#f. eighty six

[madamechrissy]

Figure You Out

art in the center by @ahresprite!!

pairings - Satoru Gojo x F! reader

contents/warnings- College AU, Reader and Toru are both nerds tbh, FLUFFY and sweet, some sexual tension, lots of unspoken feelings, so fkn cute I'm sick aha, Gojo playing the guitar while you're studying, kissing, light smut so MDNI- fingering, orgasms, both you and Toru are down bad virgins and stay that way for now hehe - friends to future lovers?

the Gojo guitar art has been fkn me UP so here's a lil short oneshot of them being fucking adorable and Gojo composing a song for reader- 3k wc

Satoru is playing the guitar softly in the corner of your room, leaned back in your bright pink gamer chair, the sight is as cute as you'd imagine, his lanky big body laughable in comparison. And he's playing the only song you think he knows - Wonderwall. You've heard it about eighty seven times this week, but you never ever will get tired of it.

You're exhausted from your studies, your hair is in a messy excuse for a bun falling down, you have bags under your eyes, and Satoru is just watching you as he sits across from you in your dorm room, playing softly and smiling a bit. You smile back sleepily, the two of you have been friends since high school, and you both frequently study together.

Satoru is so smart, however, he barely studies and just aces everything he does, whereas you are smart but bust your ass for those sort of grades. You haven't slept for shit with finals coming up, and here he is, long fingers strumming that guitar, as you listen with a sigh, putting down your thick textbook for just a moment.

"Is that a different song, Satoru?" You ask softly, leaning back then, he eyes your thighs as your pleated skirt rises up just a bit, willing his heart to calm down.

There's something so sexy about you like this, those dark circles just fucking suit you, the disarray of your messy band tee all torn up - your comfort shirt when you study - and the scattered books all over just fit you. You're kind of a beautiful mess, honestly, busting your ass so hard, he'd love to just make you feel better.

In every way.

You've always just been his friend, maybe the guitar and the endless versions of Wonderwall were a way to distract himself, to keep fingers occupied that would die to trace up the gentle curve of your neck. He barely composes himself as you repeat his name softly, realizing you've asked a question.

"It is, did you think I only played Wonderwall? rude," his little pout makes you giggle, as does his narrowing blue eyes. "I am composing a song, missy."

"You are? I wanna hear it." You lay down on the floor now, on your tummy with your ankles propped up and crossed, resting your chin in your hand.

"Shouldn't we be studying?" He asks, raising a brow as you tilt your head and look at him, so pretty for a moment he gets nervous.

The song he's composing is for you.

"I wanna hear it, please? I need a break, look at me." You frown, undoing the bun and letting your messy hair fall across your shoulders. The sight almost does him in.

How long has he loved you?

"All right," he smiles a bit, so cute always you think.

How long have you loved him?

It feels like forever, since freshman year when you and all of both of your friends joined high school, Nanami, Shoko, Haibara, Geto and... Gojo of course. The six of you were as close as it got, the memories endless, and now you're all in college together, and the fear of not seeing Gojo in particular grips at your heart.

Maybe it's why you always ask him over, it's not that he helps you study so much as you love him around. He's so handsome - fuck he's pretty actually, he has a whole fan club that gathers around him when he starts playing that damn Wonderwall again in the pretty field in front of the university. Gojo eats up the attention, always, but you know you're the only one that gets the private show.

He starts to play something softer, slower, you watch long fingers strumming the frets of his old acoustic guitar- gosh he's had it since high school - mesmerized for a moment. When his lips part and his thin white brows go together in concentration, he begins to sing just a bit, something you've never heard.

A little hoarse and raspy, and a tiny bit off key, it's probably the sexiest thing you've ever heard, as he looks at you with those swirling blue storms that he calls eyes, as he sings to you. You almost feel like the song is for you, and only you. Maybe it's foolish, as you sit up now, on your knees, hands on your bare thighs, looking at him.

The sight makes him fumble the strings, makes his heart race and pound in his chest, those plush lips parting just so as he gathers more courage, to tell you with his song what he's never spoken. The love he has for the girl sitting right here in front of him, the only girl for him.

"Satoru, that's so beautiful," you realize you're emotional, as he ends the song slowly, clearing his throat and blushing. You then realize you're crying. He puts down his guitar, getting down on the floor with you then, cupping your face in his hand. "Sorry, maybe I'm tired, I'm usually not one to cry randomly."

"You're exhausted," he murmurs caringly, rather than teasing you like he usually does, a thumb swiping away a tear. "You're studying too much, too hard."

"I can't disappoint everyone." Your words hurt him then, for you this is a huge scholarship, your family back home is counting on you to do big things, Satoru has his own pressure, but he sees how hard you always work.

"You don't disappoint anyone, how could you?" His words and the way he looks at you, the way the lights of your dorm hit his white locks and show just a hint of lavender in them, they do you in.

Maybe you're just tired, maybe you're just exhausted of lying to yourself, of being afraid, maybe you're past giving a fuck if he knows how you feel. You lean up then, a hand over the soft silk of his white dress shirt, more expensive than a meal card for the year. He falters, and you feel his heart quicken under your palm.

"Satoru," you whisper his name, and your pulse quickens as you lean even closer. Everything fades away, the stress of the week with finals coming up, the pressure you're under, it's all just focused on pouty, glossy lips inviting you in.

"Sweets, you're very close, and if you don't back up looking like that right now..."

"Looking like shit?"

He laughs, shaking his head. "There's not been one day I've known you where you don't just look beautiful."

Now the words are out of his mouth, you both flush, cheeks burning as your breaths come faster. "Are you saying that to-"

"It's the truth. Messy hair," he brushes it back, feeling the tangles in his fingers, as your tummy clenches with desire. "dark circles," his cool fingers press against them gently, "this shirt you've had since I known you that's falling apart..."

He brushes his hands across it now, tattered with holes and just hanging on by threads, brushing the sides of your breasts and moaning softly when he sees the nipples press up. You bite back an embarrassing moan from that, eyes locking with his then, as he draws them away.

"Nothing makes you less beautiful, maybe you're even hotter like this," you giggle, shaking your head, tears falling for what reason you're not even sure. "I'm serious."

"What'd I do to deserve a friend like you?" you lean even closer, cupping his face now, as your breaths meld together, his is so sweet, like the candies he always sucks on, his hands now pressing against the small of your back.

"You're very lucky, hearing my exclusive song. The girls all over this campus would be very jealous." You smile again, feeling his touch slip under your tee, and send shivers up your spine.

"They'd be more jealous if..." you press a hesitant kiss to his lips, feeling him tense then. You pull back, flushed and overheated, breaths coming quicker. "Sorry, I-"

"No," he drags you against him, kissing you firmly, lips pressing against yours, moaning softly as he presses you so close. You gasp at it, and his tongue slips in, making you heat up everywhere. You're trembling with how much you need him, your arms wrapping his neck as you start meeting his kiss.

He shocks you when he just lifts you up, and you're straddling his lap then, you feel him, hard and thick against you, making you gasp at the sensation. You pull back, both breathless, his fingers pressing into your hips, and he drags your heat across his cock right over his jeans, the rough denim pressing against the soaked cotton of your panties.

"Satoru..." You whisper his name, and he kisses you again, moaning softly, a hand slipping up your spine to entangle in your messy locks, and you rock your hips, feeling more and more of him. "Mnh..."

"Fuck, I need to stop," he pulls back and gasps for a breath, and you look down.

"I'm sorry-"

"No, just... I've thought of this too many times for like six fucking years now. And I think I'll really do a terrible job if we..."

"You've thought about it?" You ask softly, eyes locking again, he sees your swollen lips, your dilated eyes, and it makes him throb under his boxers for you.

Maybe if he could go jerk off once or twice he could please you, but he's close to cumming from inhaling your sweet scent, feeling your heat on his cock. He nods, swallowing then, that prominent adam's apple bobbing up and down as he rests his head on yours for a moment, exhaling.

"Every day., the words are hoarse, forced, and you roll your hips again, making him suck in a breath, glaring. "If you make me cum in my new pair of jeans I'll be so fucking mad."

"Satoru!" You're giggling now, and he scowls as you wiggle some more.

"You're a brat." You stop your giggles when he drags you off him, and you pause for just a moment, breathless before he's laying you on the soft carpet of your floor, braced over you. You two look at each other, so much left unsaid still, your hand trails down his hard chest, his strong muscles, when he grips your wrist firmly.

"Let me touch you, please?" He whines out at it, shaking his head again. "I've never tried. I've never wanted to with anyone else."

"Never wanted to?" He looks at you curiously, and you blush, looking down at where he's got your delicate wrist in his huge hand. "Have you never..." you shake your head nervously.

"Have you?" He blushes again, shaking his head, and your eyes widen. "How... you're... really?"

"I've never wanted to with anyone but you." His soft declaration has you melting, both of your breaths coming quicker together. "Doesn't mean I haven't researched it."

"Researched it?" You moan softly as he pins down a wrist, pressing his weight on that elbow as his other hand slips down your body, pressing up on his knee then.

"Extensively," he touches your nipple over your shirt, before slipping lower, down the curve of your waist and hips, then to your thighs, slipping up one carefully as you whine out. "Should I show you what I've learned?"

You nod quickly, he smiles just a bit, touching you right over your panties, and you whine out, hips lifting. "Toru..."

"God, you're soaked," his words are not that of some virgin, they're far too fucking sexy, brushing the wetness that's gathered on your panties then, before tugging them to the side, long fingers calloused from the guitar sliding up your slit. "Fuck..."

"Mmnh!" Your free hand slides into his hair, carding through the silky, thick strands to tug him closer, lips against yours again as he finds your soppy little hole, teasing a finger inside. "Please..."

"You're so tight, so wet... so hot..." he's throbbing in his pants, leaking sticky precum as he slips his finger in your gummy walls, gripping him so goddamn good he can't stand it. "Sweetheart... you're so perfect."

You're kissing him again, feeling how long and thick his finger is inserted inside of you, much longer than your tiny, pathetic fingers can hit, he presses up on that spot then, the one you've never hit. You cry out, gushing down his finger, and Satoru groans at it, curling that spot again.

"I've researched thoroughly for this moment," he teases softly, blue eyes so bright it hurts to look at, squelching wetness loud in your little room while he fingers you right on the floor. "G spot is here, does it feel good baby?"

You nod eagerly, and he moans, kissing you again and angling his arm just so, slotting that finger in and out of your cunt over and over now, curling inside as you feel the pressure growing. You're soaking him, tummy pressure building and building, you're gasping out at it, thighs shaking around his hand.

"Satoru, it feels s'good," you whisper, tired eyes rolling back in your skull, when he slips a second in, and brings your attention back, his pretty face flushed. "Oh!"

"Too much?" You shake your head, the stretch is perfect, he's scissoring them in and out of you so deep, moving them up and down. "Can you cum f'me, pretty girl?"

"Fuck..." you're one step away from just blurting out you love him, biting down on your lip and whining out.

"Can you? Be a good girl, say yes," where is nerdy, silly Satoru right now? He's pure sex, hovering so fucking big over you, as your hand entwines with one of his, your other clinging to his expensive shirt, nodding. "Words, sweetheart."

"Yes, please..." he moans at that, kissing you and curling them up just so, heel of his hand grinding your needy little clit, having you cum all over him, you scream into his lips, drooling as your cunt gushes arousal all over his fingers. He moans at feeling it, as you're pulsing around his thick digits, the sounds filthy as your lips collide.

He sucks in every cry and whine as he feels you convulsing, his thumb brushing your twitchy clit and pushing your from one orgasm into another. He can't take it when he pulls back, watching your back arch, feeling you cumming again, making a mess of his hand, down to his fucking wrists, dripping across your pretty thighs.

He's whining when he feels it, he could almost cum here, but he wills his cock to listen to reason - that when he finally has the love of his life cumming on his fingers that would so not be okay. He closes his eyes for just a moment as you're shaking, cunt gushing more and more arousal, so fucking much, when he slips his fingers out with a suctioned, loud pop.

"Oh my god... Toru..." you whisper his name, face fucked out already, just making him wonder what it will be like to sink inside you for the first time. He sighs, pulling those fingers to his lips and sucking you off them, moaning as he tastes you, your mouth drops open, face decorated in the prettiest blush. "Are you..."

"Mmm, you're so sweet," his soft whisper has you burying your face against his chest, he chuckles. "You're cute."

"You just tasted me!" He laughs again, tilting your chin up, kissing you softly, his arousal dripping on his lips, making you whine out softly, as your aftershocks rock you.

"You taste so good, don't you?" You nod nervously, when he fixes your panties carefully, but not before taking a good look at your pretty pussy, knowing he's about to jerk off to it when he gets back. "The song, it's for you."

"It is?" He helps you sit, nodding and tugging you against his chest, his cock straining and aching, but he knows now you're not experienced and he wants to reassure you.

You melt into his embrace, tears against his neck. "Sweetheart, are you all right?"

"It was so good, fuck. Sorry." He smiles in relief as you kiss up his neck, letting him hold you tightly. "It's for me?"

"Of course it is," he acts like you should just know, you can't stop the pounding in your heart. "You need a nap, you know. To rest a bit, you're working too hard."

"Will you um... nap with me?" You ask softly, he tenses, because god his dick just fucking hurts, but he sure wouldn't turn down holding the girl he's in love with.

"Of course I can." He is soon in your little twin bed, lanky body taking it over, tugging you against him, and you smile and snuggle, the exhaustion starting to set in as he strokes your hair.

"I really like the song, I never got tired of Wonderwall though." You tease, he chuckles then, burying his face against your neck and tugging you close.

"Good, I'll keep playing it for you."

"And the new one?"

"Mmhmm. Get some sleep."

Everything changed that day, the two of you falling into a comfortable nap, hoping soon you'll have the courage to say how you really feel.

This was so fluffy for me, I needed it after the angst I've been fucking with. Hope you enjoyedddd

perm tags - @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoblue-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent

[ruesol]

DISLOCATION - one shot

(SUKUNA x FEM/AFAB! READER)

PLOT:

Sukuna, your best friend, (begrudgingly) helps you no matter what hurdles you face in life. Even when that hurdle involves getting a sexual fix after your ex cheats on you.

AO3 LINK

CW & TAGS: bffs to lovers, tattooist sukuna, yearning, (hinted) reader with low self esteem, shitty ex, kissing practice, lots of build up, angry confession, explicit sexual content, oral (f receiving), piv, stiff dirty talking, (honestly this fic is just me trying to get my smut writing practice in)

fanart: @/r5x95r13ros on tumblr & insta

wc: 6.8k

—

It was like resetting a bone after a fracture. Painful, but unavoidable. The idea has finally cornered you, setting a dark shadow over your sanity.

Your tongue is thick and heavy as soon as the words leave your mouth, the hypothetical shards of broken bone poking you from the inside of your body, the sting reminding you of how stupid you sounded.

Sitting before you was your best friend with his mouth hanging open, remnants of his half-chewed lunch falling out.

“You made me push my client an hour forward to tell me that you’re going to engage in casual sex?” Sukuna asked while resuming to chew with his mouth open, barbecue sauce smeared on his chin. Any other person would’ve grimaced at the sight, indirectly tossing him a comment about using a napkin. Still, the relationship between you two has gone on long enough for each of you to eat like it’s your last day alive in front of one another. However, you still sigh and grab a napkin, wiping off the sauce for him.

Sukuna goes cross-eyed when your hand reaches his chin, following its motion even when you retract it to your side.

“I-yeah, kind of, but it’s more like…” You uneasily trail off, staring at your glass of water instead. You imagine a race between the condensation droplets to buy some time to think about how you’re going to tell your friend that you want to have sex with him, so that you can get over your ex.

“Like what? Spit it out,” Sukuna impatiently said as he grabbed a fry off your plate. You couldn’t be bothered to be annoyed at him for it. Not when your little idea had been eating you alive since you’d received a breakup text from your ex.

‘Hey, I’m not in the right headspace to continue our relationship. You’re too good for me, and I don’t deserve you.’

The jerk was a grade A phony, blocking you on everything as soon as he saw that you replied to the text, hoping that you could meet him in person.

When you used a fake social media account to see what he was doing, you discovered that he had moved to another country to be with a woman he’d been dating online for six months.

Meaning that your one-year relationship meant nothing to him.

So, feeling used and abused, you decided to rip the band-aid off for one last session of wallowing via sex.

“I want to have sex with you so I can get over my ex,” you rambled out as fast as possible.

You sit with a bated breath, the sound of the restaurant soon ceasing to static because of the barrage of thoughts fogging your mind.

The burger falls out of Sukuna’s grip, his eyes trained on the plate. A vein in the middle of his forehead highlights itself as his frown deepens, his eyebrow piercing shifting positions.

“And why me?”

About eighty percent of your brain had assumed that he’d either groan out a disgusted ‘no’ or blush and look away while politely rejecting you, but that was not the outcome you expected. It’s like discovering that you’re a millionaire but not knowing how much you’ll need to pay in taxes every year.

“Look, we’ve been friends for a while, and you get me better than anyone else. It’ll be a one-time thing, of course—if you consent, that is.” Sukuna still doesn’t look up from his plate after your answer. “No pressure at all, I can totally understand if you don’t want to—“

But Sukuna interrupts you before you can vomit out any more conversation buffer. “I need a minute or an hour. Maybe a day. Or two. I don’t know. I’m gonna be late for my appointment,” he rambles as he abruptly gets up, swiping his leather jacket off the booth’s seat in a flash and bidding you a quiet farewell before briskly walking out of the diner, door slamming shut loudly. The other customers sharply turn their heads at the sudden ruckus.

Sukuna’s greasy, flat, half-eaten burger had been left behind because of his urge to escape.

A part of you feels bad for throwing your concerns on him if his feelings aren’t important to consider in this matter. But the wounds your ex left on you have been running deep, festering, and aching for a salve. You just need one good fix from someone who cares. Nothing more, nothing less.

Which is why you figured it would’ve been easy for Sukuna to grant it to you, especially given his history of having many friends with benefits in college. But his sudden aversion to the idea was understandable. At least he was taking time to contemplate his answer.

Well, it was either that or he would ghost you for good.

—

The needles punch and poke the skin as the black ink seeps into the first layer, swollen skin puckering as Sukuna’s hand moves along his client’s back. The dragon tattoo that was given to him was an intricate design. Something he needed to practice for days so he could get the details down to a T, in contrast to his memory of the time you two went skinny-dipping.

He repaints the canvas every time the memory visits him like a rising star, distancing itself from him as the years pass, yet ever sparkling.

The moonlight was shining down on the lake, and he was tipsy with you in his grandfather’s old cabin. He still didn’t understand how he never made a move that night, especially after seeing how you’d filled out your hips, and how perfect your breasts were.

It’s a memory he’s not proud about recounting, yet he does so anyway to soothe the perpetual ache he’s had since his brain first rewired itself to see you as the love of his life.

The first instance of him being aware of his feelings was when you were babysitting his nephew with him, and how easily you meshed with his family. Jin still recalls your jokes and, without daily, cackles to himself even when Sukuna does not find your humor to be as amusing.

His feelings for you have him collared and tethered to you, heart easy for yanking, and mind filled with nothing but silent yearning.

Sukuna knows there’s no coming back if he has sex with you.

The question rattles in his brain, leaving him periodically discombobulated during the entire work day, often bumping into corners and nearly writing the first letter of your name while tattooing his client. Like a fish in a bowl, the thought of having sex with you has nowhere to go but to swim into the different spaces of his mind.

The amygdala is already forcing him to imagine what your heady wetness would taste like on his tongue. His ears ached to find out whether you were unabashed with your voice or you’d only whimper when he was balls deep in you.

“You seem distracted,” Choso, one of Sukuna’s only two friends, calls out while lying on his stomach on the tattoo bed.

“How can you tell?” Sukuna mumbled, wiping sweat off his nose with his free hand. He was working up a sweat just thinking about you.

“You’re sighing a lot. What’s up?”

Sukuna didn’t want to tell Choso about his mental anguish. It was embarrassing, like he was a teen all over again, staring at you across the classroom, and sleeping in for the entire weekend after he heard about you going on a date. Though his condition barely changed even after he had entered his twenties. It’s a fact that’ll make him bite his tongue off before he ever acknowledges it to himself.

Even then, he tells Choso about your request, making the obsidian-haired nearly jump in surprise. Luckily, Sukuna held him down with a single palm to prevent ruining the tattoo.

“You’re gonna do it, right? It’s what you’ve been waiting for.”

“I don’t know. I’ve been waiting for her to notice my feelings, not the fact that I wanna bone her.”

“Come on, don’t be stupid. It’ll be like getting a fix. Maybe you’ll get over her if you just sleep with her once.”

Sukuna pulls away from Choso momentarily and stares at the mirror across the room. He sees a traitor–a man who conceals the truth for his gain. The buzzing of the needle fades into nothingness when he begins to imagine your face when he finally confesses to you.

Would you be uncomfortable? What would happen to your weekly movie nights if you rejected him? 

And most important of all: what would he say to Yuuji, his six-year-old nephew, when you stop visiting during babysitting nights?

“Start with a chemistry test; kiss her. If it feels weird, don’t sleep with her. If it feels good, then do it. Easy as that,” Choso continues.

‘Easy as that’

Easier said than done. However, the thought of kissing you has never felt odd. He’s imagined the scenario too often–you’re wearing that one sundress he secretly likes, and the sun is setting. You’re both eating ice cream, and you get some on your lip. He tries to wipe it off, but instead of using his thumb, he swipes his tongue across your lip. You’re flushed, lashes fluttering as you try to look away, but Sukuna turns your chin just in time, and kisses you deeply before you can further protest.

“So, what do you think?” Choso asks, pulling Sukuna out of his heavenly daydream. It’s a rude awakening, his eyelids pressing shut in annoyance when he sees Choso’s swollen, naked skin with a halfway done tattoo.

“I’ll try it,” Sukuna says as he returns to working on the tattoo after rolling his stool closer to the bed.

“Good. I’d like updates, please.”

“I will knock down the price of your tattoo by twenty-five bucks if you don’t ask anything more about my situation.”

—

Awkwardness sits heavy in Sukuna’s living room and the back of his throat. He was sure his voice would crack if he initiated any kind of conversation, so he kept his mouth shut, watching what was left of Lilo & Stitch. Yuuji was sleeping in Sukuna’s room. The boy was tired after running around, playing board games with you, and watching the movie's first half.

You were sitting on the floor, collecting all the toys Yuji had brought and putting them in his bag (all while Sukuna burned holes into the back of your head). It had been three days of no words spoken between you two, except for when Sukuna called you to let you know that Yuji missed you.

“Oh, he got a new Sulley plushie,” you mumble as you put a fuzzy blue toy back where it belongs. The television was playing the movie on mute so Yuji wouldn’t wake up, your shuffling being the only noise echoing in the living room.

“Yeah, I lost a bet to the little shit.”

You giggle before turning around, a small smile growing into a larger one.  “What was the bet about?”

Your lips are plush, and when you lick them, your saliva leaves a sheen.

(Strawberry jelly, ripe cherries–maybe that’s what your lips would taste like)

He cannot stop staring at them—and you, like you’re right where you need to be. You fit like a puzzle piece in his apartment. Right at home, in his living room and his heart.

“Huh?” Sukuna’s ears grow red at the slight crack in his voice, and he prays you cannot sense his embarrassment. He was glad his hood covered his ears. He wore it like armor.

“The bet—what was it about?” you speak out again, adjusting your hair back into place, making sukuna dig crescent indents into the skin of his palm, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he imagines touching your hair and adjusting it for you instead.

“Nothing exciting. Just had to beat him in Mario Kart, and unfortunately for me, he’d been practicing.”

Your giggles grow into laughter, and Sukuna follows suit with a slight smirk, looking away towards the window instead. His heart was racing fast enough, and if he saw your laughing face, he was sure it would simply leap out of his chest.

The awkwardness sets in again when silence returns. You break it once more. “I’m really sorry for what I said three days ago,” you sheepishly say as you look up at him from your spot on the floor. You could feel yourself sinking into the ground while replaying the memory of Sukuna bolting out of the restaurant.

“No, it was my fault. I should’ve acted like a grown man and just told you I was caught off guard and needed time to process.”

‘What’s there to decide?’ his heart yelled. It’s simple: have sex with you, get you off his mind, and then he can be on his way, and so can you. Like Choso said before, it’s all about getting a fix. Sukuna reasoned with himself, maybe it’s like smoking weed for the first time–exciting, kind of addicting, but you know won’t do it again.

(That is until you end up saying the same thing the second time.)

“So…have you decided then?” You maidenly wring your hand in your lap, almost like a vestigal virgin, and his cock nearly swells at the thought.

“Ah…” Sukuna rubs his hand across his face. The words were present in his throat, but they refused to come out—a final silent protest. To save one’s friendship also means choosing to lose one’s mind; a frustrating juxtaposition.

“Look, again, there’s no pressure. I totally understand if you’re not comfortable–”

“No! Let’s kiss,” Sukuna would’ve yelled, but Yuji was still sleeping inside, and he’d be damned if the nephew he loved so much interrupted an almost life-changing conversation for him.

“Oh, like, right now? Cause Yuji–” Your face grows warm immediately, and you get the sudden urge to pull your sweater off, but the context of your conversation with Sukuna wouldn’t help the situation.

“Shit, no, I meant that we should kiss to see if, uh…having sex is gonna be…you know, weird.” Choso’s voice rings in his head like a bell. “Kind of like a chemistry test.”

You frown at Sukuna’s words. “Chemistry test?”

“Yeah, like the shit actors do in romance movies.”

Sukuna assumes that you think he’s an idiot when you shake your head and laugh sarcastically as you zip up Yuji’s bag.

That is, until you get off the floor and sit beside him on the couch, your thigh touching his muscular one. “Okay, let’s kiss.”

It was Sukuna’s turn to be surprised. “What? Just like that?” he asked as his brows rose.

“You’re the one who suggested it,” you reason. Though your tone sounds confident, your body language says otherwise as you had folded your arms while sitting upright on the comfortable couch.

“Okay, then, I guess I’m gonna kiss you,” Sukuna says while staring into your eyes, searching for a smidge of hesitation, but he sees nothing. He turns his broad shoulders to you as his hands reach your face, touch so delicate that it feels feather-light.

Looking at him through your lashes, you lean closer, palms flat on the couch, as you stabilize yourself. He notices your elbow trembling and pulls you onto his lap. You gasp in surprise, and Sukuna rolls his eyes to push through his and your flustered states.

“You’ve sat on my lap before. I’m just doing this so it’s convenient.” It’s hard not to sound strangled when the woman of your dreams stares at you with her dewy lips parted.

“Yeah, but that was when we were in a tiny car with a bunch of other people and there was no space for me to sit,” you counter while playing with the strings of Sukuna’s hoodie. You stop when Sukuna’s large hands engulf yours, and he slowly moves them, securing your hold around his neck. He pulls his hood off and looks earnestly into your eyes.

“Let’s just do this, okay?”

You nod, close your eyes, and lean in first, but are taken aback when Sukuna doesn’t mirror your actions. You lean in further, your breath hitting his lips, but he still makes no effort.

It’s petrifying, this moment. Having you on his lap alone felt like something far away from reality. Living as your lover was his ultimate fantasy, and he hoped that he’d be kissing you under those circumstances, but this was the closest he could ever get. It was all his fault, really. He never wore his heart on his sleeve like the rest of your exes, and could never get over his pride to confess to you, so he was in this predicament by his design.

It frustrated you not to see him make any effort to kiss you, so you pulled away. “This is so stupid–”

He wraps his hands around your waist and neck and pulls you to him before you can continue. “I was just mentally preparing.” His lips brush against yours when they move, and you gulp.

“Oh,” is the most you can muster up. His palm is warm against the thin fabric of your tank top. When your breathing is finally steady, you realize he’s lightly squeezing your waist.

Nothing he hasn’t done before, of course.

He starts slowly, testing the waters with a small peck to check if you’re real or want to stop. He nips your bottom lip. “Open your mouth a little, feels like I’m kissing a statue.”

“R-right,” you choke out, parting your mouth, shivering when Sukuna’s lips brush against yours to brace you.

When he finally kisses you, it feels perfect. His lips were meant to be on yours as fate intended them.

Your lips do indeed faintly taste of strawberries. He thinks it’s because of the remnants of your lip balm. Your smell, taste, and skin all feel intoxicating. His five senses have been taken over. The groans that escape your throat egg him on to kiss you deeper, making you arch into him. His fingers snake into your hair, and you gasp when he tugs it.

His hot tongue explores your mouth with no decency, a clash of saliva and teeth.

‘Temporary paradise, temporary paradise, temporary paradise’–it’s all that echoes in Sukuna’s head as his mouth devours yours. Years of pent-up feelings and frustration were being let out.

His mouth begins to stray away, leaving kisses on your chin and cheek instead. You sigh when he kisses the spot just beneath your jaw’s hinge, and you tighten your hold on his shoulders.

“Sukuna, I think–”

“Little more,” he mumbles in a drunken haze against your skin, nipping your neck while also trailing kisses down to your collarbone.

He simply cannot stop himself. Not when the person he’s wanted for years is finally in his grasp. He will clutch onto you like a vice if he needs to. However, judging by how you’re squirming and gasping in his lap, it does not seem like you want to escape.

“Ahem.”

When you hear Jin, you’re quick to harshly push Sukuna off you, nearly falling out of his lap.

“Sorry for interrupting, but I’m here to pick up my son.”

You adjust your rumpled tank top from where Sukuna almost sneaked his hand under it, and you awkwardly cough as you walk over to Sukuna’s room to get the little boy.

“Finally grew a pair, I see,” Jin snarkily remarks as he picks up his son’s backpack off the floor, and Sukuna throws a pillow at him. “Fuck off.”

“I’m happy for you, idiot. It’s about damn time.”

Oh, if he only knew. Jin, the lankier of the set of twins, would challenge Sukuna to a fight if he knew what was going on between you. As frustrating as it was for Sukuna to have unrequited feelings for you, it was even more frustrating for Jin to watch his brother endlessly pine over one woman for years. With his sanity sacrificed, Sukuna’s head was only filled with thoughts of you, going as far as basically integrating you into his little family because his heart knew that you’d fit in just right.

“Yeah, about time.”

You abruptly leave Sukuna’s apartment after Yuuji wakes up, and Jin does not say much when you only send Sukuna an awkward wave before rushing out the door.

–

The following days after the kissing experiment were bleak–at least for Sukuna. The man was glued to his phone whenever you’d update your social media with a picture of you and your girlfriends at brunch or some club. Avoidance being obvious, he decides to take the first step again. It’s either talking to you or awkwardly skirting around each other till you slowly exit each other’s lives.

He shoots you a seemingly harmless text.

Forgot my leather jacket at your place. I’m coming to get it tomorrow at 3.

–

Cameras don’t do justice to Sukuna’s devilishly handsome looks. Being a natural-born charmer with Adonis-like features makes him the center of attention in every room, so he never feels self-conscious. Of course, that also goaded people around him because those features only fueled his narcissism and rude and repulsive personality.

But still, he checks his face in his phone’s front camera before knocking on your door. Lookwise, he was the polar opposite of what your exes looked like, but he still had some confidence in himself that you didn’t completely disregard how conventionally attractive he was. He runs his hands along his chin to rub off any extra crumbs from his lunch earlier, and then he finally knocks on your door.

“In a minute!” He hears muffled shuffling and stumbling before you open the door in a frazzled daze.

“Hey,” you say as you let him in. Your apartment looks the same except for the three pairs of shoes, two bags strewn on the floor, and your ransacked coat closet beside your door. “I looked everywhere but couldn’t find your jacket,” you huff out breathlessly.

“Of course you couldn't. I lied about it. I wanna talk.”

“Right now? I’m kind of running late for something,” you say, avoiding eye contact by tidying up your place, hands placing your shoes back on the shoe rack. That’s when Sukuna finally gets a good look at you. You have more makeup on than you usually do, but it’s not like the kind you wear on girls’ night, no, it’s the type one wears to make their features naturally stand out. You’re wearing a baby pink sundress that ends just above your knees, and it flutters around your smooth and freshly-shaved legs as you shuffle quickly around your living room.

His eyes narrow as he scoffs at the realization, the thought hitting him hard between his ribs. “Are you going out on a date?”

Like a deer caught in headlights, you freeze, your head slowly turning to face Sukuna in shame. The increased tension in your shoulders was enough of an answer for him. “Would you be mad if I said yes?”

Sukuna isn’t sure whether what’s currently fueling his anger is jealousy or resentment. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

Flashes of the incident that took place a few days ago invade his mind, more vivid than before. You look so devastatingly beautiful that he nearly convinces himself that he should accept whatever escapes your pretty little mouth. You fold your arms, and your cleavage presents itself, making it even more difficult for him to handle the sight in front of him. Oh, if only you got dolled up for him instead.

But it’s now or never. Sukuna either tells you how he feels, or you go ahead and give some random bastard a chance.

“Don’t go,” he blurts out before he can stop himself. Finally saying what’s on his mind feels liberating and mind-numbing at once—anticipation and insecurities at war.

“What? I’m not gonna do that. I have someone waiting on me.” You roll your eyes as you try to walk past him, but he grabs your arms, large hands basically encircling your biceps as he holds you in place in front of him. “Sukuna, let me go.”

“No, I won’t. Not until you listen to me. You can’t just fucking makeout with me and go out with some other guy. You can’t just make me have all these…complicated feelings and skip away like it was nothing.”

Your eyes widen as you try to twist out of his grip, but he pulls you flat against him, his chest against yours, just like a few days ago.

“You think I didn’t notice how something had clearly changed between us? Did the thought of us together feel too real for you? Well, you know what? It felt damn real for me. And the way you kissed me, fuck, it’s like you knew how I felt!” His red eyes bore into your glassy ones. Sukuna’s confession started to feel more like a rude admonition, but he didn’t care. Having his words weigh heavily on your shoulders was cathartic for him. You looked positively guilty, and it fueled something deplorable in him.

“H-how you felt?” you rasp out, still in shock, fear-stricken yet pliant enough to relax in Sukuna’s hold.

“Yeah. How I felt, how I feel. I fucking love you and I always have for the longest time,” he replied without missing a beat. His grip on you has loosened, yet he still keeps you close, the scent of your intoxicating, musky sweet perfume grounding him to earth. The man you were going to meet tonight did not deserve even to catch a waft of it. A part of him wished you’d smell exactly like this when you both would do nothing but watch movies at his house on the weekends. The wish scratches his ribcage like a desperate request, but he contains himself with a shuddered exhale.

“I didn’t kiss you to amuse you or help you escape your dry spell–no! I kissed you because I’m a selfish and arrogant asshole who wants someone who probably doesn’t feel the same way.”

Adrenaline courses through your veins in amounts that rival oxygen, making you feel lightheaded. You tightly clutch onto the bottom of Sukuna’s denim jacket to stabilize yourself. Noticing this, he leans down, his forehead against yours as he whispers one last time.

“Tell me none of it was real or that it meant nothing. Tell me so I can leave and forget this ever happened.” His breath hits your lips like a puff of smoke, menthol suffusing in the back of your mind. 

It’s all becoming too real: his hands on your arms, his mouth near yours, and the hunger in his eyes.

And then the world, as Sukuna knew, ceased to exist, heaven’s light shining on his head, the heat so real that if he ran his hand through his hair, it would be oddly warm. Despite not being religious, the man always had a vision of what heaven could be.

And your lips tasted exactly like the first fruit he imagined having there.

Your lips are sweet, tart strawberries when you crash them into his. He smiles to himself as he relishes the taste, divine blessing coating his tongue as he licks into your mouth. Reward does not come easily to the greedy, but Sukuna would gladly sin for a thousand lifetimes if he could kiss your lips in each one. And to think that some undeserving asshole almost got a taste of what has belonged to him since the day he set his eyes on you.

Sukuna’s body melts onto yours as his hands haphazardly move around your waist and pull you closer to him. The kiss gets deeper as he pulls your chin down with his thumb, lapping up all the gloss you had put on for your little outing, which he was hoping you still did not plan to go to.

“Don’t go,” he gasps against your mouth. “Don’t go on that date, fuck, do you even know what you do to me?”

You try to pull away after he leaves another smacking kiss on your lips, but he continues to stay latched to your bottom lip, nipping it as he squeezes your waist. “I’ve waited years. Don’t take this away from me just yet.”

“Sukuna, you’re crazy if you think I’m gonna go out on that date after what you just said. I’ve always loved you, too.”

Your confession makes Sukuna abruptly pull away. Unlike how rough he was before with the kiss, he gently caresses your face as if touching something priceless.

“Then why’d you date all those stupid guys?” he interrogates with a gravel-rough voice.

You slide your hands up his firm chest to his neck, wrapping them around, before answering. “I thought you never liked me. You were always messing around with a different girl every week. Not to mention, I was nothing like them.”

Sukuna scoffs before pulling you back into him, the bare skin of your legs in contrast with the rough denim of his jeans. He leaves a chaste kiss on your lips, mainly because he still cannot believe what’s in front of him and because it’s a stamp of reassurance. 

(Still, it was more for him than for you.)

It’s the guilt that bites. Of course, he never gave you an in. He kept you at arm’s length to get over you, and of course, that miserably (and fortunately) failed. “I fucked them cause I was trying to get over you. You are everything they weren’t, and I was afraid that if I let myself be selfish like now, I would fuck everything up between us.”

He cannot bring himself to face you, so he looks around your apartment instead. Memorabilia of your friendship are scattered everywhere: Polaroids of the two of you as kids stuck on your refrigerator, a vase he had gifted you on your birthday, and a fuzzy blanket you had always kept for him on your couch. The answer to his age-old question had been staring at him right in the face. Years of yearning reciprocated, but he was too blind to see it because of his insecurity.

He moves his hand to your cheek, almost covering the entire space, before he tips your head back slightly. “But now, I’ve been waiting so long that it’s impossible for me to think about anyone but you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. “Me too,” you whisper against his mouth before giving him a heated kiss. You push your tongue into his mouth, and he groans at the feeling of your slick muscle against his. Enveloped in gooseflesh, your knees nearly buckle when Sukuna squeezes your plush hips before snaking his hand to your ass. He walks you back to your bedroom, lips still on yours as he haphazardly unzips the back of your dress. It’s easy for him to move with fluidity, like it’s a script that he’s been practicing for ages, synapses firing each time your hold tightens on him when he sips a kiss from you.

Your dress, his pants and t-shirt are on the floor. The two of you are only clad in your underwear as Sukuna lowers his body on top of yours, the delicious heat of his abdomen on yours.

“Been dreaming of this for so long.” You can only whimper in response when Sukuna nips at the column of your throat. He kisses the spot where your necklace rests between your breasts as he slides the strap of your bra down.

He pauses for a moment, looking up only to find the most beautiful sight of all–you with your rubicund cheeks, glossy parted lips, and half-lidded eyes. Your hands stroke up the back of his neck, into his pink hair, where the buzzed hair above his nape is slightly darker than his crown. The groan he lets out when you scratch his head reverberates within your ribs, making you arch your back. Sukuna takes that as a sign to take your nipple in his mouth, and his mind immediately takes him back to the day you two went skinnydipping–when he first laid his eyes on your perfect, pert breasts.

That night has fueled his fantasies for many months following it. The way your nipples glistened under the firelight, how they’d wrinkled because of how you were shivering after the swim. A gross part of him didn’t even want to wash the towel you borrowed after the swim.

He feels like he can taste the freshwater of the lake when he sucks on the sensitive flesh. Only this time, your skin is dewy with sweat, and some body lotion that smells intoxicatingly sweet. He grinds his bulge onto your clothed pussy, and you gasp at the pressure.

“Sukuna, please, I need you now,” you grind up to him, and moan out when he pinches your nipple, making you firmly flex your thigh at the sting.

“Let me take my time, needy girl.”

He kisses down your body, savoring the smoothness of your skin, dragging his nose along the length of your abdomen to the center of your mons. Your panties are soaked, the gusset saturated with your juices.

Sukuna’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head when he peels the fabric down, the sight of your pussy, making his heart race sinfully.

“Do you know what my ultimate fantasy was for the longest time?” The man wasn’t even looking at you when he asked that question, eyes hypnotized by the sight before him.

When you don't reply, he bites the flesh of your inner thigh, his canines leaving a deeper imprint than expected. You whimper at the brazen expression of possessiveness, but Sukuna seems unapologetic about being the reason behind your surprised state. “Don’t be quiet with me, pretty girl.”

“What was it?” you whisper.

“Taking you on the forest floor that night. Rubbed my cock raw for months after that day. Thought about eating this pretty pussy out after pulling you out of the water, with your hair wet and clinging to your body.”

It was filthy, disgusting, and gross. You could only grimace at the overstimulation of feeling leaves and twigs poking you from all angles, and the water only making the forest soil stick to your body in crevices that would be a nightmare to clean in just a single shower.

But there was something so heady and hot about the whole situation–how you imagined him eating you out like he was a starved beast who’d just had his first meal after days after hunting, your cunt’s juices being his only sustenance, his tongue deep in your pussy, pushing you to the edge with every lick and suck.

“You’re fucking disgusting.” Your voice comes out broken when he licks up your slit, tongue circling your little clit, nub too swollen and sensitive to be directly touched.

“Don’t fuck with me right now. You wouldn’t be laying with your legs spread open like a slut if you didn’t want my cock that night.”

Sukuna was not wrong. He never was. Especially when it came to you. Your best friend was scarily tuned to your wants and needs, and how your mind worked, almost like he was programmed to be the perfect man for you.

When you didn’t reply, he smirked against your pussy before sucking your clit, leaving little kisses on it after your thighs jolted at the sensitivity. His rough, tattooed hands stroked your thighs to calm you down, but your cries only egged him on to further overstimulate you.

He imagined being on that forest floor, taking from you what he deserved, what belonged to him since the dawn of time, since your atoms came into being and combined. Forever intertwined within nature and cosmic law.

You see stars on your plain white ceiling when you cum, involuntarily grinding into Sukuna’s mouth as he continues to flatten his tongue and drag it up your cunt. “Sukuna, please, I can’t wait anymore,” you breathe out, legs shivering as he pulls away.

“You want my dick?” Sukuna cockily asks, as he pulls his boxers down, his cock standing red and proud. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, but the context changed your feelings about it.

You could take it.

 (Well, maybe.)

You nod, babbling about how you were wet enough, but that still wasn’t enough for the egotistical tattoo artist. His pecs glistened with sweat as he leaned over you, his dog tag necklace meeting your pendant as he kissed your neck.

“Tell me how bad you want. Tell me how bad you want your best friend to fuck you,” he whispered against your skin, and your brows furrow at his command. His assertive gaze quickly urges you to spit out what you’d been wanting for years.

“I want your cock to stretch me open, Sukuna. Stretch me good and fuck me till I scream,” you bashfully ramble, looking away, but Sukuna tips your chin back with a finger, staring deep into your eyes. There’s something so beautiful yet sensually arousing about how shy you are, a heady juxtaposition that only rushes more blood to his thickened cock.

“Good, now, tell me you love me, baby girl,” his deep voice rumbles against your warm cheek, and you comply.

“I love you, Sukuna,” you gasp when his hands sneak down, playing with your clit once more.

“Again,” he commands as he kisses your earlobe.

“I love you.”

“Again.” He kisses down your neck, sucking the thin skin by your collarbone.

“I love you, Sukuna Ryomen. I always have and always will.”

He looks up at you this time, and kisses you square on your lips, your heady wetness still fresh on his tongue.

“I love you, too, beautiful.”

It doesn’t take him any effort to split your legs open; you’re needy and pliant, already wet for two of his thick fingers to easily slip inside. You whine when he pumps them in and out a little, just to prep you for his ruddy cock, the tip already dripping beads of precum.

The head of Sukuna’s cock is warm, stretching your pussy good as you slowly take in every inch. Your wet walls cling to his phallus, already spasming when he adjusts himself on top of you, leaning over as his dog tag dangles above your head.

When you nod, he kisses you before slowly rocking his hips against yours. Your eyes follow the hypnotizing pendulous movement of his necklace, and you bite your lips as his hips move at a relentless pace.

“Shit, my gorgeous girl, all you needed was your best friend to fuck you. Look at you–fit so well around my cock.” Sukuna leans back, his pace uninterrupted as he slots his hands under your knees and places your legs on his shoulder. He kisses your ankle in hopes to soothe you, but you only grow more restless, hips moving up to keep up with him.

You know he’s reached his limit when his hips begin to stutter, spurts of his cum painting your walls white, its warmth making you shiver as Sukuna groans. He rubs his hand down to your flank, patting it to check in on you, and you nod as a reply.

Sukuna nearly topples over you when he lies back down. You decide that you can wait a couple of minutes before washing up, relishing being held in his muscled embrace.

Only when you’re finally pulled out of your post-sex haze do you notice a small tattoo on the inner side of his bicep–a word, in Japanese. It looks new and completely unrelated to his usual, harsh, and brutalistic art style. His body was basically a canvas covered in doodles. Whatever spare skin he had was used for practice during his apprenticeship days. Your fingers are drawn to the inked patch of skin, tracing along the unfamiliar letters.

Sukuna opens an eye, still tired, but amused at your curiosity. “Your name,” he roughly mumbles as he pulls you tighter to his chest. His cock aches from how sensitive it is considering that it softened up inside you, though, he’s too comfy holding you to do anything about it. (There’s also something so filthy about plugging you up with his cum.)

“Huh?” you ask, still busy tracing the tattoo.

“That tattoo–it’s your name but in Japanese script.”

There’s not a lot that Sukuna has been passionate about growing up; art was always more of a hobby for him than his passion. He never imagined himself working hard, or going through mentally or physically strenuous labor to make money, but your smile? He’d do anything for it, no matter how arduous his effort to bring it would have to be.

Especially for the deeply lovesick look you had on your face, right now.

[hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf]

Brother

best friend’s brother!mingi x fem reader

Trigger warnings: none

Content warnings: oral (f receiving), names ( babygirl, baby, good girl, angel), ass slapping, unprotected sex, cream pie, mingi's got a big dick (bc ofc he does)

Summary: your best friend's brother finally makes a move

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: hi angelssss i hope you like thisssss i had brain rot and wrote this in the span of maybe six hours total while i was at work. also message me or comment if you'd like to be on my tag list!

Tags: @bahng-chrizz

Smut below the cut

“Come on, you’re gonna love it! I promise.” Your best friend tugged at your arm, leading you up the front steps and into her family home. The house was large and you were certain that all of the rooms weren’t used. There was no way a family of four could make total use of a space so large.

“But this is a family event, babes. Are you sure?” You asked nervously, looking around as you toed your shoes off with trepidation.

“I’m positive. You’re my chosen family so you still count.” She squeezed your hand and you nodded slowly, taking in the massive foyer. A glittering chandelier hung above your head and before you was a sprawling staircase that led to two separate wings of the house.

Yeah, no way a family of four can use all this…

“Is it like…cousins and aunts and uncles or is it even more extended?” You asked nervously.

“It’s just my parents’ siblings and their children. And of course the grandparents. But my parents both come from large families so it’ll be close to eighty people. Just stick with me and all will be well. Now, they’re all in the den. Come on.” She reassured you and then you were headed in the direction of the family room. In a house like this, it felt more fitting to call the large room a parlor but you didn’t point that out.

As soon as you entered the room, all eyes were on you and your friend, including those of a tall, gorgeous man. You couldn’t bring yourself to look directly at him though. He was too pretty and too intimidating for you to stare. Besides, your friend was introducing you to the room and you were too focused on not passing out from the attention as you waved and gave a shy smile.

As the room returned to their conversations, the tall man made his way over to you and your friend. “Hey, mom wants you. She’s in her room.” Wait a minute. This was her brother? This was the ever-annoying Mingi she always spoke of?

“All right.” She pulled an apologetic face as she turned to you. “Just wait right here. I’ll be right back.” Then to her brother. “Mingi, can you keep her company while I’m gone?” He nodded and you felt a ball of nerves form in your stomach. You were going to be alone with her hot older brother?

As she walked away, you offered an awkward smile and looked anywhere but at him. He was far too attractive for you to act normal around. And his deep voice was doing things to you. No way could you uphold a conversation.

That was four years ago. Since then, you’d gotten comfortable at these events, which you’d learned happened several times a year on major holidays. Today was one such event and you were seated on the patio, chatting with one of the many cousins you’d come to learn were close to your age. He was a few years younger and a sweet guy. You could tell he had a crush on you but you weren’t interested. You were hyper aware of Mingi on the far side of the patio, your stomach in knots anytime you caught him looking in your direction.

Over the course of the last four years, you’d grown comfortable with the family but even more nervous around Mingi. He was even more beautiful than the day you’d first laid eyes on him and he seemed to hover nearby whenever you were around. It made you nervous even if you did love the way he seemed to be everywhere you went.

“Well, it looks like I gotta go. But I’ll text you!” The younger man stood with a smile.

You offered a bright one in return and nodded. “For sure. It was good to see you again.” You stood as well when he walked away, stretching. Then Mingi had a grip on your wrist and you startled but allowed him to pull you along. “Mingi? What’s wrong?”

“We need to talk.” His tone sent a shiver down your spine and you didn’t bother trying to pull away as he led you towards the pool house. There was no room for argument. Your gut twisted but you followed.

Once inside the cramped, dark room, he turned to you with a frown. “Mingi, seriously. What’s wrong? You’re making me nervous.”

“Good.” He said simply before crashing his lips to yours in a searing kiss.

Hello?

You didn’t fight him though. You gladly accepted his advances despite the nerves settling in your belly. When he pulled back, you tried your hardest to remain nonchalant despite the way your chest heaved. “What was that?”

“You’re not allowed to flirt with anyone else, let alone my cousin.” Was his only response before his lips were back on yours in a heated, demanding kiss. Mingi was always the shy type around you so this was entirely out of character for him. You never imagined he’d react this way to you simply chatting with his cousin, as you’d done countless times before.

You allowed him to press you back against the door, your hands moving to his sides as his lips worked yours open. His tongue swept into your mouth and your head spun. This was an entirely new side to the man you thought you knew. He was starved and you were the only thing that could sate him.

His hand came up to your jaw and you bit back a small sound at the touch, still reeling from everything that was transpiring. Finally, you pulled back just enough to take a breath and pressed your forehead to his. “What is happening?”

“I’m making it obvious why you can’t have anything to do with other men.” He whispered, nudging his nose against yours. “I’ve wanted you since the day we met.”

“She’ll kill us.”

“She’s wanted us together even longer, y/n. I told her not to tell you that I liked you.”

“Why now, Mingi?”

“Because I was too much of a coward before.” He nudged your nose again and you tipped your head back enough to meet his lips again. It was a brief peck but it was enough to send electricity shooting down your spine. “I’m tired of being afraid, y/n. I’m telling you now: you belong to me and no other man can so much as look at you the way he did. I won’t stand for it.”

“Prove that I’m yours then.” You pulled back enough to make eye contact and saw a myriad of emotions swimming in his chocolate eyes. “What other men do is none of my concern, Mingi. What matters is what you do.”

“Do you really want me to prove it? Because there’s so much I wanna do right now.”

“What do you want to do? Tell me about it.”

His eyes seemed to darken with lust and he glanced down at your lips before locking eyes with you again. “I wanna taste you. Wanna make you fall apart on my tongue and then stuff you full of my cock and make you scream my name so everyone knows you’re all mine.” He paused. “And that’s only the beginning of it.”

Your pulse ratcheted up at the confession and you found yourself nodding before you could even fully process his words. It had been a long time since anyone had laid a hand on you and the dry spell was getting to you. Your inability to say no was worsened by the fact that it was Mingi propositioning you. “Do it then. Do everything you want to do to me.”

“You don’t know what you’re signing yourself up for.” He warned even as he looked back to your lips, descending on them a moment later. His kiss was ravenous, his lips devouring yours. He tasted like candy and smoke, a combination you couldn’t comprehend but knew you wouldn’t get tired of anytime soon.

All too soon he was pulling away and leaning down to press his lips to your neck instead, his hands moving to the hem of your shirt. You reached blindly behind you to lock the door then tangled your hands in his platinum hair, your head tipping back to further expose your throat to him. He began to lift your shirt and you pressed your chest against him, arching off the door. You needed to be closer to him.

“Down girl.” He teased as he tugged your shirt up and over your head, letting out a soft breath once he saw your bare breasts. “No bra? You wanted me to lose it, didn’t you?” He accused as he leaned down to take one into his mouth while the other rested in his massive hand.

“I may have thought about the possibility a time or two.” You grinned and closed your eyes, taking in the sensation of his tongue on your nipple as your head rested against the door. He rolled the opposite nipple between his thumb and first finger and you made a small noise of appreciation. “You know, I always imagined you to be a boob guy.” You teased, gasping when his teeth caught lightly on your nipple.

“I’m a man of culture, y/n, I like it all. Boobs, ass, and thighs. And I'm about to worship every inch of you.” Then he was swapping sides as his hand dipped between your legs, cupping you through your shorts.

You bit your lip hard as you looked down to watch him work, his fingers tugging your shorts to the side and tracing your slit. Things were moving fast but you couldn’t be bothered to slow it down. You needed him to do everything he’d said and more or you feared you might lose your mind.

“Wait.” He paused and pulled back, concern etched on his face. You offered a small smile and unbuttoned your shorts, shimmying the material down your legs along with your panties. “I need you.”

“Say less.” He groaned as he dropped to his knees before you and hooked your right leg over his shoulder. “You’re so pretty, baby. So perfect. And all mine.”

“All yours.” You agreed with a nod as he leaned in, his breath fanning out over your heated core. You held his gaze as his lips molded to your pussy and you let out a high-pitched whine as his tongue met your folds. “Mingi…”

He groaned against you at your taste and set a teasing pace, his tongue gliding through your folds and flicking over your clit. It was as if he’d known your body for centuries, the way his tongue worked you. He knew exactly what to do to get a rise out of you and he was all too happy to pull out every stop.

Your hand tangled in his hair and you pulled him closer when his tongue delved into you. “Mingi-” You gasped his name and rolled your hips, grinding against his mouth. His hands held you still as he fucked into you with his tongue and you whimpered at not being allowed to move against him.

“Steady, baby.” He murmured, trying to calm you down. It didn’t work, obviously, and he hiked your other leg up over his shoulder instead.

“Fuck- don’t drop me, Mingi, I swear-” You sounded panicked as both your feet dangled at his back.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, angel. Relax. I’ve got you, babygirl.” His voice was soothing as his hands smoothed over the curve of your ass, kneading the soft flesh there a moment later. “Just hold still and let me take care of you, yeah?” You nodded despite wanting to writhe against his face and he kissed your thigh. “Good girl.”

You melted at the endearment and relaxed against the door, allowing him to fully support you as he leaned back in. His tongue was fucking heaven the way it flicked over your clit then pressed back inside you. You didn’t want anyone else to ever attempt to go down on you again after this. He was the only one whose head you’d want between your legs from then on.

His deep voice vibrated against your pussy as he groaned at your taste, his tongue now lapping at your clit. You whimpered and fought the urge to attempt to grind against him, not wanting to knock him off balance and end up on the floor. Instead, you tugged at his hair and tried to pull him closer.

“Please- oh-” Your toes curled as he sucked on your clit and your thighs squeezed tight around his head, earning another suckle and a long groan against your soaking cunt. “Mingi, oh my god- please don’t stop- fuck ‘m so close-” You babbled as the knot in your belly began to fray. Any further teasing and he’d ruin your orgasm. You needed him to see you through it.

“Cum for me, angel. Cum all over my tongue like a good girl.” He coached before leaning back in and sucking harshly on your clit, his tongue flicking wildly over the sensitive bud at the same time.

You couldn’t have held back even if you’d wanted to. Your back arched and your toes curled as you shuddered with your orgasm, white hot bliss filling your veins. You worried for a moment that you’d fall as he lurched backwards but he quickly countered your movements to steady you and continued his motions, guiding you through your orgasm.

Finally, he backed away slowly, letting one shaky leg down and then the other. “Good girl. You did so good for me.” He pressed kisses to your thighs before standing and pecking your lips. “So good. Think you can take my cock now, babygirl?” You nodded instantly, not wanting to even think about what would happen if you said no or even that you needed a break. You simply needed to be filled right then.

He instantly shucked his shorts and boxers, then lifted you from the floor and you gasped as your legs wrapped around his waist. You loved feeling small and taken care of and he was just strong enough, just large enough to make you feel so tiny and fragile. God he was large… His dick, so thick and long, was straining with interest and already leaking precum and your pussy throbbed at the thought of taking it all. You needed him.

The blunt head of his cock prodded at your entrance and you quickly shimmied down onto his length, earning a hiss. “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight…” He lightly slapped your ass and you whined softly, clenching around him. “Shit- don’t do that, I won’t last. It's too good.” He warned and you did it again, knowing exactly how to get him to lose control now.

He gave an experimental thrust and you knew this position wouldn’t work. “The table.” You looked over his shoulder, gesturing to the table positioned against the wall behind him. “Fuck me there.” It was by a window so it was risky but you didn’t care. You needed him to fuck you and you needed a stable place to do so.

As he carried you to the table, his motions sending him further into you, you peered out the window. All the children were long gone and it seemed only a handful of folks still milled about in the yard, including your friend and her parents. You let out a soft sound at the cool press of metal on your bare skin as he seated you on the table and gave a shallow thrust, letting out a low groan. “So fucking tight for me, babygirl.”

“You’re just so big.” You whined, tugging him in close with your legs. “Kiss me.” You whispered, grabbing a fistful of his royal blue shirt and pulling him down. He gladly obliged and you let out a weak moan at the taste of yourself on his lips as he snapped his hips forward.

The motion was enough to knock the air out of you and you made a pathetic noise as he set a demanding pace, his hips already slapping against your ass. He drank up your moans, muffling the sounds so as not to get caught - yet.

He fit perfectly. He was massive and the stretch was delicious. He reached places your fingers couldn’t and filled you in ways your toys never had. You’d never felt so perfectly full and cared for in your life.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

You slipped a hand between you and began to massage lazy circles on your clit. A moment later, though, your hand was gently knocked away and Mingi took over. That was a new one. No man had ever truly cared about your pleasure. No man had been so set on being the one to make you fall apart.

Until Mingi.

He pulled out suddenly and urged you to sit up. “Turn around.” He commanded and fuck if you were going to disobey. You loved taking it from behind.

You quickly complied with his orders and a moment later he was back inside, filling you in a whole new way. “Oh god-” You moaned pathetically as he reached around to toy with your clit some more.

“Not god, baby. Just your Mingi.” He crooned in your ear and you clenched around him involuntarily.

“Mine.” You agreed with a nod. “My Mingi. All mine.”

“That’s right, babygirl.” He nipped at your earlobe and your flesh puckered, your nipples tightening. “And I'm gonna make sure you never forget it.”

His words were emphasized by a sharp thrust that knocked you forwards, his thick cock abusing your dripping cunt. “I couldn’t forget this even if I wanted to, Mingi. It’s all I've wanted since the moment we met. Can’t forget it when I’m finally getting you.” You sounded breathless and whiny as you spoke.

A lewd squelching filled the cramped room as he railed you from behind and you felt the coil in your belly growing tighter with each thrust. You couldn’t help but lift your head and glance out the window to ensure you were still going unnoticed and found even less people in the yard, the group now down to one couple along with the rest of Mingi’s immediate family, who were cleaning the yard now.

“What do you see, baby?”

“They’re gone. Just a few left. Fuck-” He drove into you harder and your toes curled as your elbows buckled and dropped you back on the table. “Feels so good, Mingi!” You cried out quietly, careful not to be too loud lest you get caught.

“Yeah? You like when I fuck you like this?” His hips slammed against your ass and you heard the table hit the wall as you nodded.

“Love it so fucking much. Don’t you dare stop- oh-” He slapped your ass with his free hand just as he lightly pinched your clit and you felt your orgasm lurch closer. “Fuck, Mingi, do that again!” You gasped, fingers tightly gripping the edges of the table. Your knuckles whited in response to your death grip on the cool metal surface.

The table was now steadily knocking against the wall and you prayed you were far enough away from everyone that they wouldn’t notice. You weren’t sure if you could handle being caught.

“Oh god, Mingi- fuck ‘m so close! Please-” Before you could ask permission, you felt your orgasm washing over you.

Your walls clenched and fluttered around the thick cock inside you and you allowed yourself to fall forward onto the table, your cheek pressing against the metal as you came undone. It was intense. Your body jerked from the force of it and you continued to twitch even as you came down from it.

“Fuck- babygirl- tell me where you want it, baby.” His grunts damn near pulled another one out of you and you clenched around him intentionally.

“Inside. Want it all inside.” You whimpered, hugging his cock tightly with your sensitive cunt. The pressure was enough to drag him over the edge and he let out the most beautiful sound as he came undone, filling you to the brim with his cum.

He didn’t stop until you were so full you were dripping his release all down your thighs. When he pulled out you made a small, dissatisfied noise and stood straight. You walked on wobbly legs to gather your clothes, biting your lip when he caught you by the waist. “Let me clean you up some, baby.” His voice was roughened with sex and your head spun at the sound.

A towel was pressed against your thighs and he began to wipe up his mess. When had he had a chance to grab one from the shelf? It didn’t matter. What mattered was how his hands felt against your skin. He was so gentle with you and your heart swelled at the care he used.

When he released you, you quickly tugged your panties on and reached for your shorts. “Mingi?” You called softly as you dressed yourself. He hummed in response as you buttoned your shorts. “You know this means things can’t go back to normal, right? This changes everything.”

“That was the plan.” He grinned as he tugged his underwear and shorts back on. Once dressed, he made his way to you and helped you adjust your shirt. “I want things to be different between us, y/n. I want us to be more than acquaintances. More than friends.”

“I-I do too.” You bit your lip and looked up at him. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you from across the room.”

“Then I’m yours.” He smiled softly and pulled you against him. “All yours.” He whispered just before kissing you sweetly. You could still kind of taste yourself on his lips and it made you dizzy.

You were about to say something sweet in return when the door handle rattled. “Guys come on. Mom and dad are getting suspicious.” Your friend’s low voice came through the door. She knew you were in here all along?

[alltheirdamn]

DECLINED | Mechanic!Joel x f!reader

PART 3

Summary: Swear? On my life. Rating: 18+ Explicit Word Count: 4.1k Warnings: Pre-outbreak (AU), mechanic!joel, oral (f + m receiving), fingering, squirting, deepthroating, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, body worship, spanking, unprotected piv sex, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (darlin', babydoll, cowboy), rough sex, creampie, mirror sex, shower sex, playful banter and teasing, so much fluff it'll make your teeth ache, porn WITH plot now A/N: I really just want to thank EVERYONE for all the love on this lil fic. It was really only meant to be a small one-shot for shits and giggles and you guys just made it mean so much more to me ;') I hope I did their love story justice <3

Masterlist | Ko-fi

“I think this is the last of it,” you huffed, handing Joel the final box off the moving truck.

It had been six months of long-distance before Joel finally put his foot down and demanded that you move in with him and his daughter Sarah. It didn’t take much coaxing since you were just as impatient as he was to live together. You had been practically glued to your cell phone over those six months, always staying up late talking to him. You learned all about him: his career, his life in Austin, his daughter, and his wife, who had left him after she was born. You came to find he was a fantastic listener, too. He’d sit there and listen to you babble on and on about your job at the marketing agency and how traffic in California always pissed you off. Once in a while, he’d hum in agreement with your complaints but always found a way to shut you up with sweet words…or dirty ones. It was no surprise to you that he had a filthy fucking mouth when he wanted to turn you on…which happened all the time.

You followed him into the house and up the stairs to the bedroom, where he set the box on the ground. Exhausted, you flung yourself onto the bed, exhaling a sigh of relief to be done moving finally. Joel plopped down next to you, staring off into the ceiling fan with an even louder exhale.

“Not sure why you’re huffin’ and puffin’, babydoll. I did all the heavy lifting,” he said, his voice soft and teasing.

You rolled onto your side, glaring at him with sweat still dripping down your face.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” you grumbled. “I’m not used to this damn humidity. It’s almost fucking eighty degrees in December! This is ridiculous.” 

“Aw, s’my girl missing the coast?” he feigned a pouty face.

“Fuck off,” you scoffed, rolling over to face the other direction.

“I’m just kiddin’, darlin’. I’m happy you’re here.”

“I am, too,” you sighed. 

Joel moved with you, the steady warmth of his back pressing against your body. You nuzzled into him, breathing in synchronicity, a moment of stillness in the chaos. You were home.

“Joel,” you whispered. 

“Yeah, babydoll?” He asked, pressing a gentle kiss against your neck.

“I need you.”

Moving your bodies in unison, Joel rolled on top of you, holding your face in his hands. He was softer than before, his eyes washing over you with a happiness you could only have dreamed of. You arched into his touch, pressing your lips to his for a slow, hungry kiss. His mouth moved on yours with such ferocity you had no choice but to surrender completely.

“S’all you needed, babydoll?” Joel murmured against your open mouth. “Just some attention and lovin’?”

“Maybe just a lil’ bit,” you confessed.

“Sarah’s not gonna be home from school for ‘few hours,” he mused. “Reckon, I can give you all the attention you want.”

You tugged at the hem of his shirt, giving him a playful grin. In a matter of seconds, you were both fully undressed. Joel leaned back on his heels, taking in your naked body spread across his linen bed sheets. His hand wrapped around one of your ankles, his fingers slowly sliding up your calf and thigh. He never took his eyes off of yours as his hands continued roaming over the curves and planes of your body; each brush of his finger a shockwave through your skin.

“If I ain’t the luckiest son ‘a bitch alive,” he shook his head, smiling down at you. 

“You’re not too bad yourself, cowboy,” you replied.

Joel was fucking gorgeous…everywhere. You knew all this time he was broad and muscular under that damn black shirt, but seeing his bare chest on display was something else. A spattering of hair covered his chest and down his stomach, a dark trail of it leading to his hardened cock. Every inch of him was defined, yet so soft, from how his biceps tensed and flexed to the curve of his stomach as his waist tapered down. You wanted to spend eternity exploring each freckle and mole, connecting the space between them on his tanned skin with an array of kisses. 

Cupping one of your breasts, Joel bent down to capture your lips again, his other hand falling between your inner thighs. Your arousal coated his fingers as he slid them between your legs, teasing you with the pad of his thumb against your clit.

“Can’t believe this is s’all mine,” he whispered into your ear. “You hear me, darlin’? You’re all mine.”

“I’m yours,” you agreed.

Joel’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes drawn to where his fingers worked at your body. You whimpered and spread your legs wider, urging him to keep touching you. You never wanted him to stop, never wanted these moments to end. Your hands tangled in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. 

“What ya’ want, darlin’? Use those words.”

“You…I—I want you,” you panted. “I want your cock, please.”

“Want it or need it?” He questioned, applying more pressure to your throbbing clit.

“Need it!” You cried.

Joel pushed two fingers inside you, stretching you out as he curled them deep inside you. He was teasing you slowly, pulling those embarrassing sounds from your mouth as you clenched around his fingers. Your body lit up as the pleasure built slowly, warmth spreading through your core. His fingers curled harder, hitting you at that blinding spot that made time suspend around you. All you could do was cry as the ecstasy swelled inside you, your hands clutching his neck to keep you grounded.

“Listen to those pretty lil’ sounds,” Joel hummed. “Fuckin’ love hearin’ ya cry out for me.”

“I—fuck! Fuck, Joel, please!” you begged. “God, please!” 

“Please, what, darlin’? Y’wanna cum? Is that what ya want?”

You twisted your face into the pillow, muffling a scream as your body tensed up one final time before you were drenching him with your release, the sheets under you becoming a complete mess. Your walls clenched around his fingers, pulsing through each ripple of your orgasm. Joel pulled his fingers from you slowly, your body sinking into the mattress as you removed your face from the pillows. Gazing up at him with heavy eyes, you watched as he brought his pointer finger to his mouth, wrapping his lips around the digit. Enamored, you stared in stunned silence as he licked away your arousal. Drawing it from his mouth, he pressed his middle finger against your parted lips, coaxing them open.

“Taste yourself, babydoll,” he ordered. 

Taking his finger in your mouth, you swirled your tongue, collecting the remnants of your cum. His pupils were blown wide as he watched you, the corners of his mouth twitching with an approving smile. He pressed his finger on your tongue, adding another as he pushed them further back.

“There ya’ go, darlin’,” he said, his voice rugged and dark.

You squirmed under him, needing more. A string of saliva dripped off your bottom lip as he pulled his fingers from your mouth, trailing them down your chin and throat. His hands reached down to hold your hips, flipping you over to your stomach. Hauling you onto all fours, he pressed the tip of cock to your entrance, giving you no time to prepare as he drove into you. The air was knocked out of your lungs as he buried himself deep, holding you steady until he started moving. And when he began moving… he was relentless. Your hands tried to make purchase on the headboard as he railed into you, his hips snapping at a violent pace. 

Your orgasm was tearing through you in no time, your cunt squeezing his cock into a vice as warm liquid dripped down your thighs. Joel growled behind you, his fingers bruising your hip bones.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl. Fuckin’ drenching’ my cock.”

His hand came off your hips, delivering a round of slaps against your ass that had you wailing in pleasure. The sting of his hand on your skin was enough to send you over the edge again, that desperate need to cum stirring inside you. 

“Joel!” you shouted. “I—I’m gonna cum again, please!”

“I know, babydoll, I know,” he crooned. “I got you.”

You white-knuckled the headboard, another rush of liquid gushing out of you. You were overstimulated and crying as he kept a brutal pace. Another spank, another drive of his cock inside you… over and over in repetition. 

“Gonna fill this pussy up,” he grunted. “Y’want my cum, babydoll?”

Words wouldn’t form on your lips; you could only wag your head in approval, needing him to fill you full. Joel wrapped your hair around his fist and pulled your body against his, your back meeting his sweaty chest. He slowed his pace, fucking you deeper and more rhythmically until he was panting in your ear as he caved into his release. You moved in unison, bodies heaving for air as the world dissolved around you. He held you against him for a minute, his teeth grazing your shoulder.

“Did so fuckin’ good for me,” he whispered against your skin.

You whimpered at his praises, letting your body sag into his embrace. Leaning your head back on his shoulder, you hummed in contentment, sinking into the press of his body against yours. Everything felt so right. Three little words were bubbling to the surface, but you swallowed them, too afraid to speak them aloud. You didn’t know if it was too soon; you were so caught up in the moment that you weren’t thinking straight.

“I think I need a nap after that,” you chuckled, leaving those words tucked away in your head.

“Bed s’all yours, darlin’,” Joel said, unsticking his body from yours.

You curled under the covers, his scent enveloping you as you nestled into the bed. Joel leaned down to kiss your forehead, smoothing out your hair. Through heavy lids, you gazed up at him and smiled. 

“Get some sleep, babydoll. I’ll be ‘round the house unboxing stuff ‘til you’re up.”

“Thanks, cowboy.”

**

December passed by in a blissful blur, every day bringing something new. You had found a new job at a marketing agency in Austin, spending the usual 8-5 huddle in groups as you worked through different projects. Joel was always home before you, a plate of dinner waiting on the table for you and Sarah. You teased him constantly about the grease marks on his arms after his long days at work and made sure to tease you right back for the dress and heels you wore every day—which somehow always ended up with you naked on the bed, still wearing your stilettos as he fucked you into the mattress.

It was Christmas morning, and you were waiting downstairs by the tree with Sarah. You both had devised a plan to surprise him with a new watch; his old one had cracked at work while he was elbow-deep working on an old Mustang engine. He never mentioned needing a new one, but you noticed how he would absentmindedly look at his bare wrist at breakfast time each morning.

“You think he’ll like it?” Sarah asked nervously, handing over the grey box to you.

“He’ll love it,” you assured her.

You were nestled into the couch in one of Joel’s shirts and sweats, waiting for the man himself to finish up in the kitchen. Walking into the living room, Joel had his hands full with two cups of coffee and a glass of orange juice squeezed between the crook of his elbow. He grunted at Sarah to grab the glass of orange juice, extending the extra coffee mug to you as he dropped onto the couch cushions.

“Alright,” He yawned. “Let’s see what the fat man got y’all.”

Sarah tore into her presents, squealing at the heaps of new clothes and accessories she pulled from each box. You stole a glance at Joel, watching him look at his daughter with so much love and happiness. You had caught him giving you that same look from time to time, sometimes when you were walking out of the shower or when you were curled up on the couch together watching shitty action films. Maybe he did lov—.

“Open your present, Dad!” Sarah exclaimed, dragging you from your wandering thoughts. “We got you something special!”

“Y’did, huh?” Joel looked at you with skepticism. 

You held out the box to him, shrugging with nonchalance.

“Surprise, cowboy,” you grinned.

He did a double take at the box in your hand, shock written all over his features. You looked over at Sarah, who was practically buzzing with anticipation as she waited for her dad to open his gift. Taking the box in his hands, Joel’s eyes shifted between you and Sarah, his big brown eyes softening.

“Y’all really ain’t had to do anything,” he protested. “Got all I need right here.”

You reached over to squeeze his knee, urging him just to open the damned thing. He caved, flipping open the lid to reveal his new watch. The wraps on the watch were made from military green nylon, and the face of it was made from black mineral glass that would be durable and long-lasting. It wasn’t anything flashy or extravagant; you and Sarah knew he’d hate that. 

Joel wrapped his hands around the nylon, holding it as he sat silently. You craned your neck to get a better look at his face; his brows furrowed, and his lips downturned.

“You hate it, huh?” Sarah asked quietly. 

“What?” Joel shook his head. “God no, sweetheart, I love it. Thank you.”

Sarah’s face perked up at his words, and she hauled herself up from the floor to give him a big embrace. You sat back and let them have their moment, enjoying the warmth floating around the room. Joel looked over Sarah’s shoulder at you, mouthing a soft thank you. 

Of course, you mouthed back.

He squeezed Sarah one last time before breaking the hug, ruffling her hair as she pulled away. He worked the watch around his wrist, clasping it on and admiring it against his tanned skin. 

“S’too much,” he mumbled. “Ain’t deserve these nice things.” 

“Yes, you do,” you responded.

Joel shook his head, for once at a loss for words. Sarah glanced between you both on the couch and gave you a small smile before grabbing her opened presents and disappearing to her room. You turned your attention back to Joel, already finding his eyes settled on you. 

“S’real nice of y’all to do this,” he sighed. “I really ‘ppreciate it.”

“She just wanted to do something special for you,” you said, scooting closer to him. “She loves you.”

“I know, I know.”

Joel hauled you into his lap, pulling your arms around his neck before his own settled around your waist. You leaned in close, brushing your nose against his before kissing his lips softly. Those words you had shoved down were coming back up again, crawling through your chest and banging to come out. You couldn’t wrangle them down this time.

“Joel, I—.”

“Don’t,” he whispered.

Your stomach dropped, the happiness you had felt crumbling away. Of course, it was too soon; you had been stupid to think he was ready to hear those words…or even reciprocate them. You chewed on your lip, trying—and failing—to hide your disappointment.

“Don’t say it,” he continued. “I wanna say it first. I love you, babydoll. S’fucking much.”

His features began to blur as tears fell against your cheeks.

“Swear?” You asked.

“On my life.”

Cupping your face in his large hands, Joel pulled you in for a deep kiss, his tongue tracing over your bottom lip as you surrendered to his touch. Your mouths moved together, hands roaming skin, sounds escaping in breathy moans. You hadn’t expected to fall for him so fast—or fall for him at all. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did, and you were happier because of it. 

“I love you, too, cowboy,” you whispered.

Later that night, Joel had you laid out on the bed upside down, your head dangling off the edge as you watched him above you through the mirror beside the bed. You could see his lips pressed against your stomach; you could feel the warmth of his mouth on your skin. 

“Watch me, babydoll,” he instructed. “Don’t take those pretty eyes off the mirror.”

You groaned as his tongue glided over your clit, each lick soft and slow. You bit your lip, trying to stifle your whines, knowing Sarah was only a few feet down the hall. You kept your eyes trained on the mirror, watching as Joel’s mouth worked at your wet cunt. His nose rubbed against your clit as he plunged his tongue inside you, a traitorous moan falling from your mouth. His eyes connected with yours through the mirror, the brown in his irises nearly black in the dim lights of the bedroom.

“Quiet, darlin’,” he warned. “Be good for me.”

“I’ll be good,” you promised. 

“That’s my girl.”

Then his mouth was back on you. He guided you toward the edge of your orgasm, keeping you suspended between bliss and delirium. You couldn’t hold on any longer, white-hot pleasure electrifying your nerves and spotting your vision. Joel kissed each of your thighs, raising his head to capture your gaze again, a lopsided grin plastered on his wet lips. You tilted your head up, the blood rushing back to the surface as you settled into the bed. Joel crawled up your body, caging you between his muscular arms. 

“So damn beautiful, babydoll,” he praised. 

“You’re not so bad yourself, cowboy.”

He smiled wider, pushing your legs apart as he lined up with your entrance. Breaking you open slowly, Joel rocked into you, his pace slow and sensual. You melted against him, the press of his skin on yours enough to send another wave of pleasure through your core. Your fingers flexed against the solid muscles of his back, his shoulder blades moving with each roll of his hips. Joel’s hand slid down your leg, cupping the underside of your knee as he hauled your leg higher, forcing himself deeper into you. 

“Joel,” you whimpered quietly. “Feel’s so fucking good.”

“I know, babydoll,” he whispered. “S’like you were made for me.”

You were mindless as another spasm tore through you, your legs shaking around his waist as your mouth dropped open in a silent cry. Joel chased his release moments later, spilling into you with a quiet slew of curses and grunts. He peppered your neck and jaw in an array of kisses, nipping at your earlobe with a string of praises falling off his tongue. 

He hauled you from the bed, carrying you into the bathroom, where you both stood under the spray of the hot water for nearly an hour. It wasn’t long before he had you pressed against the cold shower walls, pulling orgasm after orgasm from your body. 

Into the late hours of the night, you found yourself wrapped around Joel, your limbs intertwined under the comforter's warmth. Your head rested against his shoulder, fingers dancing over the hair across his chest. Joel’s thumb rubbed circles around your shoulder blade as he pulled you tighter to his body. The smell of sex and cedarwood filled the air inside the bedroom, and your eyes drifted closed while you focused on the sound of his breathing beside you.

“I love you, Joel,” you sighed, nuzzling into his embrace.

“I love you, darlin’. Always.”

**

The months faded away, the air turning warmer as summer crept in. Work had been picking up as the seasons changed, and your schedule was always packed from start to finish each day. On a particularly sunny day, you found yourself free for the afternoon after a long morning meeting. Driving through the town, you turned onto a street far too familiar to you now. Aside from Joel’s truck parked in the garage, the mechanic shop was empty. Smoothing down your pencil skirt, you exited your car with a devilish idea in mind. The bells above the door chimed as you waltzed into the waiting room with a devilish grin. Joel perked up from behind the counter, setting down the newspaper gripped between his hands. 

“What can I do for ya, miss?” Joel smirked, quickly feeding into your energy.

“Got myself a flat,” you feigned distress, leaning against the counter before him. “Can you help me out?”

“S’gonna cost ya,” he shrugged. 

“I’m all outta cash,” you whined, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. 

“Gotta credit card?” he questioned.

“It’ll get declined,” you pouted.

Joel let out a heavy breath, scratching his neck as he took you in your exaggerated appearance.

“Well, that’s got you in quite the predicament.”

“A pretty big one, huh?” You stifled a giggle. He knew what you were implying.

“I reckon we can work somethin’ out,” he insisted, nodding his head towards the back door. 

You followed him out to the garage, excitement bubbling to the surface. Joel leaned against the hood of his truck, tugging at your skirt to draw you closer, forcing you to stumble a bit in your heels. Wrapping a big arm around your waist, he pinned you to his body, his hand coming up to cradle your face. 

“Y’sure are somethin’, babydoll,” he said before leaning in for a hungry kiss. 

“Whatever do you mean?” you said sarcastically. “I’m just an innocent woman lookin’ for help.”

“Keep runnin’ that mouth of yours, darlin'. It’ll only get you in trouble,” he warned.

“What’re you gonna do about it, cowboy?” you taunted, running your hands under the fabric of his shirt. 

Grabbing the base of your throat with a strong hand, Joel forced you down to your knees. You stared up at him obediently, an eager smile on your lips. With his hand still wrapped around your neck, he used the other to free his cock from his jeans, rubbing the tip of it over your parted lips.

“Better make use of that fuckin’ mouth,” he growled. “Since ‘ya need that tire fixed so bad.”

“I’ll do anything,” you pleaded.

You took him into your mouth, rolling your tongue over the head of his cock. The taste of salty precum swirled around your mouth as you took him deeper, eliciting a satisfied rumble from his chest. Joel jerked his hips forward, forcing you to sputter around his cock as he hit the back of your throat. You hollowed out your cheeks, sucking him harder with each thrust of his hips. You reached up to cup his balls, running your fingers over the silken skin as he drove into your mouth over and over again.

“Open that pretty fuckin’ mouth, babydoll,” he instructed, his voice shaky.

You obliged, staring up at him with an open-mouthed grin. With a loud grunt and flex of his thighs, he coated your tongue in his release, some of it dripping off your lip. Your tongue darted out to catch it as Joel watched in a post-climax haze. His eyes were hooded and full of desire, and you could feel your cunt throbbing with need the longer he stared at you.

Standing on shaky legs, you reeled him in for a long kiss, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue. Joel deepened the kiss by twisting his tongue around yours, muffled sounds lost against your lips as he wrapped you into a tight embrace.

“So,” you drawled, pulling away from his hungry lips. “Think I can get that tire fixed?”

“I might be able to work somethin’ out,” he mused. “We can negotiate it over dinner.”

“Oh, you wanna wine and dine me now?”

“Damn right, I do,” he grinned. “Now, let’s go home so I can feast on you.”

“Take me home, cowboy.”

You both decided to leave your car parked at the shop and drive home together in his truck. With the console propped up, Joel had you pressed against his body, your eyes steadily watching him as he drove you home. Home. In the golden hour of sunset, you watched his eyes shimmer in flex of gold and auburn. His tan skin glowed in the sunlight, the silhouette of his face perfectly shadowed by the sun dipping below the horizon. He glanced down at you, a warm smile creasing the lines around his eyes. 

“What’s that look for, huh?” He squeezed your hip, his other hand gripping the wheel.

“I love you,” you sighed.

“I love you, too, babydoll. Always.”

[azes-ocean]

Illusion in shattered glass 

An: I promise I’m working on reqs but this was already in my drafts so 💙 I need more Mr. Reca content so I decided to make some! He’s a character with alot of potential 🫶🏼

A dream is just a nightmare you do not want to wake up from.

Inspiration: I can’t find the post anymore but there was a post about someone talking about Mr. Reca erasing his darling’s memories every time he confesses that to try to achieve perfection, if you find it plz tell me and I can add the link 💙 

An: I didn’t reread or review it so it might suck, but I did add effort. First few chapter are skip-able ish if your impatient. 

Summary: A picture perfect love story directed by Penacony’s greatest director.

Except it isn’t perfect.

You don’t remember any bit of this so-called ‘story’.

Because you-

—CUT!—

TAKE ONE 

“I love you, y/n.”

     “!?-Mr. Reca-I-do too…”

    Directors notes: Disapproved! Adding a title in the acceptance just makes there seem to be a distance or unfamiliarity!

TAKE TWO

“Ah. Y/n. I do adore you.”

         “-Reca…? In a platonic or a romantical way…?”

Director’s notes: Disapproved! The way in which y/n still must ask the intent of those words making them seem dense whilst they have much more intelligence then most actors.

TAKE THREE

“Y/n. Will you marry me?”

       “Gasp. I-ofcourse, Reca…!”

Directors notes: Mhmm…getting better! But it should be perfect! Therefore disapproved!

TAKE FOUR

Disapproved!

TAKE FIVE

Disapproved!

TAKE SIX

Disapproved!

TAKE SEVEN

——

TAKE EIGHT HUNDRED AND EIGHTY EIGHT

————1—————

Mr. Reca slammed his fist on the table as he re-watched the records for the nth time. “Ugh. Disapproved…disapproved…Y/n deserves only perfection, not this dogwash!” He cried, cupping his face between his hands in frustration, mumbling under his breath. “No…no…no….” He murmured, why was this so hard? He was the greatest director in the world! Why couldn’t he properly direct his own love story,..?

Yes, yes, he had tried all the cliché proposals and confessions, flowers, letters, even using a cat to carry on his letter. So what was missing in his grand vision of this ‘perfect confession’!?

———2———

{{This chapter is to give depth to the reader and extra interactions. Skip it you want though somethings may be a bit confusing 💕}}

“What I think of Mr. Reca…?” You echoed, tilting your head in confusion. This was…not what you had expected your friends to ask you during your truth or dare game. “Yeah! I heard you rejected him before!” They gasped excitedly, one of them bumping your shoulder and giggling, covering their mouth. “No. I never did that. He’s just my boss. Those are just rumors.” You clarify, shaking you head with a shy smile. You’d never reject him. Well, you’d never reject him if he asked! But that was just most likely your brain too full of those telenova romance movies you binge watched over the weekend. You looked down to your hands and shook your head lightly, trying to wipe those thoughts from your brain. “Anytyywwwaaayy…. y/n!” Your friend called, pointing at you, already seemingly forgetting their previous question, “You didn’t answer the last question, so you better answer this one!” They chirped in their usual bubbly manner, happily shaking your shoulder like a needy child. Oh no. They had a mischevious glimmer in their eyes. “Tell the truth…why do you only hang out with us in the dreamscape!?” They demanded, huffing while crossing their arms dramatically. Your pulse unknowingly quickened, but your expression was still positive. “I just am too busy outside of the dreamscape. Nothing secretive. Now….F/N!” You smile and point at your other friend in the same matter as the latter, grinning, “Truth or dare?”

———3———

Mr. Reca sat on his desk, Assistant Director across his lap as he went through script after script after proposal after proposal. How boring. It would be a hundred times more interesting to be spending these wasted hours with you. But oh well. Duty called, much to his chagrin. What an artistic block. Almost all of the scripts these days lacked individuality and creativity.

All but lacking stories with a totally predictable ending, boring characters and poorly suggested visuals. The director eventually ran his patience through, crumpling the paper in his hands and throwing it across the room in absolute irritation.

“Mr. Reca…? Are you alright?” You called, knocking on the door after you had heard his exasperated grunts. “Oh, y/n! Please, please, come in if you wish! of course I am alright!” He called, his mood already being lifted by your prescence and concern. As soon as you opened the door he ushered you in and had you seated on the couch in the far corner of the messy room in a matter of seconds. You glanced across at him akwardly, only given a few moments to settle where you sat before Mr. Reca began talking endlessly about the films he was working on, the potential-less stories and manuscripts he was forced to read and a lot of his day. In truth, most of it went over your head, merely keeping up your part of the conversation with the bare minimum occasionally nodding and throwing out “Mhmm”’s “Er-yes…” and “Totally.”

———4———

“Y/n. How do you feel today?” Mr. Reca smiled, drapping his jacket across your shoulders. Even though the weather in the dreamscape was hardly cold, today felt a bit different. “A bit…cold…” You offer, snuggling into his warm jacket and hunching slightly. You looked up to see Mr. Reca with a sad smile, which surprised you. “Is…something wrong?” You asked, looking at him with a concerned look. Mr. Reca never usually showed sadness, but now his expression also held something you never thought was possible for him.

He looked…in grief?

Before you could open your mouth to ask him again, Mr. Reca looked you straight in the eye, his hands clasping together nervously, “Y/n…I love you.”

Your brain could hardly comprehend that. You stared at him for a while, wide eyed and your mouth half open when you finally remembered to swallow. You looked down and turned to him with a joyful smile, “I do too, Reca.” Mr. Reca returned your smile, though it still seemed like he was thinking of something else. You put a hand carefully on his shoulder and hesitantly kissed his forehead. “Is there…something wrong?” 

You were met with some silence, which seemed incredibly heavy, not something you would expect the atmosphere of a confession to be like. You knew what was wrong. You did. 

But you didn’t remember. 

And you can’t remember why.

“Wrong? No. We are actually following the ‘right’” Mr. Reca finally replied, shaking his head whilst forcing a smile. He pulled you into an unexpected embrace, burying his head into the crook of your neck as his shoulders seemed to sag. “And in the will of fate we can never be together.” 

You stared at him, though you weren’t confused. Yes, because this happened before.

Eight hundred and eighty eight times, to be exact.

This was what the aeons had written in both your destinies.

“Yes…yes…”

“Because you never existed in the first place.”

———5———

Mr. Reca was now hugging his empty jacket, devoid of the warmth it used to hold. 

And he cried.

It had never gotten easier to accept every time that you were a mere memory zone meme.

A fragment of his consciousness and the embodiment of his wish.

Salty tears fell one after the other in a bitter waterfall as Mr. Reca bit his lip, trying to regain his composure as his breath hitched and more tears spilled.

It was an ironic, almost funny thing

The missing piece in his ‘perfect confession’ had always been you.

———

TAKE EIGHT HUNDRED EIGHTY NINE

———

[morose-melodies]

that's what the article said, anyway | yandere! childe/ajax x f! reader

summary: ajax got a bit too engrossed in buzzfeed quizzes and articles telling him how to pull... it seems he can't think for himself anymore

content warning: childe being a weirdo

a/n: IM SO RUSTY I miss my old writing style sm :((

there was an eighty-six percent chance that ajax liked you.

and a one hundred percent chance that you like him back.

that's what the online quiz 'do you have a crush on your friend? made by a female. 100% accuracy' said anyway, so it must be true, it's gotta be.

he'd lay it on thick with you tomorrow- woo you, make you confess your undying attraction to him because that's what the follow-up article 'how to get your crush to want you. made by a female. 100% chance of success' said he should do.

he had a plan.

...

ajax got to school a bit earlier than usual.

phase one of his plan? walk to class with you and potentially hold your bag for you, to show you he was the sort of man you'd want in your life.

he was sort of hiding around a corner, waiting for you to enter the front door, then, he'd casually approach you and make good conversation with you as the two of you walked to class together.

the door opened, and ajax perked up, peeking around the corner... just to see some guy entering.

he sighed, pressing his back against the wall he hid behind. he could feel his heart beating at an oddly fast pace- he had to be cool, or else you'd think he was a total loser who didn't understand women.

but he understood women- he understood them well, too. after all, he read the 'all about women' article three times over while eating breakfast this morning.

at this point, he probably understood you better than you understood yourself.

the door opened again, this time, it was you.

ajax gripped at the strap of his book bag, as he walked from around the corner and towards you, "hey- you're here pretty early."

"yeah."

yeah, that's all? ajax swallowed, his grip on the strap tightened, "you planning on running for class president?"

"nope."

you kept walking! you didn't even stop to pay attention to the conversation. ajax followed after you, "huh, I was thinkin' of running. would you vote for me if i did?"

"I don't know."

were you walking faster!? oh gosh...

ajax sped up after you, grabbing the back of your book bag, "hey, I'll hold your bag for you. we can walk to class together, right?" he was laying it in thick, just like he said it would! women liked assertive men- that's what the article said.

"what- no, I'm fine."

ajax slowly released your bookbag and stopped following you altogether. you're fine? he didn't believe it, not even for a moment. you must be having a bad morning or something. he'd make you feel better, he knew he could.

so he went to class instead and sat down at his desk, which was conveniently beside yours- not exactly, considering he's liked you for a while now and asked his teacher for the desk beside you.

he waited and waited for you.

until you finally got to class. you sat down at your desk, casting a small glance at him before settling down.

ajax tapped his pencil against his desk, occasionally glancing at you for long seconds.

and of course, you took note of this, and soon enough, you were annoyed. "hey," you whispered to him.

"huh?" ajax perked up. you were starting a conversation with him? he stifled a grin.

"do you need something?"

"what was that? huh... oh, no."

"then stop looking at me."

oh.

ajax slumped down in his seat, covering his eyes. his heart was pounding so hard against his chest, he had been so excited that you spoke to him! only for you to tell him off??

you were super stubborn.

Well, onto phase two, it was. buying you lunch and gaining your favor.

so, when lunchtime was near, ajax left class early. women liked food, that's what the article said, so, you'd be real grateful for this, wouldn't you?

he bought himself lunch and scoffed it down before you got to the cafeteria. he got up and approached you when he saw you enter, "lunch on me, okay?"

this had to work, right?

"okay," you nodded at him and got your money's worth of lunch - it was more than you'd usually get; ajax knew that, but maybe you were extra hungry today.

when you went to sit down, he followed after you and sat across from you.

whatever doubt he felt towards that article faded as he watched you eat, chin in the palm of his hand - he was going to cherish this.

"uh..."

"huh?"

"you gonna keep staring at me while I eat?"

"sure, if you don't mind."

from the way you were glaring, ajax expected the worst but instead got nothing. you went back to eating.

ajax smiled - it was worth it, definitely worth it. getting to sit across from you was nice and being allowed to shamelessly watch you was even nicer.

he usually had to be sure you weren't watching before he even glanced at you.

man, was he getting rewarded today!

...

when school was over, the last phase of his plan was in play. he was going to walk you home and sneak a kiss in - women like unexpected kisses, that's what the article said, anyway.

ajax caught up to you as you left the building, his arm grazing yours as he walked at your side, "I'll walk you home, yeah?"

"no thank you."

"huh?" no way you said that not after everything! "c'mon, who's it hurting? let me walk you home, it'll be nice."

you walked slowly, looking at ajax, stifling a sigh, "what's with you? i don't even know... you've been bothering me all day."

his lips parted; he was ready to defend himself, to argue, but he was caught up in what you said. "bothering?" he echoed, his heart slowly sinking in his chest.

"yeah- like, you're being weird. I don't even know your name."

"you don't... know my-" ajax felt shame wash over him. of course you didn't know him as well as he knew you... of course, you didn't...

he'd been watching you for months, like a curios shadow. he was always there, even when you didn't know it.

"that's right... i, uh... must've mistook you for someone else-!" he didn't even believe his lie, "... some other pretty girl, probably. anyway, I'll get going!"

ajax quickly turned and walked in the opposite direction of you. his mind was fuzzy, he couldn't think a coherent thought - it felt as if his life was over.

he'd never get to be with you now... not after this.

what a horrible first impression you must have of him...

[witchygagirlwrites]

How Dare You-Part 10

Jay Halstead x Reader (nicknamed Deuce/ Surname of Barlowe but no first name used)

A semi successful mission, a bullet wound and a clean slate

Warnings: mention of gun violence, grenades, someone being injured and bleeding and I think thats it for once?

You had to admire the humor in the fact that you were standing between Jay and Travis, both men six feet tall, physically imposing and fully geared out yet waiting on you to make the final call moving forward with the next step in this mission. “I’ll take a team to move in from the south, Trav will move in from the north.” you spoke, trailing your finger over the map that was in front of you.

Jay leaned over your shoulder to motion to some vantage points “Need to watch out for here and here. Good areas for sniper nests” you looked up at him considering his movement had put him nearly folded over you, the heat from his body seeping into yours. You nodded slowly “Ok, everyone heard Halstead, steer clear of these areas by any means possible”

Jay gave a small nod and moved away from you, which left you feeling a little colder despite the fact that you knew you shouldn’t have even allowed him to get that close to begin with. You took a breath and looked at Travis “We’ll time it just right” then glanced down at your watch and let out a string of curses “What’s wrong?” Travis asked as you snatched the watch off your wrist “This damned thing is dead” you tapped it a couple times hoping the battery compartment was just loose like it had been a few times before but nope, it was well and truly gone this go around.

“Fuck” you cursed, tossing it into the nearest bin. “Well anyone got a spare watch by chance?” you joked, knowing no one did but also knowing there wasn’t anywhere within eighty miles you could get a wrist watch either. Not like you could pull your cell out to keep an eye on minutes.

Jay called your name and when you looked up he was holding his watch out. “Jay I was joking” you laughed. He shrugged “It’s a lot newer than the one you just tossed, a lot more sturdier too. Plus I know how you like timing being dead on. You need it, I’m backing Travis” “I’ll give it back when we come in” you promised as you took it from his hand. A smile slipped onto his face “I’m in no hurry to get it back”

You fastened the watch around your wrist, the weight of it was more than the one you’d had but it would work. You cut your eyes up at Jay and offered a smile. He was trying, actually trying here. You weren’t going to continue busting his balls any more than necessary. 

You tore your eyes away from him to look around “Ok, boys and girls. Get with your team and lets get this done”

“Son of a bitch” you grunted, falling back behind a building for cover. Yeah, not every damn mission went smoothly. No matter the planning or the time spent.  Your team was taking fire, Travis’s team was radio silent and that scared the hell out of you but you had to clear your team first “Whoever takes that damn gunner out, I’m buying first round when we get back to La Paz!” you hollered across the coms and heard a few forced laughs as response.

You knew you were on the right path it was just clearing the damned area. “Deuce, we’re circling around” Jones' voice hit your ear. “Copy that, stay low and fucking keep talking to me” you ordered. 

You nodded to Franklin to move, Rex was low moving close to the buildings as they went. He was clearing corners better than some agents you’d seen. “Bailey report!” you called across the coms but nothing came. You let out a breath, trying to concentrate on the task at hand.  You took out two shooters, clearing another block with your team. “Halstead” you tried across the com, knowing Jay would respond if not for any other reason than you were actually calling for him.

“Gunner down” came Jones’ voice through the com. You let out a breath, that meant the southern block was secured. “Push forward, Bailey and Halstead haven’t responded” you told Jones’ and moved forward.

_______________________

Jay and Travis moved side by side through the street. The first thing they’d done was take the gunners out, securing that before their team ever moved in. “Take it building by building. Secure the block. We take six stash houses” Travis gave the order and their team spread out.

He and Jay moved together, clearing each corner as they went. When they started to clear one corner, a stun grenade dropped down from the roof in front of them. “Fuck Travis!” Jay barely got it out, pulling the other man back and halfway blocking him before the flashbang went off.

Jay hated fucking flashbangs, they blinded you, threw off your hearing and your damned balance. You were helpless for a few minutes and that was if you were lucky after they went off. He groaned, pushing himself to his feet using the wall and reached to help Travis up. Both men were barely standing on their own from the effect when a bullet landed directly above Travis’s head. Jay snatched him to the side and spun, a burning going through his left arm telling him he’d been hit but he knew he didn’t have time to evaluate it. 

He could vaguely hear your voice “Halstead” and for a moment he wasn’t sure if it was the com or if he was just hallucinating. He blinked hard and spotted the figures on the roof, two men not willing to let the stashes go that damn easy. “Two gunners on the roof, northeastern quadron” he groaned about the time another shot was fired, he didn’t have the time to do anything else so he just snatched Travis to the ground, both men tucking to return fire.

Travis hit one man and he fell. Jay managed to catch the other and he toppled off the roof. “North block secured” Davidson’s voice came across and Travis let out a breath before saying “Gunners down”

_____________________

They were fine, they were talking. That meant they just had gotten to the point they couldn’t respond, right? 

“Circle up, we’ll do a final sweep” you ordered and Travis responded “Copy that” you waited with your team to spot him and Jay. The moment you did you knew something was wrong with them both. The way their eyes looked, the angle they were both holding their heads. “Flashbang?” you guessed and Travis nodded “Sons of bitches” 

You walked over to the both of them “Are you ok? Need a medic?” Travis shook his head slowly “I think I’m good” you nodded then looked at Jay but before you had time to ask him your eyes were caught by the blood staining the left sleeve of his uniform, seeping out of the tear in it. “You’re hurt” he looked down at it and shrugged “I think that happened when I pulled Travis back while we were both still out of it. Didn’t quite move fast enough”

You tried to ignore the little leap your heart did at him bleeding in front of you. The way you wanted nothing more than to strip his jacket off and fully go over it to see how bad it was. “Get something to stop the bleeding, we’ll handle that back at camp” he held your eyes then nodded “Ok”

You watched Jay walk over to Davidson who dug out some roll gauze and held them out to him. “Mother fucker probably saved my damn life” Travis blurted out behind you and you turned to look at him “You’re not helping matters any” he shrugged “I’m just sayin, I may have been half damn blind by that flash bang but he didn’t hesitate, didn’t think about it” 

You watched Jay slip his jacket down far enough to roll the gauze around his arm and your heart nearly fell out of your chest at seeing how much blood was running down his arm, nearly to his fingertips. “He’s had worse” you said and Travis nodded “I imagine, I’m just saying that one? He had for me” 

You told yourself you were just checking on a member of your team. It was a normal thing. You walked into the med tent and Jay sat on one of the beds, his shirt next to him as a medic stitched his arm up.  You tried not to let your eyes linger on his bare skin too long so you focused on the medic.  “How bad?” you asked and she glanced up with a smile “Not too bad agent, only took fifteen stitches to close him”

You winked at Jay “Rookie numbers, I’m disappointed” he grinned broadly at you “I apologize, next time I’ll make sure I get into the higher digits to not embarrass you” you laughed “All I ask, really” once the medic was through she taped a clean gauze over it, told Jay to keep it clean and went to clean up.

He looked back at you so you stepped closer to the bed and picked up his shirt, “Thank you” your voice was low as you held his shirt out to him. He reached for it, your fingertips brushing each other “What exactly are you thanking me for? I mean you’re welcome I guess either way” 

“Jay, you pulled Trav out the way” you met his eyes and the look in them was so soft, you had to look away. He’d never looked at you like that before. He’d looked at you with love, lust but not just genuine care. “I don’t want you thinking I did that calculated. We were pinned down, he was in trouble. I was in a spot to do something about it. That was all”

“Thank you either way Jay. I’m glad it wasn’t serious by the way” you laughed lightly. He nodded and slipped his shirt on “Me too, would’ve sucked to get sent back to Germany” you shrugged “They have decent breakfast at least” you meant it as a joke, trying to ease the thick air between the two of you but Jay grimaced slightly when you said it “I forget you’ve been in that hospital too”

You nodded “Perks of the fact that I was currently working with a different squadron when that happened” one of his eyebrows lifted “I didn’t know you were working with the army then” you nodded “The squad then helped dig me out. I was medevaced to Germany, during the time I was in the hospital that squad was restationed to Paris”

“Mouse” he guessed and you nodded “Mouse” he laughed lightly “So, he knew?” you shrugged “Hard to hide where I was bleeding from when I dug out. He didn’t know it was yours if that’s what you’re asking” you rested one hand on his thigh “Believe it or not I haven’t ran around telling everyone that would listen that you’re an evil bastard”

He laughed, looking down at your hand before lightly placing his on top of it “I’d deserve it” you sighed and pulled your hand away, seeing his face fall slightly before he schooled his features “Anyways, I came here to make sure you weren’t ya know..dying” he grinned “Not dead yet” you nodded and started to take his watch off your wrist “Oh yeah and to give this back” but he stopped you by covering your hands with his own “Keep it” 

“What?” you asked and he gave you one of those smiles that used to drive you wild and now just added to the list of what ifs where he was concerned. “You need it more than I do, besides it looks better on you anyways” you rolled your eyes “That’s such a Jay thing to say. Like when I’d steal your shirts and you’d swear the same thing”

He grinned, an honest grin as he tilted his head to the side “That’s because that was true also. All my shirts looked a helluva lot better on you than they ever looked on me”  you shook your head “Maybe that’s our problem. We both remember the past, we both have what ifs and it’s hard moving past everything”

“I’m sorry for how I acted sweetheart..Deuce” he corrected himself quickly but when he called you sweetheart? It took you back to one too many nights. “Jay, if it’s truly not guilt that made you stay, truly not guilt making you act differently then I have an offer” you spoke and he nodded “Anything”

You held out your hand “Y/N Barlowe, my team calls me Deuce..long story” he raised an eyebrow “What are you doing?” you shrugged “I’m offering you the reason you came to Bolivia to begin with. Something I think I’ve needed too, especially where you’re concerned to let go of a lot of pain. A fresh start”

He grinned and slipped his hand into yours “Jay Halstead ma’am. Pleasure to meet you and I’ll have to learn about where Deuce came from one day” you nodded “Well, I’m taking my team out for drinks when we get back to La Paz and dragging some of your squad along too, if you’d like to come” “I’d love to” he replied and you nodded “Sounds good” he slowly dropped your hand so you gave him a final smile before walking out.

__________________

Jay watched you walk out of the med tent and sat there for a second. He died didn’t he? That bullet didn’t hit his arm, the damn thing hit his neck. He was dead. That was the only possible explanation for you offering a fresh start, offering to be his friend again. 

The medic walked back in and smiled “Halstead, you good?” he nodded slowly “So, I’m not dead?” she laughed “Go on Soldier” he laughed and stood up, walking out of the tent. How the hell had he managed for you to be willing to give him a fresh start in any capacity and how could he manage to not fuck it up? 

Part 11

@allisonargent144

@elvenpirate51

@nevaehstreater18

@alterna123

@leavemealoneplsandthx

[scary-grace]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 26) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27

Chapter 26

The mingled scents of disinfectant and antiseptic rouse you from unconsciousness, and your mind comes back online in pieces. The room you’re in is fluorescent-bright, like a hospital. The air smells like a hospital. You’re not lying flat, but reclining, the same as you’d be in a hospital bed. The evidence suggests you’re in a hospital. Whose hospital?

You open your eyes, but they’re blurry and crusted, and when you raise one hand to rub them, it stops halfway. You pull a few times, confused, before the answer occurs to you. You’re in the heroes’ custody. You might have gotten away from Hawks, destroyed Hawks’s quirk, but you didn’t escape after all.

How long have you been here? You blink until your vision clears and sit up as far as you can go, looking around the room you’re in. You’re alone in a room with white, featureless walls, the kind most hospitals have been phasing out because they make patients feel like they’re in an asylum. There’s a door in one wall and a window next to it, but you can’t see out of it, so either it’s specially treated or there’s no one there. It’s quiet in the room other than your breathing and the hum of the machines they’ve hooked you up to.

The door opens, and someone steps through. Or rolls through. The man is in a wheelchair, and his face looks familiar. You know he’s a hero, but he wasn’t at the battle, and there’s a reason — he’s one of Stain’s victims. “You’re awake,” he says. No kidding. “As you might have guessed, you’re in custody. I’m not here to ask you questions, just to explain your medical condition.”

You nod, and the man reads off a tablet, stumbling over some of the phrasing and terminology. “You came in with a spiral fracture of the right radius and ulna, as well as a superficial laceration to your throat. In addition, you sustained whiplash injuries when your fall was broken. You’re consistently tachycardic, and your blood oxygen level is hovering at eighty-nine percent, which is why you’ve got that thing on your face.”

You can’t see it or touch it, but you’ll bet it’s a cannula. It won’t matter. As long as Tenko’s out there fighting, getting injured, your quirk will sap your energy to keep him healthy. “You’re also anemic, deficient in vitamins D and B12, and experiencing the effects of severe sleep deprivation. We took you off of sedation three days ago. You’ve been asleep ever since.”

“I’ve been here for four days?”

The hero grimaces. Apparently he wasn’t supposed to tell you that. “Because of all of the above issues, you can expect your healing process to move at a slower rate than a healthy person’s would,” he continues. He glances down at the tablet again and an awkward, uncomfortable expression crosses his face. “Finally, you, uh — you had a miscarriage. It says you were four to six weeks, er, along.”

Your mind goes completely and totally blank. The hero looks even more awkward than before. “Sorry,” he says. “Anyway, that’s it. Somebody will be by to read you your rights soon.”

He turns and wheels out the door, and you slump back against the bed. You’re in custody. You’ve been here for at least four days, and somewhere out there, Tenko is still alive. The heroes have you, but they didn’t win — but you don’t know who else they captured, and you don’t know how whatever is happening is going. You’re not badly injured, but you’re not in great shape, and until recently, you were pregnant.

You’re not going to think about that. It’s not even slightly important. What’s important is figuring out where you are, how long you’ve actually been here, what’s going on outside — and more important than the rest of it, figuring out how to get out of here, so you can get back to Tenko, where you belong.

The hero said someone would come to read you your rights, but instead of that, a quartet of armed guards comes in. One drops a set of clothes on the end of the bed while another uncuffs your wrists, and then three of them turn their backs while the fourth one — a woman — watches you change out of the hospital gown. Out of the hospital gown, and into an orange jumpsuit, which tells you exactly where you are. You wonder what you’re being charged with. At this point, they probably have a list of things.

Once you’re changed, they don’t cuff you — just surround you, shepherding you down the hall. You do your best to orient to your surroundings, peering over the guards’ shoulders and trying not to trip over your own feet. The more you look around, the weirder things get. You might be wearing a prison jumpsuit, but you aren’t in a prison. You’re in a school.

You’re in a school, and the room the guards hustle you into used to be a classroom. There’s a chalkboard at the front of the room and a blond man you don’t recognize sitting behind the desk. He looks like he’s barely awake, but when you step through the door, he sits up, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. “Over there,” he says, and the guards direct you into a chair on one side of the room, then set up a chair directly across the from you. “Thanks. You all can wait outside.”

The guards file out, and the man comes from behind the desk to sit across from you. “Under ordinary circumstances, we’d be able to hold you for twenty-three days without filing a charge or reading you your rights. Under martial law, however, we can hold enemies of the state indefinitely. Want to guess what kind of law we’re operating under, Saintess?”

You don’t need to. If Hawks was right, if the country’s descending into civil war, then you know exactly how bad your situation is. “Still,” the man says, “at times like these we ought to be civilized, so I’ll inform you that you have the right to remain silent, as well as the right to an attorney at trial. If you can’t afford an attorney, the government will appoint one for you. Do you understand these rights?”

You nod. “Now, in the interest of transparency, I’m going to show you just a few of the cards in my hand,” the man says. “This is what we know about you.”

He starts with your name, then your age, then your birthplace. The schools you went to, the jobs you held in high school before starting your apprenticeship, your friends. “A bunch of delinquents, but given who you associate with now, these guys might as well have been angels,” the man says. You grit your teeth and keep quiet. “I already know you dragged one of them down with you. Kiyohara Kazuo. You know he used to be a hero?”

“It’s not my fault he isn’t one.” You won’t let a lie like that stand. “He didn’t drop out of UA because of me. That was on you.”

“You know what wasn’t on us? Convincing him to pass classified intel on to his ex-girlfriend who’s screwing Shigaraki Tomura.” The blond man’s mouth twists around Tenko’s name. “You’re listed as quirkless since birth, but you must have something pretty special going on to convince a hero to switch sides like that.”

“Or maybe you didn’t give him a good enough reason to side with you.”

The blond man scoffs but doesn’t challenge you. “Here’s the thing, though — our records have you living your perfectly boring little life until a year and a half ago. Then you show up at the ER with some weird injuries. Nine months later your clinic gets stuck handling casualties from Kamino, and three weeks later you blow up on a crisis counselor. She called it a case of PTSD. I’d buy that, maybe — except then a yakuza thug posing as a delivery driver collapses from radiation poisoning on your doorstep, and later that same day you drop off a kid the League of Villains kidnapped at the police station. The day after that, you vanish off the face of the earth. And somewhere in the middle of all of that, we started hearing about a member of the League of Villains none of us had ever seen. Or at least, we thought we’d never seen. Turns out you were right under our noses the whole time.”

He shouldn’t be surprised by that. You aren’t. Your quirklessness took care of everything — part shield, part invisibility cloak, ensuring that no one with the power to stop you would ever see you as a threat. “But I don’t want to talk about that,” the blond man says. “I want to talk about this.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a plastic bag containing one of your quirk-canceling bullets, needle exposed, already spent. “We’ve seen quirk-canceling bullets before. But we know damn well that these are manufactured differently than the previous versions we’ve encountered. Who made them?”

“I did.”

“Cute. Who made them?”

“I did,” you repeat. The blond man scoffs. “I made them. It was me.”

“Sure. And I bet you made all the Nomus too, right? And you’re the one who Frankensteined Shigaraki into the juiced-up psychopath he is today.” The blond man shakes his head. “Don’t make me laugh. Who made the bullets?”

“I made them,” you snap. Is this really where you’re going to lose your cool? Yes. You have to vent it somewhere, and nothing you say about this will damage Tenko’s position, whatever it is, wherever he is. “What, you think being quirkless means I’m brain-dead or something? I made the bullets. If you think about it, doesn’t it make more sense that a quirkless person would create something like this? The rest of you are too obsessed with quirks to even think about taking away someone else’s.”

The blond man laughs bitterly. “When you put it like that, it does make sense,” he says. “Most of us rely heavily on our quirks. Take them away and most of us are a lot easier to defeat. Leveling the playing field really is your only move. Tell me how you did it.”

“No.”

“Tell me.”

“No,” you say again. You cross your arms over your chest. They haven’t restrained you at all. There’s nothing to stop you from launching yourself at your interrogator and clawing out his eyes. “Is that really what you want to ask me?”

The blond man raises his eyebrows. “What else could I possibly ask you?”

You’re not going to give him ideas, but if you were in his spot, you can think of a few things. Anything about the League’s vulnerabilities. Anything about their quirks. Anything about the PLF’s strategy, capabilities, or ultimate goal. Based on the man’s response, he’s thinking along similar lines. “You mean, about what your friends are up to? Sorry to disappoint you, but we have other prisoners to talk to about strategy. We’re really not interested in Shigaraki’s pillow talk.”

He’s trying to bait you, you think. He wants you to blow up at him and reveal something useful. Your siblings used to do the same thing — needle you until you got mad, then use your anger as an excuse to try their quirks on you. “If you had anything useful going on, Hawks would have told us about it,” the blond man continues. “So you can either tell us who makes the bullets or I can put you back in your cell.”

“I told you who makes the bullets.”

“Then you’re going back to your cell.” The blond man summons the guards, and you get to your feet. “I wish I could say it was nice to meet you, Saintess, but it wasn’t. We’ll see each other again when you’re ready to be honest.”

“I was honest,” you say, but the man turns his back, and the guards hustle you out of the classroom again.

You weren’t in a cell before, but you’re clearly headed for one. The guards take you down a different hallway this time. One side of this hallway is made up of windows, and when you peer out, you can see columns of smoke rising across an unfamiliar skyline. The sky itself is cloudy, roiling, purplish-grey shot through with orange. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it looked like the end of the world.

You don’t know what kind of room your cell used to be, but whatever it is, it’s split in half. The other side of the room is full of fog, so thick that you can’t see through it. The longer you look at it, the more ominous it seems. “Who’s over there?”

“A friend of yours.” The guard who watched you change clothes tosses a blanket at you. “Have fun.”

A friend? Your mind goes instantly to Kazuo, who you know is in police custody, but it could just as easily be Mitsuko or Ryuhei. Or maybe it’s one of your new friends — someone from the PLF, someone from the League? Or they could have been sarcastic, and it’s one of your enemies. The door shuts behind you, and the fog begins to shift. You back away until you’re against the far wall, which doesn’t feel even close to far enough, and watch as an all too familiar figure emerges from within it. Your jaw drops. “Kurogiri?”

Kurogiri’s wearing an orange jumpsuit, same as you. Something about him looks odd, and the longer you look at him, the clearer you can see the outline of a face within the mist. His footsteps are unsteady. He looks disoriented, and when he speaks, it’s in the cadence you recognize as belonging to the older brother. “Where’s Tomura?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was he captured?”

“No,” you say. You’re sure of that. “He’s still out there.”

“Is he safe?”

“I don’t know,” you say again. “I’m sorry, Kurogiri.”

Kurogiri shakes his head. “I’m — not. Not —” he grimaces, eyes narrowing to slits. You’re not used to seeing him with facial features. It’s weird. “Not Kurogiri. Shirakumo.”

“Shirakumo,” you repeat, puzzled. “Who’s Shirakumo?”

“I’m the one who protects Shigaraki Tomura,” Kurogiri or Shirakumo or whoever he is says. “Like you.”

You remember him saying that once, a long time ago. “I tried,” you say. “I’m sorry.”

Shirakumo’s expression shifts. It looks like he feels bad, or something. It’s hard to say. “How long?” he asks. “Since they took me?”

“Months.” You think back. It was before you left Yokohama, during the League’s involvement with the Shie Hassaikai. The last time you remember seeing Kurogiri, it was when he brought you and Tomura back to your apartment from the crashed plane. “Six months. What have they been doing to you?”

“They’re helping me.”

That doesn’t sound right. “What?”

“My friends.” What little you can see of Kurogiri’s expression through the mist softens. “They want to help him, too.”

No, they don’t. If the friends Kurogiri is talking about are heroes, they want to kill Tomura. Heroes aren’t against killing people. Hawks was fine with killing you. “Who are your friends?”

“Shōta and Hizashi.”

That tells you nothing. “Are they heroes?”

“Teachers.” Shirakumo almost looks proud of them, even as his features shift, trying to settle into neutrality. “They teach here.”

You knew you were in a school. “Which school?”

“UA.”

You’re at UA. Since when is UA a prison for captured villains? Shirakumo is studying you, head tilted, concern breaking through the mist. “How did they get you? Tomura wouldn’t have let anyone hurt you.”

“He didn’t let anybody hurt me.” You feel your chest grow tight, feel your eyes begin to sting. “I’m the one who messed up.”

You did. You couldn’t get away from Hawks without winding up captured. You couldn’t keep Tomura from getting distracted during the fight — and getting hurt right now, if your slowed healing and symptoms of physical stress are anything to go by. You couldn’t convince the hero who was interrogating you that you were the one who made the bullets, which means they’re still looking for the doctor and his lab, which means access to the Nomus and the means to make them could be lost at any second. You fucked all of that up, and you got Kazuo in trouble, and maybe Mitsuko and Ryuhei, too. And then there’s the other thing, the smallest, stupidest mistake, the one that would have been so easy to avoid. You were stupid about sex, so you got pregnant, and you didn’t know it, and now you’re not pregnant anymore.

It’s not what you’re upset about, not really, but it’s the easiest thing to be upset about. Easier than thinking about how you might never see Tomura again. Your eyes well up, and when Kurogiri or Shirakumo or whoever’s in charge of the mind and body at the moment asks if you’re okay, you ignore him. You sit down with your back against the wall, draw your knees up to your chest, and rest your forehead against them as the tears drip down your face.

“No.”

You know, just from the voice, that Kurogiri is back in the driver’s seat. You look up and find him watching you from the far side of the glass. “No,” he says again. “They are watching. Do not let them see even a hint of weakness.”

Right. They’re treating you like a villain. You are a villain. Villains don’t cry. You wipe your eyes and sit up straight in a hurry. “Besides,” Kurogiri says, “you cannot believe that Shigaraki Tomura will leave you here. Which will be more beneficial to him once he has liberated you — your tears, or any information you might gather about your surroundings?”

Kurogiri’s right. Tenko won’t leave you here. He’ll come to find you, and when he does, you want to be ready to help him as much as you can. Crying won’t help at all. You make eye contact with Kurogiri and nod once. He nods in response. “We are the ones who protect Shigaraki Tomura,” he says. “Welcome back, Saintess.”

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

There aren’t windows in the room they’re keeping you and Kurogiri in. Kurogiri gets to leave more often than you do, and he always sounds like Shirakumo when he comes back — and because he sounds like Shirakumo, he’s a lot more willing to talk to you about what’s going on out there. Shōta and Hizashi tell him a lot more than your interrogator tells you, at least. You spend hours staring up at the ceiling, turning it over and over in your head, watching the picture of what’s happening in Japan come together slowly. It’s not pretty.

You never expected it to be pretty. You weren’t that naive. But the scale of the destruction you’re hearing about is horrifying. Every time Shirakumo comes back, it’s with the report of something else that’s gone. Shiroiwa — gone. Musutafu — gone. Morioka — gone. Nagano — gone. Civilian casualties are lighter than expected, courtesy of the PLF giving mountains of advance warning of where they’re headed next, but heroic casualties are sky-high. No matter who they throw at the situation, the heroes don’t have a good way to stop Gigantomachia. And if what Shirakumo says is true, most battles end the instant Tomura sets foot on the field.

You and he had talked about ways to destroy the old world, and you’d agreed on wanting at least something left to work from, but it sounds like Tomura is leveling cities to the ground every other day, leaving nothing there but dust — or, in the case of the city the two of you were born in, leaving a crater in the earth two miles wide. You can always tell when there’s been a heroic counterattack, because you can always tell when he’s being hurt. You get nauseous, lightheaded, tachycardic, short of breath, as your body strains to match whatever punishment Tomura is taking. The vast majority of the times you’ve been allowed to leave your cell, it’s to receive medical treatment for a condition no one can diagnose, a condition whose origin you wouldn’t admit to even under torture. They might have a way to erase quirks. You can’t breathe a word without risking Tomura.  

Even with Super-Regeneration, he’s suffering. You’re starting to think that the injuries he takes during each battle are the only reason Japan hasn’t been completely laid to waste already.

Your interrogator is getting frustrated with you. Frustrated with Shirakumo, too. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he explodes, after you ask him about the rumor that more heroes than civilians have died in the fighting. “Does he just run to you with everything?”

“There’s not much else to talk about in there,” you say. “If you don’t want him to talk to me, put one of us in a different cell.”

“See, we can’t do that,” the blond man says bitterly. “We have to keep Shirakumo on the straight and narrow. Part of his rehabilitation is giving him someone to look after.”

“And you picked me?”

“Yeah. He knows you, you look pathetic as all hell, and you’re the closest he’s going to get to Shigaraki in this lifetime.” The blond man rolls his eyes. “Somebody who’s not me decided that the constant information leakage is less important than helping him feel like himself again.”

You agree with them, whoever they are. It’s not like you have anyone to tell. “Who’s himself?”

“Shirakumo?” The blond man raises his eyebrows. “Why should I tell you that?”

“There’s not much else to talk about in here,” you say. “You ask me about the bullets every time. My answer doesn’t change.”

“Because it’s true.” The blond man rolls his eyes, like he does every time, then hits you with the last thing you were expecting him to say. “It is true. The bullets haven’t made an appearance in any battle but the first one, and nobody we’ve captured from your side has known the first thing about them. Even the highest-ranking creep we bagged — silver hair, blue eyes, bad attitude —”

“Ice bitch.”

Your interrogator wheezes. “What?”

If you ever see Dabi again, you’re going to tell him about this. You clam up, and after a few seconds of poorly muffled laughter, your interrogator sobers up. “Even he doesn’t know about where the bullets came from,” he says. “So either it’s somebody we’ve never heard of making them, who’s suddenly stopped in spite of the fact that they’d be an invaluable weapon in this war, or you’re a mad scientist in addition to being Shigaraki’s quirkless arm candy. Which is it?”

“I answered you the first time we talked,” you say. “The answer hasn’t changed.”

“Well, the questions are about to. How’d you do it?”

“Why would I tell you that?”

“Things will maybe go a little easier for you once this is over if I can tell the prosecution that you cooperated,” your interrogator says. “And since we just found out you haven’t been lying to us the entire time, your case for being a trustworthy source is pretty good.”

You are a trustworthy source. You haven’t lied at all. But you don’t buy your interrogator’s change of tune for a second. “Are you hoping to make some of the bullets yourself?”

“Are you joking? We’re not all savages like you.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “I know the charges you’re holding me on. There’s some serious stuff in there. But it’s taking quirks away that makes me a savage? Those are some messed-up priorities you’ve got there.”

“Someone who’s quirkless wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand just fine,” you say. “I understand that you’re asking me how I made them to see if you can reverse the process.”

Your interrogator stays quiet for once. You can’t tell if you’ve thrown him or not, but you can’t resist taking a final potshot. “You’re at war. You aren’t winning. And you’re here questioning me about how to get four people their quirks back. Like I said — your priorities are really messed up.”

“Four people,” your interrogator repeats. “You hit five.”

“Four confirmed quirk cancelations. I’m pretty sure Eraserhead cut his hand off in time, and I didn’t get a chance to shoot him again.”

“Oh, so you would have?” A spark of anger flares in your interrogator’s face. “It wasn’t enough to end two students’ careers before they began? You had to take out a hero, too?”

“I’m not the one who brought kids to fight a war,” you say. You’ve triggered something here. You don’t know what it is. “Targeting Eraserhead wasn’t personal. It was strategy.”

“You just said you were going to shoot him again. Didn’t you trust your bullets to work on the first shot?”

No, you didn’t. You didn’t end up adding All For One to the mix inside them, which means there was a time lag of about four seconds before the cancelation occurred. Eraserhead almost certainly cut his hand off in time. “I wanted to make sure.”

“You disgust me.” The interrogator laughs. It’s an awful sound. “You’re quirkless. The world you live in would be hell if it wasn’t for heroes. Your life has probably been saved by heroes more times than you can count. And how do you repay us? By quite literally hopping into bed with the villains and —”

“Repay you?” You can’t lose your temper. You can’t. “Being a hero is a choice you made. I didn’t ask you to do it. And I’m going to take a wild guess that you didn’t choose to become a hero just out of the goodness of your heart. There’s big money in being a hero, isn’t there, Present Mic?”

You weren’t quite sure when you said the name, but Present Mic makes a mocking bow. You keep talking. “The government takes my taxes and pays you to be a hero, and you make money off your radio show and sponsorships, but that’s not enough, is it? I’m supposed to kiss the ground you walk on, too?”

“Given where your mouth has been, I don’t want you kissing anything I’m going to touch.” Present Mic’s mouth distorts into a sneer. “Lifting the Hero Killer’s talking points now, are we? Have you ever had an original thought in your life?”

“Have you?” you fire back. “Villains don’t just fall from the sky. Society creates them. You have to, or else you and Eraserhead would both be out of a job.”

“And now we get to it,” Present Mic says. “I’ve been wondering how somebody who looks like the dictionary definition of civilian could justify siding with Shigaraki. You’re going with the “it’s our fault for not saving him” defense? Really?”

“I wouldn’t give you that much credit.” That should be enough, but the words slip out of your mouth anyway. “It’s my fault, too.”

Present Mic gives you a weird look, opens his mouth — and then his phone pings. He glances down at it, and when he looks up, his expression is full of rage. “That abomination you’re defending just obliterated Yokohama. Why don’t you stop pontificating and start telling me exactly how to get the heroes you crippled back into the field?”

Yokohama’s gone. Your apartment’s gone, the clinic’s gone, your friends’ houses are gone. Are your friends gone, too? Did they get out? You sink your fingernails into your palm and try not to let it show. “You’re a hero. You’re fighting a war, and you’re losing. Why are you wasting time talking to me?”

Present Mic’s eyes flash. A low hum travels through the air, and for a moment, you’re certain he’s about to unleash his quirk on you. Then the air stills. “You’re right, Saintess. You are a waste of time.” He turns to leave the room, throwing the words back over his shoulder. “Midoriya should have let you fall.”

You’ve been wondering who caught you. Which of the heroes would see a falling villain, a villain who’d just crippled a beloved hero, and decide it was worth it to catch her. You’d assumed it was someone who was thinking of your strategic value — if Hawks saw you as important enough to use, then clearly you were worth keeping around. But somehow you don’t think that was Midoriya’s reasoning. Everything you know about Midoriya Izuku, everything you’ve heard Toga swoon over or listened to Tenko bitch about, tells you that Midoriya Izuku acts on instinct. He wasn’t thinking about strategy when he saved you. He saw someone in trouble and wanted to help.

That reminds you of someone else, too. Someone who’s just wiped the city you found each other in off the map. You dig your nails deeper into your palm and wait for the guards to bring you back to your cell.

But they don’t come back. You sit there for ten minutes. Half an hour. Two hours. No one comes for you. You aren’t chained to your chair — you can move around — but when you try the door, it’s locked. There’s nothing in the room but your chair and the one Present Mic usually sits in. Four hours. There aren’t windows, either. Five. Six. Seven.

You’re hungry, and thirsty. Something must have happened to Tenko in the battle for Yokohama, because your heart is racing at a hundred and forty beats per minute, and no matter what you do, you can’t catch your breath. You lie down on the floor as spots fill your vision, elevating your legs to try to keep some blood flowing to your head, and stare up at the ceiling. The connection between you and Tenko is omnipresent, but blind. You can’t see where he is, feel what he feels, know what he’s thinking. All you have are memories.

Tenko didn’t use to have nightmares. Not as a kid, not when you met him as an adult — but after he came back from receiving the quirks, he did. You always knew when he had one, because he’d lie there shaking in the dark for long moments before he turned to you. It felt like he was trying to drown himself in you afterwards, sometimes with sex, sometimes through kissing, sometimes just by crawling into your arms and holding you tightly enough to make your bones ache. If he stayed awake long enough, he’d tell you what he dreamed about. Never the whole dream. You knew that by the way he hesitated. But enough of it to give you nightmares, too, if you didn’t already have your own.

It was the quirks. Even the copied quirks carried imprints of the last moments their owners possessed them, and sometimes a little more than that — and the last moments before a person’s quirk was stolen by All For One were terrifying. You remember holding Tenko close in the dark, your body folded around his, trying to soothe him. “It didn’t happen to you,” you remember saying. “You’re safe.”

“It happened to them.” Tenko sunk back into your arms, pressing even closer. “When this is over. Promise.”

“Promise what?”

“You’ll take them away.” Tenko’s voice caught for a split second, then blurred almost into incoherence. “I don’t want them anymore.”

You didn’t even know where you’d start. “Tenko —”

“Promise.”

“I promise,” you said. “I love you.”

“Love you.” Tenko settled even closer, already falling asleep. You were glad he could sleep. At least one of you needed to rest.

You didn’t know how, but you started thinking about it. You’re still thinking about it now — how to remove the quirks the doctor transplanted into Tenko, which ones you’d leave, which ones he’d let you leave. Would he want Decay gone, too? How would you get rid of something that’s in his hands? You don’t know. But there has to be a way. As the hours tick past, you let it consume you, the question of how you’ll bring Tenko back to himself, how you’ll make sure the nightmares leave him for good. He’s winning the war. You’ll find each other again. Everything will be fine. If you tell yourself that enough times, maybe it’ll come true.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, but when you wake up again, you aren’t in the classroom anymore. You aren’t in your cell, either, or in the room where you first woke up after you were captured. You’re in what looks like a proper infirmary, with softly painted walls and multiple beds. The ones that are occupied have curtains drawn around them, and you can hear the soft hum of life support machines. You’re not on life support, are you? You raise your hand to your face, surprised to find that you aren’t being restrained, and find a cannula tucked under your nose, again. That’s not great. But it’s not life support, either.

“You’re in our medical bay,” a weirdly familiar voice says from next to you. You glance over at the chair next to your bed and nearly jump out of your skin.

It’s All Might. All Might is sitting there, looking like a skeleton with a mop of blond hair, eyes sunken and shadowed, with a file and a tablet folded in his lap and what looks like a nurse’s call button in his hand.

<- Chapter 25 Chapter 27 ->

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[usafphantom2]

At first look at the A-12 and the SR 71, they look the same. It was decided that one fleet of blackbirds had to be decommissioned. The Pentagon decided after a contest between the two airplanes called Nice Girl that the SR 71 would be the only blackbird.

On October 30, 1967, a CIA A-12 soared eighty-four thousand feet over Hanoi in northern Vietnam, traveling faster than a rifle bullet at over three times the speed of sound. A high-resolution camera in the angular black jet’s belly recorded over a mile of film footage of the terrain below—including the over 190 Soviet-built S-75 surface-to-air missile sites.

The aircraft was an A-12 “Oxcart,” a smaller, faster single-seat precursor variant of the Air Force’s legendary SR-71 Blackbird Recon plane.

Pilot Dennis Sullivan had earlier flown one hundred combat missions in an F-80 Starfighter over Korea for the U.S. Air Force. But Sullivan was technically no longer a military pilot—he had been “sheep-dipped,” temporarily decommissioned to fly the hi-tech jet on behalf of the CIA. He now sat in the cramped cockpit in a refrigerated space suit, as the friction generated by his plane’s Mach 3 speeds heated the cockpit to over five hundred degrees Fahrenheit. The jet’s driver, Dennis Sullivan had earlier flown one hundred combat missions in an F-80 Starfighter over Korea for the U.S. Air Force. But Sullivan was technically no longer a military pilot—he had been “sheep-dipped,” temporarily decommissioned to fly the hi-tech jet on behalf of the CIA. He now sat in the cramped cockpit in a refrigerated space suit, as the friction generated by his plane’s Mach 3 speeds heated the cockpit to over five hundred degrees Fahrenheit.

The A-12 officially had a maximum speed of Mach 3.2—but the missiles that were following Sullivan could attain Mach 3.5.

“I said, ‘Holy smokes—those things fly pretty good up there for something which doesn’t have much in the way of wings.’ So I watched them come.… They’d get up right behind me, very close, and all of a sudden there’d be a big red fireball—a big white cloud of smoke—and you’d immediately pull away from it. You were going thirty miles a minute. [Note: actually, 41 miles per minute!] Every one of those SAMs guided perfectly and did the same darn thing.”

The missile’s 440-pound proximity-fused warhead was designed to swat planes out of the sky within 65 meters of the point of detonation. However, in the thinner air of the upper atmosphere, its fragments could travel up to four times as far.

Sullivan escaped and landed his A-12 at Kadena Air Base, where it spent several minutes cooling on the tarmac before mechanics could even touch its friction-heated skin. The stress of the heat and high speeds exacted a steep physical toll on the jet’s pilots, who lost an average of five pounds of body weight on the completion of their three to four- hour missions.

He was sitting for debriefing when mechanics burst in the room to show him two metal fragments from a missile’s nose cone they had found buried under his low left wing—just shy of his jet’s fuel tank.

Later when Sullivan’s camera footage was found to have captured the ghostly white contrails of six surface-to-air missiles surging toward him from the ground. The A-12s were to remain in storage where they remained until the early 1990s when they came out of storage to go into museums.

@Habubrats71 via X

[honeytrap26]

Let's go on a Vacation

Satoru Gojo x Reader

summary: you and Satoru Gojo have twins, he knows you're exhausted and convinces you to take an “adult” vacation. cw: MDNI! smutty smut smut, fem!reader, creampies, dirty dirty talk, reader has mommy milkers, a little sucky sucky here and there?? Gojo has a (small) daddy kink, a bit of fluff aunote: Don’t come for me, I have been obsessed with eighty-six as well so my new names for everything even games I’m playing are Shin and Lena, because you are the Shin to my knee.  I’ll probably split this up into two parts. It’s getting long like Gojos dic-I’ll stop. Enjoy! wc: 1k+ (proofread, sorry for any mistakes)

Here is part 2!

The lights are turned off with only a single candle lit, the flickering light from the candle dances across the walls. Your bodies are intertwined, Gojo is on top of you, slowly thrusting his hips into your wet achey mound.

“Toru, I’m getting close.” you let out a breathy moan, your hands are roaming his bare skin.

“Me too baby.” Gojo grunts, your touch sends shivers down his spine.

Gojo leans in for a passionate kiss, he licks your soft plump lips, your tongues exploring each other's mouth. 

This was the first night without one of the twins sleeping with you both. Gojo insisted on finishing what he started this morning behind the counter.

“ Gonna go faster.” He continues to thrust deeper and faster, his thrusts are sloppy and needy, you bite your bottom lip, holding back a moan. The faint sound of the bed squeaking can be heard. His fingers reach down to rub your clit making you gasp and arch your back, your nails scratch his back.

“F-fuck baby…Shhh gotta be quiet.” he covers your mouth with his hand, driving his hips into yours. Your eyes roll back and your back arches again, your clawing at his back now, he hisses in pain and pleasure he leans down to suck on your nipple.

“I missed you.” Gojos hands strokes your cheek, pulling you into another kiss. Your breath hitches as you feel your orgasm building up, you squeeze his muscular biceps.

“mama?” you hear your daughter say, you look at Gojo who places a finger over your mouth.

“Shhh she’ll go back to sleep.” he whispers, licking his lower lip, 

He’s so close, he wants to pump his cum into you.  

Gojo feels the way your body tenses, your slip tightening around his member, he continues to pump into you the bed squeaking a little louder now, the headboard hits the wall ever so slightly, 

“ cum for me baby.” your eyes are closed, mouth open, panting as you feel the wave of pleasure wash over your body.

“ma..ma” your daughter's voice cracks, you can hear her on the verge of tears. 

Gojo can see that you’re worried about her, he loves that you would do anything for your babies but right now he wishes you could be a little selfish and just enjoy your alone time.

“S’okay she’ll go back to bed, she usually does.”-he shuts his eyes- “m’so close please let me cum baby.” he pleads, he’s ramming into you now, his thrust getting more aggressive and desperate.

You wrap your legs around his hips, another wave of pleasure washing over you again. Looking up at him you see the sweat glistening on his skin, the way his lips are pursed as he nears his climax.

You felt so guilty not running to tend to your kids but you needed Satoru bad.

“Fill me up, daddy.” you whimper, Gojo throws his head back hissing “fuck” he finally release all his built up tension with a sharp intake of breath, his hips twitch filling you up with his cum.

“Fuck baby, don’t say that.” he groans, huffing as he tries to catch his breath.

“mamaaa” your daughter whines, crying now, banging on the door.

“Mommy’s coming, Lena. Don’t cry.” you slap Gojos arm off signaling for him to move, he slumps over falling onto his side of the bed.

“Yeah mommy did cum.” Gojo smirks and winks at you, he gets off the bed pulling his shorts on.

“Get dressed Toru.”

“Already dressed. You have a little something right there.” he squeezes and slaps your ass then gives you a quick kiss on the lips before he walks off to the door, he swings it open and gets on his knees greeting your daughter scooping her up in his arms.

“What's wrong baby girl?” he wipes her tears with the back of his hand.

“Did my baby girl have a bad dream? Or do you want mamas booby?” He coos giving her kisses. Lena is rubbing her eyes as she's holding onto her stuffed bunny that Megumi gave to her. 

You slip on Gojo’s T-shirt and a pair of panties after you wipe yourself off then walk over to her.

“Hi baby” your daughter reaches her arms over to you. “Someone’s hungry.” you walk out into the living to see your son Shin standing in the living room sucking his thumb.

“Look what you did, you woke them both up.” you click your tongue at Gojo.

“It’s feeding time.” he grins, running over to your son and picking him up. He hugs your son and pats his head.

“ You fed me and now it's time to feed the twins.” he laughs and does a spin with your son, making Shin laugh.

The twins are fast asleep again, Shin is in your lap still latched onto your breast, your eyes are closed. Lena is lying against Gojos chest, she looks so small compared to your husband. He shifts carefully so he can look at you.

“Let’s go on a vacation.” he places a hand on your thigh giving it a light squeeze.

“You know we can’t do that” you open your eyes to look at him.

“ We need it, you need it. I can take time off and we can leave.” 

“Who’s-” he cuts you off.

“My parents will watch the twins. I’ve already talked to them about it and they wanna spend time with their grandkids.” he smiles at you, his sky blue eyes soften,

“ I love you and I want you to relax, you’re here with the twins all day while I go to work.”

“I’m fine.” you say as you play with Shin's stuffed owl that Megumi also gave to him.

“No, let's go.” Gojo carries your daughter back to her bed. He comes back and does the same to Shin, he gives them both kisses on their foreheads before he closes the door and walks back to the living room. 

“Come here.” Gojo pulls you onto his lap, he rests his head in the crook of your neck.

“We’re going on vacation, we’re both exhausted.” he hugs you tighter. “ Let’s go to a resort, get a couples massage and hang out at the hot springs.”

“What about the twins, I'm still nursing them?” you nibble your bottom lip nervously.

“They’ll be fine, you’ve got enough milk in stock, and you’ve only been nursing them once in a while, plus the twins love my parents.” you play with his white fluffy hair,

“ Annnnd…. they told me they want more grandbabies. How am I supposed to get you pregnant if I can’t even have sex with you?” he laughs and slaps your ass, you laugh at how ridiculous he sounds but your parents have also been pestering for you to have more kids.

“ I don’t know.” you hesitate.

“Nanami and his wife went to the hot springs and guess what now they’re expecting, let’s go. He said it was really good.” Gojo is pouting now.

“ Fine let’s go.” you exhale and lay on his chest. 

“Thank you beautiful.” he smiles cheekily as he carries you to bed before falling asleep himself.

[some-small-mercy]

Shadows in the Cave - Notes on an Incursion - Tangled Space

I’m delighted to be able to answer some of your questions. Psychic depressions are absolutely fascinating phenomena, and the most conclusive proof I’ve encountered of the mind’s primacy over ‘objective’ reality. When you see the weight of human passion and intensity quite literally deform the world around it, what further evidence do you need?

The specifics of it are still opaque, I admit, but the basic mechanism is quite simple. When a specific and self-contained strip of land (always a complete circuit, such that walking along it deposits the walker back where they began) becomes the repository of a critical mass of intense feeling from a sufficient number of people, then their collective image of the circuit becomes more real than reality, and superimposes itself over it. When they collectively agree that the strip of land is infinite, endless, and inescapable, then so shall it be - with each circuit completed, they take another step into a liminal space between the world of atoms and the world of dreams. 

The requisite weight of emotion is no small thing to organize and direct, and almost never occurs by accident. But once constructed and stabilized, depressions are really quite stable. My little community of truth-seekers has lived almost entirely inside of one for years now. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------

The Tartarus Site is a bit of an oddity. Well, everything about Nyx is odd, but Tartarus especially. Walls, cameras and armed guards around the clock to protect, what - a half-mile long loop through a rat’s nest of derelict homes and ‘urban prairie’? There’s a whole lab complex, and an army of surveyors and photographers who came in during construction to make the view from the loop was never disturbed. The whole production must have cost more than some countries’ GDP - but every cent was worth it. 

Put simply, Tartarus is a stable dimensional abscess - a place where spacetime has been permanently warped by hypergeometric energy, but in a predictable, reliable and unchanging way. The value for Nyx is obvious - there are satellite labs and quarantined studies scattered all over the place, but Tartarus is our beating heart. 

Among many, many other uses, it’s how we stress-test. 

Project Nyx exists to sculpt the next step in existence - to create a stable and worthy inheritor to earth’s civilization once the current users are no longer fit for purpose. There are a lot of different ways that might happen, but the most obvious is the millenia-long streak of good luck we’ve had evolving in a cosmological tidal pool finally breaking. The curtain is going to fall eventually, and when it does homo sapiens sapiens will start tearing its own eyes out. So we need to make sure whatever we make can do better. 

Tartarus is a space with an additional dimension of movement - the more loops you complete of the walking trail, the further you get from the rest of the world and the more directly you are exposed to hypergeometric energy. After six loops radio signals are lost and unshielded electronics start to break down. After thirteen, leaving the trail any way but turning around and retracing your steps becomes impossible. After thirty-three, attrition rates for baseline humans exceed eighty percent. 

Last week Subject Muninn set a new record, returning apparently alive and plausibly sane after entering a 482nd loop. We’re all hoping it survives decontamination and debriefing well enough to share some stories. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------

Threat GLACIAL JUDAS is a dangerous form of  FOREIGN incursion created by Threat PIOUS WEEPERS as part of their attempts to invite a direct, physical invasion from ABROAD. With the completion of Operation SALTED ANTIOCH, WEEPERS have been burned out, but containing and dealing with JUDAS is an ongoing issue until F-CELL figures out how to destroy it. 

PIOUS WEEPERS created three different instances of JUDAS that we know of - and we are pretty damn sure that that’s all of them, seeing as how otherwise we’d all be dead. Besides which, digging each one seems to have been difficult or expensive or both, even for a cult like that; the second and third paths were only dug once PIOUS WEEPERS  was on the run and we had secured the first one (and lost a damn good Agent stumbling into it). 

JUDAS paths don’t look like anything special from the outside, or anything at all. One is nothing but a pair of drainage pipes under a highway and two goat paths between them on either end. Which is the whole point; each path is a circuit, and you will only realize what it is once you’ve walked it more than once. 

Each instance of GLACIAL JUDAS is a secret door from here to ABROAD, a path that looks normal until you start walking it right down into hell. And there’s something at the other end knocking and asking to be let in.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

The outer levels of a depression - those closest to the material -  differ from it only in the lack of wildlife and the pleasant insulation from the noises of the outside world. Each level is also really quite separate from those which border it. We’ve built dormitories on one, a cafeteria and concert stage one level further out, and mediation areas on a level further in. Despite occupying what are theoretically ‘the same’ part of the little patch of Floridian paradise we have acquired for ourselves, the only way to even hear one from the others is if someone is loud enough for the sound to echo all along the path we’ve cut around and through the island. 

The inner levels are less anchored to mundane reality and more subject to the symbolic impressions that formed the depression - in our case, heat and humidity predominate and the effect quickly becomes sauna-like. The flora begins changing as well, from reflections of the greenery in the outer layers to reflections of how it is perceived. Brilliant flowers, dangerous thorns and snarled roots, and an absolute cornucopia of fruits as tempting and luscious to behold as you might imagine. Some are filling and delicious enough to be the mainstay of a dier, some rot on the vine or taste of rat poison and razor blades – determining which can be safely eaten and harvesting them at scale has been a major preoccupation of our community for some time now. 

The innermost levels of the Depression spiral towards the egregore born of its creation, which perpetually dreams and maintains it. Wildlife reappears, now wholly symbolic dreamstuff but not any less capable of stinging, biting or poisoning unwary explorers for that. The landscape and the very laws of reality become increasingly dreamlike as well - and this is the focus of my current research. It is my contention that these inner levels will, to a sufficiently trained and conscious dreamer, be as malleable and controllable as their own mind it - that the depression can be reshaped to any sort of paradise or sanctuary which might be required. The therapies and courses I oversee are focused on achieving this precise level of control, and with the right natural talent I am sure we might enthrone them to replace the reactive and often-unhelpful egregore with someone who can truly dream of Paradise.  

So far we have had little luck, I admit. But I believe this has been nothing but my own squeamishness - an unwillingness to trust one of my students to maintain their own identity as the egregore subsumes them. This, then, is what I hope you will be willing to generously sponsor and support. I’d ask you to imagine what we might accomplish - but in six months I hope I will simply be able to show you. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------

What exactly it’s like inside the Tartarus anomaly itself is strictly classified - of course it is, too high a risk that an accurate description of what a high-energy loop looks like is an infection vector for some memetic parasite. Not the worst thing to have happened when someone gets sloppy - but the general details are easy enough to piece together. Each layer is a bit less protected from the energies bombarding most of the universe than the one before - you’re crawling up a long, spiralling ramp from the earth to the stars. Which works out about as well for you or me as going sunbathing without an ozone layer. 

Assuming a subject can deal with unpleasant climate and inhospitable terrain, the minor Infections that start festering into animal-like life a couple dozen loops in are the first real issue. None with anything like intelligence, but the evolutionary pressures mean there are a lot of parasites that will try to burrow in and not mind one bit if they’re accidentally carried back down to an easy meal. Which is most of why the quarantine and decontamination whenever a team gets back is so harsh and thorough (relatedly, did you know that we’re the second generation of the project? The Director had to sanitize the whole site herself.)

But the real difficulties only start around layer three hundred. That’s when there’s basically no resemblance to earth as any of us experience it left, and the basic laws of physics and makeup of the world start breaking down. You know, where relying on a mouth and lungs to breathe oxygen or thinking that skin is enough to keep your blood and organs inside of you suddenly become lethal oversights. 

Tracking past layer five hundred or so is pretty useless, really. That’s when you really do reach Nyx - primordial night, the chaos from which all order was born. There are no bodies, because the universe is not yet composed of matter. There is no consciousness, because reality is not stable or complex enough to enable thought. 

I’m not sure the party line about what we’re doing here is true, if I’m being honest. We have some clues about the wider universe out there, and it’s not all anywhere near as lethal. 

I think the Director’s aiming higher than just creating something that can survive us, or at least part of her is. I think she’s trying to make something that can deal with the end of the world by creating a whole new one from scratch.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

GLACIAL JUDAS is a tunnel under a castle wall; a secret entrance through which FOREIGN agents and infections can seep into the world. The tunnels aren’t complete, but they go deep enough that the noise from the other side can start to echo through. Unguarded, the area around each of them will become the hunting ground of some monster crawling up from the pit within months.

PIOUS WEEPERS at least knew what it was; most cults are precious about it, but they admitted outright that they were clearing the way for their eyeless angel of revelation to ‘tear the scales from the eyes of the world’. You can almost respect it, once the threat is dealt with and the bodies are cooling. Most of their texts and relics went up in smoke, but a few were saved to send to F-CELL. Hopefully they can figure out how to seal JUDAS with them before any other poor idiots stumble down the spiral. 

K-CELL does not have the manpower to secure the three different locations, and we aren’t lucky enough to rely on them being scattered across the ass-end of nowhere to keep them safe. GLACIAL JUDAS is a demonic picture plant, and God knows how many people are still trapped inside one of their depths, too far gone to even try and claw their way out. Though they’re still better off than the ones who do. 

It isn’t an angel, but there is something at the bottom of all of the pits. The WEEPERS never shut up about it, and it had just about hollowed Agent KEVIN out and filled him up by the time he crawled back into the world. 

Whatever it is, we need either a way to seal all three pits nearly or enough high explosives to do it the old fashioned way, because both of us can already hear it sing. 

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

most people

Tony Stark x F!Reader

Prompt: “i can't believe you don't like hugs."

Summary: you come home to the tower to hear that your teammate tony has been awake for days. you take it upon yourself to get to complete some much-needed self-care.

Warnings: fluff.

Word Count: 1,741

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The door sounded with a quiet, welcoming ding as the elevator arrived on your floor, the lights of your suite already on and pleasantly dimmed to accommodate to the tenderness of your eyes this late at night. It was a little before three in the morning, and while your flight had had no major issues and the traffic between the airport and Avengers Tower had been blessedly in your favor, it was still agonizing to be getting home so late.

Home.

It still surprised you how quickly you’d come to think of this place as more than just a place to sleep, more than what had originally felt like a ridiculously over-sized hotel room. It had been only six months since Loki’s attack on New York, and while the renovations to the Tower were not yet finished, your suite had been one of the first floors to be completed. And now it somehow felt far more familiar to you than any of the countless beds you had claimed over the last twenty-seven years.

“Welcome back, Ms. Y/L/N,” the cool, friendly voice of Tony’s personal assistant sounded from the invisible speakers above you. “I trust your journey was pleasant.”

“It was, for a nine-hour flight in a broken seat,” you replied with a sigh, stretching out the lingering kink in your lower back. You set your suitcase down by the elevator doors. “And how many times do I have to tell you; it’s just Y/N.”

“I’m sure only once more,” he replied. “As always.”

You chuckled, a small, tired smile lingering on your lips. “Are the others here?”

“Only Mr. Stark is in residence at the moment,” the A.I. informed you as you made your way further into your suite. You toed off your shoes, shedding your jacket and tossing it onto the nearby sofa. “Shall I inform him of your arrival?”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to wake him.”

There was a slight pause. “Mr. Stark is not asleep, Ms. Y/L/N.”

How an A.I. could have a variation in tone, you weren’t sure, but you stopped halfway to unbuttoning your jeans. “And how long exactly has Tony been awake?”

“…Almost eighty-three hours, ma’am.”

“I think I hate ‘ma’am’ even more than my last name.” you sighed, casting a glance towards the room to your left. The door was ajar, and you swore your bed was calling to you. “Where is he?”

“In the lab.”

“…Okay.”

***

A wall of sound greeted you as you stepped into the lab, and you flinched. It lowered immediately to a more bearable level, and you silently praised whatever part of JARVIS’ programming it was that could pick up on your discomfort like that.

“JARVIS,” Tony said without looking up from his work. “Don’t mess with my music.”

He was at the far end of the lab, moving between a couple of workbenches and the hologram of his latest designs with the disorganized, staccato rhythm you had begun to recognize as being a sign of sleep deprivation. There was a half-empty coffee pot on the bench closest to you, the scent of it gone stale. Tony’s clothes were rumpled, as was his hair, and you frowned when you noticed the shadows under his eyes. They were made darker by the blue light of the hologram between the two of you.

“I think we can do better on these reflector panels, J.,” he continued as though he hadn’t noticed you enter. “If this suit is going to work for stealth, I’m going to need the change to be instantaneous.” He waved a hand, and parts of the suit projected in front of him dropped away. “Scrap ‘em. Take it from the top.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hello to you, too, Stark.” you said snidely despite your concern. “Or am I expected to call you ‘sir’ in here, too?”

“Only if you want me to get all tingly over it,” he retorted teasingly, finally pausing long enough to meet your eye. He gave you a genuine, if distracted and exhausted, smile.

“Most people just say ‘welcome home’.”

Tony returned to one of the benches, eyes fixating on a tablet screen. “Are you implying that I could possibly be ‘most people’?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied, sidestepping an abandoned helmet prototype. There was an empty coffee mug sitting inside it. The crockery was stained with dark brown rings. You made you way around to his workbench, pushing yourself up to sit on the edge of it beside him. “Tony, when was the last time you got some sleep?”

“You know the answer to that,” he said, pointedly avoiding your eye and focusing his gaze on the work in front of him. “Or did you come all the way down here just for a hug?”

“A hug? Hardly,” you said with a scoff.

Tony met your eye, raising a brow. There was a teasing tilt to his lips, a challenge in his expression. “I don’t accept that.”

“Accept what?”

“I can’t believe that you don’t like hugs.” he said, straightening. He moved to stand in front of you, his hands claiming your knees. You felt a warmth spread up from where he touched you to heat your belly, and you straightened slightly, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue. “I refuse to accept it. I mean, for a woman completely capable of breaking every bone in my body with her bare hands, you’re downright cuddly.”

As he said the last words he reached up and touched the tip of his finger to your nose tauntingly, and you wrinkled it in response. He chuckled, and you rolled your eyes at him. Something about sleep deprivation always made him lighter, more teasing. While his usual jokes were witty and occasionally flirty, when you found him like this, he was… softer. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a massive dork?”

Tony’s grin widened, and he stepped back, holding up his hands as though you’d just proved his point. “See, anyone else would call me an asshole, but you – sweet, innocent thing that you are – go with ‘dork’.”

“Oh, Stark. Trust me,” you snickered, pushing yourself up off the edge of the table. It closed much of the distance between the two of you, your chest almost meeting his. You made a show of casting your eyes down over him before meeting his eye with a smirk. “If you actually knew me, the last word you’d be using to describe me is ‘innocent’.”

Intrigue flashed in his eyes, a curve to his parted lips sending an unexpected thrill up your spine. He made move to speak, but you pressed a finger to his lips. His smile widened against your skin.

“I’m sure whatever you were about to say would have been rife with innuendo, Tony,” you said. “But honestly, you kind of stink. How long’s it been since you had a shower?”

***

“Y’know, I’m not really sure why I had to stick around for this.” you called out over the sound of rushing water, folding your arms over your chest. You were standing outside the penthouse bathroom, your back against the wall beside the door. Steam billowed out of the open doorway, clinging to your bare arms.

The water shut off, and Tony’s reply came a few moments later, his voice echoing off the tile. “And here I thought you were worried about my wellbeing, sweetheart.”

“You’re not exactly at risk of drowning in the shower, Tony,” you pointed out. You heard his answering chuckle and the sounds of cabinet doors opening and closing. There was a long silence, punctuated only by the quiet sounds of shaving cream being sprayed and a razor against skin. “And you survived it. So, can I go to bed now?”

“And miss out on this quality team-bonding time?” he called out. “Shudder to think.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes with a smile. “‘Team-bonding’? We’re missing a couple of key members here. Unless you’ve got Rogers stashed in your shower caddy.”

“Not exactly the member I’d pick for that,” he replied as he stepped through the doorway, wiping at his jaw with a towel. Another was slung securely around his hips. Rivulets of water marked his bare torso, droplets clinging to his chest. There was a teasing smirk on his lips, and you swallowed. “Now, Romanoff on the other hand—”

“I’m going to stop you there before this conversation devolves into casual misogyny,” you eye-rolled, holding up a hand.

“I’ll have you know I’m an equal opportunity lech.” Tony shot back, amused. “I just didn’t think Thor would fit in the caddy.”

You snorted a laugh.

“Right…” you said. He’d missed a tiny patch of shaving cream on the corner of his jaw, and you reached up to wipe it away with two fingers. Tony’s smile widened as you wiped it on his bare chest. You cleared your throat as you realized the intimacy of your actions. “Well, you’ve managed to navigate the perils of a penthouse bathroom, Iron Man. Congrats.”

“So, what’s your excuse now?”

Confusion creased the skin between your brows. “For what?”

Tony’s smirk twitched, and you recognized the challenge in his eyes. Something in the pit of your stomach fluttered. “For turning down a hug.”

You laughed, shaking your head disbelieving. “God, Stark, you are such a—”

Tony took hold of your arm, surprising you by pulling you toward him and bringing his lips to yours. They were soft and warm, teasing with the taste of spearmint. The clean scent of his body wash enveloped you, his fingers gentle but firm on your arm. The warmth of his body – still bolstered by the heat of the shower – leached into your skin, wrapping you in a ghost of an embrace that made you lean into him. The kiss lasted only a moment before he pulled back again, that expression of taunting flirtation still in place.

You pressed your lips together, your skin tingling. “What was that for?”

He shrugged a shoulder, tightening the towel around his waist. There was an annoying note of nonchalance in his expression, and self-assuredness that told you he knew exactly what kind of effect he’d just had on you. “Call it a thank you.”

“I—” you swallowed, forcing your breath to steady. “Most people just say ‘thank you’.”

He grinned, his teeth grazing his bottom lip. “Didn’t we agree that I’m not ‘most people’?”

.

.

.

tags: @trekkingaroundasgard @ccbsrms @lina-mar@lovely-dreamer19@wittyforachange@wefracturedmotivation@january-echoes@glossyloner@capitalnineteen@youclickedthislink@s0ftness@castieltrash1@drakelover78@queenoftheunderdark@fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13@lol-you-thought@sebbystanlover-vk@mikariell95@csigeoblue@abrunettefangirlnerd@babyblues915@aar-journey@moistpotatobear @capsironunderoos @bellamyblakemorley@diesinspanishbcimhispanic@sentimentalalien@agustdowney@akumune@xxboesefrauxx@patheticallysentimental@loki-is-loved

[phoenixtakaramono]

Into the Butchlander Multiverse Threadfic - Part II

Tumblr Navigation: I | II

EXCERPTS: "Fuck being a gentleman. If I waited for you any longer, we'd both be in our eighties. ...So believe me, William. As much as this hurts me to do this...you have to be punished a little." | Like a brat who doesn't realize the consequences of his actions and that he's about to get spanked, Homelander invites with an easy grin, "Well, gentlemen, which one of you wants to go first?"

CW: 🔞 scene involving 7 Butchers sandwiching 1 Homelander, spoilers for The Name of the Game (AO3), Truce (AO3), and my other butchlander AU threadfics these 5 Butchers originate from

(You can read the rest of the threadfic update here!)

If you don’t have a Twitter account, screenshots are provided below the line break so you can read this update on Tumblr as well (contains ⚠️🔞 below, so proceed with caution if you’re out in public):

Billy recognizes the pensive look Homelander's directing over at Billy's doppelgängers, with his pretty blue eyes all expressive and forlorn.

Once Sameer wanders out of earshot, Homelander floats on over to Billy, his deep honeyed voice full of longing as he whispers, "Why can't we keep them here?"

Billy is not about to sit down and explain to Connie Butcher née Atkinson why she suddenly has a set of seven nearly-identical septuplets—when she'd only given birth to two sons.

Neither does Billy want to share his Homelander with them.

But instead of voicing his true thoughts aloud, Billy retorts calmly, "Because, John, you have me, don't you?" The moment the name fell from his lips, he knows he's gotten Homelander's attention. Billy spares him a look.

They were going to have a nice long chat about the dreams Homelander had mentioned having—but now’s clearly not the time for that conversation.

"Besides...they all got their own Homelanders to go home to.” Billy offers a smirk. “Let's not separate the lovers, eh?"

It's the smart answer, because that's what gets Homelander to reluctantly do away with any of his dark intrusive thoughts to sabotage the machine and hold all six Butchers back as some sort of f*cked up modern-day harem of Butchers to cater to him, preventing them from returning to their worlds.

But it's an answer that must've jinxed Billy’s, because the moment that all six Butchers blink out of existence in a brilliant glow, the machine starts sparking. Sameer’s shouts for a fire extinguisher are heard as a blanket of smoke buffets the air.

The overhead sprinklers came on, raining down on the sparking machinery.

But that’s not the issue. Because now, standing in the vacated space of the six Butchers who'd disappeared, six Homelanders, and his Homelander, are staring back shell-shocked at one equally stunned William J. Butcher.

(The End...?)

———

(A/N) - Y'all... Groan with me, because this writer had written completely beautiful romantic prose that'd been 58 tweets long at the end from 1AM to 6AM—when my computer decided to restart on me. 😂😥 I did my best to recreate what I could remember here, but we light candles for what could've been my best 🔞 writing for a threadfic, ahhhhhh. I did my best but this is only a 60% recreation. RIP 💀. I hope y'all enjoyed nonetheless! ✨（￣︶￣）↗　

By the way, the ending is open-ended because it teases a second follow-up to this threadfic. But it won't be till later when I start it.

[vividiana]

chapter 3

pairing: Astarion x f!Durge · word count: 7k

rating: M for now, will change to E (18+)

tags: modern AU, witness protection, strangers to friends to lovers (see AO3 for a more exhaustive list)

summary: It’s been over a year since Eve had to uproot her life and assume a new identity—anything to distance herself from the past she wishes she could forget. When an erratic, if oddly charming, newcomer stumbles into her place of work, she recognizes something familiar within him and the two can’t seem to stay away from each other. But Eve is not the only one running from her past.

An alternative, modern take on the Dark Urge x Astarion romance, filled with friendship, secrets, healing, and ABBA.

a/n: this chapter was supposed to be like 5k tops OOPS. anyways, I can finally stop referring to Astarion as the "white-haired man" or "Note Guy!" 🥳 also, we get some ABBA, as promised! hope you enjoy 🧡

chapter-specific cw: heavy drinking, vomiting, references to past abuse/controlling behavior

previous chapter · read on AO3 · dividers

It’s been over a month since her first appointment with Halsin and Eve somehow managed to drag herself back to that office every Monday. At least it made Wyll happy. Following his advice, she did tell Halsin about her reaction to his assessment, and he assured her that they didn’t have to return to the subject before she was ready. Instead, they spent the last few sessions exploring Eve’s beliefs about herself and developing some more practical tools to deal with her anxiety (which she was reluctantly grateful for, as much as she’d hate to admit it).

Outside of work, she was more busy than ever. With the school year being over, Lae’zel had a lot more time on her hands and was always coming up with Fun Summer Activities for them to do. This mostly boiled down to various forms of physical exertion, which Eve bravely endured. The things we do for love.

After coming back from yet another hike, Eve collapses on the couch, bitching and moaning like she just crossed the entire country on foot. Lae’zel, however, seems to have endless reserves of energy, because she immediately heads to the kitchen to make them both protein shakes. She places one of them on the coffee table next to Eve, which she acknowledges with a light groan of gratitude.

“Don’t be dramatic. It was only seven miles,” Lae’zel says before she takes a sip of her shake.

“Yeah, it was also eighty-five degrees.”

“It would have been cooler if you woke up at six like I suggested.”

Eve doesn’t grace that with a response. She just watches as Lae downs her drink and starts to pace restlessly around the apartment.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m bored,” Lae says absentmindedly. Then, she stops in her tracks and looks at Eve with an odd glint in her eyes. “We should throw a party,” she says, before resuming her pacing.

This finally prompts Eve to sit up, against the collective protest from her muscles. She observes Lae’zel warily and says:

“I’m sorry, I think the heat is getting to me. I could swear I just heard you say you want to throw a party.”

“Correct.” 

“Are you on drugs?”

“It might be nice to see everyone before I leave for Córdoba.”

“Who is everyone?”

“You know, friends.” Lae gestures vaguely.

“I’m gonna need names,” Eve says. “And for the love of God, please sit down, you’re freaking me out.”

Lae’zel finally comes to a halt and sits on the armchair. She looks almost embarrassed, which is worrying in its own way.

“Who are these friends you’re talking about?”

“Wyll…?” Lae offers weakly.

“Wyll is not your friend, you met him one time ages ago when he came in here for the assessment. He’s not even my friend, it’s literally his job to spend time with me. So who else?”

“People from work.”

“What, like the biology teacher who has a crush on you? What was his name again?”

“Rath. And he doesn’t have a crush on me.”

“Sure.”

“Also Dammon.”

“Okay, that I can understand, you two actually hang out sometimes. Who else?”

“Zevlor.”

“Who the fuck is Zevlor? I have never heard that name from your mouth.”

“He’s my accountability partner at the gym.”

“Accountability partner…” Eve sighs, massaging her temples. “Lae, be for fucking real: is this about Jen?”

“You’re right, we could also invite Jen,” Lae’zel says with feigned excitement as if this has never occurred to her before. “That’s a great idea. You’re so smart.”

“And you’re a terrible liar.” 

“Fine,” Lae’zel sighs, exasperated. “Of course this is about her, who else?”

“I don’t get it, you already see each other a couple times a week. And you text, like, all the time.”

“Yes, but…” Lae’zel drops her gaze in a way that Eve would characterize as bashful, if she didn’t know any better. “Texting is nice, but when I see her, we don’t really talk, we’re busy with other things. And I would just like to… get to know her better.”

A foreign sort of warmth spreads through Eve’s chest as she listens to her friend describe what can only be considered a crush. Like a champ, she fights down the urge to yell I knew it!

“I see,” Eve starts gently, as if this version of Lae’zel were a precious fawn who could be easily startled by any sudden movement or snapping twig. “Have you considered asking her on a date?”

“I don’t do dates, Eve,” Lae’zel huffs with a determination that is likely meant to convince herself more than anything. “But if we throw a party, she will be just one of many guests, so it won’t be as obvious that I…” She trails off and shakes her head. “It has to happen before I go home. I’ll be gone for a month and I’m worried that if sex is all we have, then she’ll just find someone else to replace me. And that will be the end of it.”

“We can’t have that,” Eve says with a soft smile. “A party it is, then.”

“A party it is.” Lae’zel smiles back, her confidence returning. “I’ll need your help. As you pointed out, I don’t actually know that many people.”

“Me neither, but I’ll figure something out, don’t worry.”

“You should invite Note Guy.”

“I– Uh– Well, I guess if I find no other alternatives, then I might. For you. Just to make sure we have enough guests to make this party believable.” 

“Of course.” Lae’zel nods sagely. “No other reason.”

As Eve heads to work on Tuesday, it’s with an unusual sort of determination. She’s on a mission.

When it comes to party guests, Lakrissa is the obvious choice. Although they have never spent time together outside of work, Eve genuinely likes her, and they share this unique sense of camaraderie, being the only constants in the ever-changing array of waitstaff. A lot of people would join the team at the Blushing Mermaid only to quit after a couple months, or even weeks, but the two of them have held their post ever since Eve got the job a year and a half ago. She is not sure if it’s a testament to their determination or desperation—but either way, she finds Lakrissa’s presence grounding amidst all the chaos. 

Plus, Lakrissa seems to have a bustling social life, always sharing stories about her nights out, so Eve decides to extend the invitation to some of her friends. 

“Amazing!” she gasps when Eve chats her up in the kitchen. She pulls out her phone and starts typing rapidly. “I’ll text Kaldani and Rikka. Oh, and Danis too! He’ll probably bring his fiancé, is that alright?” 

“That’s perfect.”

On a whim, Eve also invites one of the line cooks, Minsc. He is a truly puzzling yet charming man with a thick Slavic accent—Eve is not sure what kind of Slavic exactly, because Minsc never talks about himself. He does, however, talk at length about his hamster Boo, to whoever will listen. He is a bit odd, to be sure, but he always seems to be in a good mood and equipped with a bottomless arsenal of anecdotes, making him the perfect guest.

After securing at least six new people for their party, Eve is pulled back into the whirlwind of clients and orders. Like clockwork, at 4 p.m. she finds herself carrying a plate of chicken tenders to the man at booth four.

“Hello Sir, what’s new?” she asks when she brings him the food.

“Thy wheel of fate turns ever to the light,” he says solemnly.

“Oh, that’s beautiful. Is it from a poem?”

“No.”

Eve waits for him to elaborate, but instead he picks up the utensils and starts cutting the chicken into little pieces. 

“Alright.” She shrugs. “Enjoy your meal.” 

“I will.”

Eve turns around and smiles when she sees that Note Guy has just arrived.

She was worried when he didn’t show up for a couple days after The Day When Everything That Could Have Gone Wrong, Went Wrong. It was a sudden change of routine that Eve felt personally to blame for, even if she realized how irrational and self-centered that was.

But then, one Friday, he came back, and it was as if that night had never happened. He was just as friendly as before, and she was once again in the right headspace to return his energy.

The days when he would come in felt lighter somehow. He was easy to talk to, even if their conversations were entirely surface-level. He quickly became her second-favorite regular—after all, the enigmatic Chicken Tenders Man would always have a special place in her heart. The two of them gave her something to look forward to during her otherwise arduous shifts. 

It’s no different this time, the two of them engaging in the now familiar banter as she takes his order.

Shortly after, Eve is heading over with his food, when Lakrissa stops her just a couple feet away from his table to ask if she should bring anything to the party. They briefly discuss the logistics before returning to work, Note Guy donning a curious smile when she finally walks up to him. 

“Hosting a party?” he asks.

“Yes. Well– It’s more of an elaborate excuse for my roommate to hang out with her crush, who she insists is not actually her crush.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she wants to spend more time with her, but she convinced herself that she doesn’t do romance, so she can’t just ask her out. It has to be a whole thing.”

“Naturally,” he says, amused. “And you’re organizing it?”

“Well, we both are, but I guess I was tasked with recruiting more guests, since we rarely do these types of things, it will be sort of like a patchwork situation…” 

Eve trails off once she realizes she’s rambling. 

Why are you telling him all these details?

“That sounds fun.”

Eve can’t tell if he genuinely thinks that, or if he’s just trying to be polite. There is a moment of silence, as they regard one another, her thoughts racing.

Ask him. 

Isn’t that weird though? We barely know each other.

If he thinks it’s weird, he can say no. Just ask him, goddammit.

“Anyways, enjoy your meal,” she blurts out before turning on her heel and walking away, cursing herself.

Good job.

When she eventually comes back to check up on him, she is still a bit embarrassed by her impressive inability to play it cool.

“Everything alright over here?”

“It’s perfect,” he says, as if their BLT were the most delicious meal known to man. Doubtful, but she appreciates the enthusiasm.

“Great, love to hear it. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, just the check, please, when you have a moment.”

Eve nods, ready to turn away, but then something inside her shifts. 

Fuck it.

“So um– About the party. I was just thinking that if you’re not doing anything Friday night, you could drop by if you wanted. It’s nothing crazy, just like ten or twelve people at our apartment. Could be a good way to meet some people since you’re new around here. No pressure, of course, I know this might be kinda weird cause we don’t really–”

“I’d love that,” he says with a genuineness that both reassures her and somehow makes her more nervous.

“Oh! Perfect. We’d love to have you. Um– It starts at seven, this Friday, like I said, and uh– Here, I’ll write down the address for you,” she says, fishing out her pen and notepad.

“You could also text it to me.”

She freezes for a moment and then can’t help but laugh as she puts the notepad away. The tension in her body eases along with the laughter and she feels more comfortable now in this familiar back-and-forth.

“Damn, that was smooth,” she admits, grabbing her phone instead.

“Yeah, I’m pretty proud of that one,” he says with a delightful grin.

Eve creates a new contact and hands the phone to him. When he returns it, she sees he saved his number as Astarion 🔥. She reads the name out loud, enjoying how it rolls off her tongue. 

“I’ve never met an Astarion before, it’s a pretty name. But why would you put fire next to it?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” he asks, flashing her his most charming smile.

Eve rolls her eyes and replaces the 🔥 with 🤓.

“I think this is more fitting,” she says, showing him the screen.

Astarion’s grin falters, eyes widening in genuine shock.

“I’ve never been more insulted in my life.”

“Why?” She checks the screen, then places it next to his face as her eyes move back and forth between the two. “It’s pretty accurate. You have the same glasses.”

“Hardly. And my teeth look nothing like that.”

Eve chuckles as she pockets her phone.

“What’s so funny?” he asks with a deep frown.

“It’s just a silly thing to get so defensive about.”

“I’m not defensive,” he scoffs. “It’s just–”

“I’ll be back with your check,” she cuts him off with a sweet smile, delighted by the annoyed huff he lets out as she starts walking away.

Eve spends the next three days dreading the consequences of her actions. 

Playful banter with a customer is one thing, but it’s something else entirely to have him in her home, on equal footing, with no predetermined structure and rehearsed pleasantries to fall back on. Eve is not sure how she feels about it, other than being utterly ridden with anxiety, though that’s nothing new.

On the upside, the apartment has never looked more pristine—a joint effort born out of the desire to make a good impression on their respective Special Guests, which neither of the women acknowledge out loud.

Suddenly, sooner than Eve would like, it’s the end of her Friday shift and she has two hours to pick up the final supplies for the party, make herself look presentable, and not smell like fries.

When she gets home, Lae’zel is finishing up her extensive hair routine. She’s wearing a boxy cropped tee and black bike shorts—nothing flashy, though Eve supposes the outfit is still more party-appropriate than Lae’s usual tracksuit.

Lae’zel takes the grocery bags off her hands and begins to unpack them, freezing when she pulls out an excessively large bottle of diet cherry Coke, which Eve put into her cart last-minute.

“What did you buy this for? This is a Pepsi household.”

“You never know, our guests might prefer Coke,” Eve says evasively before darting into the bathroom.

She hops into the shower and washes her freshly-dyed hair. Lae helped her with it last night after they both decided that her roots had gotten out of control and the intended mauve pink had washed out into an odd, pale shade of orange. 

When she makes it back to her room, she spends the next fifteen minutes trapped in a purgatory of indecision, before eventually settling for a sleeveless burgundy mock neck top and a pair of distressed baggy jeans. She puts on some green gel eyeliner and then wipes it off disgruntled, only to apply it again minutes later. After fiddling with her hair for way too long, she eventually puts the upper half of it into a bun, the rest brushing softly against her shoulders.

She almost jumps when the buzzer rings at 7 p.m. sharp.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Astarion. From the restaurant.”

“Thank you for specifying,” she chuckles as she buzzes him in. “Come on up.”

Her chest is tight with nerves as she lingers in the hallway. Finally, there is a light knock and something odd happens in Eve’s brain the moment she opens the door and sees him. For a second, all she can do is stare.

Astarion is wearing a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons undone, tucked into a pair of white wide-leg pants. It seems he opted for contacts today, because the familiar round glasses are gone, replaced by a pair of Lennon shades pushed up atop his orchestrated disarray of white curls.

“Hi,” he says with an awkward handwave, snapping her out of her stupor. 

She notices then the silver rings adorning his fingers, his well-groomed nails painted black. Eve suddenly feels very self-conscious about her torn jeans and bitten nails.

Before she gets a chance to respond, she hears Lae’zel’s voice from behind her:

“You’re early, Note Guy.”

Astarion checks his watch, brows furrowed.

“I thought you said seven.”

“No one ever shows up on time to parties,” Lae’zel says, “which means you’re early.”

“I see.” And then he cocks his head curiously when he says: “Wait, did you call me Note G–”

“Astarion, this is my roommate, Lae’zel,” Eve rushes in. “Lae’zel, this is Astarion.” She places emphasis on his actual name as she glares at her friend.

“I know,” Lae says and takes Astarion’s outstretched hand, gripping it harder than necessary. “Eve has told me a lot about you.”

“Has she now?” he asks, clearly amused. 

“Yes, I heard you’re rude to waitstaff.”

There is a moment of tense silence during which Eve wishes for the ground to come up and swallow her whole. But then Astarion pulls a bottle out of his tote bag and presents it to them with a weak smile.

“I brought gin.” 

“Great, come in, please.” Eve takes the bottle and beckons him inside. “Lae, could you check on the appetizers?”

“I don’t have to, they’re done.”

“Great, but could you please check? Just to make sure?”

Lae’zel rolls her eyes and heads to the kitchen, muttering something in Spanish under her breath.

Eve gives Astarion a very brief tour of the premises: shoes off (yes, ma’am), here’s the bathroom (got it), there’s the balcony if you want to smoke (I quit). Once that’s out of the way, she finds herself utterly at a loss for how to proceed. Perhaps Astarion senses that, because he looks around the empty apartment and offers:

“Can I help you with anything?”

“I think we’ve mostly got it covered–”

“You can be in charge of the music,” Lae’zel says, rejoining them with trays of food. She turns the TV on and navigates to device pairing. “But keep in mind that your Bluetooth privileges will be revoked if you fail,” she warns Astarion as she hands him the remote.

“I won’t let you down,” he says solemnly with an exaggerated salute. He turns to Eve with wide eyes, a soft smile tugging at his lips as if to say she’s fun! When he’s done setting up, he asks: “Any requests?”

They both shake their heads. 

“Okay, well, this is a lot of pressure.” He laughs nervously. “Guess I’ll just queue things up as I go. Ummm– Maybe let’s start with something calmer and go from there… This should work.”

Sounds that Eve can only describe as funky fill their living room. She doesn’t recognize the title of the song nor the name of the artist when they show up on the TV.

“I like it,” she says with a nod after a couple moments.

Astarion seems visibly relieved.

“Lae’zel, what’s the verdict?” he asks. 

“It will do for now.”

“That’s the spirit!” he says with a wide grin. “So what sort of music do you usually listen to?”

“I like eighties rock,” Lae’zel says.

“That makes sense, somehow. And you?” he asks, turning to Eve.

“I don’t really listen to music.”

“What do you mean?” Astarion asks, sounding genuinely baffled. 

“I don’t know,” she says, suddenly feeling embarrassed, like she failed some secret social test. “I guess I’ll just listen to whatever is playing, but I don’t really seek it out on my own. What about you?”

Apparently, Astarion listens to everything, which doesn’t exactly overlap with her nothing, but they somehow manage to keep the conversation going for a bit until Lakrissa mercifully shows up with her four friends. 

They all seem lovely and completely ignore Eve’s earlier insistence that they didn’t have to bring anything. Danis’ fiancé (Becky, was it? Eve already forgot half their names) hands her a baking dish of brownies, which Eve eyes cautiously.

“Are these…?”

“No, nothing funny in there!” the woman rushes to explain. “Well, except for a whole lot of chocolate and some raspberries. I just love baking! Danis and I are saving up to open a cat café.”

Shortly after, they’re joined by Dammon and Rath, followed by Minsc, who shows up with sunflowers.

“Eve, my friend, these are for you!” he bellows excitedly.

“Aw, you didn’t have to,” she says as she takes the ridiculously large bouquet off his hands.

“Oh, but I did have to! You are much like a sunflower, you see. Always brightening up Minsc’s day at work. It’s the least Minsc could do.”

Eve is not sure how exactly she brightens up his day, since they rarely interact and she is always in a sour mood at work. But the sincerity in Minsc’s tone leaves no space for disagreement.

“Do you like it?” he asks. “Boo helped pick the perfect bouquet.”

“I love it, thank you so much! And how did he help you, exactly?”

“Minsc hovered his hand above the flower display until Boo squeaked. It was much like a claw machine, where Minsc’s hand was the claw, and Boo was the child with a quarter.”

“You make a fantastic team then,” is all Eve can think to say to that as she nods thoughtfully and invites him inside.

The party slowly settles into a comfortable rhythm as people chat, eat, and drink, all to the sounds of Astarion’s improvised playlist. Eve is thoroughly relieved that despite not knowing one another, their guests manage to mingle and enjoy each other’s company.

At one point, Lae’zel pulls her aside to say:

“Eve, there is a rodent in our home.” 

She points to Minsc and sure enough, there is Boo, perched contentedly on the man’s muscular shoulder, looking comically tiny in comparison. 

“Oh that’s just Boo,” Eve explains with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Don’t worry, I heard he’s very well-trained. He won a bunch of gold medals at the Hamster Olympics.”

“That’s not a thing that exists.”

“Maybe not. But Minsc’s anecdotes are always so fun and detailed, I just don’t have the heart to fact-check him.”

She leaves Lae’zel confused and heads to the kitchen to fish out her designated drink for the night from the back of the fridge. It’s an overpriced craft IPA from a local brewery, because if she’s only going to have one, she might as well splurge. A single drink is all she ever allows herself, painfully aware that she cannot afford to let her guard down, lest she starts openly spilling information about her life that only a select few are privy to.

Jen shows up fashionably late, a fact that Lae’zel seems both relieved and distressed by. And yet, it is not too long before the two of them are off in a corner together, laughing and completely ignoring the commotion around them. 

Eve, on the other hand, finds herself pulled into a discussion about movies, which shortly leads to her and Astarion both freaking out about the third installment of the Knives Out series, the title of which was just announced a couple weeks ago.

A loud chime erupts from Lakrissa’s phone and she pulls it out of her pocket.

“It’s BeReal time!” she announces, angling her phone to take a selfie with the group. 

But before she can take the picture, Eve grabs the nearest chip bowl and excuses herself, rushing to the kitchen. She runs into Jen and Lae, the latter mixing their drinks, the former studying the space curiously.

“What’s this about?” Jen asks, pointing to a white board on their fridge.

Aside from more mundane notes like what kitchen staples they’re running low on, the board houses a list, sectioned off in the corner, that reads:

ghost

poet

ghost poet

philosophy professor (tenured)

retired living statue

PI

alien studying our culture

“It’s about Eve’s old man,” Lae’zel says, looking over her shoulder.

“He is not my old man,” Eve clarifies and then regales Jen with the tales of her favorite regular, making sure to quote some of his signature lines that he always refuses to elaborate on.

“We have a running list of theories about who he might be,” Lae’zel adds.

Jen hums curiously, then grabs a marker and adds another item to the bottom of the list: god of death(?)

“What do you mean?” Eve asks.

“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling.” Jen shrugs.

“You say the weirdest things sometimes,” Lae’zel says, shaking her head, as she hands her the drink.

“And you love it.” Jen takes the cup and turns on her heel to go join a conversation between Lakrissa’s friends.

Lae just stands there for a moment, staring blankly ahead.

“Well done,” Eve says, patting her on the shoulder.

When she returns to the living room, she catches Astarion’s gaze and he comes up to her, phone in one hand, drink in the other.

“There you are! I was thinking I could put on some Chappell Roan to liven up the crowd. What do you think, Eve?” he asks before taking a very generous sip of his gin and tonic.

“Who is Chappell Roan?”

Astarion drops his phone, gasping dramatically as his free hand clutches at his chest.

“You heathen! You did not just ask me that.”

Eve can’t help but laugh at his theatrics.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“You’ve definitely heard some of her songs,” Rath chimes in. “Do you know Pink Pony Club?”

“Oh, that one! I’m sorry, I have nothing against her, but if I have to listen to that song one more time, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“Excuse you, it’s a great song,” Astarion mutters as he picks his phone off the ground and checks for damage.

“It might be, but it gets so overplayed on the radio, and I have to listen to it at work, which tends to ruin a lot of songs for me.”

“Hmmm… Okay, that’s fair,” he decides, graciously. “So I’m assuming Good Luck, Babe! is off the table, too. Let’s see…” He scrolls on his phone until he’s satisfied. “Oh! This will do. Eve, your task for this weekend is to listen to this album and let me know what you think. Where is your phone?”

She opens Spotify and hands the phone to him. 

“Why do you have Spotify Premium if you don’t listen to music?”

“Podcasts,” she explains. “And ambient noise.”

“You’re fascinating,” he says, clicking something. “Here, I saved it for you.”

The song that’s currently playing is mellowing out and Astarion hands the phone back to her before looking around the room.

“Jen!” he exclaims, pointing at the woman in question with a surprising level of familiarity.

She turns in their direction.

“Huh?”

“You look like you might know the lyrics. I’m counting on you to sing along.”

“What is that supposed to–”

But then the song starts playing and Jen’s eyes widen with excitement as she laughs.

She way a playboy, Brigitte Bardot–

“That’s a weird way to out me, but you’re not wrong!”

She showed me things I didn’t know–

Astarion leans in towards Eve, brushing lightly against her side.

“I think she outed herself when she was kissing Lae’zel on the couch,” he whispers into her ear. “But what do I know?”

She did it right there, out on the deck–

Astarion pulls away to sing the next line in unison with Jen:

“Put her canine teeth in the side of my neck!”

Apparently everyone but Eve is quite fond of Chappell Roan, because more and more people start getting up and singing along, though the only person who manages to hit all the notes is Jen. During the chorus, she gets up onto the coffee table and dances, looking absolutely ethereal. Eve finds herself entranced as she watches her sway and sing, but it is Lae’zel who looks like the whole world just blurred around her and only Jen remains in focus.

The people demand more dance songs and the DJ is happy to deliver. Eve dims the lights and then leans against the wall, sipping her beer and watching with amusement as the guests lose their minds over a song that apparently holds no small amount of nostalgia. 

Coming out of my cage and I’ve been doing just fine–

Astarion catches her gaze and pushes past Dammon and Lae’zel to get to her. 

Just as she puts the bottle up to her lips for another sip, he grabs it and deposits it on a low table beside her.

“Excuse you–” she protests, however weakly.

“May I have this dance?” he asks, putting his hand out as he bows with an exaggerated flourish.

“You’re ridiculous.” She laughs, hoping the blush in her cheeks is not as obvious in the low light. “Sorry to disappoint yet again, but I can’t dance. Comes with being a heathen.”

He smiles, rising back to his full height, looking at her curiously like she is a puzzle he hopes to solve one day.

“You don’t need to know how to dance to enjoy it,” he assures her. “You can just jump around and sing along, and it’s great.”

“But I don’t know the lyrics!” she yells over the people singing what she assumes to be the chorus.

“They’re super repetitive, you’ll catch on!”

And so, with no arguments left, Eve takes Astarion’s hand and lets him pull her into the flurry of laughing, dancing bodies, yelling in unison:

“STARTED OUT WITH A KISS, HOW DID IT END UP LIKE THIS?”

“IT WAS ONLY A KISS,” Astarion shouts and then points at Eve in a your turn gesture.

“IT WAS ONLY A KISS!” they sing together.

Once the song ends, some people go to sit down, but as soon as the next one starts, they change their mind, because of course you can’t not dance to that. And so it goes on, Astarion queueing things up on the spot, balancing his musical responsibilities with making sure his glass is never empty. He intersperses throwback hits with more recent songs, making it impossible to catch a breath.

It’s almost midnight by the time their collective energy fizzles out and then they’re back to sitting around, chatting, and drinking, utterly spent. 

Eve is listening, captivated, to another of Minsc’s anecdotes of doubtful veracity, when she gets distracted by Astarion’s agitated voice. He is sitting on the floor, engrossed in some heated discussion with Danis, and he has been getting increasingly louder and more blunt with each passing minute.

“What do you mean it comes with the job?! Harassment? Oh for fuck’s sake, you can’t be serious!”

She doesn’t hear what Danis is trying to tell him, but Astarion shortly cuts him off:

“Just because they’re famous doesn’t mean anyone is entitled to their time and attention 24/7!”

Eve is not sure what they’re talking about exactly, but she can’t shake the impression that there is something odd under the layer of irritation, like this matter is important to him on more than just the ideological level.

“Did someone knock?” Lakrissa asks, prompting Eve to look away from Astarion.

“Huh?” 

But then there is a louder pounding at the door that cuts through the music, followed by the unmistakable voice of their upstairs neighbor:

“OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR.”

“Hi, Aradin,” Eve says sweetly when she grants him his wish. “Would you like to join us?”

“What I would like is to go to sleep. It’s one in the fucking morning, Eve, don’t make me call the cops.”

“Alright alright. We’ll be quiet.”

She closes the door unceremoniously in his face, then asks Astarion to turn down the music. He mumbles something incomprehensive, searching for his phone, but eventually complies.

Most guests decide to take this as their cue to leave, thanking Eve and Lae profusely for the invitation. Eve hugs people goodbye, but Lae just waves her hand from the couch, too invested in the hushed conversation she’s having with Jen.

Danis gets up from the floor, stumbling a little, and Astarion tries to follow. He props himself on a chair but loses his balance, the chair flipping over and clattering to the floor. With the lights on, the music quiet, and the crowd dispersed, his unfortunate state quickly becomes apparent. 

“Are you okay?” Eve asks as she rushes to pull him up from the floor.

He manages to stand up, swaying a little, his hand grabbing her shoulder for balance.

“Sorry ‘bout that…” he slurs as he takes his hand away.

“You can go lay down in my room if you’re not feeling well,” she offers.

He barks out a laugh.

“How forward of you.”

“Yup, okay, I think it’s time to go home.”

With Minsc’s help, she gathers Astarion’s things and manages to lead him outside and to her car.

“Do you wish for Minsc to come with you?” the man asks after he deposits Astarion onto her passenger seat and buckles him in.

“I’ll be fine, but thank you. And thank you again for the beautiful flowers, they made my day.”

“Mission accomplished, then,” Minsc says with a wide grin.

They exchange their goodbyes and Eve gets inside, the small space already reeking of alcohol. Astarion is leaning against the window with his eyes closed. 

“What’s your address?” she asks as she starts the car and plugs her phone in.

“124– Wait. 120–” He groans. “Something like that.”

“Cool. Do you have your license on you?”

He mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Astarion, please don’t make me go through your pockets.”

He groans again before fishing out his wallet from the tote bag and handing it to her.

Eve searches for his license, finding instead a non-driver ID. She doesn’t particularly want to pry, but it only takes one glance to learn quite a lot about him. Astarion Ancunín, the ID informs her. He somehow managed to look good in the photo, which Eve supposes shouldn’t come as a surprise. He was born only four years before her, on June 21st. 

Eve reads the date again, then looks at the screen on the center console of the car.

06/22/2024. 1:21 AM. 

A bittersweet feeling settles in her chest as she looks up at Astarion, who seems to have fallen asleep against the window. It’s almost flattering in a way, that he would choose her company, though a part of her wishes he could have spent his birthday with someone closer, not just some random waitress and her patchwork of friends. And yet, she is glad that he didn’t have to be alone. After all, he seemed like he was enjoying himself, even if this conclusion to the night is less than ideal.

Eve returns her attention to the document in her hand, and the address she was looking for in the first place. She types it into the navigation and notes with relief that it’s only a 12-minute drive across town. 

Astarion remains quiet as she pulls out of the parking lot. 

But it only takes two minutes or so before he peels himself off the window and sits up, informing her in a pained voice:

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

Oh, fuck me.

Since she can’t easily pull over at the moment, Eve reaches back to grab one of her reusable bags from the backseat and hands it to him.

Astarion bends forward and clutches the bag tightly as an unfortunate sound erupts from his throat, the sour smell of vomit immediately filling the car. Eve rolls all the windows down, the fresh air bringing a faint sort of relief.

It continues for a while before Astarion rests his forehead on the dashboard and groans:

“Fuck, you must think I’m a mess.”

“I don’t think that.”

“I jusss– Guess I don’t really know my limits.”

“So I take it you don’t drink too often, then?”

His body starts to shake and Eve is not entirely sure if he’s laughing or crying.

“No... He never let me. Didn’t want the alcohol to dull the pain.” 

Eve grips the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white as she glances to the side, a raw mixture of pain and understanding in her eyes. But Astarion is not looking at her as he cradles his face in his hands and chokes out an apology:

“I’m so sorry, Eve.”

They stop at a red light and to distract him, Eve grabs her phone and opens Spotify.

“What’s your favorite band?”

“Bah,” he mumbles against his palms.

“Bah?” she asks, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

“AAAA–bah.”

“Oh, okay,” she says and starts typing into the search bar.

“A-B–”

“Yes, I got it.”

“B-A.”

She selects the top album that comes up, and the speakers hum to life as the first song opens with a piano slide. Astarion lifts himself ever so slightly to look at the screen in the center of the console.

“900 weeks on the UK Albums Chart,” he mumbles, sounding surprisingly coherent all of a sudden. “Longest running top-100 album of all time.”

“Hm,” Eve hums noncommittally, unsure what to add.

“21 times Platinum as of this January.” 

“Oh, wow. What does that even mean, 21 times Platinum?”

“It means it fucking slaps.” And to emphasize his point, he throws up yet again.

Anybody could be that guy,

Night is young and the music’s high–

The navigation says 6 minutes, but Eve hopes to get there sooner, given how empty the roads are at this hour.

“Only se-ven-teeeeen,” Astarion mumbles beside her.

He hums for the remainder of the song, somehow managing to stay on pitch. 

Eve doesn’t recognize the next track. She feels her muscles tense once the chorus comes on.

Breaking up is never easy, I know,

But I have to go.

Knowing me, knowing you,

It’s the best I can do–

His face flashes before her eyes. The look of pure disbelief when they took him away. The betrayal. The disappointment.

“After everything I’ve done for you–”

Eve skips to the next song, glad to hear no protests from Astarion. She takes a deep breath as she eyes the navigation.

“We’re only two minutes away.”

“Why are you so kind?” he slurs.

Eve’s throat tightens. Kind. Nice. Good. Words that feel like a mistake whenever they are used to describe her. Like a slip of the tongue.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

But even in his drunken stupor, Astarion is too insightful for his own good.

“Not an answer.”

And then, because she knows he won’t remember this conversation come morning, Eve says:

“Because I finally have a choice.”

Astarion hums semi-thoughtfully but, to her relief, doesn’t continue down this line of questioning. 

The navigation informs her she is on the correct street, and that Astarion’s place should be coming up soon. But instead of the apartment buildings she was expecting, it’s a series of single-family houses.

“Your destination is on your right,” the voice informs her.

It’s a small house, all the lights are off. 

“Is this you?” she asks, wondering if she somehow mistyped the address.

But Astarion hums a confirmation when he lifts his head to look out the window. 

Eve pulls into the driveway and helps him get out of the car. She watches patiently as he struggles to fit the key into the door, before finally offering to do it for him.

Once they’re inside, he sways dangerously, and she reaches out to support him, which is apparently a mistake. 

“Don’t touch me,” he barks, and Eve lets go instantly. She stands there, stunned, as she watches him stumble into the living room before collapsing onto the couch with his shoes on.

Eve takes a deep breath and heads to the kitchen to get him a cup of water. When she doesn’t find a medicine cabinet anywhere, she runs back to her car to grab some Advil. 

“You should take this,” she says when she returns, placing the pills on the coffee table by the cup. “Future Astarion will thank you.”

Present Astarion groans his dissent.

“At least take out your contacts?” 

No response this time. 

She sighs as she looks around the space. It’s not at all what she expected his home to look like. Astarion is so expressive when it comes to his clothes and general demeanor, but this—this feels so bland and impersonal. It’s as if he got the house along with all the staging furniture and then didn’t bother to change a single thing about it.

Light snoring reaches her from the couch and Eve decides she has overstayed her welcome. When the door locks behind her, she stands there for a moment, taking a deep breath of the crisp night air in an attempt to ground herself, to drown out the echo of Astarion’s words, running on loop in her mind. 

“He never let me. Didn’t want the alcohol to dull the pain.”

A car drives past and it snaps her back to the present. She makes her way back to poor Gizmo to assess the damage. Astarion’s aim left a lot to be desired, judging from the stains on the floor and car seat which become apparent in the light. She tosses the grocery bag into a bin by his driveway (it’s reusable, sure, but is it that reusable?) and then tries to clean up the rest with some wet wipes, but it’s a losing battle.

When she eventually makes it home, the lights are off in the living room, but she sees a thin slither of light coming from underneath Lae’s door. She walks over, hoping to get all of this off her chest, but as she reaches out to knock, she hears muffled conversation and Lae’zel laughing softly. Despite everything, she can’t help but smile as she takes her hand back. 

a/n: thank you for so much for taking the time to read! 🧡 I would love to hear your thoughts, your comments always brighten my day

taglist: @roguishcat @arzen9 ✨ (lmk if you'd like to be added!)

next chapter · my masterlist

[neptunescore]

Literally started this blog just to say how hypocritical F1 – both the people working in it, and the sport itself – is becoming. The main 3 things I want to address is: no.1 women in motorsport, no2 the ongoing genocide in palestine and no3 F1's disallowance of anything political, yet enabling the absolute political shitshow that was the 2024 miami gp.

Numéro 1: I just think its absolute bullshit that the FIA genuinely created a whole ‘Women in Motorsport Commission’, assigned SIX STRONG ambassadors to it, and THEN proceeded (come 2023) to launch a wholeass unfair investigation onto one of them, based on the MOST groundless claims?? Like wtf?? (Talking abt Susie Wolff here). Also, the whole Cristian Horner situation really showed just how much they care about women working under them, bc tell me why the possible victim in his situation was the one getting SUSPENDED, while this possible filth of a man is still parading shamelessly around the paddock?? Like??? AND SOME OF THE DRIVERS COMMENTS ON THE SIRUATION?? pissed me off so much u dont even understand. Anyway, my last point on this convo is how women should ALSO be taken accountable of their actions, and not just glossed over because they’re ‘women’, over here im specifically talking abt Bianca Bustamante and her liked tweet which calls lance stroll autistic… girl :| and her apology was so atrocious as well. T-T

Numéro 2: The fact that not ONE driver (excluding Lewis Hamilton — that man is so much more than a driver) has spoken up/ posted about the situation pisses me off SO much bc?? THOUSANDS of people are dying, and with the platform you have, the fans you have, you could have such a positive effect! This is ESPECIALLY targeted on the drivers so I FULLY KNOW have control of their accounts (Charles Leclerec, Esteban Ocon, Lando Norris [GOD DO I HAVE ALOT TO SAY ABT HIM], Pierre Gasly, etc) bc tell me why drivers are fully capable of uploading a post 2 years ago stating how the WHOLE of F1 stands with Ukraine (which i do applaud them for) but cant say SHIT abt the same situation occuring in Gaza, but SO much worse?? Lando can genuinely go f himself, bc as much as i used to adore him there’s no way he did NOT know abt the atrocities happening in Palestine, no way he did not know abt the company boycott when he decided to fully display that Starbucks logo on his little reel. And IF (literally a 0.0000001% chance, bc by then a 1000 articles were already written on it and the WHOLE world was aware) he genuinely didn’t know, then that is just ignorant as fuck. Icel. Anyway, literally all drivers should be held accountable, no matter if they’re ur favs or not; I like Carlos a lot but that doesn’t mean i dont get the ick every time i think abt the fact he’s stayed completely silent on the matter. OH MY GOD, DONT get me started on lance stroll and his confirmed (yes, i DO fact check) Zionist girlfriend, like?? Ew.

Can i also just say, that if any of u are gonna msg me saying ‘oH bUt NeP, thE FIA BanNeD AnY anD aLl PoliTiCaL StAtEmEnTS’ Shut up. If you guys could just READ the rest of the statement, you'd know that this rule only applies to when the drivers are ACTIVELY in the paddock. The FIA has literally included the fact that driver can do WHATEVER the want, stand up for WHOEVER they want in their personal lives – which brings me to my next point,

Numéro 3: The FIA bans any and all political statements in the paddock, (without their written consent) YET INVITES TRUMP (a man who has been charged with EIGHTY EIGHT criminal offenses) to the race, is the most disgusting and hypocritical thing ive seen in all my years of watching F1. And don't even get me started on all the shit lando said abt him, like bro?? What are you saying?? Why are you saying these things?? I get u cant speak bad abt him, but that does NOT mean u need to praise him to the sun and back. T-T

That's my rant! Additional reminder abt ppl bringing up how '*retired driver (insert name)* would NOT stand for this, and would post and talk ALL abt palestine if they were still racing,' this is a reminder that those drivers are still alive and well, with WORKING platforms and can STILL do all those things now if thry CHOOSE to :]

[youre-ackermine]

✳️ Val • She/Her • Adult

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