curve bridging her neck and shoulder together as he twines his arms around her body. It's a closeness that's as natural as breathing for him, so natural that he can hardly remember the years before it became normal for them to take part in little moments of intimacy like this. The warmth of their bodies cohabitates in the blurred line distinguishing where she ends and he begins, and he feels her relax, sagging in his embrace in appreciation of his miraculous ability to make her feel better no matter how worked up she is.

One of his hands rests on the swell of her bump in an absentminded effort to calm him too. Even though he isn't consciously thinking of it, he knows that her distress must upset the baby too. The contact steadies her, keeps her grounded to the moment rather than allowing her to slip away into the current of her negative thoughts, and she clings to every word he has to say.

He says, "You and I both know that isn’t true. He's gonna grow up seeing all the pictures you have of John B and ask about him all the time. And we'll tell him all the stories"—there's a pause of contemplation as he recalls a few particularly non-PG memories of his best friend—"Well, maybe not all of them, but you know what I mean."

This draws a soft bout of laughter from deep within her chest that he feels with how her body shakes ever so slightly with it. It seems so wrong to laugh with tears in her eyes but she can't help it. Her emotions have been scattered in every direction since the pregnancy began, and it has only gotten worse the further along she gets.

"If you ever tell him about the kief incident, I'm never giving you a bl—"

His free hand smushes over her mouth before she can say the rest.

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence.”

It's said so frantically, it makes her erupt in laughter hard enough to tickle her abdomen muscles with the aching sensation of it. The vibration of it under his palm makes him drop his hand a second later with the need to hear the beautiful sound. After seeing her cry, it's a welcome shift in mood, even if it's at his expense.

Her head is thrown back on his shoulder, mouth parted into a smile with the gleeful giggling filling the room. His stomach churns with butterflies at the sight of her. Even after all these years, he has the same reaction to her laughter every time. It makes him smile to himself and watch her in quiet reverence. It makes him ache with the same inklings of longing he felt for the first time when he was much younger.

Her laughter begins to die down by the time she can draw enough breath in to murmur a soft, "Sorry, angel," to him and reach down to hold the hand he rests on her belly as consolation for her joke.

They remain this way for another few minutes, tangled up in each other's arms on the floor of the living room with Bowie snoring a few feet away, before he manages to convince her to let him be the one to set up the crib instead. It takes a good five minutes of playful back and forth before she concedes under the condition that he'll let her paint the nursery by herself when the time comes, and that's all it takes for her to abandon the task in favor of finding something to snack on in the fridge.

In her defense, the crib is actually quite difficult to put together.

JJ doesn't consider himself an expert handyman by any means, at least not with anything outside of his area of expertise as an electrician, but he likes to think he knows enough to put together a "no assembly required" Ikea crib without wanting to bang his face against the wall.

In the end, it gets finished by the two of them in the middle of the night over a box of cold leftover pizza from the previous day. It takes them two hours of struggling before they get it fully assembled and placed where they want it in the room that'll soon belong to their son.

He pretends not to notice her sneaking back in to tie John B's old bandana around the wooden railing before they go to bed.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

[yelena-bellova]

Safe Haven: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader - Chapter One

Chapter One: The Other Wilson Sister - chapter two

Series Masterlist

Plot: Y/n grew up with Sam and Sarah Wilson in the bayou of Delacroix. During the Blip she stayed with Sarah to help run the family business. With Sam back and trying to save the day, Y/n’s perfect opportunity to confess her long-kept secret to her best friend presents itself.

Warnings: tfatws ep.1 spoilers, language, suicide mention, undertones of racism, lots of Wilson sibling arguments, tragic backstory

Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: As I wrote this first chapter out I realized it’s most definitely also a Sam Wilson x platonic fic. Bucky doesn’t come in till next chapter but rest assured, it’s gonna be a wild ride...Also I didn’t know till now how difficult it is to plan out a series in its entirety when the show isn’t completed lol. Hope you enjoy! (I may or may not change the title depending on how I feel about it later today lol)

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Delacroix, LA 2024

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One of the only things I was certain of in life was that blood didn’t make a family.

I had no official tie to Wilson family, I wasn’t a daughter or some distant cousin sent to live with them. We shared no DNA and they had no reason to love me as much as they did. But throughout my life I had known no kinder people than them and I doubted that would change. As I stood on the family boat helping to unload the catch of the day, I thought of how our corner of the Louisiana bayou felt more like home than any place I’d ever been.

“Hey,” Sarah said from the dock, “Head out of the clouds and down here helping me.” “Sorry,” I shook myself out of my thoughts and hopped off the boat, “Not a bad catch if you ask me.”

Sarah sighed as she bent over a large bucket of fish, “It could’ve been better.” I came to stand in front of her and held my hands out for a bucket, “Take the wins where you can get ‘em, Sar. Lord knows we don’t get enough of them.” Sarah Wilson was the only superhero I’d ever aspire to be like. She was a widow who had raised two kids and run a business all by herself with no family for support. The past five years had been challenging with so many people gone and while I had moved in with her to help however I could, I could take no credit. She was one of the strongest women I’d ever known.

“You had that look on your face again,” she said as we worked.

“What look?”

“That look that lets me know you were thinking real hard about something,” Sarah imitated the expression in question by thinning her eyes slightly and furrowing her brows, “Like this.” I laughed heartily at her impression, “So what was it?” I gazed out at the bayou waters before turning to the boat and finally Sarah, “Family.”

She nudged me with her hip, something we’d done when we were young and an affectionate gesture we’d carried into adulthood. A half hour went by with us and the boys unloading and sorting the fish we’d caught. I was too wrapped up in the task to notice the sound of a vehicle approaching until AJ and Cass announced the arrival. 

“Blue for the snapper, orange for the whitefish.”

“Uncle Sam!”

My head shot up upon hearing his name, as did Sarah’s. I used my hand as a visor against to sun to spot the familiar rusted truck parked a few hundred feet away, with my best friend standing outside it hugging his nephews.

“That’s right, Uncle Sam,” Sarah called, “You’re back early.”

I grinned as I shucked my gloves off and made a beeline for him, slamming my body into his for a tight embrace. It had been a few weeks since I’d seen him, having spent the only weekend he was off away, and I’d naturally been worried sick about him. My best friend and un-biological brother may have been an Avenger for years, but after losing him in the Blip I didn’t think I’d ever stop worrying about him.

“Every time I come home, you act like I’ve been gone for five years,” he joked over my shoulder, resulting in me pulling away and slapping his bicep.

“Not even a little funny,” I pointed a finger in his smug face, he slung an arm around my neck as we walked over to Sarah.

“What’s goin’ on? You got Mom’s sneaky look on your face.” “How you gonna try to read me when you know I’m the one that reads you?” Sam smiled, passing by and greeting a long time customer of ours. “That look is permanently glued to his face, Sar,” I chuckled, “I learned that in grade school.” Sam shook his head at me and laughed before making his way up the dock to the Wilson family boat. “You gotta marvel at it, baby’s being held together by duct tape and prayers.” I leaned into Sarah, “Are you telling him or am I?” She took the initiative, “It just needs to float long enough for me to sell it.” “I thought we were gonna discuss if we were selling it,” Sam replied as he helped unload another bucket of fish. “We did, and then you were off fighting Doctor Space Cape or whatever while we,” Sarah gestured between us, “Were holdin’ it together for five long years. Now that the world is going back to normal, this thing’s gotta go.”

Sam looked to me with a look of displeasure, “Were you in on this?” “Don’t drag me into this,” I waved my hands as if wiping my involvement away, “This is a Wilson sibling discussion.” “Uh-uh,” Sam called me out, wagging his finger, “Don’t do that. Dad said every chance he got that you were one of his own, you’ve got a say in this too. What is it?” I scrunched my face up, dreading the argument that was knocking on our door, “It’s dead weight, Sam. The money we could get for it would be enough to keep us comfortable for a little longer without having to worry.” “We grew up on this thing. It’s not just Mom and Dad’s name on it. This thing is a part of our family.”

I sighed as Sarah stepped forward, “You know the situation we’re in. This is why I prefer not to dwell on it in front of everybody.” “Well what if we don’t need to sell it?” Sam said. “Can we talk about this in private?” I suggested, tiring of having to convince Sam that we were in the right when he hadn’t been around to witness our struggles. A long time friend of ours called out to Sam and he willingly took the distraction, opting out of having the inevitable difficult conversation. Sarah and I trudged back, totes of fish in hand and tried to get through the rest of the work day without worrying if we were approaching our last.

————

During golden hour, when the clock had struck five and we’d started packing it up for the day was the only time to get Sam to actually listen. I knew how much the boat meant to him, it meant something to us all, but he wasn’t living in the reality that Sarah and I were.

“Sam, the boat’s gotta go,” Sarah finally said, breaking the silence we were working in on the vessel. “Wait-“ “No, let me finish,” she said, “Y/n and I are doin’ everything I can to keep this business afloat and every day we’re making $5 and spending $10.” Sam looked between the two of us, “So why won’t you let me help?” 

“Sam, don’t…” I winced, knowing Sarah’s reaction would be strong.

“No, don’t start with that. We made a deal before Daddy died,” Sarah carried a few buckets to the center of the deck, “You’re out there, I do things my way here. Y/n agreed to it too when she went off to school.” “Right, but you tangled the house into this when you took those loans,” Sam finished tying off one of the ropes, turning around and giving Sarah the perfect opportunity to punch his chest, “Forgot how hard you hit.” I sighed as I passed him by to follow Sarah, “Low blow, you deserved it.” 

“Sarah, Y/n, c’mon,” he chased after us, “Look, and don’t hit me again…What if you had money to fix it up? Make it nice so you can charter it when you’re not out working the waters?” “Sam, do you think this was an easy decision for us?” I faced him, leaning against the doorway next to him, “I tried every tactic I learned in business school and got nowhere. Anything I thought up, we needed more money to do. This is our only option.” As he always did with the things he cared about, he fought. “We can take a loan and consolidate everything, it’ll take down your monthly,” he looked confused as he watched Sarah laugh, “What?” “You think I didn’t try the banks? They’re in with all that big business now.” I followed them like the little sister I’d always been as they moved their fight towards the cockpit of the boat. Sam blocked another doorway, “Yeah, but now you have me.”

“Don’t, Sam,” Sarah shook her head, “I just got good with this.”

“All right…”

“Maybe it is time for us to move on,” Sarah sighed. “Either way, just let me help,” Sam offered, “I’ll set the appointment. Look, I won’t let you guys down. We can turn this shit around. Trust me.” I peered over at Sarah, wishing I could see the calculations going on in her brain. It seemed pointless, but any shot at changing our luck was an avenue worth pursuing.

“It can’t hurt to try,” I shrugged.

Sarah finally relented, “To the rescue, huh?”

“Always,” Sam smiled, “Now, let’s get some dinner. I’m hungry.” ————

Sarah was taking AJ and Cass back home while Sam and I took his truck to go pick up food.

“So how was Tunisia?” I asked, sticking my hand out the window and letting it rise and fall with the wind.

“Hot, but the mission went well,” he answered, looking out of the corner of his eyes at me, “And that’s all you need to know.”

I snickered, “C’mon, it’s our thing. I ask you detailed questions about your confidential missions, you tell me you can’t reveal anything, I keep asking…You’ve gotta honor tradition.” “I flew, I fought, I rescued. Boom, mission explained.” “Ugh, you’re impossible, Wilson,” I waved him off, “How was the museum dedication?” The atmosphere changed as the subject of conversation changed from easy to complicated. “It was nice to see Steve’s accomplishments celebrated. Got to see Rhodes which was nice…” “You’re avoiding a red white and blue topic,” I said, trying to coax his true feelings out of their shells, “Seriously, are you really okay with this? Giving up the shield?” Sam inhaled deeply and exhaled, gathering his thoughts. “I don’t think it was ever meant to end up in my hands. I did the right thing, it belongs with Steve and the museum is the closest to Steve I can get.” I respected my friend’s choice but I knew there was so much more to his decision and I wished he would just say it. He had an enormous amount of respect for Steve Rogers and what the shield represented, but Steve Rogers never had to face the issues that Sam Wilson did. Steve Rogers could follow a government and be respected in return with no problems whatsoever. Sam Wilson couldn’t, not always. There was an elephant in the room and if neither of us wanted to talk about it, I wouldn’t push it.

“You’d have looked good in that uniform though,” I smiled as we turned into the take out place’s parking lot.

“Damn right,” Sam waggled his eyebrows and unbuckled his seatbelt. Laughter rang out in the truck sending me on waves of nostalgia. The memories that me and him had in this truck still were infamous between us. As proud as I was of the Falcon’s heroics, I was prouder to call Sam Wilson my best friend.

————

Just as he’d promised, Sam made the appointment with the banker. He and Sarah were already on their way as I made the hour long drive in the opposite direction to New Orleans. I’d told them I’d be back in the evening to discuss how it went, but I had my own appointment to keep.

Sam and I had met back when we were just a couple of first graders. I’d always struggled with making friends as a kid, but Sam never had an issue when it came to connecting with others. It was one of his strongest qualities. And so he used his gift on his desk neighbor, the loneliest kid in class, and pulled her out of herself. We were inseparable until college and adulthood forced us apart, but we’d never lost our bond. Even when he was a pararescue, he wrote to me as often as his work allowed him.

All the Wilsons had taken a liking to me after Sam brought me home one day after school to watch cartoons. Darlene had told me I was welcome to come over any time I wanted, an offer Sam and I accepted till I became a permanent fixture in their house. Paul and his wife had frequently tried to get the rest of my family over for a crawfish boil or a barbecue. They’d send me every few weeks with a verbal invitation to my parents and the next day I’d always come back with a polite decline and excuse as to why we couldn’t make it. Mom was busy with spring cleaning, Melanie had a recital, Dad was feeling under the weather…

The only one that had ever been true was about my dad not feeling well. He was never well. But as a child, how do you explain that your father is a ghost around his own home who drinks himself to sleep and wakes up each night screaming from nightmares? There was no polite way to phrase circumstances that dark. Sometimes I felt like my dad had never returned from the military and though there hadn’t been a war at the time of his service, he still came back with his share of trauma. Mom did everything she could to try and help him. She found support groups for veterans, she took him to the best psychiatrists, she created a safe space for him within our home to retreat to. There was no amount of help that could kill my father’s demons and that was proven the night he’d said we were out of milk and he was going to the store. A few hours later, with my sister and I fast asleep upstairs, my worried mother answered the door and was informed by the police that my father had crashed his car and was dead. After speaking to Mom about what his mood had been like before he’d left and if he suffered from any mental illnesses, it was ruled as an undoubtable suicide.

My mother didn’t get much time to mourn after the funeral, she had two children to provide for. She took three jobs just to earn enough to move us from our house in New Orleans to a dingy apartment in Delacroix by the bayou. When the Wilsons heard that Mom needed to scrape enough money in the budget to hire a baby-sitter for me and Melanie, they put a stop to her efforts immediately. The insisted that Mel and I would be happier spending the time my mom was working with them and their kids rather than a stranger. That was how the Wilsons and the Y/l/ns had ended up so tightly knit. While Sarah and Melanie had bonded as the older sisters and were often off doing their own thing, Sam and I caused havoc of our own in classic younger sibling fashion. By the time we were in high school, both parents called the other’s children their own.

When Paul and Darlene passed away, it was incredibly hard on all of us and it was equal when Mom had a fall and the doctors suggested she move into a facility. Sam, Sarah and I had worked hard to get her into one of the best nursing homes in the city and she hadn’t stopped raving about how much she loved it. Pulling into the parking lot was like muscle memory now, I never missed a weekend visit with her. This one was special because Melanie, her husband and brood of children had come too. I grabbed my visitor’s sticker at the front desk and made my way down the familiar hallways. The sound of laughter and cooing echoed out of my mom’s room, bringing a smile to my face.

I knocked on the door and heads turned, my nieces and nephews being the quickest. “Aunt Y/n!” I embraced Sophia and Max tightly, “The twin tornados! I missed you guys,” separating from them was difficult as they clung to me but I made it to Stephan, giving him a kiss on the cheek and doing the same to Mel, “You look hot, mama.” “I certainly don’t feel it,” she remarked as she cradled their newest addition, baby Alexandra, close to her chest, “I spend more hours of the day covered in glitter glue and spit up than you could imagine.” “You wear it all well,” I patted her shoulder before coming to my mother’s bedside and hugging her, “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” she kissed both of my cheeks and looked to the door, “Sarah and Sam couldn’t come?” “No, but they send their love. They had an appointment at the bank,” I set down my purse and pulled up a chair, “We’re trying to get approved for a small business loan.”

Glen took Alexandra from Mel so she could tend to the twins, “I wish we could help out, Y/n. I’ve looked at the budget over and-“ It warmed my heart that my brother-in-law cared so much about a problem that wasn’t his to bear. “Glen,” I held up a hand, “You guys are stretched thin enough. This isn’t me asking for charity, it’s our problem and Sam’s confidant we’ll find a fix.” “How does he have enough time to be a member of the Air Force, an Avenger and save the family business?” Mel asked.

“Well, the Avengers are kind of off doing their own thing right now from what I understand and he’s home for a little while from the Air Force,” I explained, “So his main job at the moment is to get us our funding and annoy the snot out of me while doing it.” After earning some giggles from Sophia and Max at the expression, Glen announced that they were going to go and grab lunch for everybody. My mom took my hand once it was just the two of us and I settled into my seat, “How are you, sweetheart?”

“Hanging in there,” I sighed, running a hand through my hair, “Tired, stressed, I smell like fish most of the time…We need this loan or else we’re going to have to sell the boat. You should’ve seen Sam’s face when Sarah told him…”

“I’m sorry, I know how much that boat means to you kids. I could’ve offered you the moon and stars and it still wouldn’t have been enough to get you off it.” I smiled at the memories of summer nights spent laying on the deck stargazing, dance parties on the stern and early mornings spent with Mr. Wilson teaching us how to fish. A childhood with so much sadness had also contained so many joys. To part with a tangible one killed me more than I’d let on to Sam.

Sensing that the topic was making me emotional, my mother was kind enough to change it. “How are things otherwise? Have you been getting out there?” I dropped my head back dramatically and groaned, “Mom…” “I’m just saying,” she dropped my hand and held up hers in surrender, “You should get out there, meet someone. There’s no shame in trying those online dating services. What’s the one…the…Tinder?” “Oh my gosh, Mom,” I buried my face in my hands and moved my fingers so she could only see my eyes, “Please stop talking.” “You know who I ran into the other day? Jack’s mom, from high school. She lives just down the next hallway, she says that he’s still single. You could get in touch with him.” “Y’know, for a woman who advocated for her daughters to lead such independent lives, you’re sure quick to try and marry us off,” I chuckled, “The second Mel started dating Glen you were practically booking the church.” “And I’m very proud of both my girls for being such strong young women,” she smiled proudly, “But finding love doesn’t mean losing your independence so long as you’re with the right man. I love that you’ve been helping out Sarah these last few years but honey…I see how lonely you are. In those big y/e/c eyes you think I still can’t read after all these years.” The y/e/c eyes in question started to fill with sadness at hearing my pain verbalized. It was true, I was lonely. More so than I would ever let on to anybody. I was a shy enough kid who only withdrew further after Dad passed away, that kind of introversion wasn’t one that you outgrew. But I’d given up the idea of finding someone to spend my life with a long time ago for a bevy of reasons.

“Sometimes it’s better to be alone, Mama,” I nodded as if to force myself to agree with my statement, “No chances of getting hurt…or hurting somebody.” “You couldn’t hurt somebody even if you tried,” my mom argued sweetly, “You couldn’t even kill spiders when you were a kid.” “And now there’s a Spiderman out there so I’m glad I didn’t,” I shot back with a laugh.

“I’m serious, honey,” she took my hand once again, “Don’t let your heart’s wounds keep you from finding someone who could help soothe them.” 

I was convinced my mother was both a poet and a therapist at some point in her life, she gave advice in the most beautifully phrased way. And while I’d loved to have taken her words to heart, tell Mel to fix me up with one of Glen’s friends and put an end to my loneliness, I feared that I was just too broken to give love to someone.

————

I arrived back home late, shedding my boots and bag at the doors. I’d expected to hear a triumphant chorus of Sam shouting ‘WHO DA MAN?’ as he typically would when heroically proving me and Sarah wrong, but there was only silence. When I walked into the kitchen and saw their glum faces, it wasn’t hard to guess the outcome of the meeting. “You’re kidding me…” “Said that things had tightened up,” Sam said, leaning against one side of the island and taking a swig of his beer, “Had the balls to ask me for a picture afterwards.” I groaned and grabbed the beer bottle Sarah had extended to me, “Okay, we’re out of options. It’s time to move forward-“ “Don’t say it…” Sam tiredly warned.

“Someone has to, Sam. We can’t keep searching for solutions when the right one is sitting out on our dock,” I gestured to the window that looked out on the road we took each day to work.

Sarah set her beer down and held her hands up in surrender, “I’m not having this argument again tonight, I’m going to bed. If you’re gonna kill each other, do it quietly.” She left as me and Sam silently stared each other down, waiting for the other to speak. I was too frustrated to play the game, “What’s this really about?” “It’s about the damn boat and that you and Sarah are throwing in the towel too-“ “What,” I elongated the single syllable word, “Is this really about?” Sam set his drink down and rubbed his hands over his head before looking back up at me helplessly, “You guys were on your own for five years and you’ve done an amazing job. But now nothing’s working and I just…I just want to help because I couldn’t for so long.” It all clicked as to why Sam was being so insistent on trying to eliminate the whole matter. He was used to saving the day and finally meeting one that he couldn’t save was a wall he thought he could still find a way to run through. He’d been like that ever since we were kids, always trying to help the people he loved even when it was impossible. He had the biggest heart of anyone I’d ever met.

“I love you,” I set down my bottle and crossed the island to come next to him and wrap my arms around his shoulders, “But this may be one problem that the Falcon can’t swoop in and fix. The Avengers work hard, but a business graduate helping to run a struggling seafood business works harder,” I succeeded in getting him to crack a smile, “Believe me, I’ve run all the numbers and consulted with anyone who would listen. The boat’s gotta go.”

“Yeah, well, humor me and give me a little while longer.”

“Fine, a couple more days,” I grabbed my beer once again and clinked it against his, “But it’s not my fault if Sarah smacks you again.” Sam laughed, slung an arm around my neck and kissed my temple. “You coming up soon?”

“Yeah, I’ll be up in a few minutes,” I answered, watching as he finished his drink before leaving the kitchen and heading upstairs. Once I’d heard his bedroom door open and close, I exited out to the back porch. I took in the late night sounds of the bayou, the crickets chirping and the wind rustling trees had always soothed me. I wished they could touch what I was feeling right now, but the noise didn’t do a thing to drown out my worry. For the business I feared we may lose, for Sam as he ran himself ragged trying to help and for myself and what him and Sarah would think of me once I confessed the secret I’d kept from them for so long.

I held out my hand and watched as the blue energy flowed from my fingertips. Would Sam ever forgive me for not telling him I had powers? They had manifested when I was young, my parents said. I couldn’t remember a day where my body hadn’t produced a magical energy that when harnessed incorrectly could be destructive. It had been a sad day for my mother’s garden when I’d discovered that bit…According to her, she’d wanted to take me to a school for people like me run by a man named Charles Xavier but my father had said no immediately. He’d been so insistent on keeping my powers a secret that my mother said she’d only seen that type of fear in his eyes when he had a war flashback. So I was instructed to never show my powers to anyone under any circumstances and I’d done just that. I’d thought about revealing them in 2012 after the Battle of New York, but my dad’s fear rang in my ears. Three years later when Sam became an Avenger was when I began to feel guilty that I was keeping a secret from him. I’d wanted to join him and find somewhere where I didn’t feel so out of place, but I’d decided against it again. Now with their team so broken and Sam off with the Air Force, I’d finally gathered the courage to confide in him and Sarah. I should have done it six months ago, but I’d chickened out too many times. Tomorrow, I decided. Tomorrow was the day. But would they still see me the same way once I showed them? ————

The next morning, after dressing and running over what I wanted to say three times, I hesitantly headed downstairs to face the music. With there being nobody in the kitchen, I followed the sounds of the television to find Sarah and Sam staring at the screen intently. I stood to the side of the room and watched a suited man give a speech out front of a government building. “We need someone to inspire us again, someone who can be a symbol for all of us. So, on behalf of the Department of Defense and our Commander-in-Chief, it is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero. Join me in welcoming your new Captain America.”

My jaw slackened as a man marched out in front of the gathered press, dressed in a variation of Steve Rogers’ patriotic uniform and carrying the iconic shield. The shield that had only weeks ago sat upstairs in Sam’s bedroom in a case. I dragged my gaze away from the screen to look at my best friend, hunched over in his seat with his eyes shut in sorrow. Sarah looked just as distraught, her eyes trained on her brother as well. We waited in silence until the breaking news broadcast switch back to regularly scheduled programming before Sarah switched the box off.

“I thought you said it was going to stay in the museum,” I finally spoke, my voice choked with emotion.

“It was supposed to,” Sam ground out, his grip on his own hands tightening. Without any warning, he rose from his seat and left the room. My instinct was to follow him and try to comfort him, but there was nothing I could say to ease the deep pain he was feeling. I wasn’t even sure I could form words that weren’t doused in raw shock. The two things I was sure of were that a) the government had fucked up royally and b) now was definitely not the time to tell Sam about my powers.

————

It was a few days later and Sam still hadn’t spoken much to Sarah and I about the situation. It was unnatural for Sam to suffer in silence especially around us, but we both gave him the space he needed. 

I was taking laundry to AJ and Cass’ room and had to pass by Sam’s, surprised to see him packing a bag. “Thought you were sticking around.” “Something big came up,” he replied as he set a stack of t-shirts in his duffle bag, “I need to go check it out.” I leaned against his doorway, “Air Force big or Avengers big?” “The second one.” “And you’re going by yourself?” I asked with raised eyebrows.

Sam looked over his shoulder at me finally, “Don’t have anybody to else to call. Besides, I can handle myself.” I hummed in response before setting down the stack of laundry, an idea forming in my head that could solve both of our problems. I folded my hands together and dug my feet into the carpet, “What if you didn’t have to go by yourself?” He looked confused, “What are you talking about?” My folded hands began to make circles in the air as I struggled for the right words, “What if I came with you?” “What, like take your family to work day something?” Sam scoffed, “That’d be fun.” “I’m serious.” “Are you crazy? Of course you can’t come.” “Hear me out,” I looked to his bag and the pair of jeans he had next to fold, “Actually watch.” He folded his arms and waited for my demonstration. I took a deep breath and extended my hand, forcing my energy outwards to levitate the jeans. “Whoa!” Sam exclaimed as he watched me maneuver the clothing inside his duffle, “W-w-what…What was that?” I shrugged and pulled my hand back to my side, “The reason why you should take me.”

“How long have you been able to do that?” “Since I was a kid,” I moved out of the doorway and closed the door, the last thing I needed was AJ and Cass knowing their aunt could move things with her mind, “My parents told me never to tell anybody. I’ve thought about telling you for years since you’re used to this kind of thing but I was scared…Then you were gone and when you came back, life was moving non-stop and I lost my courage. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Sam stood with his jaw hung for a few seconds before shaking his head back into reality, “Why are you apologizing? You never had to tell me, but I’m glad you did,” he pointed a finger towards me, “But you’re still not going.” “What are you talking about? I’d be an asset to whatever it is you’re fighting! And I love you but c’mon bird boy, you may be able to fly but I can do it without any tech.” “Oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” Sam gestured between the two of us, “You think insulting me is the way to get me to let you come?” “Come on,” I moved to sit on his bed, “Tell me what the problem is and I’ll prove that I can help.” “Alright, alright,” Sam took a stance in front of me, “You wanted to hear the tea on my missions, I’ll spill it. There’s an online group called the Flag Smashers, their MO is to get the world back to the way it was during the last five years. My military contact, Torres, went undercover in Switzerland when they robbed a bank. Knocked him unconscious when he tried to fight back.” I balanced my elbows on my knees and tapped a finger against my lip, “So kind of a Robin Hood deal, right? Stealing things from the rich and giving it to the poor. In this case, the poor being those who never disappeared.” “Exactly, except the guy that knocked Torres out was strong. Too strong. I’m thinking they could be a part of-“ “The big three.” Sam’s neck snapped back, “How do you know about the big three?” I shrugged nonchalantly, “The little you do tell me about your avenging always ties back to either androids, aliens or wizards. Though I think you’re being a little dramatic with the term ‘wizard.’”

“Are you seriously gonna correct the guy who’s actually there doing the fighting?” “Are you seriously gonna deny yourself valuable help against either an alien or an android?”

Sam sighed, I was successfully backing him into a corner. “Can you even fight?”

Extending one hand, I levitated Sam and gently slammed his back into the ceiling before reversing course and lowering him onto the carpet. He moaned as he rolled over to face me, “Could’ve given me a concussion.” “Maybe that would knock some sense into your head,” I stood and gave him my hand to pull him up, “Sam, I know that I don’t have any experience but I am more than capable of defending myself. I want to actually do something with these powers instead of sitting on my ass. I’d rather do it with you than on my own. Please?” I watched the cogs in his mind turn through his eyes, I knew he was only fighting this hard because he wanted to keep me safe. But he was in way over his head if he thought it wasn’t worth taking me with. He accepted my hand and stood to his full height, “Pack a bag, we’re leaving for the air base in an hour.” I smiled and threw my arms around him, “Thank you, you won’t regret this.” “I’d better not,” he warned, his arms stayed straightened in displeasure of my enthusiasm, “If you take some stupid risk and put yourself in jeopardy, I’m putting your ass on a plane home.” Quick footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway until the door opened to reveal Sarah, “What was all that noise? It sounded like you were throwing each other into walls.” “Busy,” I quickly dismissed her, using my energy to shut the door in Sarah’s face from a distance.

“Um,” her muffled voice rang through, “What the hell was that?!”

--------

Taglist: (open)

[lupically]

#FEF5F1 | DILUC RAGNVINDR.

genre | fluff

word count | 1825

warning | none

note | i finally wrote something for my top husbando :’)

it came to you as a surprise that diluc, at all, sleeps.

there has always been this fantasy version of him in your head, a fantasy that lacked the great ideals and bright adventures most fantasy novels you have read consisted of. in contrast, your fantasy of him was insulting and otherworldly at best—someone restricted to the rules, a personality as plain as a dull purple doormat, a total stick in the mud that kills joy at the mere sight of it, an emotionless robot that has no use for human necessity such as the bathing and sleeping.

does diluc even need to consume food? you have literally never seen him eat or drink anything before. has he ever taken off his gloves to pick up a hamburger—oh, archons, you just realized now that you have never seen the skin of his hands before. he always has gloves on! was it to hide something?

"oh, wow," you exclaimed lowly to yourself as you leaned forward to examine the hands of the very annoyed red-haired man before you. your long-term question was finally answered. "fascinating... so you do have hands!"

diluc spared not even a glance toward the limb you were so interestedly staring at. he kept quiet for a moment and peered down at you from his bed, one leg propped up and the other stretched out—a rather awkward position he had no time to get out of after he almost burned you alive for sneaking into his bedroom in the winery.

"what drunk wind blew your incompetent self here?" he asked, ignoring your remarks about his lack of real and human hands. whatever you meant by that? you were always spilling weird things out of your mouth, you might even be worse than venti, he reckoned. 

you glared up at him after hearing his mindless insult. you were only fifty percent sure (which was already a lot in your book!) diluc never actually meant those hurtful words, that they simply fly out of his mouth due to his weird need to make sure everyone around him knew that he leaves no room for unnecessary sentiment. 

being kind blatantly was not his thing, and he has no intention of being applauded for being a decent person. why that was, you couldn't be sure. you had your assumptions, but kaeya turned out far too different than diluc that you weren’t sure if you should put your finger on the assumption. you also didn't dare dive deeper into it because (a) you just weren’t invested enough, and (b) by then, it would be a family business you would hate to indulge yourself with.

"kaeya dared me to take a picture of your sleeping face in exchange for some wine. our good friend, the honorary knight's smaller friend also wanted it as a possible blackmail souvenir," you told him honestly.

diluc immediately murmured something you couldn't quite hear, but he looked more confused than annoyed when he glared down at the mattress of his bed. he grumbled something along the lines of how the roles were definitely reversed. you didn't press further about that.

"if that is what you came here for, your best bet is to leave the way you came," he said after a moment, pointing a cold hand toward his bedroom window. "you're not taking any pictures of me."

you snorted, holding up your kamera and tapping the lenses. “uh, i think i came pretty close to taking a picture of you sleeping, diluc.”

“i had woken up the second you walked through my bedroom door. you could never,” he said.

you hummed under your breath, eyeing him suspiciously. he was probably telling the truth. he barely struggled in surprise when he grabbed your hands in the dark; was it pure luck that he perfectly found where your kamera was on the first try or does diluc secretly has night vision? your guess was as good as the unknown. 

not to mention, he looked normal, just like someone who may be in the know of your intrusion. he appeared grumpy but that was just his normal state. you could barely get him out of a frown even if you pay him, mainly because he wouldn’t need your money, but also because he was stubbornly against smiling, it appeared. 

"you know, i was surprised at first. i didn't know you sleep at all! i always thought you kind of just shut down, or maybe you have stayed awake all your life," you said with a shrug, and when he deadpanned at you, you defensively waved your kamera around. "i'm sorry! i just–you don't strike me as a person who sleeps!"

"so dead, then?" diluc asked calmly, although there was very little calmness in his facial expressions, especially those judgemental eyes of his.

"not dead! just... not really human–" you paused and pressed your lips together, thinking back to what you said to him and realizing that he might have a point. then you turned to him. "you also eat, right?"

“are you leaving or not?” he asked, a hint of flare in his voice that if you looked closely, you may see fire emerging from his body.

being stubborn as ever, and knowing that diluc would never really hurt anybody he knew to be good people, you feigned thoughtfulness for a second. tapping your finger against your chin, you scrunched your nose and shook your head. setting the kamera lumine forcefully had to borrow you between your crossed legs, you flashed him a mischievous grin. 

“no,” you said. “i am getting that picture out of you!”

“like i said,” he said, “you will never.”

“fine! then i guess i will just have to sit here and wait for you to fall asleep on me,” you said, slapping your hand down on his soft mattress. “don’t try to force me out of here! i will make it way worse for you!”

diluc furrowed his brows, wondering if you meant what you said. when his questioning gaze couldn’t get even an ounce of budge from you, he could only sigh in frustration. if you planned to sit on his bed until he doze off, then you would definitely make it worse if he tries to dump you out of his bedroom through whatever means you could.

he may be a skilled swordsman and a vision bearer, but unfortunately, he was not immune to bullshits from the likes of you.

diluc closed his eyes to savor the tiniest bit of sleep he managed to get before he heard your extra loud footsteps creeping around his room. he was supposed to get a good night's sleep, which was something he hasn't had in a while because of all the business schedules and his side vigilante job.

he was supposed to rest tonight, and there came you.

there always comes you.

dilly-dally, unpredictable, the epitomie of 'knights of favonius... always so inefficient,' letting klee out of solitary confinement and causing a ruckus amongst the responsible adults kind of irresponsible, has paid for his wine at least a zero number of time kind of broke, and was just always here to ruin his mood at the tavern every single day. 

most of the time, diluc thought about you in a negative light, much like he did with everyone around him and the entirety of the knights of favonius. but there was a version of you in his head that painted you as somebody different—somebody respectful, somebody worth keeping around...

somebody he likes, perhaps.

after all, joy was never prevalent in his life. it used to be, but that was a past he has long forgotten the details of. even if he wanted to remember them now, he could only remember snippets that wouldn’t guarantee him a good nostalgia. he may just end up feeling worse at the end. the only constant influx of distraction he has now seemed to be either you or venti, and with the godly bard as his other option, he would much rather choose you. 

but it was not because that venti was too hard to confine in. you were just as hard to talk about problems with considering your optimism and fickle attitude. 

what diluc wanted was permanence; a train that never stops, a bottle of wine that continuously refills, dandelions that do not stop flying even after it reaches celestia. and venti was too understanding and abstract to be one. as interesting of a character he may be, venti knew when to leave people alone. or, occasionally, he just cared too little. after all the city of mondstadt didn’t lack a god because he was responsible. 

you, though. diluc could never pinpoint if you were as dense as you appeared to be, or if you did know how to read the room and simply chose to ignore it, but you never leave people alone. you never left him alone; you unknowingly pick a petty one-sided argument with him all the time, you get drunk at the tavern and somehow has never let anybody take you home but him, you barge into his bedroom in the middle of the night because of some stupid dare his brother made you do and you still refuse to leave despite being sleepy.

you give him a way out, whether he likes it or not.

arms crossed in front of his chest, he deadpanned as he watched your head drop lower and lower to the mattress. soon enough, you were snoring away on his bed with the gadget discarded by your feet. he watched you in silence, your cheek smushed against the surface and the intensity you always radiated lessening from your body. you looked normal now; not energetic, not talkative. just sleeping peacefully, the way he always made sure you were after carrying you home. 

diluc’s heart was finally softening under the knowledge that nobody was watching him anymore. the pessimistic monster that often emerges from him was still here, but in the face of you, it has painted itself pink and it has forgotten vengeance and retribution. in the face of you, it has been dragged out from the death it once laid and became forgiven. 

carefully laying your head down on the pillow, diluc draped the blanket over your shoulder to tuck you into his bed. after making sure you were fine and well, he placed the kamera on the desk in the room, somewhere visible you could find once you wake up, and he left for one of the guest rooms in the mansion. 

tonight was the first time in a while when he has forgotten about all the problems he’s had. something that wasn’t about wine, the family business, or the abyss order. it wasn’t the rest he wanted, perhaps it was hardly any rest at all, but he was glad he got to think about something else.

of course, diluc would never tell you that.

[wardenannie]

Just friends

In the beginning they aren’t friends at all. Not even remotely. 

Hange is too excitable for Levi, and Levin too severe for Hange. Though the scientist attempts to feign cordiality between the two of them, Levi does nothing to conceal his disdain. It is only after Erwin calls them into his office and speaks to them sternly that they finally come to a silent agreement with one another. 

Just friends begins with a sort of truce. An understanding between them that perhaps they aren't so different, or they are, but they can learn to overcome those differences for the sake of synergy in the field.

That is what Erwin wants, after all. 

They still poke fun, but it's more lighthearted than it was before. More playful. There is a gentleness to it, a light. It brings some levity to those brutal, bloody days that linger in the backs of their minds. They actually begin to take some small comfort in each other’s presence, though neither of them are willing to admit it allowed, and most certainly not to each other. 

When just friends becomes staying up and drinking tea and whisky into the budding hours of dawn, neither of them can say. But more than once they are the only two left standing among a field of drunken allies.

They look at one another, and even Levi, dead sober, sipping his tea, cannot help but smirk.

When Hange passes out in his lap he reluctantly allows the contact, that is until they drool on him, at which point he surreptitiously slips a pillow beneath their cheek. 

He pretends not to watch them sleep, only for a moment.  

He doesn’t find their peaceful expression enchanting. He doesn’t secretly find them handsome with their russet hair covering their eyes, mingling with their lashes. He pushes it out of their face anyways. 

They’re just friends.

Just friends becomes casual touches. Passing smiles (or affectionate scowls in Levi’s case). It becomes easy nights spent in silent company. Nights spent in Hange’s lab, or lounging in the library. It becomes silent understanding, a fleeting consciousness of what the other is about to say or do. 

Just friends becomes a sort of casual, platonic intimacy that has their comrades whispering and casting them knowing glances. But they simply ignore it. They are just friends after all. 

When just friends begins to entail tending one another's wounds is about two years after their first meeting. Hange limps to his quarters, calf a bloody tattered mess from a nasty three-meter bite.

"I can't go to the infirmary," they explain. “If Erwin finds out about this he’ll bench me.” 

He scolds them as he treats the wound with iodine and wraps it in clean gauze. 

“You need to be more careful, four-eyes. It could have taken your leg clean off,” he tries to disguise the way his hands shake as he cleans each of the shallow gouges which hug Hange’s calf in a gory half moon. 

They hiss and wince as dirt and debris are washed away, leaving only ragged flesh which will surely scar. 

Levi pretends that their obvious discomfort doesn’t perturb him, but it does. Another new development. He cares for them, loathe as he is to admit it. 

Just friends becomes sharing a bed with surprising swiftness after that. 

It is after a particularly gory expedition beyond Wall Maria. Many of their comrades fall, never to rise again. The blood runs in rivers over the fallow earth, bones crunch between massive, inhuman teeth. And the screams. The screams bite into both of them; leaching into their very cores and clinging there like poison; breeding doubt, fear. 

The knock comes on Levi’s door well past midnight. That he is still awake is a coincidence he cares not to consider too closely.  

He knows its Hange without asking. Who else would be so bold as to disturb Captain Ackerman’s beauty sleep? 

“Come in?” He’s reading a book by candlelight and doesn’t so much as glance up as Hange Zoe enters the room, shutting the door carefully behind themself. 

“Levi...” 

He glances over the top of his book; stare cool but not unkind, “Why are you bothering me so late at night, shitty-glasses? You should be asleep.” 

Hange lingers at the threshold, clad in loose sleep clothing. Levi pretends he can’t see their nipples poking through the gauzy fabric of their shirt, “I could say the same about you.” 

A long, pained silence passes between the two of them. A quiet sort of understanding. 

Slowly, Levi lowers his book into his lap. Then he peels back the covers, scooting over and making room for Hange beside him. 

“Bad dreams?” He asks, already knowing the answer he will receive.

Hange crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, they rest their elbows on their knees, steepling their fingers in front of their face, “Yeah. You?”

Levi swallows thickly and nods. 

“Can I...” Hange turns their face away, glancing out the window in a paltry attempt to disguise their flush, “Can I stay here tonight?” 

Levi doesn’t so much as hesitate, “Yes.” 

Tentatively, Hange lowers themself into the mattress, stealing away one of Levi’s pillows. They don’t touch. They don’t speak a word once Hange has settled in beside Levi. The captain simply reaches over his comrade and snuffs out the candle, cloaking them in darkness. 

And so just friends becomes best friends in a night. 

The territory of best friends is accompanied by a new found respect for one another. A respect that runs deeper than that which had already existed between them. Occasionally Levi will glance up at Hange to find that their eyes are already on him. Usually they are smiling. But on rare occasions their expression is more contemplative; thoughtful and distant. 

Levi tries not to think about it too deeply. What it could mean. What they could be thinking while they stare at him with such intensity. 

Then the meaning of just friends who happen to be best friends shifts again during a hard fought battle beyond the suffocating succor of the Walls. 

Levi jerks awake, head throbbing, mouth dry and tasting of blood. The world around him is blurry at first, and he struggles to recall where he is until it slowly comes into focus. 

There are arms around him, supporting his aching head and clutching at his hand. A voice calls out to him, low and panicked. 

“Levi? Oh thank fuck, Levi,” it’s Hange. Levi can’t quite remember where he is, but he could place Hange’s voice anywhere. Slowly, they come into focus over him. Their head is ringed with sunlight that shines from behind them, creating the illusion of a halo around them as they look down on him. 

It strikes him how perfect they are. Gorgeous. Handsome. Hawkish nose and wide, bright eyes, olive skin and russet hair. Imperfectly perfect. 

Their wine-colored eyes shine with worry. They touch his face, tenderly, “Can you speak?” 

“Yeah,” Levi rasps, and it finally comes back to him. A titan had emerged as if from nowhere and swept him out of the sky, knocking him head first into the cold, hard ground. Hange saved his life, felling the thing at the last moment before it took the Captain into its jaws. 

For a moment it is enough to stun him. But isn’t that what best friends do for one another? 

It is that night in Levi’s tent that they go from being just friends who are also best friends, to best friends who kiss in the dark. 

Hange refuses to be parted from him. Insisting that he needs supervision due to his possible concussion. Levi doesn’t argue as they help him to his sleeping bag. Outside the stars hold their silent, glittering vigil, and the moon hangs low and radiant in the sky, bleeding through the canvas of the tent just enough to allow for some visibility. 

“Try to stay awake,” Hange says softly, sitting beside him. They touch his forehead, pushing his hair away from his eyes. Their touch lingers, and Levi cannot help but notice the way their eyes seem to glimmer in the dark. 

When they lean forward and press their lips to his it is chaste, delicate and fleeting. But when they try to pull away he cups the back of their neck and tugs them back to him, sitting up slightly so he can kiss them from an improved angle. 

“Just friends,” he rasps between hurried kisses. Hange occupies all of his senses, from their earthy scent to the sharp taste of them on his tongue. He loves it. He would gladly drown himself in Hange Zoe. 

Hange nods, curling into his side, kissing him again, “Just friends blowing off steam.” 

Just friends, best friends, best friends who kiss in the dark; they carry on that way for months. Stealing kisses in those quiet moments between meetings and missions. 

It isn’t long before hands begin to roam. Curious fingers searching over one another’s bodies as they chase each other’s tongues over eager, sliding lips. But they hold back. They resist that primordial drive for sex with everything they have. Because how can they be just friends if they’re having sex? How could they cross that line without jeopardizing everything they have built with one another? 

But the others know. Mike, Nanaba, Moblit, even Erwin... they all know. The teasing glances have turned to those of legitimate concern, the passing comments have turned into genuine appeals for common sense. And so they are met with the second reason to remain just friends, best friends, friends who kiss in the dark; the life of a soldier is not one which can accommodate love. Real unconditional love. Duty will always take precedent. 

Then comes the night where kissing in the dark is not longer enough. 

It was never really enough, but things finally reach a boiling point. 

Hange is in their lab, working well past midnight when Levi stumbles in. He is clad in nothing but a pair of loose fitting sleep pants, slate eyes wild. He is flushed, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. 

A nightmare. He’s had a nightmare. Hange bleeding in his arms. Dying. Not from a wound inflicted by a titan but from a series of bullet holes bored into their middle. Weeping blood, crimson welling over his fingers despite the pressure he applied. 

The image clings to the backs of his eyes, boring its way into his soul, his heart, his mind and consciousness. Hange; killed by another human, not a titan, but a man. Suddenly nowhere feels safe or sacred. He wants to take Hange into his arms and flee. Flee until the world cannot catch them. 

Kisses in the dark could never fix this. It feels like nothing could fix this. 

“Levi?” Hange turns away from their work, a collection of bubbling beakers resting on the wooden countertop. Their expression is one of concern as he crosses the room and pulls them roughly into his arms. 

“I can’t fucking do this anymore,” He snarls, and then he kisses them roughly, pushing the small of their back into the hard edge of the counter. The beakers rattle and several spill over with the force of his body against theirs. 

Hange moans into his mouth, melting into him, arms winding around the back of his neck as he helps them up and onto the counter. They shift backward, experiment forgotten, and suddenly they are anything but just friends. 

Levi buries himself in Hange with little foreplay or preamble, but they are already wet and pliant, ready for him. 

The sex is fast and desperate. Hange buries their face against Levi’s neck, feeling the erratic pace of his pulse as he delves into them. 

“I love you,” they whimper. Because they do. With everything they have they love their Captain. Levi Ackerman. Humanity’s strongest. Theirs.

Levi fucks them harder for it. Because it can’t be. They’re just friends. Best friends. Friends who kiss in the dark and make frantic love at the thought of losing one another. Just friends.

Just friends. 

Just friends. 

Levi comes inside of Hange with a broken sob. Their fingers are in his hair, lips on his as they follow him over the edge. They’re crying, too. Tears mingle between their mouths as they work one another up again. 

They dress, but only long enough to reach Levi’s quarters, at which point they peel away their clothing and fall into bed together. All of it is wordless, silent knowing passes between them. Each anticipates the other’s movements and react with according passion. 

They make love again. Slower, softer. Hange’s soft cries fill up the room, punctuated by Levi’s muffled grunts as he buries his own noises in their damp skin. 

“This is perfect,” Hange whispers, nails raking down Levi’s switching back. And then they say it again, “I love you.” 

Wetness floods between them as Hange comes first. Levi rocks them through it, body wracked with pleasure, mind wracked with confusion, fear of what will happen come sunrise, when this new, precious thing between them has been exposed to the light of day. 

But is it really so new? Has he not always loved Hange Zoe? Have they not occupied his every waking thought for years as he refused to acknowledge his own attractions?

He looks down as he fucks into them, finds their wine-colored gaze is locked on his face. They reach up and cup his cheek, soft moans slipping past their lips as his hips stutter and he finishes inside of them for the second time that night. 

“Hange,” The way he speaks their name is ragged, like a desperate prayer on his lips. He kisses them. He never wants to stop kissing them. 

“I love you,” Hange breathes between kisses. They roll onto their sides, their faces illuminated by a shaft of silvery moonlight through the window. “You don’t have to say it back but I can’t be just friends anymore, Levi. It’s driving me crazy.” 

They kiss him, “Seeing you.”

Again, “Touching you.” 

A third time, slower, wet, lingering, “But not being with you.” 

Levi’s hands are on their hips, caressing up their sides. He feels the goosebumps he leaves in his wake, and knows he shares a similar physiological reaction to Hange’s own touch. 

But they’re just friends. Just friends, best friends, friends who kiss in the dark, friends who make desperate love and whisper heartfelt confessions under cover of night. Just friends. 

Hange touches his cheek, “Say something, please, Levi.” 

His lips part, but he struggles to find the words to express his emotions. Nothing makes sense in that moment. The world has tilted on its axis, everything is changed, and yet nothing is. 

“We were never just friends, shitty-glasses,” he says, finally. His eyes are glassy, gaze turned up to peer out the window at the night sky. The stars show their brilliant faces, glittering, and Levi wonders if perhaps their fate is written somewhere in that serene darkness. 

“We’ll keep it a secret for as long as we can,” Hange reassures him, settling there head against his chest, where they can hear his heart beating steady and strong. They run their fingers over his sternum, between his pecs and down the expanse of his abdomen, toying with the trail of downy hairs beneath his navel. 

“They already know,” Levi sighed, and he presses his mouth to the crown of Hange’s head. His eyes flutter shut, savoring the earthy sent of his lover. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

You’re all that matters, he tacitly implies. 

“They know that we were never just friends.” He pulls the sheets over their sweat damp bodies. Cum stains the fitted sheet. 

“They don’t approve,” Hange says softly, half asleep, lulled by Levi’s steady breaths.

“I don’t give a shit what they think. We deserve this.” Happiness. Even if it was fleeting. Even if one of them died come dawn, it would have all been worth it; to have been loved, to have known love. 

They drift to sleep in each other’s arms. 

Just friends, who became best friends, which in turn because friends who kiss in the dark, then lovers. Two people in love.

But they are soldiers, and they both know that whatever time they might have is borrowed. So they treasure it as best they can. 

[bokutoslittlebird]

The Perfect Family

Alpha!Bokuto x Beta!reader x Beta!Akaashi

Author’s Note : If you’ve read the little drabbles and asks with the fluffy BokuAka family, then you’re in for a surprise. Those were not canon to the actual works I created, it was just something nice to write and think about. This will not start off fluffy at all. This will also include the pregnancy process, so be warned of that ; This is a sequel to my Kinktober piece, Threesome with Bokuto and Akaashi ; I’m so sorry it took for fucking ever

Warnings: Omegaverse, noncon/dubcon (explicit use of the word r*pe), gun play, choking, water torture (attempted drowning), gaslighting, manipulation, watersports (briefly, kind of), mindbreak, dumbification, pregnancy, creampie(s), asphyxiation, lactation, knotting, breeding (technically), degradation

Kōtarō’s rut had finally ended, pumping you full and fucking you into a stupor, all while Keiji made sure to have him give you a break. It was the week for you and Kōtarō to catch up, after all. You were bonded to Kōtarō and Keiji now, you were their mate, so you had to be taken care of. With the stinging pain on your shoulder from Kōtarō’s mark, you were only missing the legal document to bind you to Keiji the normal, Beta way. Keiji was currently thinking about which ring to get you, since Kōtarō had already decided on his “proposal” gift. Keiji figured you’d need time to adjust, however, as he was laying on the couch with Kōtarō’s arms wrapped around him, you missing. There was a cute show that they were watching, Keiji was sure you’d like it. You weren’t allowed out of the bedroom yet, so he would have to show it to you another time.

Once Kōtarō had been satisfied and Keiji had recovered, both got to work on making your stay permanent. You attempted to leave, but Keiji was quick to cuff you. Kōtarō held you down, forcing you to struggle until there was nothing left to do except lay there. Kōtarō had to go back to Osaka soon, so he was trying to enjoy his last few days in Tokyo.

“That was a fun show. Cute, too,” his yawning interrupted his sentence, cutting it short. Keiji nodded in response, snuggling closer to Kōtarō. The Alpha was warm and comfortable, it gave him a sense of home. “I gotta go back tomorrow, Akaashi,”

“I know, Bokuto-san,” Keiji sighs, knowing he’d have to work on their new pet by themselves. It was going to be a struggle. At the beginning of the week, you were so pliant and easily coerced into things. Now, you wouldn’t look or talk to them. Kōtarō threw a fit yesterday, screaming and crying because you weren’t the same person, you were much more distant. It’s the same when it comes to Keiji, however. You only looked at him with betrayal and sadness, even then only looking at him briefly. You exhausted yourself, but you were fighting them. Distancing yourself and giving them the silent treatment. It made Kōtarō not want to leave, you being so upset at him, but he didn’t have a choice.

Kōtarō needed to find a new place for everyone to live, of course. With the high probability of you becoming pregnant, you couldn’t be living in Tokyo, hours away from your alpha. Knowing you would be carrying his pups without him around had Kōtarō growling, Keiji gently patting his arm. Kōtarō calmed down at that, indulging in the calming scent of Keiji. Keiji has already been bonded to him, so it wouldn’t be as stressful if he wasn’t bonded — you were both his mates and therefore, you could be trusted in Keiji’s care. It was still hard to go. He didn’t want to leave with the state you were in.

“What place were you thinking about?” Keiji mused, running his finger in a pattern on Kōtarō’s arm. Just something to do as he mentally planned for the upcoming weeks. The type of house would determine how long those weeks would be.

“Some place big, but close by the gym and practice gym. Maybe traditional? I’ve always wanted to live in a traditional, zen kind of house,” Kōtarō’s eyes lit up as he talked, images and scenes of a large house full of his lovers and his children, playing volleyball in the yard. Keiji smiles at that, knowing it would be at least a month. Enough time to have you positively pregnant and to get you settled into your new role. It’d take effort, of course it would, but he could do it.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Bokuto-san,”

“Ya know, we really gotta get used to calling each other by our given names. You’re gonna be a Bokuto, aren’t’cha?”

“Well, of course I am. Just like [Y/N]. We’ll be the Bokuto family,” he sighs, closing his eyes as the name settles in his mind. The Bokuto family has a nice ring to it, he thinks.

Kōtarō spends his last night cuddling you to sleep. You want no part of it, lying stiff as a board as he presses kisses to your neck and rubs his hand over your stomach. It’s a sickening thought, the possibility of getting pregnant. If you really had been ovulating during the rut, you most likely were pregnant. It’s not like you’d know or not, you barely leave the bed to urinate. It’s disgusting to have to deal with, but even when you do get the bathe and do your business, Keiji is right next to you, ready to intervene if necessary. Although Kōtarō is often in there with you, lathering up your body as his touches become less innocent, Keiji’s stone-cold gaze forces you to not attempt anything silly.

When the morning comes, Kōtarō is desperate to keep something of yours until he can see you again. In order to keep him happy, you acquiesce to his demands and let him take your used clothes, yet to be washed. As if the lingering scent of the morning sex isn’t still clinging to his skin. You can’t smell it, nor Keiji, but you know it’s there as you watch him dress himself, tucking himself away as he rambles on about his plans for the future. Three kids for him, two for Keiji, a nice big house, just the ideal lifestyle for anyone. It’ll never happen, though. His delusions will soon shatter when you stay distant and refuse to love him or Keiji.

Keiji waves goodbye to you, saying he’ll come back when he’s done with work. He plans on taking Kōtarō to the train station and then going to work, so you’ll be stuck for the next few hours. Until dinner time, that is. After an hour, you hear a ping from your phone and reach over to look at it. You can still use your phone, of course, but any possibility of calling for help is useless. In this society, nobody would help you. Not only that, your phone is bugged and linked to Keiji’s. He knows when you unlock your phone, what you do at what time, and how long you’re on it. You’re almost positive he can shut it off if he wants to.

The noise is a message from Kōtarō, telling you he misses you already. A roll of the eyes as you lock it, setting it beside you again. You’re able to barely reach the table beside the bed, but none of the drawers. One hand is secured to the headboard, wooden and strong enough to withstand Kōtarō’s ruthless rut. You feel restless as the day has only begun, the next time you will be able to move out of the bed, if at all, will be when Keiji comes home.

The doorknob to the apartment jiggles, making you jump. Keiji should’ve gone to work, so the sudden noise was unexpected. When it finally turns, you expect to see the familiar hair of your former friend, the tousled raven hair and the broad build. Although the man has the proper stature, the hoodie covering his head and the cheap-looking mask covering his face prevent you from properly identifying him. You can’t tell if he’s smirking or not, the intense feeling that he’s giving off tells you he is. With your hand secured to the bed, you really don’t have much in the way of options. The phone is still an option, but you doubt you could get to it in time.

The man lunges towards you, spurring you to attempt to grab the phone. Your fingers brush the metal device before your arm is forcefully gripped and twisted. You scream as your body twists, attempting to lessen the pain. It’s useless, but you still try. When your mouth opens, he quickly shoves something round and hard in it, your tongue pressed against the barrel of the gun.

“Don’t move a muscle,” his voice was low and hoarse, as if he was adjusting it to hide his identity. It was still unfamiliar to you, your brain unable to register what was going on. The man easily overpowers you, using his weight to keep you pinned to the bed. Fear prickles your skin, the chill setting in deep into your bones despite the lingering warmth of the fading Summer heat. It’s a horrible feeling, frozen in fear as your mind races, unable to do anything except stay still. It’s horrible, the fact you listen to the stranger’s demands despite wishing you were dead and out of Kōtarō and Keiji’s grasps. The gun is removed from your mouth, but the knowledge of it being in his possession is enough to keep you compliant, barely acknowledging the man’s hands moving to slip under the dress you were kindly given.

To keep yourself ready and easily accessible to both Keiji and Kōtarō until they had to part, it was best to slip you into a plain and simple white sundress. It was a present from Kōtarō, a small way of saying you were his now. With the lack of panties or other undergarment, you were essentially naked to the intruder as he sat on his heels, dark eyes scanning over your form. You were shaking from the fear, the unknown, but you weren’t attempting to move or thrash about. It was so easy to take advantage of you, you already nice and wet for him, too. The slick buildup from the morning session with Kōtarō lingers, as well as the creamy substance of his seed fucked into you. Unless the intruder was an Alpha, he couldn’t do much damage, but the thought of leaving you alone without a touch, a taste, was too unbearable.

It didn’t take long for the feeling of something hard and thick to push against your folds, collecting slick and teasing, your sensitivity making you whimper at the touch. It was a sudden plunge, forcing himself deep into your cunt as he groaned, your walls clenching around him. You thought the groan sounded familiar, but there was no more time to think on it when he put his hand on your throat, effectively shutting off proper access to your lungs. Your walls tighten again around him, him finding it hard to retract his hips but thrusting back in. His pace isn’t too fast, but his thrusts are brutal as he continues to drive his cock into your sensitive and abused pussy. He’s not an Alpha, you can tell by the lack of an inflating knot, but it still remains that you’re being violated by an unknown man. The whimpers coming from your throat are all you can release, barely sucking in air to stay conscious. When your vision starts to fade, the man and the walls of the room slowly blurring together, you start to panic.

The gun is still beside you, but it’s not your concern. The bullet in the chamber can’t threaten you unless the barrel’s against your head, but the hand currently cutting off oxygen is threatening your life. Attempting to dig your nails into the fabric of the hoodie is useless, his work gloves keeping his hands from getting any marks, either. Your lungs burn from lack of air and your vision slowly fades to black, a heat and chill settling over your body at the same time as you continue to feel his body pinning you down. The brutal fucking is the only sensation you still have, the stinging of your skin as he snaps his hips to meet yours and the squelching sounds from your sloppy pussy, cum and slick spurting and coating his cock as he chases his own high. You don’t know if he finished inside, your sensations dying out as you slip into unconsciousness.

When you wake up, your lungs ache and your face feels wet. When you flutter your eyes open, you’re faced with the creamy beige walls of Keiji’s bedroom, the lamp and phone on the bedside table. A presence is beside you, a large hand gently brushing your hair. Your eyes widen as you jolt, Keiji gently shushing you as he holds you. It’s comforting, someone familiar beside you after the experience you just had. You don’t know what happened after everything went black, but the smell of Keiji’s morning coffee and his cologne calm you down, tears spilling out as your fists bunch up the fabric of his shirt.

“I had a bad feeling, so I immediately came back home. I didn’t expect you to be completely unconscious, what did you do?” He asked, oblivious to what had really transpired. It was painful to recall, the fear from before rising again as you remember the man’s stature, looming over you as he pinned you to the bed. Another fit of tears come, the droplets soaking the white of Keiji’s shirt. “Darling, you need to tell me what’s wrong. What-“

“A stranger,” a hiccup interrupted you, red and tired eyes looking to his face. He looks confused, so you need to press on. “He broke in. Violated me. He— he ra-“

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. If I had known something so horrible would happen, I wouldn’t have left you all alone. You could’ve come with me, but you’ve been so naughty, you know,” his voice is gentle, but there’s a certain chill in his voice that has your fear spiking. His hands are warm, caressing your back as he speaks. “But, you know, you cheated on Bokuto-san and I. I have to punish you,”

“I— I didn’t do it on purpose!” Why were you defending yourself? Your mind had to momentarily adjust itself, the feeling of helplessness from earlier now back. Once the cuff had released the headboard, it was nothing for Keiji to force you into the bathroom. No amount of strength you had could compare to him, nor height. He wasn’t afraid to hurt you either, almost smashing your fingers in the door frame because you wouldn’t let go. “Akaashi, stop!!”

“Akaashi? Now, we can’t have that. You should address me properly, dear,” he grips your face, smushing your cheeks together as you find yourself practically flung into the tub. It’s already full of hot water, almost scalding, as he holds your head under. Struggling once more, it’s futile. His strength far surpasses yours, stature looming over you. Under the water, his image is distorted, but the way he looks down at you feels familiar. Before that thought can continue, you feel your lungs burning as you thrash again, thoughts only focused on surviving. When your head is pulled up, you gulp air as you cough, water sputtering as you do. “You need to be punished.”

“Let me go, I didn’t do anythi-“ your head is once more under the water, nails digging into the flesh of Keiji’s arms as he holds you still. You didn’t get a good gulp of air, so you’re quickly back at the previous feeling of helplessness as your lungs burn, vision blurring. Before everything goes black, you’re once more pulled from the water. Your face is hot, either from lack of air or the heat of the bathroom and water, you’re not too sure. But Keiji is sure of one thing and that’s the way you’re clinging to him. You were digging your nails into him, squirming and attempting to leave, but now your nails were digging into his as your grip tightened around his forearm. You were clinging to him, unconsciously seeing him as your savior, as he was the one who controlled your ability to breathe, therefore your life. He could drown you if he wanted to, but Kōtarō wouldn’t like that. No, he just needed you to depend on him, change your stance on how you saw your lovers.

Keiji also couldn’t help how delicious you looked, drenched as steam rose from the water, your white dress floating around you as if you were an ethereal being. You looked angelic and untainted... an urge to corrupt you washed over him, compelling his body into the steaming water. It was a tight fit, but he managed. With his sweatpants on, it was easy for him to simply push down the waistband and pull out his cock. “Now I have to cover up that man’s scent, or do you want everyone to know you’re a whore?”

“Akaashi, enough, this isn’t any diff-“

“Are you saying I’m a rapist? That’s what you’re implying, right? If you really think that, then I’ll be that. I would never purposefully hurt you,” his words contradict his actions, his hard cock pressing into your walls as he speaks. Sensitivity still lingers, your legs twitching as he sinks down to the hilt. “You’re saying I’m the bad guy, aren’t you? Well, how about I be the bad guy? Let’s recreate the scenario,”

“Akaashi, please, stop!” You cry out, weak limbs attempting to push him off. Hot, fat tears stream down your cheeks as Keiji licks them away, kissing their trails as you continue to sob at the feeling. It was a horrible feeling, being helpless, but a part of you knew you were safe. Keiji wouldn’t let you die, the only thing that prevented you from putting more effort in. Even with the splashing water, he kept one hand on the back of your head to prevent you from going under. Keiji’s pace is always the same — slow strokes, but deep and meaningful as he rocks his hips into yours and makes sure to roll his hips. It’s a completely opposite of Kōtarō’s, brutal and relentless, but Kōtarō fils you out more. Keiji has to make sure you feel every ridge, every vein, every pulse from his cock and have it completely engraved into your mind.

When Keiji gets close, he holds you closer to him, kissing your neck as your hands grasp at the tub’s edges, mind reeling from the force of your orgasms. Your nerves are on fire, your walls constantly clamping around Keiji’s cock like a vice, all while he rides out his own high. He presses a sweet kiss to the mark on your neck, where it meets your shoulder, right where he sports a matching mark on his own skin. It’s Kōtarō’s bond, what links him to the two of you forever. With a final thrust, Keiji spills deep inside you as he kisses you deeply, forcing you to swallow his moan of pleasure as he swallows your mewls. You’re still tight around him, walls fluttering pathetically around his girth as he relishes in the way you feel, keeping his seed locked inside you.

When he breaks the kiss, you’re both panting heavily, chests heaving for different reasons. “There. Now he’s gone,” a gentle kiss on your temple. With those words, a silence settles over the room. Although the stranger may be gone, in his place stands Akaashi Keiji.

The next day, Keiji is home.

“Just a precaution, dear,” he had said. “So nothing else bad will happen to you when I’m not here. You wouldn’t want that, would you?” With those words, he convinced you of his intentions. The previous day’s events had you rattled, the fear of being alone subconsciously rooted into your mind. A small whimper of Keiji’s name, his given name, had him smiling and cooing at you, taking you anywhere in the apartment you wanted to go. It was nice to finally leave the bedroom and bathroom sections, seeing the front room and kitchen, able to hear and see people outside the windows. You dare not let your eyes linger too long on the windows, covered completely with only shadows passing by, nor on the door. The door which had a recently newly installed lock, to take extra precautions. A passing thought of how it seemed to be so quickly enforced comes by, leaving as you become hyper aware of the blank gaze Keiji gives you. It’s not blank, per se. It looks blank to many bystanders, but to you, you know he’s focusing. He’s watching you and analyzing what you do. It’s a test.

A test you seem to have passed, when he calls you back for a bath. He doesn’t guide you there, no threats, just a simple “Come along,” as he walks towards the same bathroom he almost drowned and violated you in. The fear and anxiety of going back has your flight or fight response kicking in, the seemingly easy option of flinging the door open and leaving has your legs moving. But Keiji is quicker, stronger, and smarter than you. Before your fingertips can even graze the lock, your face is slammed into the floor.

“You were doing so well, too,” his feet are planted on either side of you, one moving to plant itself on your back. With a bit of force, you’re screaming as he has his heel pushing into your spine. “You deserve to be punished.”

“Fuck you, Akaashi!” You spit, squirming and wriggling to get him off. When his foot moves, you attempt to get up, but soon he drops down and fists your hair in one hand, the other pushing your cheeks together.

“I should wash that dirty mouth of yours,” he growls, shoving your face against the floor. By shoving, he essentially drops you into the floor. With a burning sensation in your nose, you feel a vaguely familiar liquid trickling out, a small red dot beneath you. He does it once more, making sure to keep his hand on your head to prevent you from getting up. “I trusted you to listen to me, [Y/N],”

“I’ll never listen to you,” you declare, hands balling into fists beside you. “I’ll never forgive you and Bokuto for what you did. I’ll never forgive or forget how you raped me, either!”

“I did no such thing. You enjoyed it, whore. You clamped around me like a vice last night, just as you probably did the stranger that violated you. Can it be consider violation if you were wet? What about when you started to enjoy it?”

“How would you know that, unless-“

“I know how much of a slut you can be, sleeping around with Alphas in high school and other Betas. You probably got off on being raped,” He sneers, putting more force in his hand, making it uncomfortable as your cheek is smushed against the floor.

“Fuck you,”

“I’ll take that as a yes. As a punishment, you won’t be leaving that bedroom for some time,” he finally lets you free, a large breath of air inhaled as you realize he was putting his weight on your lungs. “Come here,”

Wrenched from the ground, you find yourself dragged, kicking and screaming, back into the bedroom where Keiji cuffs you to the headboard. He’s huffing, but he manages to get both wrists cuffed to the headboard. Back to square one, with you refusing to acknowledge him while he tries to talk. Well, he does talk, you’re forced to listen.

When dinner time comes around, you expect some plain chicken broth or maybe even water, but instead you’re given nothing. Keiji doesn’t come in the room at all. The water running let’s you know he’s washing dishes, but where’s your meal? When his humming enters the room, you know he’s coming down. When he opens the door, in his hand lays a plate with bread crust and crumbs, along with some pocky sticks. Just two, however. Barely considered a meal. “Dinner!”

“You’re kidding me,”

“Dear, you know I don’t joke around easily. You were naughty this afternoon, so you’re going to eat my leftovers. Bread crust and some stale pocky sticks is the only thing on your menu,”

“I’ll starve instead,” a glare sent his way does frazzle him one bit, instead almost makes him... chippier. As if you’re falling for his well hidden trap. A nod and he’s gone, your only source of food with him. He won’t enter to room again until nighttime, so you’re left to wallow in your own solitude, something you used to take for granted.

When Keiji does finally come into the room, you’re excited to see him before remembering you don’t like him. Instead of taking the key and releasing your restraints to sleep, he grabs his pillow, his blanket, and his phone charger. “Where are you going?”

“Well, since you obviously hate me, I thought it’d be best that I leave you alone. After all, that is what you wanted, yes?” A small smirk is on his face as your eyes widen, thoughts running through your head as he takes his leave. Without a bid goodnight, Keiji leaves you alone in the room. With no possible entertainment except your mind, you feel uneasy. Unsteady. The world is suddenly dropping you off in an empty room with nothing and you can’t think of anything to keep yourself entertained. The television set buzzes to life outside, while the popping of popcorn fills your ears along with the melted butter smell. An urge to move flits around, but you decide it is best to not.

The next day, it’s a similar situation. Within three days of Kōtarō’s leave, you’ve found yourself craving his company more than ever. Keiji is ruthless and merciless, entering the bedroom for clothes and then leaving for work. He doesn’t talk to you, he doesn’t look at you, he barely enters the room anymore. You feel your stomach grumble at the thought of food, your mouth dry from the lack of fluids in your system. A pathetic way to die, one would think. With the lack of nutrition, your body will eventually decay or fall into an unstable state. Keiji isn’t a dunce, he knows this — at least, he should. Why then, you wonder, is he allowing this? Not only are you completely attached to the bed, but you haven’t been able to get up at all, even for bathroom use. The urine has stained the sheets, turning the pristine white cotton into a grimy yellow color, the ammonia stench covering the entire bedroom. You felt like a helpless child, in dire need of your parents to come home.

In a way, that’s what it was. You were helpless and needed someone else’s help. You need Keiji’s help. You can only go so long before you end up breaking, and you’ve reached a limit. The disgusting liquid under you was the final thread, the squelching and squeezing every time your hips move to a different area to attempt to leave the spot resulting in a failed attempt. The white dress was soaked, first from the bathroom incident and now it was dyed yellow due to your own fluids. Kōtarō wouldn’t be happy with those results.

When Keiji finally comes home, you hear him. You hear the door close and a sigh. Waiting for him to enter the room is quickly disregarded as you call for him. With no hesitation, he arrives at the room, looking at you. “You called, darling?”

“Keiji, please. I’m sorry I was bad. I need you, please don’t leave me,” you cry out, pulling on the cuffs. Shushing you, he quickly attends to your wrists, red and raw from the tugging, pulling, and twisting you’ve done over the past day. Once one hand is free from the restraint, he’s happy to feel it grabbing his shoulder, a silent beg to not leave. “Kei-“

“I know, I know. I won’t hurt you,” his words calm you down, sobs turning into hiccups as he guides you off the bed. Your legs are weak, unstable from lack of use, so he bridal carries you into the bathroom, not caring about the urine. After setting you on the toilet, he strips you of your dress and starts the bath. Trusting you to not move, he leaves. Another test, to see if you’ve really shaped up after the last attempt.

Keiji stands in the bedroom, pulling the sheets off the bed and removing the pad. He puts them aside, but waits. No movement from the bathroom, not even the toilet seat squeaking or the shutting off of the water. Continuing to put the sheets and dress away, he picks out a set of panties — new and clean, a treat for being good — to go with the pastel pink sundress. It looks exactly like the other one, except the color. After getting a towel and a change of clothes himself, he leaves.

You’re still sitting on the toilet, looking at him as he enters. Perking up, you push into the hand the caresses your head, brushing the tangled hair. He stops the water, guiding you into the tub. Once you’re settled, he strips down and joins you.

“You’re not going to hurt me?” You ask, voice dull.

“Of course not. When have I ever done that?”

The next day is such an improvement, Keiji can’t help but let Kōtarō know how well you’ve adjusted. You’re compliant out of fear rather than love, but Kōtarō doesn’t know that. He’s so excited to see a picture of you cooking in the kitchen, he probably wouldn’t care. The picture doesn’t capture the longing look at the knives, the fleeting glances at the door, the rigidness of your body as Keiji wraps his arms around you. It’s small gestures, but you never move to accomplish the action. Your finger might twitch, a gulp as you see the unlocked door, but you continue on. You make the noodles, you bring the tray to Keiji, you sit in his lap and allow the arms to secure your place. The food is something you’re ever thankful for, the lack of food spurring your resilience into breaking. With a gentle blow, Keiji feeds you the ramen you dutifully prepared for the both of you all day.

You never looked at the door again. You never looked at the knives unless you were cutting something. Even with Keiji breathing down your neck, eyes focused on your hands, you didn’t twitch or move to hurt him. You went to the bathroom and didn’t complain when he joined you. Even when he had to do his little daily checkup, you didn’t complain. The first time, you mentioned it tickled and questioned what he was doing, sticking his nose between your legs as he pried them open. He just smiled and said he needed to know if you were healthy, to which your questions easily stopped. Although he occasionally swept his tongue over your still wet folds, you never told him to go away and leave you alone. Even when he went further and had put you on the bathroom’s countertop before diving between your legs once more, your fingers thread themselves through his hair as you moaned.

When the news of Kōtarō coming back reached your ears, you didn’t know how to feel. Keiji was the one to help you, give you comfort, so you didn’t feel too excited to see Kōtarō. Keiji knew this would cause problems, as Kōtarō was expecting you to be as loving to him as you were to Keiji. After an explanation of the situation, you promised to perform appropriately for Kōtarō. With a whispered threat of locking you up again, you easily complied with everything you were asked to do. When Kōtarō came through the door, he was easily able to catch you as you jumped on him. “Welcome back!”

“Aw, [Y/N]! I’m glad to be back!” He nuzzled into your neck, indulging in your scent. You could easily pretend to be in love with Kōtarō, but your scent would tell him if you were feeling off. With his superior senses, you had to be forced into a mindset where you did love Kōtarō. Threats and memories of the past had could nodding along, situating yourself into his life easily. “I missed you, a lot,”

“Well, we won’t have to be gone for so long again, right?” You ask, a pout forming. “Or are you going to leave me?”

“Oh, no! You’re gonna live with me,” he grins, a closed eye smile. Your eyes widen as the information is processing, Keiji coming from the kitchen.

“It was a surprise for you. We’ll be moving to Osaka to be close to Bokuto-san,” he’s drying a knife, one he recently finished washing, but it’s also a silent threat. Kōtarō didn’t see the horrified look on your face, but he sure did.

“O-Oh. Okay! I can’t wait, when are we.. when do we move?” Twiddling your fingers, Kōtarō wraps his arms around you once more, effectively picking you up. No hesitating, your legs wrap around his waist as he looks up at your face, love flooding his eyes.

“You’ll move in with me tomorrow. Once Akaashi’s boxed everything up, he’ll join us. Our room is all set up, and there’s lots of rooms for kids. Speaking of-!”

“Another time, Bokuto-san,” Keiji harshly whispered, Kōtarō’s eyes widening before smiling, nodding. You didn’t know what that was, but you then focused on Kōtarō moving to the couch.

“Let’s eat, I’m starving! Maybe I can have something special for dessert, if you know what I mean,” with an added eyebrow wiggle, you shyly smile and nod. It’s what Keiji told you would please Kōtarō. It’s what Keiji told you that you need to do.

The dinner itself is fine, but when you ask to use the restroom, Kōtarō points out the red splotches on your white dress. Panicking, you attempt to locate the spot as your face heats up in embarrassment. Keiji then points out the bit of blood on Kōtarō’s pants, making you think your cycle has started. At that mention, Kōtarō’s growling in anger as you seize up in fear, unsure of what to do. Keiji tells you to change while he deals with Kōtarō, you immediately obeying and going to the bedroom.

“I thought ovulating meant she would get pregnant. Why isn’t she pregnant? Were you wrong?” Kōtarō asks, still angry. He knows he scared you, your lingering scent of fear in the room and around him. He thought he could smell another scent on you, but he didn’t know what it could be.

“Bokuto-san, I know this is frustrating but it’s possible she didn’t get pregnant. However, spotting is a sign of pregnancy. It was only a few drops. If she has anymore blood leakage that gets heavy tonight, we’ll know,” Keiji is able to calm down Kōtarō, who rolls his shoulders back and lies against the back of the couch. “Do you want to change your jeans?”

“Nah, it’s barely noticeable. Plus,” a thumb runs over the denim, Kōtarō licking his lips as his eyes darken, “this is like she’s claiming me, right?”

Kōtarō does not force himself on you that evening. Instead, he just cuddles you that night. It’s a differing touch than Keiji’s, who ends up rolling to the other side of the bed in the night. Kōtarō holds you close and tightly all night, snuggling closer to you, as if it was possible, and nudging his nose in your neck. It’s sweet, you think, as he caresses you like you’re made of glass.

The next morning, Kōtarō has you properly dressed to leave with him. A set of panties, sweatpants, t-shirt, and a hoodie. It’s a casual set of clothes, but they are all you came to Keiji’s house in a week and a half ago. Kōtarō says he’ll get you better clothes once you’re settled in, but you feel uneasy as you bid goodbye to Keiji. He worries about your mental state once you’re alone with Kōtarō, but he just has to hope you’re able to seem stable enough for a day.

In Osaka, you feel like your life is beginning anew. It’s not much different from Tokyo, but as Kōtarō guides you through the streets, it becomes known that Osaka has a lot more greenery. It’s very beautiful, in your opinion. When he stops in front of an old house, you glance at him. “Our new home, sweetheart!” He cheers, kissing your cheek as he picks you up. Carrying you inside the house, you notice the security. The gate is only opened via pin entry, which the gate itself is roughly 2 meters tall. Even the door to the house requires thumbprint access, a very modern and technological touch in an older, traditional house.

He shows you to your room, which is also his room, but yours too. It has its modern touch, with the remaining aspect of futons to lay on. The cameras in the hallway also are in your view, the one in the bedroom and the hallway. Looking into each room, you notice they are containing cameras, but one room is different. “What’s this?”

“Oh? This is our nursery! So, when you have a baby, it’ll be in here,” he chirps, pointing out things in the room. Scanning the room, you notice the lack of camera secured.

“Where’s the camera?”

“What— what camera?” Rubbing the back of his neck, he fakes confusion. You see right through it.

“I noticed the other cameras. There’s not one here,”

“Oh, well, that’s because this room has baby monitors!” He gestures to the white device. A nod of understanding has the tour moving on. Showing you to the kitchen, you notice the pantry and fridge are stocked. “Would you make me dinner?”

“Of course. What do you want?”

“You, served hot and steaming in the bath,” he grins. Eyes widen as you realize what he wants, you sheepishly laughing as you acquiesce.

Kōtarō is much rougher than Keiji, you knew that, but the way he fucks you with fervor as he hasn’t seen you in almost five days is something akin to his rut. Sinking his teeth into your skin, remarking his territory as he spurs you into your first orgasm of the night. Your nails are digging into his broad shoulders, the only thing you can use to keep yourself grounded. The setting wasn’t in the bathroom, but rather the bedroom where he claimed he wanted to “seal the deal” of you coming home. Legs tighten around his waist, back arching as he continues to drive his cock into you and litter your neck with less painful marks, claiming already claimed territory. As he presses a wet, sloppy kiss against your lips, you scream as you tighten your walls, feeling his knot force its way inside you.

A warm hand rubs the side of your body as your walls convulse around him, squeezing as he pumps you full of his cum. It’s a memory to you, but it feels so warm and fulfilling, you immediately relax in his hold as he continues to pepper kisses along your body. It’s a comforting feeling, being praised and cared for, a drastic difference from the way Keiji treated you a few days ago. Well, how you think he treated you a few days ago. He said he never did it, but your body said differently. With Kōtarō’s eyes of love looking down on you, you didn’t think it mattered. That was in the past, this was the present. You felt comfortable here, that was what mattered.

When Keiji arrived with a bunch of boxes, you were told to make them lunch so they could eat when they were done. Kōtarō said he didn’t want you straining yourself after last night, so you agree to his demands. Deciding to make some udon for lunch, you get to work as they lug in the boxes. The boxes aren’t large nor heavy, but watching Kōtarō easily lift three of them with no effort, while Keiji brings in two at most with also no effort, you feel yourself get wet at the thought of them hot and sweaty afterwards. With a possible treat in mind, you work more diligently, mentally preparing yourself to ask them.

Keiji mentioned he’d be looking for another job while Kōtarō was at the gym. It would be the first time you would be alone and free to roam. You begged Keiji to not leave for too long, hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt as he pried your hands off. Kōtarō gave you a sweet kiss before he left, telling you he’d try to hurry back, but you knew Keiji would get back first. Sitting in the large house, you didn’t know what to do except cook and sleep. Your phone screen lit up with a message from Kōtarō, a picture of him blowing you a kiss with a message of ‘I miss you!’ under it. You smile at that, sending back a message that you miss him, too.

Before you lock your phone, you look at the many games you have on it. There’s one game you don’t remember being on it, it looks like a tracker app. Clicking on it, it welcomes you and it shows how far along you are in.. pregnancy? First reaction is to panic, how do you know if you’re pregnant? Going into the internet app, you search up symptoms of pregnancy. One that jumps out to you is the spotting, only a little bit of blood as the sperm fertilizes the egg. It is most likely what you did on Kōtarō’s lap, the day he came to Tokyo. Another surge of panic comes as you think of your lovers, your mates. With Keiji looking for a new job and Kōtarō being busy with being a professional athlete, they don’t have time to take care of you and a baby. You decide to not tell them.

Although you decide to not tell them, the next week is excuses of your recent symptoms. You find yourself more exhausted than usual, not even getting out of bed to bid goodbye to Kōtarō and Keiji. Not only that, you end up in the bathroom as you feel sick, but only half of the times does something come up. It’s when you have another episode of morning sickness does Keiji pop the question. “Should I get a pregnancy test?”

“N-No! I’m not pregnant, just some bad sushi!” When Keiji’s grip on your arm gets tighter, you whimper. “Keiji, stop hurting me,”

“I’m not hurting you, I just need you to tell me the tru-“ the door shutting cuts him off, his attention to the door of the bathroom where Kōtarō is, panting.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it? I could sense it,”

“I’m just a bit sick-“ “She’s pregnant-“ You both speak at the same time. Your eyes widen as Keiji looks at you.

“Pregnant? Now? Really?” Kōtarō is ecstatic, but you don’t take it that way.

“I’m not, I promise! I’m sorry!” You beg. Kōtarō’s mood turns sour, the anger directed towards you. Keiji stands back, but he doesn’t interfere.

“Why are you lying to me? If Keiji says you are, then you are! I know you’re lying!” He kneels on the ground and grabs your shoulders, digging his meaty fingers into the flesh. You yelp in pain, attempting to get him off. “Why are you doing this?! You were doing so well!”

“Stop, Kō-chan, stop! You’re hurting me!” A call out of his childhood nickname has his rage quelling, as you brush his hands off and rub the stinging skin. “I don’t want to be pregnant,”

“This isn’t about what you want. It’s about what we want, do you understand that?” Keiji speaks, voice low and threatening. You quickly nod your head, attempting to explain yourself.

“I- I thought that you wouldn’t want a baby because you’re both busy! I don’t- I don’t want to burden you more than I do,” with your words, the anger and rage suddenly evaporates as they understand.

“Burden us? Baby, we love you and do everything for you. You’re going to be carrying my pups and Keiji’s babies, we want this. This is all I ever hoped for,” Kōtarō coos, taking your hands and pressing a kiss to them. A fit of sobs escape as you wrap your arms around him, hiccuping into his chest. Keiji sits and smiles, knowing you have completely adjusted into the proper role.

With the news of your pregnancy, Kōtarō is able to get off a lot more to be there for you. You’re no omega, so it’s not as if he has to take off for 9 months, and Keiji is there to take care of you. Keiji takes care of any appointments you need to do, signing you into a private hospital nearby where Kōtarō’s teammate’s omega gave birth. A list of what was normal was given to you and Keiji and what would be a cause for concern, so you made sure to drill into your head about the possible problems. It was vital that you were able to give birth, being able to give Kōtarō and Keiji what they wanted all you needed to take care of yourself. Keiji prepared your meals, making sure you were eating properly even before the bump showed.

When the bump became prominent, you were glad that your wardrobe consisted of dresses. The dresses you had were all loose-fitting and easy to move around in. With the upcoming winter months, you had lots of blankets and an oversized jacket, bearing Kōtarō’s MSBY number and logo. Kōtarō couldn’t keep his hands off of you, always rubbing your bump and pinching the extra fat you were putting on. Worry over the added weight was a brief concept that quickly evaporated as Kōtarō voiced how much he loves the extra meat to fondle and love, tickling you as you giggle afterwards. Keiji couldn’t say he disagreed with Kōtarō, the added weight adding to your cuteness charm as you did the most basic and minuscule things. He could disagree with Kōtarō on the obsession with the pregnancy milk, however.

Lactation was painful, the way your boobs ached as they were full of creamy milk. Although they ache, Kōtarō encouraged you to let him drink from them. Hesitation was in the beginning, but once his lips had secured themselves on your nipple and started sucking, it was quite relaxing. The tender ache in your breasts were gone as Kōtarō drank from them, but he often had to drink from both of them due to Keiji’s aversion. He didn’t see the appeal, he rather enjoyed teasing your nipples when the sexual appetite of yours had risen, but he didn’t see the appeal in drinking the milk. Keiji did oblige Kōtarō, however, in looking into lactation cookies, which would increase milk production and could even make it taste better. It was worth a try, as it would help the children to develop as you breastfed them.

The lactation cookies Keiji made looked awful, but tasted amazing. You would have eaten all of them had it not been for Keiji stopping you. Kōtarō seemed excited, immediately begging for another go. He’d have to wait until nighttime, since he often took naps after you breastfed him during the day.

At night, you often slept completely naked, able to easily feed Kōtarō if he woke up in the middle of the night. Your sex drive had risen exponentially in your second trimester, to the point Kōtarō had to request off to take care of you. He made sure to keep his promise, stuffing you with his thick cock and plugging you up with his cum or lapping at your folds until your fluids splashed against his face. With the third trimester underway, your libido has decreased while your milk had increased, but that didn’t deter Kōtarō from getting frisky. Even as Keiji bathed away from you two, he couldn’t help but touch himself to your whines and mewls.

Kōtarō has been riding a cloud since your pregnancy came about. Even before the milk, he found it hard to resist fucking you, especially with the added sensitivity. Your breasts were larger now, bouncing with every thrusts as he tweaks the nipples, watching the cream dribble from them. He can’t help himself, really, as he goes to attach himself to one of your perky buds. When Keiji enters the room, he chuckles at the sight.

“Should we worry that there won’t be enough milk for you and the baby?” He muses, sitting on the futon next to you. Your hand grasps at his silk shirt, bringing him down to give you a kiss. Even as Kōtarō drills into you, you want more. A wet pop resounds around the room as Kōtarō laughs, groaning in your ear as he plugs you with his knot, pumping you full.

“The pup can have those bottles, and with help of those miracle cookies, we should be fine. You sure you don’t want to at least try a bit? It feels nice for her, doesn’t it, my little Beta?” He coos, pressing kisses to your cheeks as you come down from your high, walls fluttering around Kōtarō’s cock.

“It relieves some pain, I’ll admit that,” you smile at Keiji. “You can try,”

“Well, how can I say no to that?” He smiles back at you, brushing hair out of your face. Kōtarō massages your breast, holding it so Keiji can attach his lips to the nipple. His eyes focus on the creamy liquid dripping from the bud, only to become transparent as it follows gravity. When he does get a taste, he knows he’s in trouble. It’s as delicious as Kōtarō said, creamy and full that makes you want more. As he sucks with fervor, you giggle and Keiji is joined by his other lover, suckling any milk he left behind. It’s such a strange thing to happen, both grown men sucking on your chest as if they had been born only recently. With the swell of your stomach, you knew they’d have to share their milky mine.

As your due date drew near, you found yourself unable to do anything alone. Kōtarō was off completely until you delivered and Keiji was no longer looking for a job, as it was decided Kōtarō made enough for everyone to live comfortably. He knew he’d have to find another job soon, as more children were born and needed to be fed, but that was a well ways off, at least 9 more months.

What started as a normal day soon turned to chaos as preparations for delivery expedited when your water broke. The hospital had your room prepared already, but it was for your week stay as you were three days away from your date. Kōtarō was in a frenzy, unsure of what to do but desperate to do something. Keiji has to drive to the hospital, while you were doing breathing exercises with Kōtarō in the back seat. It was the birth of their first child, so even Keiji was panicking, but he was also excited.

Once settled into the room, the nurses had to check to see how far along you were dilated. Kōtarō was anxious, his scent permeating the room as he started to pace. The doctor had come in, spurring him into a fighting mentality because the doctor was another Alpha. Keiji and a nurse had to get him out of the room, with a promise he could see the children once they were born, but he would have to wait in the waiting room. Weakly calling out his name and telling him you were fine, he obliged as he left, punching the wall once as he felt his emotions boil over. Keiji was by your side, holding your hand as you squeeze it, pushing when the doctor told you to.

When the room was filled with screaming, the clock chiming as 12:15 had arrived, signaling the date of birth of your first born son. With his stubby arms and legs, you laughed as you held him, Keiji getting the honor of cutting the cord. The baby still needed to be cleaned and checked over, so the doctor and nurses took him while Keiji went to get Kōtarō. By the time Kōtarō and Keiji has come back, you were holding a small, but still big, baby boy swaddled in a thick blanket. Kōtarō immediately raced over to look over both of you, his scent out of control as his emotions mingled together. He didn’t know what to think.

“It looks like it’s yours, Kōtarō,” Keiji says, hand resting on Kōtarō’s shoulder. He smiles in response, looking at the baby’s golden eyes blinking open at him.

“Sure does, Keiji. I guess the next thing we should work on is proper marriage, right?” He watches as the baby grasps his finger, the small hand even smaller compared to his large one.

“A proper marriage, yes. The ring, the dress, the ceremony, you would like that, wouldn’t you dear?”

“Of course Keiji. Anything you want.” As you look up to him, he sees nothing but love in your eyes. He smiles, nodding in agreement.

“Well, as well as making sure the next one’s mine. We should start on that as soon as possible, don’t you think?”

[golden-pickaxe]

Hi, you could do: Fem! Reader x Eric (or neutral gender) where the reader is temperamentally similar to Eric and is not afraid to challenge him, this intigrates him, and leads him to flirt with the reader (possible smut);

Closer

Reader Gender: Female

Fandom: Divergent

Pairing: Eric x Reader

Warnings: Violence, (slightly rough) smut

Word Count: ~5.000

A/N: I should actually study for my master’s exam, but well… here I am. I rewrote a draft I had on my computer for 6 years, and I hope this is kind of what you wanted!  It is also past 1 am now, so.. yea.

Also thanks for my first request :D Also, pro-tip: don’t write smut while continuing to listen to your classical music study playlist, that really does not convey the mood! (even though Johann Strauss slaps!)

   “Alright, listen up!” Eric’s loud voice echoed through the training halls, strong and confident as usually, attracting the attention of the initiates around him. The teenagers stopped their various exercises, looking over to the leader, some curious, some with a worried expression on their faces. Eric was standing by the door, next to you and Four.

 You stepped forward slightly, as the initiates jogged over to the three of you, gathering around you. You raised your voice.

 “My name is Y/N! I’m head of the weapon development and weapon repair team here at Dauntless, and for the next few days I will be your instructor for correct weapon handling and weapon training. Of course, you already had some shooting lessons since your arrival, but frankly, they are not.. to my standards.” You crossed your arms behind your back, ignoring the low snort of Four behind you.

 “I’d suggest you lot pay close attention, because incorrect handling of some of the weapons we use will lead to injury, and in the worst-case death.”

 There was a murmur going through the initiates, but it stopped when you glared at the few who had dared to talk to each other. You knew how you appeared to them, what impression you made on them, and used it to your advantage.

 “Over the course of the next week I will show you how to use, dismantle, reload, clean and repair the different kind of guns and firearms we use here at Dauntless. Don’t underestimate the importance of these lessons, they will be crucial in your later life. If you have any problems or questions, never hesitate to ask.”

 You paused for a moment, mustering the faces of the initiates in front of you, most of them staring back with curious and interested expressions. You still remembered being one of them, although you had been a Dauntless born.

 “In the future, if you have any troubles with your rifles, our workshop is where you drop by to get it fixed. If you make it through initiation, that is.” Your eyes wandered over to the ranking board, and you noticed how the group in front of you visibly tensed up. You turned around to Eric and Four, nodding at them before facing the teenagers again. “We will soon all go up to the shooting range, to start your training. But first we will go over theory.”

 You walked towards the door, picking up two large cases standing next to it, returning to the initiates where you put them on a large Table the other instructors had carried into the training halls earlier.

 With trained fingers you opened the cases, revealing an array of different types of handguns.

“Today we will work with pistols. Good for close combat and handy in urban situations. Best choice if you find yourself in the ruins, dealing with factionless.” You started, taking one of the weapons out of the case.

 “Do we really need to know all that?” someone of the group suddenly asked after you had started to explain the mechanisms of the weapon, and you looked up, your eyes fixating him. He flinched, raising his shoulders a bit defensively.

 “Step forward.” You said, quickly loading two pistols with munition. The boy was pale as a corpse, when he slowly came forward, the rest of the group holding their breath.

 You took one of the pistols, you knew this model very well, purposely inserting the magazine in a way, you knew it always jammed. You pushed the weapon into the boy’s hand, taking the other pistol and aiming it directly at the initiate’s head.

 “You are out, patrolling. You get separated from your group, and are faced with a bunch of factionless who have nothing to lose. One point a gun at you, ready to fire, because believe it or not, they get their hands on firearms. You did not pay attention when you learned how to handle weapons properly, and your handgun jams. What do you do now?” you asked, tilting your head. The boy was shaking. “Ten..”

 Panic appeared in the initiate’s eyes, and he looked down, trying to un-jam it, trying anything. The magazine was not moving and he could not pull the trigger either.

 “Nine.”

 “I can’t, oh god, I’m sorry.” He looked as if he was about to cry.

 “Eight.”

 He continued to struggle and you continued to count down, taking a step forward, the cold metal of your gun now touching his forehead.

None of the other initiates was talking, although you saw pure panic in their eyes. One almost looked as if she was about to say something stupid, but a raised eyebrow from you and an intervening friend apparently stopped her from opening her mouth.

 “Three. Two. One.” You raised your gun at the ceiling, firing a shot. The boy in front of you flinched and fell to the floor, apparently half thinking you actually shot him.

 “See, without ‘all that’, you’d be dead. So pay attention.” You took the gun from his hand, showing everyone a quick trick to unjam it, before returning to the table. You noticed how the other instructors looked at you, Four with supressed shock, and Eric with not so supressed amusement. He seemed almost impressed.

 “Where were I..?” You asked rhetorically, before resuming your theoretical instruction.

 As you continued to explain the different models you had brought with you to the group in front of you, telling them how to load, unload and dismantle them, the other instructors were standing behind you in silence.

 “And always, always, at least five times, check if your gun is unloaded before you clean it!” you said, glaring at a brown haired boy, called Peter if you remembered correctly, who snorted at your remark.  

 “You laugh, but I had a fair share of stupid friends who shot themselves because they were too lazy to check, completely sure it was unloaded. You might survive a pistol, but if it happens to be a shotgun and, say, you shoot yourself here..” you pointed at your hip. “Trust me, you won’t have any children in the future.”

 The boy turned a bit pale, and others around him started to giggle. You smirked, turning back to the table.

 “Please build teams of two, we’re going to go up to the shooting range now. Take turns in shooting, and every fifteen minutes or so we will swap guns, so everyone gets at least one shot out of every different type. You will unload, reload and shoot. If a weapon jams, you tell me, and I will demonstrate for the group how to deal with that. Any questions?”

 No one seemed to have any questions, so you packed up the guns, while Eric and Four lead the group up to the shooting range. You followed them, handing out the guns at the roof top, while Eric and Four distributed the ammunition among the initiates.

 You usually were not the person to do the weapon training, but Max had politely forced you to do it this year. You were one, if not the best in handling the firearms used in Dauntless, able to repair every single gun your faction used in your sleep.

It was your passion and your hobby, and you were glad that you had been good enough at initiation to work as what you wanted. Your mother had also been a weapon tech, and you always wanted to do the same.

 You watched the other two instructors oversee the shooting. They had been in the same year as you, both transfers while you were Dauntless born. They were right at the top, and you right behind, being fourth in the ranking. Involuntary your eyes stuck onto Eric, who had crossed his arms in front of his chest, while mustering one of the transfers loading a handgun.

 You had to admit, Eric was one of a kind. Incredibly handsome, strong, dominant and rough, also often cruel and arrogant. Dauntless though and through, although he still had some Erudite inside of him. He looked very different now, from the blue-clad boy who had arrived at Dauntless years ago.

He had something fascinating about him. His strong arms and muscular legs were also quite nice to look at. Eye candy, one could say.

 Shortly before lunch every group had fired every kind of weapon, and you packed up, checking if the guns really were unloaded, before putting them back in their cases.

 “How are they holding up?” you looked up, seeing Eric standing next to you, his hands casually on his hips, while looking at the group of initiates, who slowly dissolved, and headed for the stairs leading down back into the building.

 “They’re not too bad.” You admitted, closing the case in front of you. “Some are actually quite good.” Then you thought about that one girl, Tris her name was if you remembered correctly, who manage to hit the target only once. “Others maybe not so.”

 Eric chuckled looking back at you, and you noticed his eyes wander over your body.

“Yea, but they will get cut anyways.” He shrugged.

 “Still don’t really get the ‘cut’ thing.” You sighed, pricking up the cases from the table, one in each hand. “If that’s the new way of handling the weaklings, we will soon run out of janitors and kitchen staff, not to mention be overflown by angry factionless. There are enough of those poor sods as it is.”

 “Well, we are not Abnegation to hand out charity. If they want to be in Dauntless, they have to be good enough.” Eric crossed his arms in front of his chest.

 “They chose our way of life. They chose to be here. I think that is proof enough. And some take longer to be their best.” You shrugged. “I think changing the rules is a stupid arse decision, and we will have to face the consequences sooner than later.”

 You turned away, making your way down to the arsenal, located right next to your workshop, to put the guns away. Eric just stared after you, a frown on his face.

 The next week was full of tutoring the transfers in handling everything from standard rifles to flame throwers and shotguns. Once you had made Peter shoot an apple off of the head of one of his friends, as he had been too cocky about his abilities for your taste.

 “You really think you’re the best shot? Proof it!”

 After that he had kept his big mouth shut, and the initiates were now completely sure that you were not to be fucked with. It was the perfect balance of them having respect for you to not act foolishly, but also having enough trust to ask you if something was unclear, or if they had any problems. You also helped the ones low in ranking, empathising a bit more what they had to do, to give them a better chance at making it. The cut really was a shit decision, but Max had refused to change the rules, even when you had yelled at him.

 There were also many weird and casual after-work conversations with Eric while you packed up. Before this week you had never really talked, and only ever seen each other a few times while he had been training to be an instructor and leader.

 You sometimes even thought he tried to.. flirt? Complimenting you handling the weapons and initiates. He wasn’t very good at it, though.

Still, he was intelligent and quite interesting, and the conversations were never boring.

 ----

“Is there something going on between Y/N and Eric?” Christina asked frowning, turningher head to Tris, who mustered the two instructors standing at the table. Over the past week they had always seemed to talk to each other after training, and most of them had noticed how Eric stared at her, when he thought no-one was looking.

 “I don’t know, but he seems to like her?” Tris shrugged.

----

 It was about two weeks later, quite late, and you had just returned from the wall, where you had overseen the installation of a kind of gatling gun, after a few factionless had attacked an Amity caravan. It only shot non-lethal ammunition, like the nerve agents used for training, mimicking the pain of a real gun shot.

 The government had decided that you should not aim to kill the factionless, but scare them away. Pointless, you thought, as you knew if they were desperate enough they would go there anyways.

 You were sitting in the mess hall, eating a late dinner, when you noticed the door open. Eric entered, wearing just a t-shirt and combat trousers, smiling when he spotted you. You raised an eyebrow at him, but continued to eat.

 Eric came over to your table, sitting down in front of you casually.

“Heard you were back.” He said.

 “Seems so.” Was everything you answered.

 “How did it go?” he asked, grabbing your glass and taking a sip of your water, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. You blinked a few times at him, but he just chuckled. “You want to grab a drink, or are you too tired?”

 Was he.. asking you out? It was hard to tell with him. But his smile seemed sincere, not like the one his initiates received.

 “If you’re buying. Sure, why not.” You smirked. “Wait in the pit, I’ll join you in a bit.”

 “And how do I know you’ll come?” Eric leaned forward a bit, his eyes fixed on yours. There was a provocative smile on his lips.

 “Well, you have to take the risk, no?” you quickly raised your eyebrows once, before breaking eye contact and resuming your dinner. Eric chuckled again.

 “Ok.” He said, before he got up, leaving the mess hall, not looking back at you.

 You had to grin and bite your tongue. You had not really thought that you were Eric’s type. You had thought that he would be into women he could easily handle, that were just pretty and would hang on his arm while he was in the pit. But it seemed more as if he wanted someone who was his equal in ability, skill and intelligence, someone he could always compete with. Something like a fun, sexy rivalry. And if you were honest, that sounded really, really fun.

 You certainly didn’t hurry to finish your dinner, and bringing the dishes back to the kitchen. You also headed back to your apartment for a quick shower and to change your clothes, putting on a tank top and combat trousers which looked really good on you, and styling yourself up a bit.

 Finally, you made your way to the pit, which was filled with people. Dauntless members and initiates mingled together, it was noisy and as always full of life. You waved a friend you spotted a bit to the side, but made your way to the bar at the bottom, hoping to find Eric there. It was a bit hard to see him in the mass of moving bodies, even with his tall height.

 You leaned against the bar, letting your eyes wander through the crowd. Had you taken too long? Had he already gone? Maybe he hadn’t been that interested after all.

But your worries were blown away jut a moment later, when you noticed Eric approach you, making his way through the crowd of people. He had not changed, but he also had already looked great.

 A smirk was on his handsome face, and he leaned against the bar next to you, so close that your arm was touching his.

 “You look good.” He said into your ear, having to bend down a bit.

 “Worth the wait?” you shot back.

 “Worth the wait!” he chuckled. “What do you like to drink?”

 ----

Eric ordered drinks from the man at the bar, leaning against it sideways so that his front was facing Y/N. He was very obviously flirting with her, but she seemed to also enjoy it a lot.

 “I don’t know why, but seeing them together like this makes me super uneasy.” Christina shuddered a bit.

 “Why?” Will frowned at his girlfriend.

 “I don’t know they are both so.. scary.” The girl looked at her friends. “Don’t you think? The meanest people in Dauntless being all flirty.” She obviously had not forgotten Eric throwing her down the chasm, or Y/N pretending to shoot an initiate.

 Tris chewed her lips.

“Even scary people should be happy.” She finally said, causing the others to laugh.

 “Seriously? Can you imagine them together? The next round of initiates will all either die or end up factionless.” Chris looked over to them again, seeing Y/N sipping her drink, and Eric laughing. His arm was positioned behind her on the bar now. “Yuck.”

----

 “I tried to hit him, but he shot me in the leg first, hurt like a bitch.” Eric shook his head, and you noticed his fingers carefully stroking your back. A shiver ran down your spine, the good kind.

 “Maybe I should teach you how to shoot then. Didn’t know you were so bad at it.” You bit your tongue, before downing the rest of you drink.

 Eric gaped for a moment, probably unsure if he should be mad or not. Finally, he just chuckled, nodding.

“Yea, maybe a private lesson is what I need.” He grinned. He raised his glass, taking a sip.

 “If you need instructions how to use your weapon properly, we can start tonight, my place.”

 Eric choked on his drink, turning away when it shot out of his nose. He put the glass down onto the bar, grabbing a napkin from behind it to wipe his face, all the while unable to stop laughing.

 “Fuck, Y/N!” he growled. You had to laugh too, pushing yourself away from the bar.

 “The offer stands.” You winked, making your way through the crowd and towards the corridors, leading to the living area of Dauntless.

 You had just entered the corridor, when suddenly a hand grabbed your arm and turned you around. Before you could really react, Eric pressed you against a wall, his hands on your waist, his lips on yours.

 You immediately returned the kiss, opening your mouth a bit to deepen it, exploring Eric’s mouth with your tongue. You honestly didn’t give a shit that you were still kind of in the pit, with everyone able to see you. Both of you were known and quite prominent figures in Dauntless, so you already knew that there would be a lot of gossip, but you didn’t really care.

 Everything that was important now was Eric, and the kiss you shared. It was a pity that his hair was so short, you really would’ve liked to pull it. You ran your hands over his broad chest, before pushing him away.

 He looked a bit startled, but relaxed seeing your grin.

“I said my place. Not any place, Eric.” With that you turned around again, walking on and towards your apartment. Eric was right beside you, his hands snaking around your hips.

 Even though you made sure that he would not see it, you were very excited in this moment. Eric was not only insanely attractive, but you also grew to like him a lot. You would not even mind for this to.. become more. More than just a hook up.

 You finally reached your apartment door, and you tipped your personal code into the pad next to the door. As soon as you were in and the door was shut behind you, Eric was on you again, his hands wrapped around your waist, kissing you passionately.

 With uncoordinated hands you grabbed his shirt, pulling it over his head in a swift move. The tattoos on his neck stood in stark contrast to his skin, and you could not hold back but to kiss them, before strongly biting into it.

 Eric growled, lifting you up with his arms, and you wrapped your legs around his hip. Apparently he had seen the open door to your bedroom, as he started to slowly walk over there, while you still attacked his neck.

 He pushed you off of him, right onto your bed. Instead of following you though, he got down onto his knees, opening your boots and pulling them off. You just let him go to work, interested what he was planning. Your shoes were followed by your socks, and he also made quick work of his own. Then he climbed onto the bed, looming over you, before kissing you again.

 “How thoughtful.” You murmured against his lips. He did not answer, only bit you into your bottom lip, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to break skin. You moaned against his mouth, hands running over his exposed chest. Eric’s hands ran underneath your tank top, taking it off quickly, his hands running over your torso.

 The kiss was passionately and intense. Literally breath-taking , and you had to push Eric away to get some air. He only used the break to kiss your neck, moving downwards your body. Your nails dragged along his back, when you felt his fingers move underneath your sports-bra, pulling it off just like your tank top.

 Eric leaned back, taking a moment to muster you. Lust was in his eyes, and he licked his lips as he looked at your exposed skin.

 “Like what you see?” you teased, wiggling your eyebrows.

 “Oh, Y/N, you have no idea.” And with that he was over you again, one hand supporting himself on the bed while the other one moved to your breasts. You gasped against his mouth as he kissed you once more, his taste intoxicating. Maybe that was also the whiskey he had ordered at the bar, you were not quite sure.

 Your hands moved own his chest and stomach, opening the fly of his trousers. You were really glad he wasn’t wearing a blet, you were really not in the mood to fiddle with that.

 Eric groaned when you pushed your hand into his underwear, a grin appearing on your face when you found his member already fully erect.

“Oh you really like what you see, eh?” you laughed, and Eric growled.

 Eric’s hand now moved down your body, opening your trousers with a way too skilled hand. He moved back, grabbing the waistband your trousers and your pants, pulling them down together, leaving you lying on the bed completely naked. You sat up, pulling him back onto the bed, turning the two of you so you were now on top of him.

 Eric seemed a bit surprised at that, but rolled with it, a smile on his face as he bit his lip in expectation. Just as he had done with you, you pulled his remaining clothes off, and just had to take a moment to look at him.

 Eric was incredibly muscular, and there were tattoos on his stomach and right leg that you had never seen before. They had the same style as the rest, in stark contrast to his skin. He was incredibly attractive, and the piercings above his brow shimmered lightly in the faint light inside of your apartment. You straddled him, moving your head down to kiss him again, your hands finding his hair. It was short, yes, but not too short.

 You pulled hard, making him groan, but at the same time buck his hips up. Yea, you could tell he liked it a bit more rough.

 “I’m going to make you scream, before I’m done with you..” he almost hissed against your mouth. You bit his lower lip, unable to supress a grin.

 “Let’s see who’ll scream first.”

 With that you moved your lips to his neck, sucking and biting his skin, moving downwards, over his chest and stomach. You bit his hip, so hard that he actually almost shouted, but the twitch of his cock against your chest told you that he enjoyed it.

 “If you bite down there, I swear Y/N, I’ll kill you!” Eric growled and you moved down even further, and you had to laugh.

 “I’m mean, but not that mean.” You said, before lowering your head and licking over his erection, enticing a moan out of his mouth. He looked down at you with hungry eyes, clenching his jaw.

 Suddenly he sat up, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you onto the mattress, before he rolled over you, his lips finding yours again. His hand moved down and between your legs, the moisture he found there making him groan.

 “How are you so hot, damn.” You barely understood what he was saying, but it didn’t even matter, because his fingers quickly found your clit, circling it. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. Eric growled, his fingers moving more quickly, before they suddenly dipped down, pressing into you.

 A loud moan left your lips and you rolled your eyes, your hips bucking to meet his fingers.

 “Eric!” it came out of your mouth, and you moaning his name seemed to turn him on even more. He quickly moved his fingers in and out of you, causing you to clench around him. His thumb was in a position to hit your clit with every thrust, and your nails now were so deep in his shoulders, you knew that even if you didn’t draw blood, you would surly leave marks.

 Eric kissed and bit your neck, his hand not slowing down.

“Do you have..” he started to murmur into your ear, and you nodded quickly.

 “Bed.. oh my.. bedside table.” You barely managed to bring out.

 “Good.” Eric stopped his movements, his hand gone, and this time it was you who groaned.

 Eric laughed, pressing a kiss onto your cheek, which was such a contrast to the otherwise rough actions that you had to raise an eyebrow.

But Eric didn’t even notice that, as he had sat up, and opened the drawer of your bedside table, quickly finding what he was looking for.

 He opened the shiny package of the condom with his teeth, putting it onto himself. Just as he wanted to crawl over you, you pushed him, so he fell onto his back, climbing on top of him again. This whole thing kind of felt like a battle for dominance, and you really liked that.

 Eric just looked at you with hungry eyes, his hands finding your thighs as you straddled him. You bit your lip as you grabbed his cock, guiding it to your entrance, slowly, very slowly lowering yourself onto him.

 You closed your eyes, breathing steadily. Eric was.. thick. And stretched you a bit more than you had expected. You had almost expected him to push his hips up, but he kept steady, not moving until you were all the way down. You opened your eyes again, looking down at the man, who started to grin when your eyes met. You grinned back, lifting your hips again, and moving down, this time a bit quicker.

 Your started up a hard, even if not so fast pace, and the sound of both of your moans filled the bedroom. You were sure the person in the apartment next to yours was probably able to hear you, but you didn’t really care about that.

 You leaned back a bit, throwing your head into your neck, your hands on Eric’s strong thighs, supporting yourself. You felt Erics hand run down your torso, before his thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in tandem with your movements. You felt yourself edging more and more towards the end, the feeling of him inside of you and his hands on you was just.. amazing.

 “Eric..” you moaned again, and just as last time this seamed to turn him on even more. Eric sat up, wrapping an arm around your torso, and supporting your movements, quickening them while his mouth found your neck again.

 “Y/N!” his voice was coarse and deep and so god damn sexy it drove you insane.

 Your hands wandered into his neck, and one into his hair, pulling it strongly, so his head was back in his neck. You moved your head to kiss him, all tongue and teeth, uncoordinated but extremely erotic.

 When you let go of his hair he rolled the two of you over once more, him now over you again. Eric sat up a hard and quick pace, his hand automatically finding your clit and rubbing it just as fast. You moaned loudly, arching your back as you felt your orgasm draw nearer and nearer.

 Eric’s face was next to your ear, and you heard him moan and that was what finally pushed you over the edge. You came hard, your legs wrapping around Eric’s waist and you clenching around his cock. Your moan was loud, but nothing compared to Eric. One, two more thrusts, and he collapsed on top of you, breathing hard and fast.

 “Shit.” He murmured, before rolling off of you.

 “I won. You screamed.” You laughed breathlessly, and he chimed in.

 “Oh fuck off.”