#granted this time wasn't too bad but WOW

[rayofmisfortune]

BRINGING IT BACK Y'ALL

SUN 👏 NEEDS 👏 THERAPY 👏

[smoochhyuka]

Surprising Riize in lingerie <3

Spoiling the boys.

○o。content warnings! NSFW, idol!riize, fem!reader, fairly detailed descriptions of lingerie, established relationship, service top!Shotaro, slightly subby!Eunseok, cunnilingus and no use of protection in Sungchans, oral m!receiving and very tame mean!dom in Wonbins, a wee bit of angst and orgasm denial in Sohees, mention of spanking and cunnilingus in Antons, unedited

Shotaro

You decide to surprise him after an especially difficult week, shyly opening the door, already wearing the new set you bought, closing it rapidly behind him in case a neighbor walks by.

It's a fairly classic set, a push-up bra, stockings and a lace slip in a color that compliments you the best.

Your cute Shotaro, with a big bouquet in his hand, is speechless, almost dropping the present. He bought them as an apology for being too absent lately.

He has a bright smile on his face, slowly handing you the flowers and taking off his shoes. "W-wow...", he stutters, "You really went all out for me today, baby."

He is a giggly mess, but at the same time he's frozen in place, just checking you out. He might ask you to do a little spin, but that's the extent of it. If you want to, you know, not stand around in the hallway anymore, you need to say something.

You lead him into the bedroom, just sit down at first, at the edge of the bed, and kiss slowly, taking things from there.

Even though you had sex numerous times already, he treats you like it's your first time all over again. Asking if you're alright, if you like what he's doing, what you crave at that moment, making sure to worship you~.

Exploring your body in a completely new way. Rubbing, biting, pinching or kissing new places. The most playful sex you two ever had.

He's going to buy you more lingerie in the future.

Eunseok

It's his birthday, the first one you two celebrate as a couple, actually. He has made a few jokes about birthday sex. Not a few, a lot. So many, you knew it wasn't a joke anymore. So you decided to grant him his wish.

You both sit in his car, it's a rather quiet drive to your apartment. At a red light, you call for his name, making him look over at you. What he didn't expect is that you already pulled down the top of your dress, revealing an almost fully transparent lace bra, hugging your tits cutely.

Let's just say he didn't stop at the following red lights.

You have no idea how you made it all the way up to your door while making out this intensely. He's pressing you against the apartment door while trying to turn the keys in the keyhole.

You just stumble into the living room, Eunseok is already taking off both of your clothes. You have never seen him this desperate before.

A lot of humping and wet french kissing, if you ever wanted to take charge, now is the time. Anything you say goes, you could tell him to jump, and he'll do it, holding his boner. ("Me when a bad bitch tells me to do something *🫡*")

If there is a kink he has been wary of previously, he'll also do it without giving it a second thought (realizing he has just been a little judgmental before...)

He'll be fairly rough, though, and cum really fast~ he can't control himself when you look this sexy.

Sungchan

Last time you two drank together, he told you how much he likes these cute négligées. It was a little bit of a comment on the side, not an actual request, but you still went ahead and bought a satin one in his favorite color.

You just left the shower, your boyfriend already in bed, mindlessly scrolling on his phone. He doesn't really look up as you lie down next to him, just as you start to run your hands along his chest, he turns off his phone.

Reacts rather composed. Smiling at you and pulling you closer, placing kisses on your cheeks, forehead and neck, whispering into your ear how beautiful and sexy you look.

In his mind, he is going full on caveman-mode. Awooga. Just wants to sex you.

Pampers you, he feels somewhat grateful you listened to him this attentively and work hard to impress him. You just need to lay back and enjoy what he's giving you. He starts by massaging your back a little bit, your hands, and moves on to your breasts.

Sungchan won't take off the négligée, just your panty underneath to slowly eat you out, giving you multiple orgasms.

"What did I do to deserve this?" "I am a really lucky bastard." "You're seriously spoiling me, Y/N."

Sensual, hot and deep missionary. Omits the condom, he doesn't care tonight.

Wonbin

You know he likes cute things. While scrolling through TikTok, you saw an ad for an online shop that sells cute character and animal themed lingerie, and decided it'll probably be right to your boyfriends ally. You had no specific plan or date in mind, when to wear it, though.

Today he promised to come visit you right after dance practice, but they're taking a lot longer than anticipated and you're growing restless. It's the perfect time to whip out the set and send him a picture, in hopes he'll hurry up!

You begin to worry as he has opened the message, but didn't answer for a whole 25 minutes.

"Open the door." is his only response.

He's panting, still in his dance clothes, and you're hit with an overwhelmingly strong smell of his perfume, probably because he dumped the whole bottle on himself. "I came here as fast as I could."

You're still wearing the set, Wonbin pulls you closer to him and shamelessly checks you out, pulling the fabric to the side, revealing a little bit more of your tits. "Someone has gotten really desperate, huh? To wear something like this?"

Cocky Wonbin! Ignore that fact that he just sprinted to come see you. He literally feels like he's won in life.

This cockiness translates into the sex itself as well, he's getting a little bit of a snarky and mean!dom.

"Show me how much you missed me." as he leans back, pumping his dick leisurely, instruction you to kneel down in front of him.

Sohee

It's your six months anniversary, you just returned home from a wonderful and fun date and want to relax at home for the rest of the evening, maybe watch a new show or play a game.

At least that's what Sohee thought, you had gotten seriously horny throughout the day. He treated you so well, so delicately, and he has said some seriously cute and heartfelt things to you -- how can you not want to fuck his brains out!

You know how your boyfriend is like when he's horny, and this is definitely not it, so you need to help out with a few tricks. You excuse yourself, going to your room to change while he waits in your living room.

You pull out the only type of sexy underwear you own, it's a simple lace bra and matching thong. Since you're already wearing make-up, jewelry and have your hair done, you look hot already, even if it's a generic outfit.

Sohee is a little taken aback, he didn't expect this at all, and it shows in his reaction. At first, you grow a little insecure, worried you might have taken it too far.

After composing himself, he just pats the spot next to him, urging you to sit down. "When have you become so bold?" he asks you in a sultry voice, freely letting his hands wander, kneading your boobs. "You should've told me you needed a little help, sweetheart..."

Teases you with his fingers, plays with your clit, but denies you orgasms. He's showing you a different side of him you didn't expect.

Tells you to ride him, you're now fully naked while he's still wearing all his clothes. Every time you get close to an orgasm, he pulls you off, effectively edging himself as well.

No because he got the biggest confidence boost.

Anton

He spoils you so much, with presents, kisses, massages and cuddles, so you figure it's only fair to give something back.

You invited him over, both wearing proper attire, Anton a dress pant and shirt, you are in a black mini dress, eating a homemade candlelight dinner at your kitchen counter.

You already planned the whole night, just waiting for the right moment to go into your room and change into the little négligée you already arranged.

He's cutely complimenting everything: your looks, the food, the atmosphere, the effort you put into it. He is grinning from ear to ear the whole night, shyly praising you for breathing.

As you both start to wash the dishes, you excuse yourself, telling him you need to take off the heels you have been wearing. In actuality, you're keeping them on, just taking off your underwear and slipping into the different set of clothes.

Confused by the sound of your heels on the floor, Anton turns around to ask why you haven't taken them off, just to see you wearing something even sexier, more revealing than before.

In all honesty, he already had a massive boner the entire night, this was just his tipping point.

Picking you up and carrying you back into the backroom, dishes abandoned, he will make sure to show you how much he appreciates your effort.

He's desperate, horny, and rougher than usual. Hot, wet kisses on your pussy, sensual and deep thrust from behind, he might even spank you a little bit if you're fine with it. Two, three or four rounds, as long as you can keep up. He's greedy tonight.

[astonmartingf]

YOU'VE BEEN ON MY MIND—

— co-parenting with alonso has been smooth sailing, until he starts dropping hints that he wants to be with you again

P5 ★ LATE NIGHT DATE DISASTER

amgf almost 3k words i think? i'm back! honestly this was a fun write. mention of lewis and his story enjoy the condom ig? iykyk, also see you for the second half of this story we're almost ending guys 🫡 special chapter tomorrow or maybe later tonight :p

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You don't try to hide the nervous feeling inside your chest, granted it was your first time out on a date with anyone for that matter. And even more so with Alonso, the last time you went on a date with him Ales wasn't in the picture, and even after then— things went downhill for your relationship.

"Lance! You know what to do right?" You call your cousin from your bedroom. He arrived two hours early after Ales' afternoon nap and looked after him while you "prepare for your date." It was unnecessary but grateful nonetheless, Lance gave you a few dating tips in the modern times.

The thought made your eyes roll, it wasn't like dating then and now had any difference, granted the only person you dated was Alonso but it wasn’t that long ago since you went out on a date right?

“You better not use Ales as an excuse to skip out on a date, especially this one because it’s with your baby daddy, co-parent partner Fernando Alonso.” You cringe inwardly hearing your cousin talking about Alonso, knowing they also race for the same team.

“Okay, first off all what the fuck are you talking about. Second, do you actually talk to him like that?” Lance enters the room with Ales in tow, dressed up in matching pajamas with a mischievous look on his face, a telling sign of Lance possibly corrupting his young mind, or you finding another excuse to ditch a date.

“Well… there’s not much of a difference, but I do speak more freely to you than to him. So I’m just saying all this as your baby cousin Lance and as Nando’s teammate Lance. Anyways, we’re helping you outside and watching you from the driveway, are you driving?” 

You walk, Lance following you closely behind to the front door, “I offered to meet there but he’s picking me up. A proper date he said.”

Lance nods to himself, “I get it… I mean thinking back of the previous dates you’ve ditched, picking you up would be a sure fire way to have you on the actual date itself. Points for Nando today, soon he’ll get closer to the pole position.” Lance winks before raising his eyebrows suggestively, making you shudder at his stupid innuendos.

“Lance! That’s your teammate for God’s sake, and I’m your older cousin, respect us at least. Pole position? Ugh, you’re such a child. The more words that come out of your mouth, the more you’re convincing me not to leave you alone with my child. You’ll be the one going out the door with Alonso after all this.”

“Hey,” Lance holds his hands up in surrender, “I was joking, I swear no more. I will shut up, look Nando is at the gate already. Would you look at that, it’s time to go.” 

Leaving you no time to respond, Lance pushes you out the door handing a purse in your hands, the contents inside are your phone, lip gloss, a small perfume bottle, and a piece of condom. You turn around glaring at your cousin, watching through the glass window, a smirk full of mischief behind them. 

You shake your head disappointed, pulling your phone you frantically type a message before meeting Alonso waiting patiently leaning at the passenger door. “How long have you been waiting?”

It was only then that Alonso looked up, “Not too long ago… Wow— Hello. Uhm… you look absolutely stunning, breath-taking.” 

A smile grows on your face, “You don’t look bad yourself, it’s been a while huh? This…”

Alonso nods his head, opening the door for you. You sit in the car, as you catch him taking a deep breath then fixing up his suit before entering the car with what seems to be a nervous smile on his face. 

Hopefully he’s as nervous as you— sitting up straight, hands building sweat as your breaths shorten the close proximity making you feel as if there’s a limited amount of air for you to breathe. It was new and jarring. You’ve been inside a car with Alonso before, but usually you have Ales or a surgery case in mind, now it’s just you two— not as Ales’ parents but as Alonso and YN.

“I’m nervous… truth be told, I haven’t thought this far ahead, I was stuck between asking you on a date and the ways to convince you. I’ve been scrambling around like a headless chicken on what to do, but I thought about your schedule and wanted to do something more chill and laid-back night out. No stress, fingers crossed.” Alonso laughs, taking small glances in your direction and focusing on the road ahead of him.

Your heart warms at Alonso’s train of thought, his attention to detail of your schedule leaves you in awe. You feel transported back in your 20s as Alonso picks you up from work during your anniversary and opting to stay in instead of celebrating out making sure you’re well rested.

Greeted by the familiar gates of his house, Alonso pulls his car in the driveway, opening your side of the door. “I thought we could eat dinner and talk in the safety of my house, is that okay? I forgot to tell you, maybe we could’ve worn something more casual but what’s wrong with dressing up for the occasion right?”

Taking Alonso’s hands you laugh at his words, “It’s all good, I think the outfits help bring the vibe. I mean where else will I get the chance to dress up outside charity events in the hospital? Thank you for bringing us here, I prefer the comfort of your home as well, and if you’re cooking it might beat whatever food I’m craving at the moment.”

Alonso opens the door, and you are greeted with a candle-lit kitchen, the lights in the living room set to dim with the soft sound of a piano playing somewhere completing the atmosphere of the house. “For some who’s been scrambling like a headless chicken this seems well thought out.” Shrugging your coat off, revealing the back of your dress— Alonso’s breath hitches, taking the coat from your arms. He couldn’t help but stare, especially when you’re looking this good, it would be illegal, the thoughts and words wanting to spill out of his mouth.

“You take my breath away as ever. I don’t think I’ll get used to this.” You laugh at Alonso playfully rolling your eyes, slapping his hands— you try not to get his words the best of you. Despite your heart going over 300 kilometers as blood rushes through your cheeks, you shake your head knowing how well Alonso is with words. “What are you not getting used to?”

“I don’t think I’ll get used to you being the mother of my child.” A small gasp escapes your lips, his words catching you off guard. You tilt your head, unsure of what Alonso meant by his words. “I think I got lucky, despite all that happened, you’re here and I’m spending time with Ales. I’m glad we’re doing this.”

A small smile escapes your lips, nodding to yourself, “I’m glad we worked things out, I think I can confidently say I’m happy of how far we’ve come, not just as Ales’ parents but our relationship has gotten better.”

Alonso laughs in agreement, before ushering you to one of the seats in the kitchen island watching him cook him your meal, catching up on things and what not. It was comfortable, and relieving, as time passes by you grow confident at how things are with you and Alonso. Sipping wine, laughing at jokes, and taking jibes at your situation— two years ago this would’ve never happened, you wouldn’t have let yourself feel vulnerable in front of him. 

Two years ago you only saw him as Ales’ father, but now he was your friend, Alonso. You take a sip of the wine as Alonso recalls a story from the past causing an outburst from you ending up in a debate on what actually happened.

“That wasn’t it, Lewis told me what happened between him and Nico.” Alonso glanced in your direction, brows raised at the revelation. “How come you know? I didn’t hear about this.”

You were taken aback, “Lewis called me the night after. and I may have helped him from Nico…” 

This time it was Alonso who gasped, leaning on the table waiting for you to tell more about the story, “I saw them fight, and Nico’s sister was there, watching it unfold with me, I couldn’t just stand and watch, I helped Lewis and left. Frankly it was none of my business and neither should you ask me about it.”

Squinting his eyes, Alonso pieces out the timeline before staring right through your eyes, “You were there when she gave birth right?” 

You press your lips into a thin line, “I can neither confirm nor deny— patient confidentiality.” Shaking your head, you avoid the conversation all together, thinking back of Lewis and Nico just opened a whole new can of worms you’re not ready to discuss, especially not to Alonso.

Despite your poor excuse, Alonso shrugs, letting you off and dropping the conversation completely. The night was slowly coming to an end, you helped Alonso with cleaning up not before another argument on cleaning up which you won in the end, leaving him no choice and instructing you to wipe the dishes after he cleans them.

You fall into the rhythm of habit that has once been for the two of you, nursing another glass of red as you sit on the couch with him as the night grows deeper. “I’m glad I got to do this with you, especially before the season starts. Maybe we can do this once a week with Ales next time.” 

Before the season starts.

Who would’ve thought that it would only take those two words before you escape the illusion of domesticity in front of you like a fish out of water. How long have you been talking without ever mentioning racing, ever? It was only then you realized that you never discussed racing with Alonso since.

You were feeling comfortable because of winter break, in your head he was just Ales’ father— but at the end of the day you’re forced to come back to reality, and he was still racing. And the season was about to begin. 

“The season is starting?” You repeat the words out of your own lips, you couldn’t believe it. The small bubble of you and Alonso actually working it out fades into thin air. And you find yourself falling into the same loop, facing the reality that things will never work out for you and Alonso. 

It didn’t happen then, and it wouldn’t happen now— especially not now, not until he chooses to race, and as far as you’d like to hold on, patiently waiting for him, you lose confidence in yourself to hold on any longer. With a man like Fernando— he wouldn’t end the blaze his firing up in his career, and as the season starts and holds promise, you doubt he would want to put a stop and end things.

Everything is hard, Alonso is a hard man to keep up with, he’s a beast on and off the track— as much as you’d prefer to have him all to yourself and Ales, you should’ve learned that by now. It’s selfish of you to demand of him, but whenever you see him with Ales, it’s tugging on your heart strings at his best efforts to form a relationship with him— not just Ales, but it’s slowly working on you. But you won’t let yourself forget.

In love there will always be choices, and for you, you’d rather not have Alonso at all if you’ll be sharing your time with him and his damn races. And this time, you’ll choose yourself and Ales all over again. “Shit, did I say something wrong?” You blink, staring at Alonso who was mumbling to himself.

Do you blame yourself for his worries?

At one point you did, but you know Alonso of all people will understand why you choose this, and as much as you want to try, it would be too much of a risk. “It’s about the start of the season right?”

Your silence only confirms Alonso’s worries, “I’m sorry YN, do you want to go home? I can take you-” you shake your head, placing the glass of wine on the coffee table, you up and leave not before grabbing your coat and purse from the kitchen island.

Alonso was much quicker, grabbing your arms, pulling you back in, resting his foot on the door stopping you from leaving. Opening your purse he holds his breath, after catching a glimpse of the condom in your purse, presumably ignoring it, he picks up your phone to message Lance.

“You’re not leaving at this time of night. I know you don’t want to stay any longer, but please wait for a few minutes. I messaged Lance and he’s on his way, please wait.”

Your lips twitch, your emotions and intuition conflicted at Alonso. Only he could set your heart into flames and you’d gladly walk through it if it’s him at the end waiting for you. Like a ticking time bomb, a test for your strength as your eyes wander all over his face.

“You know you can do whatever you want here, and after all of it you’re free to leave.” You suck in your teeth, this is the Fernando you knew— calculative. Proud. You knew he was playing mind games, but you couldn’t just get up and leave, not when Alonso racing causes a big effect on you, you’re on the losing side here. 

You step forward, walking towards the door, leaving Alonso no place to go, back flushed at the door, Alonso keeps his eyes on you, daring you to make a move. Inching closer, and closer, you press your body against him, hot breath fanning on his cheeks, keeping your eyes right through his. Knowing well that you can leave and make him want more, you keep your body tight against his, softly grazing your cheeks on the stubble of his beard.

His hands snake behind your back, back arching at the warmth of his hands, contradicting your cool back, lighting you ablaze as Alonso pulls you closer, for a kiss. Wet and hungry, you feel him smile as you smirk at him. Your fingers tingle, throwing them on top of Alonso’s hair, tugging and pulling them as he moves down your neck peppering them with kisses as your head lolls back giving him free range, like a painter presented with a blank canvas.

Your eyes roll, hips flushed against his, you’d gladly let yourself get lost in this moment, you’d gladly surrender yourself in his arms— but as much as you want to stay, the lights of Lance’s car pulling up outside the gate evokes a wake up call from you.

Pushing him away, you hand him the coat before turning around, it seems Alonso isn’t finished as he pulls you in closer for another kiss, whilst helping you put the coat on, pinning your ass flat against his before pressing sloppy kisses all over your neck. It was hot and heavy— head tilted to the side, as your hands ghost over his cheeks before yanking him away from you.

You stand in front of him, eyes staring over his brown ones as you watch a reflection of yourself, you wipe the smudged lipstick with your thumb before smearing it all over Alonso’s lips. You could barely ignore the sound of his heavy breaths leaving you intoxicated. “I guess this is goodbye, Alonso.” 

You pat his cheeks softly with a small smile on your face, grabbing your purse and pushing him to the side leaving him frozen as he watches you walk past him, making your beeline to the gate and onto Lance’s car.

“Is everything okay?” Lance asks you as you enter the car.

You nod, not trusting your own words. “Yeah… things— they happen.”

Lance nods, dropping the conversation before driving you back home.

You’ll never catch yourself slipping, not again.

★ YOU'VE BEEN ON MY MIND — @namgification @nebarious @minkyungseokie @viennakarma @lxclerc @booksandflowrs @c-losur3 @lichterfee @moonyzsworld @e-nonsense @vicurious28 @dannyriccsupremacy @thearchieves @welovediaaxx @vogueprincess @mael1pastry @khaylin27 @whydowesleepeachnight @iridescent-sol

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Written for @steddieangstyaugust - day 12: Terrible Things - Mayday Parade. Only inspired by the theme of the song.

Eddie never thought he'd live long, no matter what people kept telling him. He had a soul of a rocker and those were like fireworks - loud, bright, and went out with a blast. Their lives were brief, but for Eddie Munson, it was worth it.

He'd see old people and pity them, so full of wrinkles, their hair going that sad shade of grey. They would be frail and have way too much time on their hands, and he'd think - this is never going to be me. It's better to live fast and die before I become someone else.

He lived according to his own rules. He was loud. He was abrasive. He spoke his mind, even if no one cared for it.

He was supposed to die. And then he didn't.

And okay, maybe underneath the gratefulness to Steve Harrington from pulling him out of literal hell, he felt just a little bitter. His death was supposed to mean something. Now that option was gone.

The reality of old Eddie Munson was starting to hit him. He'd just waste away in a dead end job, go grey, maybe lose his hair too - as much as he loved Wayne, his bald head was a constant reminder of the possibility. He'd have wrinkles and stuff. And he'd have to lie every single day about who he really was, for forty years, maybe more. What a future.

But as time passed, Eddie found himself thinking less and less about the heroic death that he wasn't granted. Maybe it was because he was constantly surrounded by his friends. Maybe it was the music, it always helped him work through things. Wayne too - nearly losing Eddie broke the man, and Eddie couldn't do it to him. Nope.

And then there was Steve Harrington, the impossible combination of all things good. Somehow, the former jock and heart-throb of all the ladies in Hawkins saw Eddie kissing a guy and didn't freak out. Well, just a little. For one day. Then he drove back to Eddie's and, while Eddie was wondering when he'd get punched, nervously explained that he wasn't mad at Eddie for liking guys, but he was mad at himself for waiting too long. Which was, uh. Wow. The previous guy was forgotten in a heartbeat - "he wasn't that good of a kisser anyway," shrugged Eddie - and a new chapter of Eddie's life began.

It never occurred to him that the new chapter could be close to the end of the book.

As he was staring at his x-rays, listening to results of his bloodwork, and trying the phrase "lung cancer" on his tongue, he had sudden realization that maybe grey hair and wrinkles weren't so bad. He just hoped he'd live long enough to see them on Steve one day.

[slutshamethesquirrels]

Lost Lamb

pastor's son!geto x fem!reader

length: 12.8K (oof my apologies)

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

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

A Disclaimer:

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

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

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

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

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

Is that pastor getos boy??

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

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

i cant believe this!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank god we’ll never know!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”You-. You love me?”

”Unconditionally.”

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

”I love you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make me.”

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

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

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

“I’m not- ah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don't believe in god.”

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

“I’m confused.” You admit, sniffling.

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

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

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

“Just- just listen, please?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

“Y/n! Please, come in!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geto’s mother cuts in, quickly elaborating:

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

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

“It's okay, you can go.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It's-”

God, why did your throat fucking burn like that?

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

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

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

“Hi.” Is all you can manage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You despise yourself for your reaction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Claire’s.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t know what to do with that.” His brow furrows, troubled as he recalls the memory, his eyes darkening “It’s not like it hurt, you know? Not really, she was a preschooler and I was over six foot tall but still- kids aren’t supposed to hit, you know? And it was… she wasn’t hitting me like a child hits people, y/n. She was throwing legitimate left and right hooks, with follow through, and I just remember wondering where the hell she learned that. Anyway-”

He’d gripped her arms, just enough to contain her, and she’d shrieked with all her might, kicking and screaming at him to let her go while he begged her to calm down.

“Mimi, what’s wrong? Why are you being cruel to me?”

”I don’t want me to leave you!”

The immature phrasing breaks your heart. You could imagine what his reaction had been. The same soft pout he’d given you over and over throughout the years.

“I just held her, rocked her, tried to convince her she could come play whenever she wanted, y’know? But she was absolutely inconsolable. So I asked her why she didn’t want to go home, and she… God, she said-”

”He hurts us.”

“Their dad?” You interject, your voice trembling against your heightened emotion. You can feel dread pooling in your gut as he nods, confirming.

“What-” You swallow, feeling nauseated “What did she mean by that?”.

He looks you dead in the eyes and your blood runs cold. You had never before seen that expression cross his features. His eyes were always dark, but in that moment you were peering into a lightless cavern. He doesn’t elaborate, only shakes his head ‘no’. You don’t push it, and the momentary lapse of sanity seems to fade. You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

He’d taken that information directly to his parents, who had reminded him that redemption was always possible. That we as people had to have grace for others. Jesus was friends with societal rejects. Whores, thieves, and beggars. All they could do was pray about it, they’d said, the rest was up to God and the state.

He left for college not long after that, but he couldn’t get the thought out of his head.

God and the state.

God and the state.

He tried them both. Over and over, spending his free time on his knees at the nearest chapel to his college campus, spending the drive home calling and anonymously reporting what he knew to any government official he thought would listen. All of his calls went unanswered, ultimately.

“The longer it went on, I- I don’t know. I went insane a little bit, I think. It’s kind of a blur. I just tried to knuckle down and study. The less I thought about it, the better I felt. And then Satoru-” He chuckles at the name, shaking his head incredulously and pawing at his eyes as he giggled like a little boy “Fucking. Satoru.”.

His college roomate, who you’d met briefly the summer before the arrest. You thought him to be a little wild, a little brash, but nothing prepared you for Suguru to tell you he was a little more than into psychedelics. He was always trying to get Suguru to loosen up a little, let himself experience something outside of the mundane small town life he’d always lived. Satoru was spoiled, rude, a nepo baby who’s daddy “allegedly” paid a large sum of under the table cash for him to attend the same prestigious college that Suguru did despite having a GPA lower than the Mariana Trench.

“He isn’t dumb, though. He’s actually a genius, I think. He could comprehend academic concepts I had to study hours for in minutes. He just has this thing with authority-”

It wasn’t until Satoru convinced him to start smoking pot that Suguru began to question the existence of god.

You screw your face up, and he puts a hand out to halt you from saying something you were never intending to say in the first place.

“Weed had very little to do with this. I didn’t get high and decide to murder anyone, it’s not like that. It just took the edge off of everything. I don’t think I knew I experienced anxiety until I smoked for the first time and knew what the world felt like without it.”

Without the cutting edge of his inner turmoil, and away from the prying eyes of his parents, he came to a conclusion one night while sprawled across his dorm bed as his high pulled him off to sleep; maybe God couldn’t do anything because he didn’t exist, and the state couldn’t care enough to do something about it, but he could.

He fought himself on it for a long while.

But every time he'd come home, he'd sit behind the girls in church, already perturbed by his irritation with religious ideologies, already uncomfortable with the way his Sunday best was digging at his skin- and Mimiko would throw glances at him over her shoulder, her eyes begging for him- for anyone to intervene.

“Do you remember the last Sunday I saw you before it happened?” He asked, and you nodded, your throat feeling tight at the memory.

You knew he hated church, it was all he’d ever talk about on the drive to the local burger joint after. You hated thinking of him in this way when he was so frustrated, but you always thought he looked incredible pulling his hair loose from his signature bun, thought his fingers looked so pretty tugging at the top buttons of his shirt, thought his snarl looked just as enticing as his smile in the afternoon light. Sometimes he'd pull his car off an old dirt road after, hike up your dress and take you right there just to blow off steam.

That Sunday was different, though. He had driven you straight home, his hands white knuckle gripped on the wheel at ten and two. Precise, methodical. His jaw clenched so tight you worried for his teeth. You’d considered asking if he was okay, but your mother whispered to you from the grave not to bother with men when they get like this. So you’d sat in thick silence, not even the radio on to help dampen the hellfire you could feel omitting from his pores.

“You know the Hasaba’s?”

He'd asked you, his voice grim and his eyes never leaving the road. You had nodded, a small

”Yes.”

Falling from your lips. His fingers had tapped against the steering wheel as he inhaled through flared nostrils.

”You ever notice how the dad's always a little weird with young girls?”

You didn't recognize his voice that day.

”Yes.”

He chewed on his cheek, nodding slowly, swallowing back bile.

”He ever make you uncomfortable? Push any boundaries?”

You’d gone silent, fixing your face to your passenger window, your breathing going uneven. You couldn't explain it, but you felt like it was wrong to answer that question truthfully.

He spoke your name like a warning.

”No.”

He’d laughed. Not the laugh you knew him for, but once that was low, humorless, painted in disbelief.

”Liar.”

“You were a real prick that day, y’know?” You half-spit at him, but your animosity is quickly quelled by his response.

He nods, pursing his lips “Yeah. I know. I don't know where my head was at the time, I think I had long since lost it. I could've at least told you I loved you before I pulled away-”.

“But you didn't.” You whisper, almost accusatory.

“You’re right. I didn't. It's one of my biggest regrets.”

When he’d dropped you off at your house, he hadn't walked you to your door or chatted with your dad like he usually did. He hadn't even looked at you, or waited in his car for you to get safely inside, instead speeding away before you'd even made it six feet from the car.

Three days later around dawn, the town was rocked by the news of Mr.Hasaba’s murder. He was found face up in his living room with a singular bullet lodged in between his eyes. It hadn't taken long for the authorities to lock in on Suguru. What are the odds that one man dies and another disappears in the same county at the same time? What are the odds that they attend the same church? What are the odds that the families would be intertwined and blended by way of two vulnerable little girls? It was obvious.

“The girls…” You struggle to find your words. This was the biggest part for you “What happened to them? What was your plan?”.

“I had them in the car before I ever pulled my handgun out. They were watching a movie on my phone with headphones in. Y/n, I know what people must think but you have to believe me, I would never hurt them.” His voice becomes rushed and hurried at the end, crackling on the edges and you can't help but scoot closer, holding your hands out for him to take. He does, and you give him a pointed look.

“I know. I believe you.”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment and then reopening before he continues.

“Satoru has this Aunt that lives upstate. She's middle aged, super rich, and has always wanted kids but can't have them. Uterine cancer took that away from her in her twenties. I always thought she'd be a great mom so I-”

You nod, understanding, your body sagging as you feel more weight than you knew you’d been carrying falling off your shoulders as he tells you about his plan to get the girls to her. He’d been apprehended about an hour out, but he'd begged the officers to call her.

“I told them I’d take whatever punishment they gave me without a fuss if they'd just get the girls to her. Life in prison, death row, whatever. The officers told me that wasn't for them to decide but they called her anyway and she was there within the hour filing an emergency protective order.”

He smiles a little “She’d never met them, y'know? But she heard there were kids that needed her and immediately rushed to get them. That's exactly what the girls needed, that type of love.”.

Apparently, the system smiles fondly at those who take down child abusers. Or at least, in his case they did. The D.A. had thrown out a hell of a plea deal in record timing after reading over his case.

“I still had to go to court for sentencing though. I think it helped that the girls were there. They were technically classified as 'victims’ but they got so excited to see me that Satoru's aunt had to take them out of the courtroom before anything had even started. They were yelling at me, yelling that they wanted to sit with me. I think the judge was a little amused.”

You squeeze his hands, smiling up at him through misty eyes.

“Don't look at me like that,” He breathes, his eyes soft “I’m not a hero, y/n. What I did was awful-”.

“I know. But you're not a monster either. I was so scared that…” You trail off and shake your head, not sure of what you're denying.

“It's okay,” He reassures with a placating smile “I get it.”.

“You don't, though.” You tell him, watching as his face contorts in confusion “Do you remember the first time you told me you loved me?”.

He nods “In my dorm.”.

“Right. Do you remember what I said?” You're slowly inching forward, crawling into his lap.

“You asked me if I loved you, like you couldn't believe it.”

You hum the affirmative, settling yourself on his thighs “And you told me you did. Unconditionally.”.

He nods, obviously still confused, and you let go of his hands to run your fingers along his jawline, noticing the way his cheeks flared red beneath your proximity.

“Whether or not you meant to, you set a precedent for me. Unconditional love is all I’ve ever known with you, Suguru. I was scared that if I came up here today and found every rumor to be true that I’d still love you… because I would. I’m glad that doesn't have to be the case.”

His lips meet yours, hesitantly at first, his hands carefully cupping the sides of your face and his thumbs swiping at the skin there, almost petting you in a way. His tongue pokes past his lips, just slightly, swiping against your lips deliberately. You're happy to part your lips for him, whimpering as he swirls his tongue with yours and washes you in the familiar taste. The wet sound and a pitiful handful of whines from somewhere deep in your chest fill the once stale and silent space as he guides you down and backward until your spine is flush with the mattress, one hand moving to cradle your head like you were breakable, like you falling against even something as soft as the plush of his bed without his protective grip may shatter you.

He pulls his lips from yours and hovers over you, planting both hands on the comforter on either side of your head, his hair tumbling down around you like a veil, until all you can really see is an obsidian void and him, him, him. His lips are pursed, eyebrows furrowing as he inhales slowly and his eyes flutter shut.

“I’m sorry, you didn't come here for this. I lost control, I-”

“Suguru Geto.” You reach up and let your fingers dance along his devastating jawline until you're gripping his chin between your pointer and your thumb. He opens his eyes slowly. You always thought he looked a little fox-like, his features pointed and sly, yet so soft on the edges. Gorgeous. He was always so god damn gorgeous.

“I don't believe in god. I can’t anymore. But every fucking night I’ve prayed for you. Just in case.”

His eyes flick across your features, some combination of reverence mixing with guilt painting his features.

“I’m sor-”

You cut him off again, this time by taking your fingers and sliding between his parted lips, pressing against his tongue to silence him. His eyebrows widen in shock at your dauntlessness.

“No. No more apologies. What I’m trying to tell you is that I love you, Suguru. If you want to apologize, fuck me like you're sorry.”

His eyes darken as you speak and he swirls his tongue around your fingers before sliding his mouth off of them with a wet popping noise, reaching up to grab your wrists and pin them on either side of your head, laying flush against your body as he dips into the soft curve of your neck, slurping and lapping at the skin there like all he ever wanted was to taste you.

“Since when did you get bossy?” He questions between kisses, a hiss pushing through his teeth when you grind down on his thigh “I’m not gonna lie, I kind of like it-”.

His teeth sink into your flesh and you rock harder against him, whining pathetically as he dips his head lower, letting go of your wrists only to rid you of your shirt and yank your bra down, not bothering with taking it completely off before he's got his mouth wrapped around one nipple, lapping in fat motions back and forth across your areola while one hand gropes your free breast, his thumb swiping back and forth over your stiffening nipple.

You curse and keen, writhing beneath him as he teased, relishing in his expert conduction of your body as he alternates between your breasts, sucking on your sensitive nipples and looking up at you with blown out pupils, drinking in the way your face contorts when he gets it just right. It isn't until your entire chest is damp with his saliva that you grip his hair, pushing on him and urging him downwards.

He chuckles but doesn't move, smirking up at you with sparks in his eyes “Use your words.”.

You pout, huffing dramatically “That's not very apologetic behavior, Sugu.”.

“How can I apologize appropriately when I don't know what it is you're asking for?” He coos, his grin carrying a wicked edge.

“You’re impossible, I’ll do it myself.” You push him back from you and he cocks a singular eyebrow as he watches you wiggle around and rid yourself of your remaining clothing, re-settling on his bed with your legs parted, your pussy practically dripping down your ass and onto his sheets. You realize as you trace over his still and captivated expression that you weren’t the only one that no longer knew the other. Just as you’d spent years apart from him, he’d spent years apart from you. You are different now. Older, wiser, more bold, less likely to take his shit.

You trace your body with your hand until the pads of your fingertips slip through your folds and make contact with your clit, your movements slow and deliberate, for now. Suguru’s eyes trace your every movement as he stands on the side of the bed and begins to shed his own clothing.

“Who’d you shave for this time?” He asks, the sound muffled as his shirt slides up over his chiseled frame and then his head.

“Why? Jealous?” You tease, and he scoffs incredulously as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down and shedding them one leg at a time, taking a little longer on the leg that has the ankle monitor.

You move your fingers a little faster as you shamelessly reach out your free hand to palm him through his boxers, a moan escaping your lips as you begin to feel the pleasure of your own hand.

He grunts and tosses his head back, shamelessly thrusting against your hand “What if I am?”.

“Then you’d be dumb,” You fight to keep your tone even and confident “because I did it for you.”.

“Fuck.” He spits, seemingly losing all patience as he lunges down and flips your body until your front is flush against the mattress, your legs dangling off the edge and your toes barely touching the floor “Are you serious? Tell me you’re serious, y/n. You knew you were going to fuck me today?”.

“I didn't know, exactly- shit!” Your hips buck involuntarily as his hand slips between your thighs to roll your clit between his fingers, hard and slow “B-but there was a part of me that- nngh!- hoped-”.

That seems to be something akin to the answer he wanted, because he straight up moans into your shoulder blades before slathering the area in sloppy kisses, trailing down your spine with fervor.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” It's a question but you can't formulate a response, not when two of his fingers are slipping inside of you, stretching you out so deliciously “From here on out, I’m gonna be the best fucking husband you could ever ask for. You'll want for nothing. Just say it, tell me you belong to me, y/n.”.

“Husband?!” You half question half squeak, but he ignores you, only curling his fingers inside you with precision, hitting that gummy spot you could never reach with your own fingers that had you burying your face in the comforter to muffle your moans.

He pulls his fingers out of you and you almost protest but then he's on his knees, burying his face into your cunt from behind and causing you to nearly scream into the mattress. You give his college days credit for how fucking good he is at giving head, his thumbs spreading your lips wide so he can trace around your clit with precision, tracing figure eights around the sensitive nub before flattening his tongue and sliding one slow and wide stripe through your entrance. You expect him to stop there but he doesn’t, continuing his trail across your other hole and all the way along the crack of your ass.

“Suguru!” You're unsure if you're reprimanding him or crying out for more, and when you throw a glance over your shoulder he simply keeps his gaze locked on yours as he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of your asscheek, causing you to yelp.

“Say it.” He tells you, his hand moving to toy with your clit.

“Say what?” You know what. You just wanna see how far he'll take this.

He tsks disapprovingly, his free hand moving to push two fingers into you again, curling in time with the stars he was drawing in your clit “I can do this all day, you beautiful little brat.”.

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, your eyes scrunching shut as he adds a third finger, the stretch making you see stars. The flame that had been on a low simmer in your gut was now a roaring fire, flames lapping at every inch of your exposed skin with every well timed movement. It wouldn't be long before you fell apart on his fingers and you knew it.

Apparently, he did too, because he slows his movements to a torturous pace, chuckling as you attempt to shove yourself backwards onto his fingers as he pulls them back in time with your movements, seemingly amused with the way you’re squealing his name in frustration. It’s not enough, and too much. It’s so mean, and yet you can’t imagine yourself going a day without it ever again. You can’t imagine yourself going a day without him ever again.

“Make me cum, please-” You beg, and he hums condescendingly.

“You know I’d love to, doll but unfortunately I’m still waiting on those magic words.” He sighs dramatically and picks up the pace again, waiting patiently for your walls to start spasming around his digits again before returning to the same daunting pace.

“Oh my god!” You groan in frustration, slamming your face down into the mattress like a petulant child, one fist meeting the space beside your head in a shaky dejected punch.

“It’s actually ‘Suguru’, thanks.” He quips, and you’ve officially had enough.

You scramble forward until he’s pulling out and off of you with a slick lewd sound, and then flipping around to face him, all but climbing his body like a tree before twisting ever lock of hair you can find in one fist, yanking him down to eye level with you and using your unoccupied hand to shove your finger in his face with a exasperated pout.

“You, sir, are supposed to be groveling.” You remind him, and he smiles genuinely, with his whole face, his eyes scrunching into crescent moons and the white of his canines shining through plush and soiled lips. You have the same realization you had at sixteen; he’s so beautiful. Even now, even after everything.

…And then his tongue darts out and swipes a stripe up your pointed finger, and you cry out in protest and yank him back a little by the hair that was still gathered in your fist like he hadn’t just licked your literal genitalia, and he laughs the same way he did when you were kids, and your heart explodes in your chest.

“Is that what it takes?” He asks, his words coming out a little breathless, accompanied by a small chuckle “If it’ll get you to tell me you’re mine, I’ll grovel.”.

You roll your eyes, but he's undeterred as he reaches back and grabs your wrist, squeezing lightly to signal for you to loosen your fingers. You do, and he pulls your wrist to his lips, kissing languidly in gentle motions up your arm until hes reached your jawline, murmuring against your skin as he does so.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I never ever wanted to leave you. I love you, please. I love you, I’m so sorry.” His lips tickle against your skin, and he remedies it with kitten licks that have goosebumps erupting from your skin and heat pooling in your core.

His lips find yours and you feel yourself swelling with emotion as he speaks between sloppy wet smacks of your lips.

“M’ gonna get my shit together.” He promises “Gonna give you everything you want and then some. Doesn't matter if that's a camper that we drive around the country or a big house with a picket fence and a couple kids. I'll spend my life worshiping you, y/n. It's all I know how to do.”.

“Okayokayokay-!” You concede as you push yourself backwards as far as possible “I give up, I’m yours. Shut up and fuck me before you make me cry again.”.

He giggles and it sounds the mid-notes on a piano. Comforting, familiar “Since when are you afraid to cry in front of me? That's kind of our whole thing; crying.”.

“I’m not afraid, Suguru.” You scoff “I'm just sick of crying. I don't want to anymore.”.

You dip your hand into his boxers, taking his weight into your hand, causing him to hiss directly into your open mouth in response. You hadn't realized just how much you were affecting him, but the head of his cock is already slathered in precum, making it easy to stroke him in the way you know he likes, applying more pressure at the head and a little less at the base, pausing occasionally to press your thumb in circles across his slit, needy whines escaping your lips every time he blesses you with another drop of wetness, every time his cock twitches in your grasp.

“Shit, slow down-” He gasps, but grunts as he fucks into your closed fist regardless, like he can't help himself.

“Awh, Sugu, gonna come from a two minute handjob? Who are you?” You tease, and he can't even bother to giggle along with you, his brow furrowed in concentration and his lips parted in pleasure as he reaches down to push his boxers down to his thighs so he can watch you work his body, a needy, uncharacteristically high pitched keen escaping him at the scene below. You don't fail to notice the way a ridiculous amount of precum dribbles from his cock onto the soft skin of your stomach the minute he takes in the sight.

“A man who's thought about this every night for the past four yea-”

You pick up pace, causing him to cut himself short with a moan. Smirking, your free hand moves to gather the precum splattered across your abdomen, gathering the salty liquid with your index and pointer, grinning maniacally as he follows your fingers all the way to your mouth with wide, almost devastated eyes. You lick them clean, providing him with an overly dramatic whimper as you swallow, and his whole body tenses.

He snatches your wrists with force, pinning them above your head as he gasps for air and swallows thickly, his lips pursed together and his eyes scrunched shut as he wills himself not to cum, his dick spasming against your belly.

“No.” He says it in the same manner that one would use when correcting a mischievous dog, and now it’s your turn to giggle at him.

“Y/n, I am going to fuck you until you forget I was ever gone. I’m telling you. You've really done it now. Whatever happens next is your own fault.”

The words have you leaking, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“Please?”

“God. Fucking. Dammit.”

He all but tosses you up towards the headboard, rising briefly to shed his boxers before he kneeling between your parted knees, licking his lips hungrily and taking in a shaky breath as he grips to his last string of self control.

“You on birth control? Say yes.” His voice is distant; far away and fucked-out.

You confirm, but barely get the words out before he's flipped you into your stomach, pushing you practically flat against the mattress with his hands on the small of your back, using one of his knees to part your legs as far as they’ll go. It almost hurts, but before you can complain he’s pushing into you, a needy groan escaping his lips as you suck him in inch by inch, panting like he’d just run a marathon.

“Easy, easy, Suguru, please-” You beg, and his thumbs rub apologetic circles into your back.

“Sorry love, I'll be gentle.” He huffs, desperate “You just feel so good. Better than I remember. Tell me when you're ready, yeah? We're about halfway there.”.

Halfway? What the fuck do you mean halfway!?

…Is what you intend to say, but it comes out as a muffled jumbled mess as you do your best to accommodate him. You throw a glance over your shoulder just in time to see him gather a large wad of spit in his mouth and allow it to drain from his lips onto the place where your bodies meet. Your pussy clenches around him as his spit slides down the crack of your ass and flows over his cock, dripping down beneath the two of you onto the bed below.

“Like that, huh? You’re a freak, baby.” His grin is absolutely demonic.

You rock yourself back on him in response, effectively wiping that egotistical look off his face with one buck of your hips. He begins thrusting, shallowly at first, and then quicker, deeper, until he’s pounding into you with force.

Every thrust has you crying out into the mattress, mewling as he slides against your g-spot over and over, pushing down on your spine to angle you just right, and you silently thank god that he knows you so well. His slightly obsessive tendencies were more useful in some areas than others. You remembered the first time he fucked you, his eyes analyzing your body with surgical precision, mentally mapping every sweet spot in academic detail, committing you to memory and since then he seemed to know exactly how to use you to his satisfaction. You knew him well enough to know that nothing got him off quite like knowing he could get you off harder, faster, better than anyone else. Better than yourself, even.

He groans, allowing his head to fall forward until his forehead rests between your shoulder blades, sweat mixing between the two of you as he slows temporarily, rolling his hips rather than thrusting, leveraging his cock inside you and grinding down against your walls, the pleasure rolling over you in one never ending wave instead of repeated splashes.

“Fuck, Suguru-!” You keen, gripping at the sheets for some sort of purchase “Please, please, I wanna watch-”.

You slap at his forearm to signal him to let you move and he does, pulling out of you and watching with a fucked-out gaze as you settle on your back underneath him, moving to lock your legs behind his waist as he settles between your thighs and reaches down to guide himself back in with a hiss.

His thrusts are slow and methodical as he presses his lips to yours, swirling your tongue with his and allowing you to capture the wet muscle between your lips and suck, earning yourself a groan and a change in pace, lust overtaking his determination not to bust. He reaches down with one hand to rub the most delectable circles on your clit, whining and whimpering as you clench around him in response, the pressure in your stomach building at an exponential rate.

“I swear to god, it's like I can't get close enough.” You can't tell if he's blathering to you or himself but he reaches down and grabs the underside of your knees, throwing your legs over his shoulders and fucking into you impossibly deeper until you're certain he's bruising something inside of you. The pain mixing with the pleasure has you teetering on the edge of euphoria, your whole body tensing as tears pool in your eyes and you yelp with every thrust, trying to formulate words even though he's effectively smoothed over every ridge in your brain. All that's left is him and how good his cock feels reshaping your body from the inside out.

“I, I’m-” You attempt to announce your impending orgasm but no words come out, only an illegible mess of jumbled stuttered moans.

His hand slides down between your bodies to toy with your clit again “Please, baby, please cum for me, I can't hold out much longer. Not when you look like that.”.

The sound of him begging for you is the final nail in the coffin, your whole body spasming in an explosion of pleasure as you cum on his cock, damn near screaming his name, curling inward and gripping at his hair with desperation as he only pounds you harder.

“F-fuck, fuck, baby- yes. Holy fuck you're incredible. All mine. You're mine.” He's a blubbering mess above you as he blatantly chases his own high, his breath labored with effort, his eyes wide and drinking in your expression as you fall into the territory of overstimulation from the continual force. Your legs tremble against him, every thrust making you jerk and twitch beneath him.

“S-say it baby, fuck. Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Suguru! I’m yours, please-!”

His orgasm hits him so fast it almost shocks him, his whole body stilling as his dick spasms inside you, painting your walls with an obscene amount of cum.

His muscles relax as he rests his forehead against yours, trying desperately to remember how to breathe. You tap at his shoulder and he mumbles an apology, helping you to pull down one leg at a time.

He pulls out and flops down beside you on his back, comfortable silence overtaking the familiar room, nothing but the sound of your breathing slowly evening out echoing off the walls.

You turn your head to look at him and he’s already staring at you, smiling gently.

“Hey.” He whispers cheekily, like an awkward teenager as he reaches over to brush locks of sweat dampened hair away from your forehead.

“Hi.” You respond in the same tone, grabbing his hand and bringing his knuckles to your lips, pressing kisses to each one.

“I think your parents wanted me to come up here and convince you that God was real.” You tell him, and he laughs, bringing his hands up to cover his face in embarrassment. You giggles meld with his, adding “I think I got a little distracted.”

“A little?” He questions through the laughter, and you nod.

“Mhm!”

“I mean, I think I saw him there for a second if that counts for anything-”

“Oh my god, you're so dramatic!” You playfully slap at his bicep and he catches your wrist, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“I love you.” He murmurs, pressing kisses into your hair, inhaling your scent like he couldn't get enough.

“Unconditionally?” You ask.

“Unconditionally.” He confirms.

masterlist

[kingdomhate]

Cuddling Them Scenarios!

Kylo Ren: The Order had kept him busy for a long time, and although he did not like it, it meant the world to him you were patient with him. However, on a particularly bad day for him, when nothing seemed to go his way, he came back to you, not caring of his hateful attitude, until he did. You asked him a couple questions like, "What's wrong?" and "What happened at work today, sweetie?" and he had told you he didn't wish to speak about it, but you still pushed, out of concern. You couldn't make it better unless you knew what it was.

But it annoyed him, and he snapped at you, "Jesus, are you fucking deaf, Y\N?! I told you to leave it!" And you immediately shut up, leaving the room to deal with the incoming tears threatening to flood your face. At first, Kylo just stayed silent and sat himself on the couch, dealing with his anger himself, but after a few moments of gathering himself, he could hear the soft and muffled cries of you sobbing and it struck him like a ton of bricks. He should not have spoken to you like that. You, his beloved sweetheart, he yelled at you. When you tried to help him.

"Y\N... baby, that wasn't me, you know that. I didn't mean to treat you like that, you don't deserve it. I just had a bad day, Snoke wasn't too cooperative... Honey, let me in. I'll make it up to you." You sniffled, and sighed, wiping the tears as you approached the door and opened it, allowing him a good look at your eyes red and puffy with the tears and he felt his heart break. He wraps his arms around you, squishing you against his warm chest and scoops you up, leading you to the bed and wrapping a few (thousand) blankets around you as he keeps his arms securely around your waist, pulling you against him. "I love you, you know that?" He whispers against your ear.

Anakin Skywalker: After finding out he was not granted the rank of master but a seat on the council, he needed to sulk about it. That night when he went home to you, he fell into your awaiting arms, ready to welcome him after a long, rough day. He sighed against your neck, lazily wrapping his arms around your waist, his golden brown hair falling into his eyes, but that did not matter, all that mattered was your embrace. Oh, how he craved your embraces.

"Cuddle me. Let me sleep with you." He asked with a tone of tiredness. You nod and lead him to the bed, laying on it with him and cradling him, his head on your chest, running your hands through his sun-touched golden locks. He lets out a content hum and pressing his long fingers to your other hand stationed on his arm, he intertwined your fingers together, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. His eyelashes flutter a bit, signaling he's falling asleep. You smile to yourself, satisfied at the way you could practically lull Ani to sleep. But also because the reward, the sight of seeing him asleep so soundly, so peacefully, it's a pride thing for sure.

Luke Skywalker: It was the end of the day and you found yourselves in his bedroom, with him bent over your hands, his sandy brown hair draping over his face as he fixates on the task of painting your nails. "You're going to love it, Y\N. I'm almost done!" He says, as he finishes painting your pinky, blowing on it before moving away, flipping his hair out of his oceanic blue eyes. "So, whatcha think?" He asks with a glittering smile, crossing his legs and resting his cheek on both of his hands.

You bring your hands to your face, gazing at the color and letting out a breathy chuckle. "Wow! How did you learn to do this so good?" You raise an eyebrow. He shrugs. "I had a good teacher." He smiles, nudging your arm. You beam at him. "Come here." You say, beckoning him closer, he leans in forward, more and more until... Your lips meet, a soft, dreamy sigh escapes his lips, reaching up to cup your cheek lightly in his hand. His eyes close as he feels his head spin.... you were so gorgeous, so sweet, so kind and patient... like a dream. A dream in which he has been fantasizing and romanticizing about for countless days on nights. A release from the scorching heat of the Tatooine suns beating down on him as he works hard at the Harvest, desperate for an escape. And then came you. His escape.

His hands move to wrap around your waist and pull you down backwards on the bed, careful of your newly polished nails to not get smudged as he rests his head in between the crook of your neck. You go along with it, letting out a sigh as you relax into the mattress and embrace, wrapping your legs around his waist, as he strokes your hair, his breathing slowing more and more.

Obi-Wan Kenobi: Obi-Wan had just come back from a mission. The first thing on his mind? You, the Council and a good, long warm bath. He steers his ship to the Temple, hopping out and treading to communicate his findings and results to the Masters. Once he was finished, he tiredly hopped back into his ship and navigated to your guys' house. He climbed out, pulled his hood down and took his robes off, hanging them on his lower arm. "Y\N? I'm back, princess." He calls, as he gazes around, wondering where you've gone. Until you came running from seemingly nowhere and jumping on him, yelling, "Obi!"

He grunts as the wind is knocked out of him, but instinctively wraps his arms tightly and securely around your waist, chuckling a bit as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "Hey." You kiss his cheek and then lips. "Come on, I've got a surprise for you!" You slid off of his body, and lead him to the kitchen, a meal you've cooked for him sitting on a plate, and he can see the steam wafting off of it. "And I'll get the bath running." You say, dashing off to turn on the faucet, applying slightly hot water, and ordering the shampoo, conditioner, body wash and even a bath bomb in order for him.

You come back out to see him damn near finished with the food and a loud laugh ripples through both of your throats at the sight of your faces. "The bath's running." You tell him, skipping to get behind him and rubbing his back soothingly, he groans and relaxes. He finishes the plate and lets you lead him into the water, undressing him slowly, and helping him in. "Come here." Obi-Wan smiles at you, his blue eyes almost pleading as he outstretching his hand to you. With a grin, you undress and hop in in front of him, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you against his warm chest as he pressed kisses to your neck and dabbed water on both of your bodies. "

[kawaiioni]

I wanted to be cringe and draw King Magnifico.. (not a redesign, just wanted to get him out of that ugly stank ass outfit of his, like do my man a favor)

Also, just a warning, a rant is in coming

Regarding Wish

I watched Wish a while back- and it's been on my mind since then. Now, you're probably asking yourself "wow! They must've liked this movie so much that they are still thinking of it," WRONG. This movie, singlehandedly, was the worst Disney film I have ever seen with my own two eyes..

How your movie gonna feel like a million things happened and nothing at the same time? How are you all flopping after making classic after classic? 

I know that a lot of Disney fans currently are claiming that the movie wasn't that bad, but by saying that.. you're still saying it had something bad in it and let's be honest, it was everything from music, art, story, etc.

I don't like being negative though, so let's talk about one thing that I did like.. that being King Magnifico. [The crowd boos]

Now, I hate to defend a man whose villain song made my ears bleed but I gotta— since through the whole story I was cheering for Homie. In a way, he had a point to fear who gets their wish granted but at the same time, it wasn't correct he was keeping them for himself, duh. This right here could have served us enough content to make an interesting premise, let's be honest.. wishing upon a star doesn't do shit, but in the same context.. let people still try to achieve their dreams. (The princess and the frog did this.) 

Overall, I wouldn't have minded all too much if they had redeemed Magnifico— his bad qualities which are having the biggest ego, being a narcissist, could have led to an interesting story where he learns to be more humble but at the same time, kind. Even then, being kind was something we saw him doing.. he carried a heavy burden of wanting to appease all of the kingdom goers. That in a way, it was hard not to feel sorry when he lowers the curtain to unveil a man who is accustomed to being used as a genie rather than being able to form meaningful connections with people.

In a way, his character (as well as everyone else's character in this movie) felt like wasted potential. If this is the way that every single original IP of Disney is going to be, then someone needs to pull the plug because I cannot sit through another Wish.

TLDNR: King Magnifico felt like he had multiple personality disorder in this film because it seemed like he was good then bad— but also, King Magnifico had a point and subsequently was then jumped on camera and ended up on world star.

[oddballwriter]

HEYAA. I’ve been so obsessed with ur MK stuff lately it’s insane. Wondering if I could request a little blurb with Steven? 🙏 Maybe artistic reader who uses Steven as a muse of sorts? 🎨 Maybe Steven finds reader’s sketches of him and Reader is like embarrassed 😨 that he may be uncomfortable with it? Add and change up anything you’d like!! 😽 ur my fav writer thank you 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼❤️❤️

Your Drawings Look like Heaven to Me

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Summary: Steven always enjoys your drawings and art, big or small, painting or simple sketch and doodle. But he's a bit surprised when he discovers that you have a habit of drawing a certain muse that you have. 

Warnings: There's nothing that I can actually thing of other than it's mentioned that the reader draws Steven when he's unaware, but I don't think it's that bad. Also 'Y/n' is used once. 

Author’s Snip: This was meant to be just a little blurb but I got the writing equivalent of zoomies. You asked for a cookie and I made you a cake with layers, frosting, and toppings. This is insane how did I do this. I think it's because I've been drinking a monster while writing this. I have paused the video that I was previously watching in the background because I am so focused. I'm not even joking this shit is 1517 words long and that is before I proof and grammar checked it. I think this might be the longest writing I've done thus far. Enjoy your free cake, anon.

Notes: This is written in the lens of a world where it's just Steven, so none of the actual events in the show happen.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Steven always knew you drew. You met at your jobs at the museum, at the time, you were working the front desk while he of course worked at the gift shop. The two of you weren't all too familiar with each other since you only saw each other in passing. You knew him as Steven from the gift shop, and he knew you as Y/N from the front desk. You did learn more details through others. Steven was a chatty guy who had an impressive knowledge about Egyptology and mythos. And you were the person at the front desk who did nothing but sit there and draw all day when not granting visitors entry, or in most cases, taking a second to scan a preprinted ticket and check the schedule.

Steven heard talk that you were really talented in your art. You were able to draw what were basically pictures of things you saw or even made up. He hadn't seen your actual art till one day he found you sat where he usually did for lunch, drawing the statue man that he talked at everyday. And wow, were they right about how well you could draw. Though while you talked to each other you laughed "Well of course I'm able to draw him perfectly. He doesn't move.".

That lunch break was a long time ago. You two started dating between then and now. Steven managed to leave the museum for a new one that actually let him be a tour guide. You eventually managed to find work that let you use your skills in art instead of using it to beat the boredom of your job. And you also moved in with Steven in his little flat, in which he cleared out some of this clutter to make a space for you to work and make your own.

You would draw little doodles for Steven to have. Like Gus swimming around. An Egyptian god that you made using his books as a reference. You even drew him a little alligator with a speech bubble saying "Later" on a sticky note. He still has it by the way. He laminated it using clear tape and has it in his wallet as a pick-me-up when he's upset or as a lucky charm of sorts. You always made drawings for him. But never once had he thought that you would make drawings of him. Let alone how many drawing you made of him.

Steven isn't a man who likes to snoop around regularly, feeling a massive sense of ruining someone's privacy. But you said that he could always look through your sketchbooks and art pieces if he wanted, as long as it wasn't a commission that was still being worked on, which he respected. You, like any other artist, had a plethora of sketchbooks of different sizes that served different purposes. There were your personal sketchbooks, outline and testing sketchbooks, practice sketchbooks, a lot of sketchbooks with a lot of different things they were for. It amazed him just how many you had and how you were able to remember which is which.

He knew which ones were ones he gifted you though. Steven was never confident when it came to gifting you supplies. He wasn't an artist himself so he didn't know what was perfect and what was something you would say thank you for out of courtesy. One of the things he used as a safe play were sketchbooks. The bookstore he frequented had a section of art stuff and found that the sketchbooks were not only great quality but also had various designs on their covers. So he'd get you one almost every time he went.

When he looked at them on the shelf next to your desk he realized that he had never actually seen inside of those ones. He was a bit hesitant to grab one since he didn't know if you would want him to. It's not like he could ask you right now. You were out running some important errands and he didn't want to bother you. However, they were on the part of the shelf that you put all your regular personal sketchbooks, which he was allowed to look at so he took a one random from the collection and flicked through the pages.

Out of some coincidence, it was the first sketchbook he got you, which was admittedly one he got you before he learned what pages were good for actual art. The first few pages were doodles that were likely from testing how the paper held up with the actual process of drawing which soon stopped and the rest of the art was actually taped on like they originally belonged to another sketchbook.

Steven thought of that as a clever use for the pages. You would sometimes make art you thought was nice on miscellaneous papers and would simply take the piece with the art out and stick it somewhere else. But he soon notices a theme amongst all the doodles and drawings, which then follow into all of the other sketchbooks he gifted you.

Him.

Most of the drawings in these sketchbooks were of him.

They were all different. Some were him lounging around or taking a nap. Something that would have made him unaware of you creating a drawing of him. There was one that was him asleep laying in bed from what would be your side of the bed. His face was calm, the limpness of his arms and body was captured perfectly, the sheets drawn with the most accurate wrinkles, and the lighting gave the impression of the light of the morning that came in through the curtains. It looked like you simply took a picture of him while he slept but it was clearly a sketch drawn using a pen and pencil.

There was these bust and face portraits that spanned through out the books, of course of him. The first were already so good in detail considering these had to be drawings of him from memory. But they only got more detailed as they went on. You managed to get his amount of stubble right. You had the little baby curls that lived along his hair line. The crease between his eyebrows he had since he always had a slight anxious expression. That tiny little dimple that he had next to his nose that he didn't know existed until you pointed it out one time.

Steven's mind was boggling to him to see such detailed drawings of him that looked so carefully done even when they were simply quick sketches. They were life-like. They were him. They were Steven. To be honest, how could it not? You see his face all the time. So why wouldn't you have him completely memorized. It was just the fact that you had taken time and pages to draw him and him alone.

It was a bit jarring, for the both of you, when you walked through the front door with a hand full of groceries and other things from your errands and he was seen looking at all the drawings of him. You were embarrassed that he finally saw all your drawings of him and worried that he would think it was weird. He thought that he crossed a line and breached your privacy.

You two avoided talking about it till Steven finally did during dinner later that evening.

"You, uh, draw me... a lot." Steven spoke. "Yeah. I do." you blush as you avoided eye contact in case his eyes showed that your fear of him finding your habit with drawing him was strange was correct. "Why do you draw me so much?" he questions. You sighed, "It's sort of a habit I formed." you confess. You proceeded to explain how it started,

"I first drew you as an exercise to get rid of some art block. I usually draw faces of people I know as a means to do that. So I drew you. It was okay. But when I looked at it a couple days later I thought that I could do it again to improve on detailing some more. Then I used you as a study for lighting and colors.".

"Then, sometimes, I would just draw you when I thought you looked pretty or thought of you. And that's sort of what I've been doing." you explain further. "I thought you would find it weird if you saw all the times I drew you and so I just put them in the books you got me and hoped you wouldn't see them." you say in a timid manner.

"I don't think it's strange. I think it's actually quite flattering." Steven clarifies. "I was just surprised that you think of me as something worth drawing. Especially with such detail." he remarks. You breathe a sigh of relief at that.

"If I'm entirely honest, love," Steven spoke up, "Never tell me that you're drawing me from where I am. I'll get nervous and possibly ruin the position that you're drawing me in." he remarks.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

My You-niverse: Bud Cooper

Fandom: Oscar Isaac

Pairing: Bud Cooper x F!Reader, throughout the series: Marc Spector x F!Reader, Steven Grant x F!Reader

Summary: You and America get stuck portal jumping until you reach your universe again. In the meantime, you meet various versions of your husband.

Warning: a bit of period typical sexism, reader is pregnant

Series Masterlist

When you kick the blankets off you, your eyes widento see your round belly. Oh shit. Oh fuck. You were pregnant.

Not Marc notices you just sitting there and came back to you with concern, "You okay? Is the baby okay?" He kneels down and gently presses a hand to your stomach, "You okay, princess? You giving mommy some trouble this morning?"

"We're having a girl?" you ask in disbelief.

Not Marc's brows furrow, "Yeah. We found out weeks ago, remember?" he reaches up and places the back of his hand to your forehead, "You're not feeling warm. Do you feel dizzy or anything?"

You shake your head, "No. No, it's-I had a weird dream. I suppose I'm just trying to make sure this isn't another one."

Your supposed husband shakes his head, "It's not, honey. I'm here," he cups your face, love in his eyes, "The baby and I are here. We're real."

You nod, "Yeah, yeah, okay."

He wasn't comforted by your answer so he stands with a grunt, "I'm calling out of work today."

"No, no, love, it's okay. I promise."

"I just want to make sure that nothing happens to you two, okay?"

Not Marc walks over to the phone on the nightstand and dials a number. He asks the phone operator to direct his call to his work, "Hey, Mike. It's Bud Cooper." Bud, so that was his name, "Yeah, the wife isn't feeling too well. I'm staying back just in case anything happens to her or the baby. Yeah...sounds like a plan. Alright. Bye."

He hangs the phone up and looks back at you, "Maybe we should get some food in ya and see if that helps?"

Bud helps you out of bed and guides you down the stairs to the kitchen. He has you sit at the table and looks around the kitchen, "Um...where can I find the pan?"

"Cabinet next to the stove," your answer surprises you. How you already have the knowledge and layout of the kitchen is new.

Bud chuckles to himself, "You know how useless I am in the kitchen. This is the women's domain," he opens the cabinet and grabs the pan. He sets it on the shelf and continues to ask you where everything is.

You eventually get up and grab everything for him, but then he has you sit back down, "Okay, I can cook all this myself. See, I'm not completely helpless."

You hum, not loving Bud's current views on women. Sure, this was the norm of this time period, but that didn't mean it didn't leave a bad taste in your mouth.

While Bud cooked, you decided to grab the newspaper out front, but not after promising him that you'd be careful. When you picked up the newspaper, the year stared back up to you 1955.

"Oh wow."

"Good morning, Y/N!" a woman from across the street waves at you as she kisses her husband on the cheek.

You wave back and proceed to walk back inside the home...your home. As you sit back down, Bud places a plate of breakfast and some juice in front of you. Everything is cooked just how you liked it.

He then sits across the table from you and grabs the newspaper you brought in. He places his glasses on and reads while shoveling eggs into his mouth.

Your stomach jolts and you gasp, making Bud immediately rushing to your side, "What is it? What's wrong?"

You smile up at him, "She kicked."

"She's becoming more active, huh?" he kneels down and presses a hand to his belly again, "Looks like you're up and awake, huh, princess?" she kicks again and Bud laughs, "Yeah, honey, this is your daddy."

He continues to talk to your little girl and you can't help but get emotional at the sight. You and Marc are married, yes, but you didn't talk about kids yet. You were content with or without them, but you weren't sure on Marc's views. Considering how he grew up, you're sure he'd be apprehensive.

If, no, when you get back to him, you'll probably have to discuss this with him. Because you can't help but imagining Marc in Bud's position right now. You see the love in his eyes and you just know that Marc, hell even Steven and Jake, would be good fathers.

"You okay care there, lovebug?"

You wipe your eyes, "Yeah, just really happy."

Bud smiles up at you, "I am too."

__________________________

Marc and Steven never thought that hopping through multiple universes was so exhausting. So far they'd been to three different universes. They had to make sure they were in disguise, not wanting to disrupt anything in each universe. But every version they've seen of you, made them miss you even more.

Doctor Strange, seeing the worry and hopelessness in their eyes comforted them, "We'll get her back. It just...takes time."

Steven, currently fronting, shook his head, "I know she'll be okay. She's strong. I just...if someone travels through so many universes, will it effect them in any way?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest."

___________________________

You've been in this universe for less than a day and you already dread leaving. You didn't think yourself of a motherly type, but every time you looked down at your belly or rubbed it, your heart felt so full.

Despite ensuring Bud that you're fine, your "husband" insisted you shouldn't be working on the nursery. So he rolled up his sleeves and worked on painting the room. A baby pink already adorned two walls. How cliche to make your baby girl's nursery fairytale themed. She was your princess after all.

While Bud works on the other two walls, you put up some pictures and artwork. You take a step back and observe your work. You find yourself smiling and rubbing your belly.

"Everything's turning out great, I'd say!" Bud exclaims, coming up next to you and wrapping an arm around your waist.

You nod and he kisses your head, "Why don't you start up lunch while I finish this up, hm?"

"Sounds good!" you peck his lips and waddle your way to the kitchen, when you enter the threshold, you're suddenly somewhere else.

"Fuck!" you whisper to yourself and you're suddenly tackled to the floor as a rain of bullets fire your way.

"I fucking told you to get down!"

"Marc?" you ask to your..husband?

"Pope! Let's go!" another man runs into the room, helping your husband's doppleganger to his feet and then you.

"More hostiles are headed this way. This mission is fucked."

'Pope' nodded and then turned to you, "Rosa, you good?"

You gulp and nodded, "Y-Yeah. I'm good." you looked down noticed the tactical gear you're donning. A knife strapped to your thigh and a gun to your other.

Who were you in this universe?

[emlan]

Finished DLC!

Here's some Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erdtree ramblings, spoilers under cut.

.

.

.

.

. DLC catered to me a lot since I'm a Zanzibart cutscene enjoyer who loves map exploration and Vista money shots but I'm kinda HUH-cat.clip when it comes to some new lore bits and in general the world feels divorced from main game even though main game characters and topics are around?

I don't remember how much souls DLC tied into the other story, but I'm using The Old Hunters from BB as base and it really added extra value to its world and characters and there's just nothing new of real interest in SotE from what I can see…

In a vacuum I can only appreciate even more (literal) brother on brother action but Miquella seemingly being deeply obsessed with Radahan is so out of left field??? Granted I'm not an lorester but what I remember as Miq's key things from flavor text when it comes to ties to other people is him being sad about being unable to cure Malenia of her rot and also sad about not being able to grant Godwyn his true death. The only ties to Radahan is by proxy of his sister fighting him? (Was she even fighting him just to bring bro his crush to him? This makes Caelid getting nuked by her even more of a waste.)

It's so out of nowhere that the Epic Prime Version of him comes off as a cheap soyjak pointing bit pandering to Radahan fanboys (pretty sure he's like no1 fav guy for players right), but fanboys will obviously not be happy about him just being a hollow shell again (?) that might not have wanted anything to do with Miquella (?) so I just can't see this as satisfying for ANY kind of player even on a full Gamer Dude to Deranged Fujoshi spectrum? I imagine deep lore enthusiasts also feels a bit… Ambushed.

I'm not against Miquella doing dark unpleasant or just stupid desperate acts since it was already a popular theory that he was a brainwasher type, but the issue for me is that I'm not sure if this Miq/Rad union is "intended" to be read in such a twisted way even when it's the only way I can read it.

Though I guess the fact general consensus going from "wow Mohg is so messed up claiming Miq no matter Miq's consent" to "wow Miq is so messed up claiming Radahan no matter Radahan's* consent" is poetic….?

*I'm writing Radahan here but really it's also a synonym for 'Mohg' considering he's the one getting desecrated the most.

I'm sure I'll end up watching some vid or writeup making pieces fall into place later but I can't believe Miyazaki is handing me visual age gap brother incest and all I can do is force a strained smile in response!!!

Anyway general whining time:

As much as I love filling out up the map I feel there was too much big "empty" areas. Climbing the dragon mountain was the worst presentation of anything I've seen in a FS title, extremely cheap unfinished filler feeling with the spirit jumps instead of at least adding some kinda atmosphere like the open flower/gravestone fields. The Abyss gimmick overstayed it's welcome since it's too miserable checking if you missed a shiny somewhere without your horse, but at least the stealth parts was such a non-issue it might as well not be there.

While I like that you can see several inaccessible areas from where you stand, and I do think it leads to some fun moments when you're taking a random path halfway across the map and ends up on the other side as an a-ha moment, it was a bit frustrating not being able to tell more clearly how to reach sections. Plus I would've died 10000 times from drops if it wasn't the fact Rainbow Stones protected me from making bad choices.

What mindbroke me most was trying to get into the flower field area north east, having an "oh boy, beating this guy will let me reach it for sure!" moment for both Gaius and Sunflower was such [record scratch SFX]. I did figure posing in front of the statue was most likely the entry afterwards but somehow I had missed the gesture needed (most embarrassing DLC moment considering I tend to fine comb pretty well and the gesture pickup is just sitting there out in the open………. why am I even admitting this shameful thing). Watching trees get knocked over from something moving under the water in the church district was really cool and unnerving and then you realize it's just branch dragon number 800……………..

The wicker men has a great design but fighting them was either a boring slog or a frustrating jankfest trying to toss the bombs right. Peeved that you HAVE to use a furnace pot for the sleeping one blocking the ruin puzzle, hefty should've been fine too.

Bosses are too hectic/aggressive for my taste but that's just business as usual for ER so whatever, last boss really is way too punishing compared to other Hard bosses tho, in fact I just watched ending on YT since I'm stuck still on them :V Camera also makes a glorious return as the toughest challenge of them all.

Think my biggest highlights was seeing the bizarre finger/tongue path under the church and the finger mom boss visual itself and the black humor of the miserable living jars stumbling around with the pot on their head. Ansbach is a hot new waifu and it's very precious how such an upstanding man stays all-in loyal to a Deranged Satan (said lovingly) soooo cute you actually get a "Um, so about how Mohg died…👉👈" prompt with him. There was more NPC voice lines than I expected which was fun. St Trina's design was very neat and shoujo manga. Having to sip syrup 4-5 times instead of the classic Third Time's The Charm is a crime however and I missed making the Trina fanboy jealous until it was too late :/

The open world for all of Elden Ring is such an incredible experience that I'm happy I got to play and I had such a good time and I can't imagine any other studios will be able to reach these map heights but I also hope they never make an OW game again because it's too much when you "need" to replay it.

[guillotinna]

Intelligence analyst! Reader

No romance sorry 🤷🏻‍♀️

Baddie! Reader too bc these men r too comfortable 💅🏻

Imagine intelligence analyst! Reader who worked with Laswell in the past getting called in to look over some Intel. You owe Kate a favor so you couldn't really say no, she wasn't asking. You show up on base with your stupid government clearance, crisp work shirt and bad attitude. Hours turn into days which turn into 2 weeks. 14 days you've been stuck on the stifling base surrounded by brutes. You missed the basic luxuries you took for granted. The dull government building you once dreaded walking into each day looked like Eden compared to wherever the hell you were. And the task force....they were nice enough. Capable, helpful, a little odd but you've been around weirder in your line of work. What annoyed you was how they talked down to you, so clearly underestimating you. Sure you were fairly young compared to your counterparts, maybe your government-issued phone was covered in stickers and maybe there wasn't an ounce of muscle on you but Kate called you here for a reason, that should be proof enough. But no. Your days are filled with "are you sure?", "how do you know?", "who told you that?". Some of it was the team double checking your info, nothing inherently annoying, but the rest of it was rooted in their lack of faith in your skills. What would you have to do to get them to trust you?

Cut to 5 AM on a random weekend. You find yourself awake and unable to fall back asleep, so you head to the gym to stretch out your stiff bones. Being on a military base means constantly being surrounded by a lot of people which is why you've never been to the gym before but you figured the one time it might be empty is ass-crack o'clock on a Saturday. You were right! Plenty of quiet, serene minutes pass as you loosen your tension with yoga enjoying the peace. Until, 3 of the 4 men acting as the biggest pains in your ass clamor into the room, breaking the silence. They notice you quickly being the only people in the facility and of course they make their way right to you. As you get into downward dog, you hear in a thick scottish accent. "Wow, can't say the gym sees a lot of yoga. When was the last time you had a proper workout? " Tired of being spoken down to and slightly delirious from lack of sleep, you blurt out "probably when I fucked your dad".....oops. instead of hearing the shouts of anger you expected, you hear Gaz bark out a laugh and look up to see Soap's mouth agape in indignation. "She got you good mate, my god". Happy to not be screamed at this early in the morning, you glance and the scary lieutenant only to see a small wrinkle where his mouth sits under the mask indicating a smile. "Jesus christ Lass, you've got quite the mouth on you". Oh, he made it so easy. "That's funny, your dad said that too". In return, you get more laughter from Gaz and loud groan of disgust from Soap and he finally walks away. After a clap on the shoulder from the remaining Sargent and a brief "see you later", all parties continued with their respective activities.

Later in the afternoon, when the 141, Laswell and yourself all reconvened, a large part of you was expecting to get torn a new one for disrespecting an officer but instead, as you walked into the room you heard Gaz recounting the conversation to Capt. Price. "-and she was quick with it too captain. A proper shock if I do say so myself. " The chuckle you heard in response told you it was safe to enter the room. Sort of. "I heard you were bullying my Sargent earlier." Uh oh. No sir, just some banter, that's all you swear. "I wouldn't call it bullying. That doesn't sound quite like me." You mustered just as Kate walked in. "Dont lie y/n, I'd be surprised if I didn't hear about your attitude. Now leave these children alone and start working. You're onto something here. " You send a glance to the pouting scottsman only to watch his stick his nose up at you. Children was right. "Yes Ma'am". The conversation in the gym created a positive shift between you and the team. Maybe it humanized you, or maybe they just needed a laugh. Whatever it was, the doubt they shared over your skills eased significantly, allowing you to make more progress than you had before. It wasn't long before you got the hit you've all been searching for.

[angelisgonnastartchangingurls]

richard, on a friday

robbie showed annie some texts he'd exchanged with their mom. she'd asked him if he'd deletd the pictures he took of her yet and he said "of course not, i made it your contact photo when you call me."

mom: oh noooo

him: relax, you look great

mom: well thank u

him: perfect tits, cute bush

mom: i really hadn't trimmed it enough when you saw me, it was a mess, i've since done a better job

him: let me see

mom: lol!

him: take a pic of your bush for me

mom: you're so bad

him: come on, don't be shy

and she'd sent him a photo of herself in the bathroom mirror, in just a bra, smiling, posed just slightly, bush well-displayed. she'd trimmed it down to nearly a shadow, with very defined, angled edges.

him: excellent work, my only note is to take the bra off next time.

annie gave him a blowjob after that. "it's not my birthday or anything," he said, as she wrapped her mouth around him. she was very aware what she was doing -- she had to beat her mom at this.

of course, she already was beating her mom at this, and she'd casually sent robbie dozens of nudes and videos of herself fucking. but it wasn't enough to just win by a margin. she needed to leave her mom in the dust. she got robbie's cum all over her shirt and had to change before work.

ted had asked her out that night but she'd told him she would just come over and fuck him after a work event. the work event was another party richard had invited her to, a fundraiser for a nonprofit. annie wore a short black dress and a white, small pair of panties. no bra. when annie got there, she was surprised to see that richard's daughter was there too. "annie, this is my daughter sophie, this is my therapist annie," he said.

"wow, hot therapist," sophie said, grinning.

"richard has shown me some of your work," annie said. "it's really lovely."

"sophie's in the city for a few weeks as an artist in residence at AIC," richard said.

"impressive," annie said.

"not really," sophie said. "they just kind of hand those grants out. want to get a drink?"

annie was surprised but delighted by how brusque sophie was. she'd expected a wilting little soft-spoken french flower. but she was funny and vulgar and sharp.

"my dad thinks you are so smart," she said to annie. "which i know from a rich white guy sounds condescending but he really means it."

"yeah, he's a very earnest person," annie said.

"it's very sweet. my mom was the bitter acid that balanced him out. now he's fuckin' ted lasso."

"well, it seems like you're the acid now."

"i try but i don't see him much."

"that's hard. i'm close with my dad too. he lives in the suburbs but he's always coming to hang out with me and get away from my mom."

sophie laughed. "i know i have a dead mom so i'm supposed to tell you to appreciate her but my mom was kind of a cunt."

annie laughed.

"you want to do some molly?" sophie asked.

"of course," annie said.

sophie pulled her into the bathroom.

"last time i let someone pull me into the bathroom around your dad, she took a picture of my tits and showed it to him."

"very professional," sophie said, putting a pill in annie's mouth. "don't worry, if i take pictures of you i won't show my dad."

"i'm not sure i minded, honestly," annie said.

"of course you didn't," sophie said.

the night was buzzy, blurry fun. sophie often circulated away from annie, and annie made wide-eyed small talk with other people, but was always grateful when she returned. richard was mostly busy with others but winked at them a lot.

claire was texting annie, and at one point sophie caught sight of a nude claire had sent.

"i definitely didn't clock you as queer but i think france has fucked up my gaydar," sophie said. "no one is fucking gay over there. which you wouldn't think would be the case!"

"i don't know if i am, i just... i met this girl the other week and we impulsively fucked and i think it made us both question..."

"wow, the pussy was that good huh?" sophie said. "can i have her number? i haven't been properly eaten out in like a year."

"i'll give you her number, yeah."

annie texted claire. "i'm kind of busy tonight but do you want to fuck my friend?"

"female?" claire replied.

"yeah, female, very hot, kind of high right now..."

"yes" claire said. "my boyfriend is visiting home for the weekend. yes."

annie gave sophie claire address and put her in an uber. she went back to the party to said goodnight to richard.

"where did sophie go?"

"uh, i kind of got her laid?" annie said. "sent her to a female friend's place who was kind of in the mood."

"well, you two are already fast friends, huh?" he laughed. "have a great night, i'll see you on monday!"

annie took an uber to ted's place. he'd taken a pill, and they fucked hard on the couch, annie's dress still on, panties pulled aside. annie came three times on his cock, and ted finished twice inside her. annie was a mess, and took a long shower after. when she got out, she had texts from claire -- pictures of sophie nude in her bed. annie was surprised to see that sophie was fully shaved.

surprisingly, it came up in therapy on monday. richard was remarking on how nice it was to have sophie stateside for a while, living at his apartment, and the intimacy of that. he told annie that he'd sat in the bathroom and chatted with sophie as she shaved her bush in the bath.

"why?" annie asked. "it was such a great bush!"

richard laughed. "you know, I think it's a when in rome kind of thing. the bush makes sense in france. not as common here. i mean i don't want to speak for all women. she said your friend was shaved."

"she was?" annie said. "surprising. she was not when we hooked up a week ago." she laughed at herself disclosing this kind of thing in front of richard so readily, so eagerly. "maybe i inspired her."

richard smiled.

[nerizys]

Yaya's Cookies, and how it affects Spirits - Boboiboy AU

Contains OCs, OOC

___________________________

A spirit's job is no easy task, or that's how it is nowadays since civilization came into the picture. Keeping balance, taking care of the planet... It's hard work. But that's why the spirits aren't bound by ordinary biological rules. They can easily shrug off radiation or poisoning.

So why did Yaya's cookies affect Taufan in such an adverse way?

Granted it was made with poisoned goat milk, but her cookies have proven themselves to be quite lethal even without the milk.

There are also certain exceptions to this, but he doesn't know why a spirit like Taufan would go manic while they didn't.

The spirit of light has a hypothesis in mind, but he can't confirm it just yet with so little data. Perhaps a few interviews are in order.

Ah, what boredom does to the mind.

________________________________

The first spirit that Solar contacted was Forte, the spirit of Fortification, the youngest known spirit, and works indirectly for TAPOPS

It was also known that she likes to spar with Yaya to practice her power and skill. Yaya was fond of the little spirit too, acting like an older sister to her (despite Forte being 528, not like he can criticize them).

"Hi Elder Solar! How are you?" Forte's face appeared on the tablet, she appears to be lying on her back, she must have been playing while waiting for Veronica.

Being the youngest, she had taken to calling the Elementals 'Elder', after learning they are the oldest living spirits as of now to annoy them.

"Hello Forte. I am fine, I simply have a few questions for you regarding Yaya's cookies"

"Oh... those.." Forte's face seem to droop a little. "What about them?"

"How did you feel when you ingested them?"

"That's it? Well, it was fine at first"

"At first?" Solar asked with a raised eyebrow

"You see..."

"Here, I made some cookies for you Forte" Yaya said, handing the little spirit a basket of cookies.

"Really? I can have them?" Forte asked as she looked at the adorably shaped cookies.

"Of course! Try one"

Forte picked out one of the cookies and tried taking a bite. It's weirdly hard, the taste reminds her of the wasteland days...

"How is it? I made it with a new recipe"

"Ummm, it's not bad, could use a little more flavor"

"I see. Thank you for the feedback" Yaya nods

"Ever since then, she kept handing me cookies, but they start to taste even worse somehow... There are times of improvement but very little" She sighs. It was dreadful.

Solar can only share his condolences for Forte's fate. At least she hasn't fainted from it or become manic.

"Anyways, I have a question for you too Elder!"

"What is it?"

"Can you help me figure out the fuel for this one piece of equipment? We're trying our best but it keeps blowing up. I can use my power so it doesn't get destroyed but everyone would rather have more permanent solution". Forte had picked up a fondness for weapons and many technologies, as they align well with her power, not so well with chemistry though.

Since he's bored. Why not?

"Send it's data over, I'll see what I can do"

"Thank you Elder! Also, Yaya decided to hand out her treats to engineers and mechanics that came to assist us a while ago. She handed a box of them to Remiel. He's an android so he should be fine. Not sure about Kanoa or Mr Esther though

"I see. I'll ask them"

"Wow. Elder Solar socializing? Oh wait, lemme guess. You're doing some kinda experiment aren't you?"

"It is just a test to pass the time" Solar simply stated the truth, he is definitely not slightly miffed about Forte poking fun at him.

"Sure sure whatever helps you sleep at night. Wait you even sleep-"

"Just send me the data"

It wasn't nothing Solar couldn't handle. He quickly found a way around the "spontaneous combustion".

_______________________________

"Hello Solar. How may I help you?" A polite voice had picked up the call. He knows who it is.

"Hello Remiel. I heard Yaya gave you a box of cookies"

Remiel, an android made by a spirit. Solar's quite curious about his functions. For a creation from 50000 years ago, his functions are quite advanced and mysterious.

Raziel knew what she was doing

"Yes. It was kind of her. I assume this isn't the only reason you called?"

"Correct. I am currently studying the reason why we spirits can't seem to handle them" He doesn't have that many options to be honest. Only 11 spirits are confirmed to exist. His brothers liked to keep in touch with the other spirits and Solar himself really had no complaints.

"If it's the results you are looking for... Kanoa is currently curled up in bed. She is recovering. Briar also had some, but he is alright from what I've observed"

"Thank you Remiel"

"You're welcome".

________________________________

"Greetings, Solar" A voice rang out in his mind before he could contact the next spirit he knows.

"Greetings to you too, Neira" Or Oneira if he goes by the name her master gave her. Although she initially introduced herself as the spirit of Dreams, her true identity is the Spirit of Sentience. As such, it allows her to tamper with the senses.

One of which being one-way telepathy.

Solar pressed call, and Neira's face showed up on the screen, smiling.

"I assume you had an experience with Yaya's confectioneries?"

"It's not exactly me per say, but I experience it through Nisha"

"Do elaborate"

Nisha stared at the adorable box of cookies Yaya had made, then at Yaya and Ying.

One's face was almost as bright as the sun in anticipation, the other looked at her with pity. Nisha knows why. She had heard rumors of the dreaded treats.

But she can't simply say no, not when the pink hijabi girl made it out of such good will. She can only hope it tastes good.

So she goes ahead and took a bite.

Shakily, she gives them an "Okay" hand signal.

"Of course, Nisha wasn't actually okay. It absolutely decimated her taste buds in a bad way, and I had to numb her tongue. Then she suffered from a stomachache later" Neira sighs.

"I... see" Solar sweatdropped. Nisha was still in medical care, rehabilitating her movement. 64 years in a cryopod can do that to a person.

"Before you end the call. I have something to tell you as a spirit that's very experienced with the senses"

"And that is?"

_______________________________

'With some input from Neira, the spirit of Sentience. I've confirmed my suspicion. We were simply vulnerable to the taste of the cookies, not the actual ingredients itself. It's both quite the relief and cause for concern'

[ordinaryschmuck]

Hey, do you remember this irritating little turd?

Yeah, that one. From Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends. Remember how it was frequently annoying how he was constantly antagonistic towards his friends, made his own best friend be constantly annoyed by him, and was just sometimes the worst character in the show? Turns out that there's a reason for that.

Apparently, Craig McCracken WANTED Bloo to experience this neat little writing trick called "Character Development." But Cartoon Network, wanting more of an episodic sitcom, gave a big fat no to that idea. Because they wanted this series to have no continuity, they had to make sure that the characters couldn't develop. And that is...nonsense for a number of reasons.

#1

These shows came out the same time as Foster's:

The continuity wasn't MAJOR with these shows, you can still watch any episode at random from either of them and still have a good time. BUT they still had this sense of subtle progression where characters, villains, and little touches in the story. Granted, they're both more along the lines of action adventure stories instead of sitcoms, but KND is a lot more or less the same as Foster's in terms of characters going on goofy adventures and being a comedy for kids. It just so happened that the comedy could be taken a little seriously at times. Besides...

#2

Sitcoms CAN have character development and continuity. You can watch any episode of either of these shows too, BUT there's a noticeable sense of character progression and continuity from all of them. Sometimes it's something simple as a character dating someone else at a certain point or a change in location or even when a character is working a certain job or not. Character development and continuity can still exist and work in making an episode enjoyable without previous context, but seeing these characters grow, even in subtle ways, is great. Mainly because...

#3

Character development is NOT a bad thing. Far from it, in fact. If anything, it makes watching a show more interesting as you can look back at how a character USED to act with a fond nostalgia of "Man, remember when they used to act like THAT?" And then look at how they CURRENTLY act with the sense of, "Wow, this character's really grown up in the last few seasons." And while it feels SLOW in some cases, it gives the sense that the character can learn, grow, and BE BETTER despite how they might have started off. Even Foster's understood this, because...

#4

The Show HAS character development AND continuity. Like how Cheese just didn't exist in the show until a certain point and became a main stay for the entire series. Or how Goo was introduced as another main stay character. Not only that, but after her introduction as this overly imaginative little girl, she learned her lesson to cool down her over imagination so she wouldn't cause the exact same problems in the future but still faced a NEW problem with her imagination that she and the others could learn from. Like it or not, that IS character development AND continuity. It's just that other characters can experience it instead of Bloo. But fine. They wanted to make Bloo a stagnant character who never changes? Sure. I can accept that...Except for one last thing.

#5

DID THEY HAVE TO MAKE HIM SO IRREDEEMABLE?! In fairness, the bus episode IS entertaining, but that still shows how Bloo, as a character, went through regression instead of development. He's not the same as he started in the first season. Heck, he's not the same as he was in the FIRST THREE EPISODES. There, he was written as brash and a bit immature, but still apologetic and polite in certain spaces. He was even about to object to Wilt giving him the bed, but Wilt was too polite to let Bloo refuse his offer. If this was the Bloo in future seasons, he would have guilt tripped Wilt into giving him the bed and would have been the first to suggest Wilt would sleep on the floor.

If the show wasn't allowed to make Bloo develop, I can understand that. Networks and studios can kiss all the asses. But when it got to the point where I couldn't understand why Mac was friends with Bloo anymore, it leaves me wondering why they had to highlight his worst qualities instead of his best ones? To quote MY favorite character in this show, "I'm sorry, but that is NOT okay." The writers have my sympathy, it's not easy trying to appease your network overlords while still making the show good. But if Bloo's an example of anything, it's that studios should trust showrunners more and that character development is NEVER a sin.

[doodlegirl1998]

No one talked or wants to talk about it is how Tenko had more good stuff than Izu. I'm talking about his two faceless friends when Tenchan was a cute baby. No they aren't important and granted Hori can't bakugoufied them any minute

My point is so far

Compared to Izuku's childhood...Tenko was better. He had a lovely corgi,his big sis loved him and he had friends.

"but Kotaro" yes Hori is a coward to go to the laziest option but even so...Tenko the soon to be Le villain had a better childhood than the mc (not forgetting his pain here but it's not as if he was abused 24/7. Hori went to a coward route but we only see one bad day on Kotaro. To be clear not excuse the abuse just saying Tenko had people on his side even if it wasn't perfect)

Now compared to Izuku's past and ....wow.

Izu doesn't have good friends

Never had a fluffy corgi (bk would have killed I know he would)

His mom is just existing.

And he is stuck with his abuser (in the begin Izu didn't had a good view on bk which hori couldn't let stand)

It's just...Izu had a sad backstory but no one gives a shit. Is it sadder than shig? The point it's not this... The point is how the mc has a bad childhood and his villain had a decent one (again I KNOW IT WASNT PERFECT)

Hi @mikeellee 👋,

You do have a good point here, while Tenko had an abusive father in Kotaro (which Hori went super lazy with making him abusive and failed to expand on his abuse), in his childhood he's shown to have more good things in his life than Izuku has had.

Tenko had in his backstory prior to the accident:

A good pet in Mon-chan

A big sister who loved him (although I am mixed on Hana, her lying to save herself from Kotaro as another part of her main appearance doesn't do her any favours. Although that sits more on Kotaro making his daughter that afraid of him.)

A mum and Grandparents who loved him** (although they too are not without fault, they should have acted sooner to stand up to Kotaro but no one can deny they loved Tenko.)

And his two faceless nameless friends who seemed nice from what little we are told.

Whereas Izu in his backstory;

Has never had any pet to our knowledge.

Has no cool big brother or sister.

His Dad is MIA ( apparently abroad working but he's never shown to call Izuku or come home.)

He has no sweet loving grandparents from his mum or dads side.

His Mum* doesn't stand up for him and cries on him about his being born quirkless.

Izuku is never shown to have any friend prior to U.A.

Izuku is chronically bullied (abused) from the ages of 4 - 14 by Bakugou and his cronies. (I'd argue this is actually still ongoing in UA the tone in the narrative has just shifted to be more in Bkg's favour now than Izu's.) And Izuku is still STUCK with Bakugou as a member of the 'wonder duo'... (that whole concept can fuck right off.)

So Shig, other than Kotaro being an abusive POS, actually had more nice things in his backstory than Izu did whereas Izu's backstory (prior to meeting All Might) is just PAIN.

*- it could be argued that Inko is a good thing in Izuku's backstory and while I'm not denying she loves him I'm saying that in their relationship is not all that great... He has to comfort her a lot of the time she's on screen and Hori never shows Inko confronting Aldera or the Bakugou's about her son's bullying. So she's failing as a parent there.

** - While Nao and her parents are actually shown standing up to Kotaro which is leaps and bounds ahead of anything Inko is shown to do for Izu (sorry it's true.)

[justmenoworries]

some thoughts on the Transformers One trailer in no particular order

I've seen some comments complain about the goofier tone but I'm actually all for it. This movie seems to be aimed at younger audiences. Even the most serious Transformers shows weren't doom and gloom all the time and the jokes I've seen so far are pretty good

Not sure how I feel about this being an ensemble movie. The taglines seem to emphasize that this is a story about how D-16 and Orion Pax became Megatron and Optimus Prime respectively, so I'm kind of worried Elita and Bee are either going to take time away from these two that would have been direly needed to flesh out D-16, Pax and their relationship or phase into the background making their inclusion uneccessary altogether

Also not sure how I feel about Orion being the adventurous one while D-16 is more cautious and passive. It's always been a pretty big staple of Optimus' and Megatron's history that they rose up against the caste system together but grew apart due to differing views on how to go about changing the system with Megatron leaning towards the more violent route while Optimus was all about peaceful negotiation. If this version of D-16 doesn't see an issue with how they're treated and doesn't want to explore the world outside that's basically telling us that Orion was the sole leader of the eventual revolution. If that's the case, wow, that's a massive disservice to Megatron's character

this is more petty but I wish the main cast wasn't just all future Autobots. I'd have loved to see a younger Starscream or Soundwave be part of the main group. Someone to take D-16's and later on Megatron's side in the inevitable argument

Heck yeah, Quintessons as the main antagonists! I've been wanting these guys back for years, they're way underused

I love the designs, the overall rounder bodies effectively convey that these characters are on the younger, more innocent side and the facial features manage to be distinct enough you immediately know who's who. The transforming-fights look pretty well-choreopraphed, maybe even on Transformers Prime level

the voice cast does a good job so far. that tidbit where Orion's tone becomes deeper and he almost sounds like the Peter Cullen version of Optimus? Chills. Hope we get this level of performance the entire movie

this movie seems to tackle the caste system on Cybertron pre-war and a Quintesson invasion at the same time. I'm gonna be honest, that doesn't sit right with me. It implies either that the workers are eventually going to be granted rights merely because they were useful during the war or that they sanded the edges off the caste system to make it more condescending parent than actively oppressive regime so more focus can be put on the invading Quintessons as the overall bad guys. both aren't options I'm all too keen on

would love to hear what y'all think!