#{i dunno. but you will if you're seeing this}

[guilty-ff]

𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞

After walking out mid-argument, Dante ends up with Enzo, bad advice, and demon-grade alcohol. The goal? Forget everything. But what good is drinking your feelings away when your body won't even let the alcohol stick?

Pairing: Dante x Fem!Reader

Genre: Oneshot, romance, hurt comfort, mild Angst, Fluff!

Warnings: language, Emotional miscommunication, Mild alcohol use, Mentions of past trauma/abandonment issues

Authors comment: This idea hit me while rewatching the 2007 anime. Dante was drinking and I thought, if he can even get drunk with his regeneration?? Wouldn’t it be fun (and a kinda tragic) seeing Dante all frustrated, trying to get wasted but his demon healing just won’t let him?

It didn't start with a fight.

It started with quiet tension. A half-answer here. A missed call there. The kind of things that build in the background, until one day, something stupid stirring up the tension.

Tonight, it was the dishes.

Not the end of the world, right? Not even a big deal. Just a small, silent irritation. The sink was full. Again. You'd come home late to that same damn pile, untouched, like a monument of Dante's laziness.

"Seriously?" you asked, not even raising your voice at first. "You said you'd clean the kitchen."

Dante, lounging on the couch with his boots up and one arm slung behind his head, barely turned his head. "I will."

"When?"

He yawned. "Eventually."

You stood in the doorway to the kitchen, fists clenched at your sides. "You live here too."

"Yeah," he said, stretching, "and I kill demons for a living. One of us is clearly more exhausted."

That did it.

"Oh, you're exhausted? Try coming home after twelve hours of dealing with people who actually communicate, only to realize I'm dating a guy who thinks emotional labor is a side quest."

He sat up a little at that. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you don't show up, Dante. Not for the little stuff. Not when it matters."

He stood now, slowly, arms crossed, like you'd just challenged him to a duel instead of a conversation. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Physically? Sure. Emotionally? No. I have to dig to get anything out of you. You dodge every serious talk with a joke. You ghost me for hours after missions. You don't answer texts. You act like I should be grateful you're even around."

He narrowed his eyes, jaw tightening. "You think I don't care?"

"I think you're scared to."

Silence.

For a second, the world shrank. There was no sound, only tension in the air. His mouth opened. Then closed.

You took a breath. "You treat this like it's temporary. Like you're just waiting for me to leave. You act like I'm disposable, like everyone else who's hurt you. That's not love, that's defense"

His voice was too quiet when it came. "Everyone leaves."

"And that gives you permission to push me away first?" you snapped. "To be cold and dismissive and act like you don't need anyone?"

His eyes flashed. "I never said I didn't need you."

"Then act like it, Dante!"

He flinched. Not visibly. Not in a way most people would notice. But you knew him. You saw it, in the small drop of his shoulders, in the tight line of his mouth.

He looked at you like you'd touched a bruise he didn't know was still sore.

Then, without a word, he turned and grabbed his coat.

“Don’t,” you said quickly, your anger slipping away. “Don’t walk away. Not again.”

But he was already at the door, and then gone.

He didn’t take his phone, didn’t say a word, didn’t shout, just the soft click of the door as it closed behind him.

And then, silence.

You paced the apartment, every minute ticking louder than the last. You called once. Twice. Ten times. Nothing.

And when he finally walked back through the door two hours later?

He was dragging a crate of alcohol like it was his soul in a box.

Earlier...

Dante sat in Enzo's crusty kitchen, arms crossed, sulking like a kid who'd lost his lunch money.

"I dunno, man," he muttered. "She said I treat her like she's disposable."

Enzo was already halfway through a beer and nodding slowly. "Well, do ya?"

Dante squinted. "No."

"Then it's simple: she's wrong."

"She's not wrong," Dante admitted.

"Oh."

There was a pause.

"Okay," Enzo tried again, rubbing his stubbled chin. "Maybe she's just being... emotional. Women, y'know. Feelings and all."

Dante stared blankly. "You've been divorced three times."

"Exactly. I know things."

Dante dragged a hand down his face. "I shut down. That's the problem. I don't know how to talk about any of it: The nightmares, the constant fear that everything's gonna go to hell again, so I don't."

Enzo blinked.

"Jesus Christ."

Dante laughed bitterly. "I never learned how to let people stay. Mother died. Vergil left. Everyone I ever cared about either died or disappeared. She gets close and it's like... my brain starts screaming. Like she'll vanish if I breathe wrong."

"Alright, alright," Enzo said, waving his beer. "Enough of that. You're spiralin'. That's girl therapy talk."

"It's called trauma, Enzo."

"Whatever. You don't need therapy. You need alcohol."

Dante looked up slowly. "What?"

"Alcohol! Fixes everything. You drink, you talk, or maybe you don't, and then she feels bad for you and bam, makeup sex."

"That's... not how people work."

"Worked for my second wife. For a week."

"You're an emotional hypocrite," Dante muttered.

“Exactly. Look,” Enzo said, searching through his stash like it was some kind of treasure chest. “I’ve got the good stuff. Demon-proof, Hellfire brand. This stuff would probably knock Cerberus out cold.”

Dante barely registered the words. His mind kept going back to the mission, the one he screwed up. He took down Cerberus, got paid, and then… nothing. No text, no call, no follow-up. He promised he wouldn’t do this again, but here he was, pulling the same bullshit.

Enzo, oblivious to the storm rising in Dante’s head, kept on his monologue. “You know what’s crazy? You take down Cerberus like it’s a walk in the park, get a fat paycheck, and still can’t pick up the damn phone? What happened, Dante? You don’t even have the decency to say ‘Hey, I didn’t die fighting a three-headed mutt. I’m fine.’” Enzo scoffed.

Dante’s frustration bubbled over. “I—”

“I know, I know,” Enzo interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s tough, man. That damn Cerberus battle really took it out of you. Big, bad demon, yada yada… but here’s the thing, you still can’t handle texting her? You get all emotional, come back looking like a damn mess, and then ghost her? That’s cold, bro.”

Dante felt a knot tighten in his chest. He wasn’t just mad at Enzo for talking about it like it was some kind of joke. He was mad at himself. He promised his lover, he really did, but once again, he failed. He couldn’t get out of his own way.

Enzo kept going, still not realizing how much he was digging in deeper. “Look, you’re so good at demon slaying, but when it comes to basic human interaction? You’re trash. And I don’t even mean like ‘rookie-level’ trash, I mean pro-level trash. You can take down an ancient demon, but you can’t pick up the phone? Dude, even I managed not to screw things up like this in my old relationships, and I’m a disaster. Like, seriously, I’m the disaster.”

Dante slammed his head against the counter. The guilt was suffocating.

Enzo, not noticing a thing, just kept yapping. “It’s not that hard. You show up at her place, look tragic, say nothing, drink dramatically. That’s the secret. Women love that tortured crap. Hell, I love it, and I’ve been through some shit.” He smirked, clearly thinking he was dropping wisdom. “Why do you think I’m always pulling in these tragic, mysterious vibes? I sell it, man. If I can do it, you can do it.”

Dante groaned, rubbing his face. “This is not helping. That sounds manipulative."”

Enzo didn’t even notice. “You’re telling me it’s manipulative? No, no, no. It’s drama. It’s called drama, son. We’re in the business of devil hunting and trauma bonding. You think any of the girls I’ve been with cared about me picking up the phone? Nah. It’s all about the act.”

Dante looked at the Hellfire bottle in Enzo’s hand, then back at Enzo’s grinning face, and sighed heavily. “I can’t get drunk anymore.”

Enzo raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed by Dante’s crisis. “Not with that attitude."

Dante raised a brow.

"Look," Enzo said, now dragging a wooden crate out like it was treasure. "You show up at her place, looking tragic, say nothing, drink dramatically."

Dante looked at the crate, then at Enzo, then sighed like the broken man he was.

"You're a disaster."

"And you're takin' the box as the next paycheck, so shut up."

Back in the apartment, Dante wordlessly slammed the box on the counter and uncorked a bottle like it owed him money.

You stood at the edge of the living room, arms crossed, watching this demon-slaying idiot fumble with the strongest liquor in the realm.

"Are you... drinking?"

He didn't look up. "Enzo said it would help."

"Oh no."

You stepped closer. "Dante. Tell me you didn't just trauma-dump on Enzo."

He swallowed a third of the bottle and winced. "Kinda."

"You told the greasiest man alive that you're emotionally shut down?"

"Yep."

"And he said drink through it?"

Dante slammed the bottle down. "He said it would either make me cry or pass out. So far it's just making me thirsty."

You deadpan blinked. "You're half-demon. Your liver literally regenerates."

"I KNOW."

You sat down at the table, chin in your hand. "You thought you could drink away emotional repression?"

He gestured at the second bottle like a broken man. "This one has a skull on it. Maybe it'll work."

"You're pathetic."

"I'm trying," he muttered.

"By what? Hiding from the consequences of emotional negligence?"

"I don't know how to do this," he said, shoulders slumped. "I know how to kill and destroy things. But I don't know how to stay."

Silence. Just the ticking clock. His hand tightened on the glass.

"I figured... maybe if I just felt something strong enough, I could finally say it."

You blinked at him.

"...So your genius plan was to outdrink your own trauma?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "It made sense at the time."

"You're a disaster," you said flatly, but your voice cracked at the edges, not from anger now, but from relief.

He finally looked at you, eyes tired, haunted, and young in a way that made your chest hurt.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said, quieter. "I wasn't trying to disappear, I just... I don't know how to do this. When you got mad, it felt like- like it was already over. So I figured if I could just feel something... anything loud enough, maybe the words would follow."

You stared at him, then exhaled a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding.

"That's the dumbest emotional strategy I've ever heard."

He opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off by stepping in and kissing him. Fast, warm, and full of everything you were still too exhausted to say.

He froze, then breathed out through his nose, leaning into it like something in him had just... let go.

When you pulled back, you raised an eyebrow.

"You still owe me a full conversation, idiot."

He gave a half-smile. "Can I be drunk for it?"

"You are very sober."

"Unfortunately."

He gave the ghost of a grin.

"Honestly? When you started yelling, I flashed back to the one time my old man raised his voice at me."

You narrowed your eyes. "Sparda yelled at you?"

"Once. Real quiet. Real disappointed. Genuinely horrifying." He held up a finger. "But you? You're way scarier. Banshee-level scary."

You tried not to smile. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Wasn't meant to be," he muttered.

"Also," you added, grabbing the bottle and inspecting the label, "this says 'Do Not Consume If Mortal.'"

He groaned. "Enzo's gonna kill me."

"No," you said, placing the bottle on the counter. "I'm gonna kill the both of you."

Later, as he lay half-curled on the couch, shirt half-off, a bottle abandoned at his side, he mumbled just loud enough to betray himself:

"Damn it... Enzo's advice almost worked. Makeup sex counts for emotional healing, right?"

You, brushing your teeth in the next room, spit into the sink and yelled,

"You really are allergic to accountability."

Next morning:

It took exactly one full day before you marched Dante back into Enzo's trashfire excuse for an office.

You didn't knock.

The door flew open hard enough to rattle the coat rack and knock over a stack of demon-hunting magazines from 1998.

Enzo, chewing a meatball like it was his final meal, froze with sauce halfway to his chin.

"Well, well, if it ain't my two favorite lovebirds-"

"You gave him poison in a bottle!" you snapped.

"Technically it's concentrated hellbrew-"

"HE TRIED TO DRINK THROUGH HIS FEELINGS."

Enzo raised his hands in mock innocence. "Whoa, whoa. I didn't tell him to turn into a drunk cowboy in your kitchen. I offered an alternative path to emotional growth. Through liquor."

Dante stood awkwardly behind you, very much regretting his life.

"You," you pointed, turning to him. "You listened to him."

"In my defense," Dante muttered, "he said it was demon-proof and emotionally numbing. I panicked."

You folded your arms. "So your brain went: 'Hmm. I have unresolved abandonment issues... Better drown them in demonic Everclear and hope for the best.'"

He gave a sheepish shrug.

"And it almost worked," he added.

You slapped his arm. "It didn't."

"Okay, but technically we-"

"It didn't."

Enzo was now watching with the same face he made when demon entrails exploded in his car: morbid curiosity and suppressed laughter.

"Look, sweetheart," Enzo said, "not everyone's good at feelings. The kid's got a sword twice his body weight and the emotional range of a wet sponge."

"Hey-!" Dante frowned. "I tried to talk about my issues."

"You tried to mainline whiskey and stare into a mirror."

"Same thing!"

You glared at both of them. "You're not off the hook either," you snapped at Enzo. "He doesn't need alcohol, he needs a therapist."

Enzo scoffed. "I've been a therapist for years."

"You once told Dante to 'punch grief in the face.'"

"And he did! It was very liberating."

You sighed, hard enough to summon storms.

Dante reached up behind his head and mumbled, "Okay, okay. Maybe I'm bad at this."

"No," you said. "You're terrible at this."

"...But I still wanna try."

Your anger melted just a little.

He stepped closer, rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know how to fix everything in here," he said, tapping his chest. "But I don't wanna lose you just because I never learned how to talk."

You held his gaze.

"You're lucky you're hot," you muttered.

He smirked. "Jackpot."

You groaned.

Enzo stood up, wiping his hands on a suspiciously oil-stained towel. "Alright, lovebirds. Get outta my office before you start trauma-bonding on my furniture."

Dante turned to leave, and Enzo pulled him aside at the last second.

"Hey," Enzo whispered, voice oddly serious. "Next time she yells, listen. And don't try to drown it out. You'll screw it up worse."

Dante nodded.

"Also..." Enzo handed him a sealed bottle with a wink. "Save this one for after you make up. You'll thank me."

You grabbed it and dropped it in the nearest trash bin.

"No, he won't."

As the bottle clattered into the trash, Dante groaned into his hands.

“She’s gonna kill me."

[forestclan-clangen]

MOON 13 (Part 2)

<< FIRST | < PREVIOUS |

Hopechase and Iciclepool have been acting sickeningly lovey-dovey all day, even with Hopechase's injury. Redstar teases them a little. She's happy for her friends. The grief of losing Talontooth lessens a little for her.

(Hopechase, warrior, female, 95 moons. Playful.) (Iciclepool, deputy, female, 68 moons. Ambitious.) (Redstar, leader, female, 71 moons. Strict.)

Iciclepool and Morningspot go out near the border, mostly to try and find any remaining signs of the Fake Cat that Perchpaw was attacked by. Instead, they find a body of a young cat. Icicle feels somber - but when she goes to lift it, she's shocked when it groans in pain. They're alive! Morningspot is agitated, eager to bring them to Windfur, now. (Morningspot, warrior, female, 15 moons. Nervous.) (Iciclepool, deputy, female, 68 moons. Ambitious.) (???, male, loner.)

Perchpaw actively avoids talking to Morningspot. She just doesn't trust her. She especially does not want to talk about what happened the day she saw the Fake Cat, and shuts down whenever someone asks. At least Branchpaw doesn't pester her.

(Perchpaw, apprentice, female, 8 moons. Adventurous.) (Branchpaw, apprentice, female, 8 moons. Ambitious.)

---

Perchpaw wished she had died. Or, at least, that's what she would say to herself while sleep deprived, in pain, and unable to swallow more than pulp and water. In moments of clarity surrounded by her mother and her sister, she felt a pang of guilt at the idea of them mourning at a funeral pyre, like they did for Bearkit.

No…no, she didn't want to die. Not really.

She just wanted to be normal again, and she hated all the things that made her feel not normal.

She didn't want to talk about the Fake Cat. Hopechase had approached her and apologized with deep sorrow for not teaching her about them sooner. Redstar tried gently asking if she wanted to talk about it. Even her mother said that she'd be a listening ear. Perchpaw pretended to not be able to talk.

Branchpaw seemed to be the only one who understood her, saying nothing about the Fake Cat, but telling her about the news of camp.

"Um…Redstar and Hopechase said that they're going to try hosting something called the First Bloom. Remember the Gathering in leaf-fall? Well, apparently it's a lot like this, but for newleaf instead. Apparently there's games and stuff involved?" Branchpaw's tail twitched with subdued optimism. "I know you're not feeling too great, but they mentioned that flowers are an important part of it. You like flowers and stuff, right?"

Branchpaw made a somewhat of a face as she said this - Branchpaw was never into things that Perchpaw felt were pretty, and when they were kits, she poked fun at her for it. Seeing her now put in effort to be nice about the things she liked was like watching Redstar attempting small-talk. Perchpaw wanted to let out a chuckle, but it sounded more like a snorted chuff. The sound felt ugly to her. She stared at the floor.

"Well, Morningspot and Iciclepool are out of camp right now - I think they're checking near the border for - er - well, I assume flowers? I dunno, I didn't ask," Branchpaw shrugged.

Perchpaw felt a twitch of anger surge through her chest. She shifted uncomfortably and looked away from her sister. If Branchpaw had noticed, she likely chose not to comment on it. Branchpaw had gotten to her feet.

"I'll ask Redstar if you could help with making decorations! Like, if your paws are fine, why not, right? I'll be back!"

Perchpaw watched as Branchpaw darted past the fern curtains that blocked the medicine den. It was a strange feeling, watching the world through a partial veil. In her memories, she could only ever recall fallen leaves and a layer of snow surrounding the outside of the carved out den. But now, she could barely see what was happening outside.

And it made her feel isolated. Different. Ignored and she hated it.

Perchpaw's claws ripped up bits of her bedding as she stared at the fern curtains. A fire of anger surged in her heart.

She was trying to help.

Talontooth was a good cat. He was nice to her and Branchpaw. He taught them how to do the hunting crouch. He was one of the only adults to tell stories of what was outside camp with some amount of hope. Yeah, like all adults, he warned them about Tendrils, and under whispered tones, he described Nature's Mockery, and what a Woodcrawler might look like. But he didn't only tell fake stories like Windfur and Tree, or stories of things that happened a long time ago like Redstar. He told them about stuff outside the territory - like a big mountain that stood across a vast lake, and the strange, angular dens of Twolegs that jutted from the treelines. He wasn't their friend, but he was a good cat who made her look forward to going out there, beyond the camp walls.

She felt gutted when the adults told her that he was gone, and petrified when she heard his voice calling for help.

Why didn't any of them talk about those?

All she saw was Talontooth seemingly alive, calling for help, in pain. She didn't see a monster. She saw a Clanmate who was hurt, maybe sick, maybe REALLY in trouble. She remembered staring at Morningspot, waiting for her to lead their patrol, tell her what to do, do something to indicate what they should be doing.

She just froze and did nothing.

Morningspot was the patrol leader. Perchpaw always thought that Morningspot was a scaredy-cat, even as an apprentice. But people still liked her and consoled her and for a short time, it seemed like even her mom talked to Morningpaw more than she did with her and Branchkit at the time. So when she was still scared as an adult, refusing to actually lead, what else was Perchpaw supposed to feel? Talontooth was screaming for help. Why did Morningspot only do something when Perchpaw was pinned down by the thing, sharp branches jutting out from its feet, writhing towards her mouth - 

In her distressed turbulence, Perchpaw's tongue passed over one of her teeth. She bit back a hiss as she felt something cut at her. Dismayed, she ran it over gently again.

Her tooth was chipped.

Perchpaw wanted to yowl. She physically couldn't with her brace around her neck and jaw. She raked her claws on the cold dirt, her tail thrashing. She couldn't even bury her head in her bedding without destroying her brace.

Day after day, she was reminded of one more thing that made her abnormal and broken. That made her damaged, ugly.

She hated that she felt that way, but she couldn't help it. She wanted to be loved and she felt like she was pitied. The only time she felt like someone really saw her for her was when Riversnow approached her during leafbare, and complimented her fur and asked her about the little snow-cat she made. Sure, everyone was nice to her and Branchpaw, but it was always her AND Branchpaw. She never felt like she stood out, or caught anyone's attention, and now that she was like this, she felt like no one would genuinely want to be with a cat with a messed up jaw, chipped teeth and a stupid brace.

She felt ugly, pathetic, and useless.

Why didn't they tell her about Fake Cats? Why didn't Morningspot do something? Why did she freeze like a stupid doe on a thunderpath and only moved when Perchpaw was already -

Her thread of hatred tangled as noise kicked up outside. She heard shouting, then the stern voices of cats. She heard Iciclepool and Redstar talking firmly to one another, and the sound of pawsteps rapidly approaching the medicine den.

Perchpaw scrambled, mortified at the idea of being seen like this. She scrambled to cover her ripped up bedding with her body, trying to pretend like she was asleep. She saw the shadows of Iciclepool and…ugh, Morningspot. As they walked into the medicine den, Perchpaw faked having just woken up.

Her eyes widened. She didn't expect an unknown cat to be draped over Iciclepool's back.

"Morningspot, can you clear the bedding across from Perchpaw?" Iciclepool asked. Morningspot did what was asked. Perchpaw pretended not to be curious, but failed as she watched the two mollies gently lower the cat onto bedding. He was a black tabby, very skinny, and unconscious.

"D-Did Redstar say when they'd be back? A few minutes? An hour? What if - "

"Morningspot," Iciclepool placed her tail on the young warrior's shoulder. "Breathe. Windfur and Shiverpaw should be back from their patrol soon."

"B-But what if - "

Perchpaw immediately scowled and looked away, tuning out the conversation. Right now, the last thing she wanted to hear was Morningspot's panicking.

A small sliver of her conscience tried to coax her into having compassion. It was overruled by the throbbing pain in her jaw, her chipped tooth, her anger, and the memory of the adult she turned to choosing to do nothing until it was too late.

Time moved around Perchpaw as cats entered and left the medicine den repeatedly. She knew Shiverpaw and Windfur returned from their patrol, and to her annoyance, she knew Morningspot tried to talk to her - which she pointedly ignored. Shiverpaw and Windfur poked and prodded at her brace after they had finished rummaging over the stranger that was now in the medicine den. Branchpaw had come back to visit her once again, telling her optimistically about the possibility of learning how to do flower crowns. Perchpaw faked enthusiasm with a slow blink, but otherwise, she didn't say anything.

By the time everyone had finally left the stupid den, Perchpaw's eyes reluctantly fell onto the only person remaining.

Her throat tightened as she realized what she was looking at.

The cat was a young tom - close to her age. And just like her, his head was wrapped in a brace meant to secure a broken jaw.

Perchpaw blinked. She watched the tom's faint breathing. Every once in a while, he made a whine in protest.

Perchpaw brought her own paw to the side of her face, feeling the ragged brace. For a moment, she became painfully aware of its existence, and how it pressed against her skin.

...Would he, too, hate this as much as she did?

Perchpaw sighed, allowing the crushing anger and sorrow exhale from her system before turning away and staring at a wall again.

She hadn't expected the tom across from her to whine in his unconscious sleep, and whimper something that barely took coherent shape behind his crooked jaw. Perchpaw's ears twitched and strained to put his words together. Finally, she realized he was repeating a single word over and over.

"Bracken…"

---

When the young stranger wakes up, he's confirmed to have a broken jaw. He is dazed and dehydrated, calling for the name "Bracken". Windfur recognizes it - this must be the littermate Bracken was searching for! After a few days of care and speaking with members of the Clan, he is quite enamoured, and the young cat agrees to join the Clan. His name is Rift, and he takes on the name Riftpaw.

(Windfur, medicine cat, male, 27 moons. Lonesome.) (Riftpaw, apprentice, male, 11 moons. Charismatic.)

The First Bloom festival goes without a hitch. Cats are much happier watching Cloudthunder's kits enjoy games, collect flowers, and even the adult cats have fun playing a game of pick-up sticks - trying to pull as many sticks from a pile of them without causing the pile to topple over. It's very enjoyable, and reduces the Clan's overall stress.

(Barleywave, warrior, male, 42 moons. Playful.) (Cloudthunder, warrior, female, 46 moons. Adventurous.) (Olive, mediator, female, 69 moons. Calm.) (Redstar, leader, female, 71 moons. Strict.)

Cottonkit, Airkit and Deerkit made flower crowns during the First Bloom festival! Cottonkit is so enamoured by the gorse flowers that she decides to permanently wear some. She asks Perchpaw if she thinks it's cool, and is giddy when Perchpaw approves.

(Perchpaw, apprentice, female, 8 moons. Adventurous.) (Cottonkit, kitten, female, 3 moons. Fearless.) (Deerkit, kitten, female, 3 moons. Noisy.) (Airkit, kitten, male, 3 moons. Polite.)

<PREVIOUS | NEXT>

[starfxkrinc]

first fuck with bsfdad!jj

comin over tonight?

three words had your heart thumping against your chest. ever since the night jj kissed you things have gotten more intense, he would catch you alone in different corners of the house to kiss you and touch you--all the while making it abundantly clear your shorts were the cause of his raging hard on.

in all honesty it made you rethink past interactions with him. every smile, every pat on the shoulder, every time he brushed against you on the way to the fridge. it made you wonder if your crush wasn't completely one sided. god can you even call what he has a crush? it feels so juvenile. a 46 year old man crushing on you. but he was nicer to you than the rest of reed's friends, and it can't totally be because you've been around the longest.

it took everything in you to control your smile as you read the text over and over, as if 'coming over' meant leaving your house for a late night fuck and not just you walking down the call so jj could eat you out. regardless it made your head spin as you texted yes :3, scrolling through past messages of a hard, throbbing dick and splatters of cum on the camera, ignoring reed as she blathered on about her new boy of the week.

"i dunno i told him we can hang out but really i just wanna get around his friend i can't believe i let the third hottest in the group fuck me it's so--are you listening to me?"

your head snaps up, eyes wide as you stammer, "yeah-uh, which guy is this?"

"ugh, don't be a bitch just because nobody approaches you and you closed yourself to guys it doesn't mean you can act like i'm slut of the year."

"i wasn't--"

she huffs, "i don't care, i'm going to sleep."

you love your friend, truly. but her ego can't stand not being the center of your universe even if it's just a second. you go to lay next to her in the bed, waiting as her breathing slows and evens out, then waiting an hour more so you know she's deep in sleep.

when you're sure you're in the clear, you crawl out of the bed, thankful that she's such a deep sleeper as you expertly navigate the creaky old floors of the maybank house.

for some odd reason you feel nervous, as if you haven't been doing this for weeks. but when you crack open the door and see jj laying there shirtless--broad and tanned and rough with age--you feel your cunt pulse with heat. so much so he can't help but notice you shove your palm against your crotch.

"stop all that sneakin, get in here." jjs voice rumbles throughout the room is a slight whisper, jolting you forward and tumbling into his bed.

he wastes no time getting on top of you, prying your lips open with his and you let out a soft noise at the increasingly familiar taste of beer on his tongue.

jj pulls back, peppering kisses against your full cheek, "took you a while tonight."

"she wouldn't stop talking. i think she's mad at me."

he sighs and traces a finger around your bellybutton and you can't see his face but you sense something lingering in the air, "she'll get over it. let's watch a movie."

normally this is code for something else and jj tucks you against his chest so he can slide his cock between your thighs, but this time he really does put on a movie. between the warmth of his body and the gentle thumb swiping your nipple you're almost lulled to sleep.

until you feel his breath on your neck, his facial hair causing goosebumps to prickle on your skin as he mumbles, "let's get this off."

off. jj's never done that before, not really. even when he eats you off he tucks your shorts to the side and the idea of him seeing all of you makes you nervous. what if you're too chubby? too hairy? he'll see the dimples on your ass and the stretch marks on your tits instead of smooth plains of taut skin and you protest.

"n-no. i don't--i'm not--"

"cmon kiddo, just let me see ya. let me see how pretty y'are."

you're shaking as he turns you on your back, peeling your shorts off your round hips with a soft smirk, "there she is, look at you. could just take a bite right now."

so that's what he does, sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin on the crease of your hip making you moan unexpectedly. that doesn't stop him, just makes him ball up your panties and shove them in your mouth, "just stay quiet."

then he's on you, but he's lacking his normal fervor. instead he takes his time, spreading your lips and sucking your clit into his mouth until its swollen and throbbing, like he's indulging himself on he taste and smell of you. and he might as well be with the way his lips smack and soft grunts build from his chest. each drip of arousal is quickly lapped up with his tongue as he kisses your cunt nice and slow. you had to be drowning him with how wet you were, but neither of you cared as you buried your fingers in his blonde hair, digits cramping as he sucked you into an orgasm.

your cunt's still twitching as he pulls off, leaving closed mouth kisses against your hot flesh as you calm, but just as your breathing even he slides two fingers into you, scissoring them open to watch you stretch.

"s'gonna be a tight fit but...well i'll make it fit." jj pulls his fingers out, sucking them clean so he can push your shirt over your tits with that hand as he shoves his boxers down with another.

and jesus christ the size of him. it's one thing to see it on your phone and to feel it slipping between your thighs but it's another to see it. thick, uncut with a tangle of hair at the base. his balls hanging low and heavy. you're paralyzed as he grabs himself and lays it across your stomach, stopping a couple inches short of your belly button.

"jj--is that--you know i never--oh my god is it even gonna fit?" you were panicked despite how your hole was clenching at the thought of it, whimpering to cup your pussy but he shooed your hand away to spread you open.

in efforts to soothe you he rubbed the head up and and your slit, mixing your arousal with his pre cum to get the tip slit, "you're a big girl kiddo. just a little pinch, a little stretch. me n you are good to go. just trust me aight?"

trembling you nod, "can i have a kiss?"

jj gives you a real smile, as strained as it is, and kisses you deep. you can taste yourself lingering on his lips but the weight of him comforts you. because he's strong and hot and solid and he wants you. you're in his bed, not the other girls. he talks to you and compliments your dress and says you're the sweetest girl he knows just because you ask how his day's been.

so you let him in, with his hands gripping your pudgy hips as you pant into each other's mouths.

"fuck, easy honey you're alright just a little more."

the slight burn of the stretch travels up the base of your spine and you moan into his shoulder, "oh my god, keep going please."

all jj can do is nod, pulling his hips back until just the tip rested in the dewy pout of your cunt before slamming back into you.

you'd never felt so full, and you lifted your head to watch him split you open, and he laughs.

"you're takin me so good honey, feel that?" he fucks into you harder, grounding his hips against yours so his tip smushes against your cervix.

"uh-huh, too--much, it's too much!" you speak in a hushed shout, hands pressed against his stomach as you futilely attempt to slow him down. but he's so heavy all you can do is squirm beneath him as he wrecks you completely, leaving you trembling.

"not yet." spoken as if it's a promise, he spreads your lips with two fingers before stroking your sensitive clit, pushing a squeak form your chest so loud he has no choice but to shove a hand over your mouth.

how much good that does you don't know, because jj's grunting in your ear and the beds squeaking so loud you're hoping reed tendency to be a heavy sleeper doesn't fail you.

you're over stimulated, between the fingers on your clit and his cock stretching you in ways you've never felt before, all you could do was hold on, raking your nails down his chest as you fluttered around him. it started in your gut, spreading in hot pulses through your body as you creamed down his balls until it dripped onto the sheets below--back arched with a moan muffled behind his calloused hand.

jj presses his face into your neck, breathing in the smell of your sweat and your sweet floral lotion as he fucks his load into you thick and hot.

his palm drops, both of you panting like you've lost a fight as he pulls out as gently as he can, one hand on your tummy as he sees you wince. he runs his hands down your body, his cock giving a half hearted twitch as he sees the pink tinge to the creamy ring of cum at the base of his dick.

"shit kid, m'sorry lemme clean you up."

you lay there, limp and exhausted as he cleans the mess between your thighs, pressing a kiss to the bite mark he left on your waist.

"can i stay for a little bit?"

jj looks at the clock. 4:35am

"yeah, lets get some sleep."

thank god reed is a heavy sleeper.

[shady-tavern]

You were alone. You stared off into the distance, having slumped down on a rock at the side of the road. Your party of... of friends, you had thought, had told you that you were useless. Unnecessary.

Had you failed to support them as they needed and therefore they had decided you were a burden? Had you failed them? Hadn't you always healed them, stitching them back together, listening to their concerns and encouraging their endeavors?

Or had they never cared for you as much as you cared for them?

It didn't make sense and you did not know where to go, your next destination had always been decided by your friends, their sense for adventure urging them ever onward.

You just... tried not to cry.

At one point you got up again and headed back to the nearest town. Your friends - your former friends now, you supposed - had left in a north-east direction and you were not going to snivel after them when they had made very sure you knew you were no longer welcome.

You bought some provisions in that town and stayed the night in an inn and the next day you wandered on.

And somewhere between towns you got really fucking pissed. It was one thing if they didn't want you around anymore, but did they have to say it like this? Did they think you wouldn't respect it if they truly wanted you to move on?

You ranted and raved at trees and the empty road and then, just as the prettiest sunrise graced your eyes, you broke down into tears.

It hurt, to lose your friends, to be told you were useless. To have the worth of your abilities and presence boiled down into neat, stoppered little bottles of glass.

To find out that all your hard work, all your skills, all the nights you had spent pouring over medical texts and bothering clerics for lessons, harnessing what magic you had within you, was all for nothing.

You sat down at the side of the road when your tears turned into ugly sobbing. It wasn't like anyone was around at the moment anyway.

You just barely heard the rustling noise over your cries and then you dropped your forehead onto your pulled-up knees. "Leave me alone," you muttered against your knees.

More sounds came so you lifted your head to see a limping, injured, snow-white deer. Not a person, then. That was just as fine.

You wiped your tears and murmured soothing nothings, putting a bit of magic into your voice to calm the frantic deer. It slowed down and settled bit by bit until it allowed you to come closer.

The deer's left front leg was broken, but where you had expected to maybe fine bite marks or the leftovers of a snare, all you saw was a strangely iridescent, glimmering crack, as though the deer was not made of flesh and bone and fur after all, but something else.

"Huh," you murmured, sniffing as your nose was still running. That did not look like an ordinary injury. This looked like it had been caused by magic.

You still poured some healing into the leg until the bone mended and you bandaged the crack. "Dunno if you're cursed or what, but that's the best I can do," you muttered, giving the deer a wobbly little smile. "Well, if you can understand me and need help, there is a mage in that town down the road."

You pointed in the direction before getting up and grabbing your pack. You felt heavy with grief and pain and anger, but you also needed to keep going. If there was someone out here hurting or cursing deer, you didn't want to get caught by that kind of asshole.

It took you a little while to notice that the deer was following you, only a faint bit of a limp in its limbs.

"No herd?" you asked it and its ears flickered forward, those big eyes looking at you.

Those were not deer-eyes, you couldn't help but think. Not brown, not even dark. They were the strangest blue-green you had ever seen. Like chips of blue ice, a depth to them that made a little shiver crawl down your spine.

Shesh, hopefully you hadn't garnered the attention of anything unsavory. You still gave it a humorless little smile. "Makes two of us, buddy."

And just like that, you had a traveling companion. You had no idea how long the deer intended to stay, but as the hours passed it remained at your side.

It did, however, start to tire and even offering it some food and water didn't help much.

"Come here," you told the deer, holding out your arms. "We both know you're not normal, I can carry you for a bit."

It stepped closer, all long-legged grace and you picked it up - only to realize that you had severely underestimated just how much a deer weighed. You swore this one was particularly heavy.

You were huffing and puffing and sweating in no time, but you still determinedly carried on, until you found a good spot to camp for the night.

That night the deer had the worst nightmares and it only calmed when you held it, sacrificing your own sleep to keep soothing it with magic lacing your voice. You hummed your throat raw and when dawn crested, you fell asleep at last.

When you woke it was to the deer nowhere in sight. No amount of looking around and calling out brought your little buddy back and you couldn't spot any tracks anywhere either.

You couldn't stay, not when you spotted dark rainclouds approaching and so you left a pack of food, just in case it still needed some help, and walked on.

The road somehow felt all the more lonelier, though you had only had the deer as company for a day. From sunrise to sunrise. You hoped it was well, wherever it had gone.

You reached the big city a couple of days later, no deer companion in sight and for lack of anything better to do, you headed to the order of clerics that called the city home.

Everyone was welcome, so long as they were willing to be taught. No matter if they had a deity to follow or not, and the type of deity didn't matter either.

As the days passed, you let yourself get lost in the teachings, in medicine and magic, in putting bodies together and pulling them apart again. It did not soothe the pain of loss and abandonment within you, but it did soothe the part of you that felt... lesser, for what your friends had said and done.

Though, they weren't your friends, were they? After the way they had gotten rid of you, you could hardly call them that, even in your own head. So you stopped. You started calling them your ex-party when people asked with whom you had worked before.

And sometimes you thought of that deer, still, and its strange wound. So you focused your studies on curses and their various origins and ways to break them next.

The clerics had offered you a job by then and you were happy to put your studies to practice. You healed the sick and mended the wounded and broke the curses that were brought before you.

It was a fine enough life and you tried to heal your own emotional wounds with creeping success at best, when one day, a pale stranger entered the room where you healed visitors of the temple.

Skin like bone, long hair white like snow, lashes like frost and eyes like shards of blue ice. You knew immediately, even before noticing the white, fine pelt draped over their shoulder, that this had been the deer you had met all those months ago.

"Well met," they said, voice soft like gently falling snow and as they spoke, your surroundings felt strangely muffled too, as though you were suddenly standing in a wintry glade rather than a room of stone. Even the scent of herbs and salves and ointments was gone.

"Hello, deer companion," you said and they smiled, an expression of quiet, pleased joy making their face look younger and brighter.

This time, when they spoke, their smile revealed fangs too sharp to belong to a deer shapeshifter. "I must thank you for saving me from my curse."

At your surprised pause, they explained, "Three kindnesses must be given to me at the cost of another, from one sunrise to another and three you bestowed upon me. Healing even though you hurt, carrying my weary body even though you were tired and soothing me in my sleep even as you had to stay awake."

Huh. "Where did you go in the morning?" you couldn't help but ask. "I tried to find you."

At this the stranger bowed their head in quiet regret, snowy hair shimmering softly in the light of the room. "I tried to find the one who cursed me, but I was not successful. When I returned, I could not find you. I have been searching ever since."

"Well, you found me," you said, lightly spreading your hands. Hands that had changed over the past years, palm and fingers growing more calloused, your body stronger from lugging other bodies around and holding thrashing patients down.

The stranger smiled again, once more looking quietly pleased. "Indeed. I wish to extend my gratitude and brazenly request your aid at the same time."

"What do you need?" you asked, the question falling in a practiced tone from your lips. You had asked that so often you had lost count.

"A companion to help me hunt down the one who wounded me. The one who desires to wipe out my people and, once we are gone, turn its terrible gaze onto yours," the stranger answered and you stilled.

All at once it was back, the same feeling that had drawn you to your ex-party, that had dragged you out onto the road and into fights like a fish on a hook.

A hunger for adventure, for exploring the world. For seeing wonders and defeating evil and being around people who were like a family to you. Well, the latter you had lost, but the former?

"Alright," you answered without much thought. You could always return to the cleric order once you had helped the stranger, they always welcomed traveling doctors and healers and you would be no exception.

You'd finish your tasks for the day, take care of the patients still waiting and then you'd tell the mother superior that you would be leaving. "Meet me outside the temple this evening?"

"As you wish," the stranger said, regally bowing their head, their smile a little wider, revealing a hint of those throat-ripping teeth. "At dusk I shall seek you out."

"Oh, just one more thing," you said as they turned to leave. "What's your name?"

They smiled and this time it was something sharp and dangerous and wild. "I am a child of Nature and my name is not freely given."

Fair enough, especially if they were part of the people who put a piece of their soul into their name.

They left and you called for the next patient to enter, healing a weeping girl's broken arm, an old man's rash-covered back and a dog's bleeding bite mark. Animals were as welcome as people here, which was one of the reasons you had even stayed this long.

It pleased you that every living thing could find aid and relief here, as they should. Healing wasn't just for those with opposable thumbs, after all.

After the last patient you cleaned up the healing room, putting everything back into shelves and writing down how much you had used and which salves and ointments and herbs needed stocking up. Once you were done, you sought out the mother superior.

She wasn't even surprised when you told her that you were leaving, just smiled and said, "You will always have a home here, never forget that."

The idea of adventure made you brazen, so you pulled her into a hug. She laughed and hugged you back and whispered, "A soul like yours is a rare and precious thing, do not let the wounds of the past bar you from a future worth living for."

With a squeeze she let you go and you hurried to your room the temple had given you, packing your things. On the way out you were surprised when an apprentice called your name and handed you a bag full of herbs and ointments and spell components.

Everything you needed for healing and magic and breaking curses. You clutched it to your chest and thought, this was a god you could serve. This wordless kindness given to you with no expectation in return.

This was what you would worship, when you hadn't wanted to worship anything before. Gentle hands, a quiet bit of help, a warm smile and an encouraging push out the door, to go chase your dreams.

The stranger was waiting outside, like they had promised. This time, you took in their clothing for a moment. They were dressed in pale blues and silvers and the faintest bit of lilac embroidery. They were, truth be told, really damn pretty.

You set out together, heading into the sunset as the day dwindled away and your new traveling companion told you everything about the evil the two of you were hunting right now.

A godslayer. You had thought those were just fiction, a myth to scare children and make friends laugh during an evening where scary tales were told.

"They are rare," your companion admitted. "And this one is young and foolish and greedy. Godslayers have existed only twice in this world, one has slain the seven-headed Hydra of Decay and Destruction and another murdered the gatekeeper of eternity."

Which was how immortality had become possible for mortals, though to achieve such a goal, they usually had to give away something far too precious.

"And this one? Who did this one kill?" you asked and your companion bared their teeth.

"They did not succeed yet, but they are working on it. They hold my mother between their teeth, intend to break her neck. They would have succeeded a long time ago had they gone for one of the smaller gods first."

You could not imagine Mother Nature dying, but then again, you had also thought that godslayers were just a story.

"Onward, then," you said and your companion's teeth-baring snarl softened into a warmer, thankful smile.

The two of you traveled on and on, as the days tumbled into weeks and your companion - you did not dare call them a friend yet - pointed out the signs of Mother Nature's struggle. The faint graying along the tips of leaves, the unrest among the birds, the way wolves howled and howled at night, trying to find someone who would not respond.

Soon, they said, there would be more signs. Food growing less, rain falling either too much or too little and the winds would taste of death.

The deity would try to not take Mother Nature, their lover, any sooner than they were forced to, but at one point, they would no longer have a choice.

"But why?" you asked the night you were getting close to the godslayer's lair. "Why kill a god so important to the world?"

Your companion sat in silence for a moment. They had grown a little thinner over the past weeks, despite eating enough. It was their mother, they had said, they were trying to sustain her, as did her other children.

"To have the world itself," your companion answered. "A godslayer can take a god's power if they so desire. The past two didn't, one just wanted to defeat evil and the other wanted to keep their children from dying. Bringing immortality to mortals was their only goal."

They stared into the fire, their icy eyes gaining a strange, glimmering gleam as the flames flickered. "This godslayer failed to become an emperor and failed to become a lich and now he has set his sights even higher."

"Then let's make him fail again," you answered. "Like you had to receive three kindnesses, let him receive three failures to banish him from this world."

Your companion looked at you and that gleam in their eyes vanished to be replaced with something else. Something brighter, like shimmering starlight. Like hope.

They reached out to take your hand and though there were no words exchanged, you felt it. Their gratitude, their relief for your company, their... their trust in you.

As you felt a wound left by your former friends heal, you added this feeling to the things you would worship. A feeling of getting accepted, truly accepted and a sensation of being believed in, without hesitation.

It made you feel like you could move mountains.

*.*.*

The godslayer's lair was within an abandoned mine. Rather clever, no one would come here anymore and the town that had once lived off the ore mined here had turned into a ghost town long ago.

You saw signs of battle as you walked through the town and towards the entrance of the mine. Scorched ground, churned-up earth, half collapsed buildings and leftover residue from spells.

Arrows littered the surroundings, broken blades glinted in the low light of the dawn and shields were bent and split in half.

You paused when you spotted a very familiar shield, a crack running through it and the rearing dragon that had gotten painted on it in gold. The shield of a paladin.

You had seen that shield for months on end, watching one of your former friends polish and shine it while praying. It had a layer of grime on it that told you it had been laying here for a while already and your stomach plummeted a little.

What had those fools done?

There were some wards set up outside the mine, but with some patience and carefully applied magic - and in one case a fistful of dirt - you got past them without issue.

A few minutes into the mine, you turned around a bend and all at once, the entire space looked different. Until then, the illusion of an abandoned mine had persisted, even if the support beams were solid and everything was still safe.

From here on? The uneven walls had turned into carefully cut stone, mage lanterns hung from the ceiling and the neat hallway opened up into a massive cavern and smack-dab in the middle sat an underground fortress.

This must've taken ages to make. Or, perhaps the godslayer had already stolen some of Mother Nature's power and had molded the landscape to his desires.

Your companion scouted ahead, while you tucked away into a secret hidden spot to stretch out your sensed with magic. Since you followed no god, you should slip past a godslayer's notice, who had torn through a number of clerics and paladins, considering the leftovers outside.

You sensed some guards, shambling undead creatures and the star-burst bright glimmers of magical traps and wards.

They were like curses, you realized. A carefully crafted net of magic and you just needed to find the right spot to pluck at to unravel it all.

Silently, one by one, those star-burst bright glimmers in your mind faded away without notice.

By the time your companion came back with a detailed patrol-route of the guards and the exact number of undead soldiers, you were done. So long as you could slip past the guards unnoticed, you were golden.

Your companion cloaked the two of you in a sort of shadow-y sheen and it felt like you melded just a bit into your surroundings, the outlines of your body blurred to nothing.

You got inside without trouble, no magical traps springing shut and no wards getting triggered.

Inside, the fortress laid silent and still and somewhere within its bowels, Mother Nature had gotten lured into a trap. Somewhere around here, the godslayer lurked.

You started in the basement, since it was closest and you had to avoid another group of patrolling guards.

The basement did not lead, as you had hoped, to some sort of ritual chamber, but instead to a large prison complex. And it was filled to the brim with people. Knights and archers, clerics and paladins, rogues and druids.

And your group of former friends.

You gaped at them as much as they gaped at you, looking thin and rough and half healed at best. Strangest though, was the expression of utter heartbreak on their faces.

"Why are you here?" the paladin whispered and then, horrified, "Did you follow us?"

All at once, that pain and anger that you had worked so hard to soothe and heal, surged to the surface. "As if I would," you downright growled at them. "I got the message loud and clear, don't you worry. You don't have to worry about me hanging around."

"No, no, you weren't supposed to be here," the knight hissed, armor long gone and arm bandaged in a way that told you it had gotten broken pretty badly. "We wanted to keep you safe!"

You stilled. "Safe?" you asked, staring them down, this group of starved, wounded people you had once given everything to.

The explanation downright poured out of the, interspaced with hissed pleas for you to just go. That they had said these terrible, hurtful things to protect you.

And all at once, that bitterness and pain in your heart went cold. "No," you said and your voice was calm, steady, even though there was a storm within you. "You did not protect me, you thought me incompetent."

They tried to deny it, falling over themselves with words and you raised a hand. They fell silent and you shook your head. "You did," you insisted. "You thought I could not handle this and you thought I would not understand if you explained it to me."

Your lips twisted into a bitter smile. "You never trusted me, did you? So you just told yourself a pretty tale, that you would protect me, as if I ever needed that and then you left, to go and play hero." You took in their ragged appearance once more and whispered, "And look where the potions you traded me for got you."

They called after you as you left, rejoining with your companion waiting by the door.

"We should free them later," you whispered, glancing over the prisoners. "They are in no condition to fight." Even if you poured out all your magic to heal them, you could not heal starvation. They were all too weak to even lift a sword for more than a minute.

"A wise if hard choice," your companion murmured back and the two of you left, the prison laying silent as if the people within already expected the two of you to get dragged back in chains.

That it was useless to try and plead for anything, even being freed. That they knew they would never even make it out of the fortress in their current condition. As if others had tried without success until they had all, collectively, given up.

Only if the godslayer was defeated did they stand a chance.

Creeping through the fortress, your companion and you discovered many things - a treasure with a stupid amount of gold and jewels, a guard with diarrhea who thankfully didn't notice you in return, a room full of portraits.

It wasn't until you reached the very top, having dodged many a patrolling guard, that you finally sensed something. You would have noticed it from further away, since it was cloaked into a ridiculous amount of concealing spells, but there was something hidden somewhere around here.

You dug your way through the spells until you found it: a hidden door. And behind it, at long last, the massive ritual chamber where Mother Nature was held captive - and the godslayer.

You barely had a moment's time to notice Mother Nature in all her wrathful glory, her shape shifting between howling storms and roaring bears and cracking lightning surrounding her physical, godly body, as if she was unable to stick to one shape of her power, before the godslayer stepped forward.

An unassuming man at first glance, but his eyes were cold, his smile a practiced, lifeless thing and the only thing that existed in his heart was hunger.

This was a person devoid of everything you had decided to worship and who would take and take and take from the world until it laid dead at his feet. Until he ultimately had to devour himself, for lack of anything else left to take.

Your companion lunged forward with a snarl and you got a glimpse at what a child of nature was capable of. Your companion was ice and snow, the unforgiving chill of winter, the death of frozen lakes and the blood-thirsty hunger of wolves fighting for survival.

But there was more, more than there had been at the beginning of the journey. There were flickers of fire and heat, of warmth that had gotten absorbed and kindness that had bolstered their heart into something powerful.

The godslayer clearly hadn't expected for your companion to have come back so much stronger and as you cast spells, warding and healing, you crept along the edges of the fight until you reached the base of Mother Nature's cage.

She was trying to reach her child, a mother's love and fear pouring forth, wanting her child to flee, to be safe, wanting to be free to rip apart what threatened one of her own.

You ever so briefly met the gaze of your companion and there was a split second of shared, silent communication and they gave you a nod, before throwing themselves onto the godslayer with renewed vigor.

You dropped all the spells and turned around, slamming your hands onto the glyphs on the floor and you closed your eyes.

It had been interesting, at first, just how similar curses were to other types of magic. There were a lot of spells that wished to hold something back, after all, and let something else be in control.

You spread your senses along the magical cage until it laid before you, a truly revolutionary piece of work. In the hands of someone less hungry, less greedy, it would have caused terrible destruction already. It would have already killed a lesser god.

The thing about curses was, there always had to be a backdoor, so to speak. It was part of the rule, part of the make-up. One could not build a house to lock someone into without also adding a door, after all. Even if said door got walled off afterwards, there had to be one first.

You found the part of the cage, the clause that had to be met in order to imprison a god and you laid your hand over it and told it that the god had escaped.

It was a lie, the easiest way to break a curse that was too complicated to break in other, simpler ways. You just lied to it, told it that it had fulfilled its purpose.

The cage shattered and the sheer force of unleashed power threw you to the ground, blinding and deafening you to anything and everything, until hands grabbed you to pull you up.

Your companion's voice muffled the sheer howling and snarling of crushing power around you enough for you to regain your baring.

Sitting up, blinking, you saw that the once cold stone room was covered in roots and blooming flowers.

There was only a smear of blood left where you had last seen the godslayer standing and then you sensed it in the air. The rejoicing of other gods, who had called forth their clerics and paladins and devoted followers to try and save the one without this world would cease to exist.

To save their friend, their lover, the foundation they had built their own pantheons upon.

"Trice failed and no more," your companion whispered and then laughed for the first time since you had met them and they threw their arms around you, clinging to you tightly.

You said nothing when you felt tears wet your shoulder, you just hugged them back and poured some magic into them, gently mending wounds that had bled a strange, silver-red.

It helped calm your shaking hands and the hug helped you settle into your skin, your racing heart getting soothed back down to a regular beat. You sagged against your companion - fine, your friend - after a moment, dropping your forehead against their shoulder.

"We made it," you whispered and they laughed, muffled and gave you a little squeeze. For all that they were made of wintry things, they were warm, a heart beating against yours and their chest expanding with breaths.

After a long minute, you detangled from each other and left. There were plants everywhere, the very stone of the fortress humming with life and magic and the prison was completely empty.

Mother Nature was waiting outside the fortress, tall and powerful, a deity of everything wild and living, of everything surviving and growing. She was surrounded by the prisoners, all looking healed and stronger, though still far too thin.

"Thank you, my child," she whispered as she leaned forward to press a kiss to your friend's forehead and then she surprised you when she pressed her lips to your forehead as well.

A tingle of power, a blessing that would last for the rest of your life, made warmth bloom through you and she whispered, "Thank you, cleric of a god yet unnamed, grown by your hands and nurtured by your kindness. They will make this world better."

You jerked back in surprise, staring up at her and she smiled, like a million sunsets and sunrises, like every beautiful thing the world ever had to offer, breathtaking and awe inspiring. It made you feel more alive than ever to see a smile like that.

"That's how lesser gods are born, my dear," she said, gently reaching out to cup your cheek with a big hand. She smelled like herbs and flowers and forests, like sandy dunes and snowy tundras, like rivers and winds and stone and metal. "People like you make them. They will do good in this world and they are eager to meet you once they have grown enough power to gain a voice."

Well. You had no idea what to say to that, but thankfully Mother Nature needed no answer. She just closed her eyes and vanished, bursting into a shower of flower petals and laughing winds and roots vanishing into the ground.

Your former friends stared at you like they had never seen you before, like they had never thought you would ever be capable of any of the things you had done.

A warm hand gently took yours and you blinked, looking back at your companion - your friend. A truer friend than any you had had before.

"Want to meet my family?" they asked and then grinned, wicked and sharp, fangs on display. "And if you are willing, there are other evil things I would love to slay."

It surged forward within you once more, that hunger for adventure, the desire to test yourself against the world, to do good and make your time alive worth something.

"Yeah," you said and their grin turned into a glad smile.

And as they led you out of the mine-turned-fortress, away from people who had never truly known you, they leaned in and whispered their name into your ear.

Your a healer and was kicked out of the hero’s party because “Healers aren’t needed, just use potions”. You become powerful using your hate and distain for the hero’s party as a driving force. Only to learn, they kicked you out to protect you

[darlingdaisyfarm]

I dunno if it was asked here but- For Stan and Ford, are they a boobs or ass type of guy??

you'll regret asking this hun because it made me open my mouth. idk if the ask meant that but i yapped anyway and now i’m like. oh sorry... and it accidentally became more about Ford than i meant

nsfw

Stan is 100% an “all of the above” type of guy, because the truth is, the man is just hungry for you. he doesn’t have a favorite because the idea of choosing makes him scoff “what, i gotta pick one? the hell for??”

he wants it all, he wants you all over him, he wants to fumble his big rough hands all over your curves until you’re laughing and breathless and twitchy from overstimulation. he genuinely believes your body was made for his hands only and he's fucking greedy about it. he’ll grab your tits in the middle of making pancakes, smack your ass every time you pass him, grope your thighs under the table on the family dinners

boobs, yeah he loves them. loves how they squish in his palms, loves when you’re riding him and they bounce in his face so he’ll mouth at them without even thinking, his dirty talk muffled while he slobbers over you. make sure to never wear bra around him

ass... you kidding?? hahhsha he’s obsessed. he’ll pull you into his lap just to squeeze it. if you’re bent over looking for something, he’ll come up behind and dry hump you like a dog in heat. he wants handprints on it.

as for thighs.. don’t even start. he’s always got a hand resting there when you sit beside him, and if you’re in shorts? good luck lmao

also he loves your belly, oh Stan’s a big boy with a soft middle himself. you think he doesn’t adore your tummy? if you’re soft / plush he’s practically feral. lifts your shirt just to kiss your belly. grinds against it when he’s jerking himself between your thighs. “look at this fuckin' body, jesus, you're gonna kill me”

he loves your body in general. any shape, height/weight/body type/ size. if you’ve got stretch marks he kisses them. if you jiggle when you walk he’s biting his lip, groaning to himself, following you into the next room like a dog sniffing steak. it simply turns him on when you don’t hide from him and when you love you body yourself! wear the short skirt. lie back naked and lazy and confident he’ll just melt.

and thighs, thick or slender, he's wrapping them around his head so there's no escape

Stan is shameless, always grabbing at you, muttering filthy things in your ear about how you feel in his hands.

i mean he just makes sure every day that he loves you more and more and more, especially after seeing you leaning over the fridge in your underwear

Ford so .. honestly i received some asks to write Ford as a boob guy but for me the thing is, he’s smth way, WAY worse. yeah, Ford loves your breasts. he loves your ass too. he’ll cup you, stroke you, but it’s not the core of it. too basic for the way this man obsesses over you

Ford is different and he's more pervert than Stan. yes he’s adoring, attentive but because his fixation runs deeper he has very specific anatomical obsessions.

first of all yeah thighs, he wants them pressed against his ears and shaking as he fucks his tongue into you, wants to have you ride his face until your thighs are trembling and you beg him to stop and he doesn’t.

and it gets worse when you're not paying attention. like if you’re standing in the kitchen in just shorts? oh well

and if you sit on his lap, putting your thighs over his, im sure he's trying not to drool.

he’ll thighfuck you for hours, sliding his cock through that perfect little heaven made just for him. ”you don't even need to touch me, darling, this is enough. look how tight you are, you poor thing, are you aching too?”

as for other body parts, i think it's also your fingers and your hands in general. especially when you're touching smth, cooking, reading, holding a pen, he watches the movement of your knuckles. he’ll kiss your fingertips and then suck them into his mouth, one by one. wet and slow, eyes half-lidded, groaning around them. he'll wrap your hand around his cock and hold it there. “no one else. only these fingers. only yours.” he likes when you stroke his face after he's eaten you out. when you touch him with messy, trembling hands

+ your calves and ankles. this man is deranged for the curve of your leg. loves when you stretch in bed and your leg tenses. he'll bite the meat of your calf while holding your leg in his lap

your back too, your spine... Ford loves seeing it when you arch, when you stretch, when you’re bent over his desk and he’s running his hands down it. he likes licking the dip just above your tailbone. he’ll cum from just watching you twist and squirm in his sheets, bare back to him, breathing heavy. he obsesses over your vertebrae

your ears. don’t ask. just know he likes the way they twitch. he likes breathing against them, nibbling the edge, pulling your earlobe into his mouth

your knees, hell yeah, he will bend down to kiss the bend of your knee. will fuck you with your legs pressed to your chest just so he can mouth at them. he’s got your legs over his shoulders and he’s staring at the place where they fold and tremble and it’s making him sloppy, because fuck, his sweetheart is shaking already. you're beautiful like this.

breasts and ass, sure, he loves them. he’ll suck on your nipples while fingering you <3

[ochacoca]

Perhapsss... can u make some timeskip/msby!atsumu x figure!skater reader hcs hehehee

Like.. maybe they could have been schoolmates in highschool and reconnected later i dunno up to u:3

HOW FAST THE NIGHT CHANGES

msby!atsumu x figure skater!reader

IN WHICH you see your teenage crush at a charity event. the same one you'd never forget and never shared your last high school dance with.

now playing ♫ night changes by one direction

word count: 2,126 words

a/n: i giggled like a maniac when i saw this request. i love timeskip atsumu and i love figure skating (i've never tried it but i used to watch ice princess religiously when i was little) also i just saw it said headcannons and i wrote a whole fic 🥀 so sorry

There were probably hundreds of athletes at this venue right now. You and others were invited to a fundraiser gala for Local Youth Sports Programs. You didn't recognize most of the people here. Even though you are an athlete yourself, you never really spend time trying to watch other sports. But none of those people mattered to you when he caught your eye.

You could recognize that blond tuft of hair from a mile away.

Even though the lights at the charity were quite dim and everything else was a bit difficult to make out, there's no way you'd be able to miss Atsumu Miya. He carried himself the same way he did at Inarizaki. He did look a bit taller and his hair was finally toned, but his loud personality never changed.

You couldn't help but stare. Your champagne glass was tucked between your teeth and as you held your gaze on him, creepily might you add, all of those memories came rushing back and felt so fresh. You were so zoned into him, you didn't even notice said man walking up to you.

“Y/N?” He called out to you, his eyes glimmering with disbelief. “Is that you darlin'?”

You froze immediately. You hadn't heard his voice in forever. Eventually after high school, you two went separate ways. With him going pro in volleyball and you going pro in figure skating, you guys never had the time to talk. The occasional ‘Hi’s or ‘How's your day going?’ slowly yet eventually came to an end.

“It's been too long, ‘Tsumu.” You greeted as a fat grin sat on your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you tried to keep your cool. You could feel the heat all over your body. It started from your head all the way to your toes and you felt exactly seventeen-year-old self again. His voice was just as you remember it: Sweet and soft like honey.

He stepped closer to you as he tucked his hand in his pockets, rocking himself back and forth as he shifted his weight from the ball of his feet to his heel. “I've seen ya on TV all the time.”

You tilted your head and gave him a small smile, playing with the hem of your dress as you tried to calm your nerves. “I've seen you too. You're still just as good as before.”

He still had that same smugness. You knew it immediately as he teasingly squinted his eyes at you. “Just like you. Spinning like a little beyblade in the air.” Atsumu joked.

You rolled your eyes and couldn't help but let out a small laugh. “Stop.” You giggled as you lightly smacked his shoulder.

He laughed with you, then held his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, sorry sorry.” He said. He nodded his head to the left, pointing in the direction of his table as a silent invitation for you to come sit with him.

You two caught up on everything that's happened in the past few years after graduating from high school, but then you ran out of what to say. There were so many questions you wanted to ask him, but you wanted him to ask them first.

An awkward silence filled the the atmosphere. The air felt heavy as your mind raced with hundreds if not thousands of what if's. Everyone in the background faded out, and the only thing you could hear was the thumping of your heartbeat and soft music.

“You know-”

“Have you-”

You both spoke at the same time and held eye contact with each other. Neither of you could hold in a laugh at the situation.

“You go first.” He offered.

“No, it's fine.” You said as you waved him off. “What were you going to say?”

Atsumu seemed hesitant at first, like he didn't want to say what he had in mind. You could tell by the way he repeatedly opened and closed his mouth before eventually blurting it out. “Do you remember what we said in 3rd year? During English?”

Of course you remembered. It was the only thing you were thinking about ever since he approached and a dark thought at night that keeps you from sleeping.

Atsumu was sprawled out over his desk as he groaned in your ear, complaining about something his brother did that annoyed him so bad he wanted to rip Osamu's hair out of his scalp. You were so used to his dramatics that you zoned him out as you continued to focus on your work.

He stared at you as you worked. You felt his eyes boring onto the side of your face until he grabbed your hand and snatched your pencil out of it. “Tsumu!” You gasped.

He planted his voice dangerously close to yours, your foreheads were practically touching, and you could feel each breath of his slightly graze your lips.

“Need'ya to promise something, okay?” He slurred, most likely from the nap he was taking 5 minutes before.

It took every bone in your body to fight the urge not to kiss him right then and there. “What?” You responded barely above a whisper.

His finger swung back in forth as he pointed between the two of you. “The last song at prom. Dance with me?” He suggested.

You rose an eyebrow as you looked at him with an incredulous look on your face. “Seriously?” You asked flatly.

“What?! We both don't have dates, might as well mingle together while the other couples do whoever knows what.”

“Okay, fine. I promise to dance with you at prom.”

He never showed up. You waited the entire song near the DJ stand, people-watching as couples danced together. You looked around as everyone had a look of love on their face while all you wanted to do was break down and cry. You left the venue as everyone started dispersing. The next day at school, neither you nor Atsumu brought it up again. ‘Maybe he changed his mind or found someone else to dance with.’ You thought to yourself

“Yeah.. yeah, I remember.” You said softly. Your hand immediately flew to your mouth to bite your nails, a bad habit you've picked up from the stress over the years.

There was a pause.

“Where were you?”

“Huh?” You blinked and slightly jerked back your head.

“I waited for ya.” He said. His eyebrows were furrowed and there was a slight pain written in his eyes.

You squinted your eyes in confusion and shook your head in response. “No, I waited for you.” You corrected.

“No. I waited by the punch just like we said!”

You looked at him sharply. “.. You told me to wait by the DJ stand.”

“No I didn't!– Did I?” Atsumu questioned. His face softened from hurt to realization as he looked into your eyes and could see that you were telling the truth.

You gave him a slow nod.

“Oh.” He murmured.

“Yeah..”

It went silent between the two of you again, yet this time it wasn't awkward. It was filled with regret and guilt. You couldn't believe how much time you two wasted off of the fact you couldn't communicate properly. You could only assume Atsumu was thinking the same thing.

“’M sorry darlin’..” He broke the silence. “I really thought ya just.. left me there.”

Your lips curled up. After all these years of you losing sleep over something so minimal, it was all just a misunderstanding. You were relieved, but also so annoyed that the two of you wasted so many years. “I thought you left me there.”

Atsumu tapped his fingers on the table rhythmically as a way to distract himself from the tense situation.

“I guess we both of us were kind of stupid.” He mumbled under his breath, still loud enough for you to hear.

Neither of you said anything after that. You were looking down at your lap and played with your fingers, and you felt his eyes on you. You looked up to see him anxiously biting the inside of his cheek, like he wanted to say something so bad, but he wanted to make sure you felt the same way too.

“Maybe, we can make up for it?” You suggested.

“How?”

“Y'know, I’m not a pro like you are. ‘M gonna eat shit if you put me on that rink.” Atsumu said as he tightly gripped the handrail inside the rink.

What better way was there to make up for your last dance besides going into the empty skating rink you conveniently had the key to. All of those late night practices were really worth it now.

You let out a laugh at the way his knuckles turned white so he wouldn’t slip. You skated over to him and softly held his free hand, tugging it towards you in a way of telling him to let go. “Don't worry. I'll hold your hands.” You turned away too quickly to notice the faint blush that was on his face.

As the two of them skated beside each other, Atsumu wobbled and doubled over more times than any of them could count as he tried to keep his balance.

“You look like a baby giraffe.” You wheezed and wrapped your arms around your stomach to ease the pain of how much you were laughing.

“Sorry, only one of us here has a Japan National Championship for gliding on frozen water.”

Atsumu seemingly got the hang of it after a while. Once you saw that you were able to leave him alone without him faceplanting on the ice, you grabbed your phone and set it on the side of the rink.

You skated back over to Atsumu, who was resting on the wall waiting for you to come back to him. Once you stood in front of him, he stretched out his hand in front of you. “Can I have this dance?” He teased.

You rolled your eyes at him playfully before taking his arms and wrapping them around waist as you rested yours loosely around his neck. “You're so corny.” You mumbled.

It wasn't perfect. You didn't expect it to be. Atsumu slipped a couple of times and you felt your hands getting more sweaty as you two stared into each other's eyes.

“Y'know… ahh, nevermind.” He started but quickly cut himself off, looking off to the side.

“No, what is it?” You said as you moved your head to be in his gaze again “Tell me.”

“It's just–” He spoke hesitantly and shakily exhaled. “I was kinda.. in love with ya in school.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You blinked rapidly as your eyebrows slowly rose until it practically reached your hairline.

“Really?” You asked him softly, taking the hand that rested around his neck and rubbing his shoulder gently.

“Yeah.. that's the main reason I asked ya to dance with me. Was gonna tell you how I felt, but obviously it didn't go according to plan.”

You let out a soft giggle and buried your face into his face. “Yeah.. not at all.”

The silence between you settled again as the music from your phone bounced off the walls.

“Did.. did youu..” He started.

“Did I what?” You asked him teasingly. You knew what he was going to say. You could tell by the little pout that was on his lips. The same way he pouted while you guys were teenagers.

“Oh come on darlin’, stop teasing me. Ya know what I'm asking.”

You lifted your head from his chest and looked into his eyes, bringing up your hand to rest against his cheek.

“Well, why did you think I said yes?”

His eyes searched yours, widened and surprised. His hand traveled from your waist to meet the side of your face as well. Slowly and carefully, you two leaned in and your lips met one another.

The kiss wasn't messy nor rushed. It was soft and built off years of yearning for each other. It was filled with all the love you two failed to confess years before. The way his lips moved against yours and how is fingers trailed your cheek and your jaw made your knees go weak.

If your seventeen-year-old self were here right now, she wouldn't believe what was happening. But the you now could only smile against his lips and melt against his body, the same way he was melting against yours.

how the fuck did i write this so quickly

©OCHACOCA 2025 | please do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other platforms!

[abyssyby]

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ author’s note — two birds on a wire

( ⸝⸝•ᴗ•⸝⸝ )੭⁾⁾ hello!

if youre here right now, you might be seeing this before two birds on a wire or after. if you haven’t read it, this author’s note might contain spoilers. this fic took me a while to write and as i finish, i can’t help but feel sentimental about it so i wanna talk cuz im gonna miss it (high chance i might snowball more emotional branches to this story in time n im being dramatic, but rn this is my baby)

two birds on a wire was supposed to be a crackfic bc i was frustrated with sylus’s cards coming home to me @ hard hard pity. mentioned here to rng anon (HI RNG ANON ILY!)

so it was an “ok u made me anxious pulling and failing, im gonna make ur kids follow u to a mission” and it was supposed to be him just scolding the boys & showing them what papa does for work. and the boys kinda going “cool! papa cool! i love papa >0<.”

but then it didn’t even get to that point because the moment i wrote Lucian sneaking up on him on his very dangerous flight on his way to his very dangerous mission on this secluded island of thieves and snakes— I felt the fear. the immediate clicking in sylus going “this is my son. this is my son and right now he is in danger.”

and the snowball started there— sylus wouldn’t be thrilled, he’d be mortified. scared out of his wits that he was innocently followed by his boys to just spend time with him, not knowing the stakes they’ve raised by being there.

and then that was a whole exploration of how sylus might handle this situation given who he is, what he's dealing with and who he's dealing with. how he would need to be the ruthless man at work, but also just papa so as not to traumatize his children to oblivion. how this event— the thought of losing his most precious boys to him despite success and victory, but the what-if that haunts him— would shatter him body and soul because he can't, he cannot have love taken away from him again.

and then like magnetized blocks, everyone just started falling apart— you who lost them in the first place, kieran and luke who were also supposed to be watching them and the little twins who, now realizing what they just walked into, were the epicenter of the earthquake.

as i wrote, i saw how this family would have had the dynamic of desperately trying to hold each other up while helplessly falling apart— and that's where MC/you/mama shines, as that broken savior, despite being weakened and battered by the events at hand, you— beloved, mama, boss hunter— still show up for them all. BECAUSE LOVE>??!!??!

it was a very challenging and stimulating process to get working on, but I'm hoping i did it well enough to showcase each one's nuances & complexities. and my most important hurdle when writing: giving each character their own texture and voice. so this was a super enjoyable study on how to do that (was not fun i cried real tears)

anyway, if you've read it and you're here— thank you so much. i am forever and always grateful for people giving my stories a chance & endlessly appreciative of your time reading them. especially this one, since it's longer than the rest.

if you haven't and you're considering to— I hope you like it!! I appreciate you as well.

All the kind comments, replies, tags, reactions, reblogs, etc. that let me know how the work was received are never taken for granted. i see you, i appreciate you will all my heart. you all make my days & weeks, and i hope my stories do the same for you in return.

thank you, stay safe & kind, dunno why this is ending like a love letter now, but much much love.

ʕ⁠っ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ⁠っ ♡ urs

[rekino2114]

A/n:this is incredibly self indulgent but I don't care I had a bad day and my teacher sucks so this is my way to rant and get my revenge (and also I'm just really enjoying writing for the horsemen girls so there's that too)

I was just thinking that 3 of the 4 horsemen of apocalypse, the strongest devils in existence who could destroy and murder basically everything and everyone like it's nothing.........are just normal students. Especially after they met you and abandoned whatever plans they had in mind to stay with you, they just go to class, study and do normal student stuff

So imagine you jokingly saying that you wish your teacher would die and your devil girlfriend taking that 100% seriously

Yoru would definitely be the most excited about it, she's actually been waiting for you to ask her to kill someone for a long time..... murder is kind of her love language.

"Sometimes I just wish my teacher would just drop dead in the middle of class y'know? She's so angry all the time for no reason"

"Which way?"

"Hm?"

"Which way do you wish she would die?"

"I dunno, i wasn't serious anyway"

"Damn you're really making it hard for the hypothetical murderer"

"........I know saying that is definitely not going to change your mind but....can you please not kill her?"

"Why did you assume I was going to?"

"Cause you asked me which way I would like to see her die.......and also I know you"

"It was just a hypothetical"

"Whatever"

The next day your teacher is mysteriously missing and yoru just casually happens to have a new weapon that she shows off to you while smiling

Fami would be confused at first, after all you were the one who showed her how great life was and how valuable human lives were, but she didn't argue at all since well....you were the one to say it

Fami's moral compass is basically "Whatever y/n says is right" you are like the one person (except her sisters......most of the time) that treats her with love and basic respect so she would literally do anything you ask her to do just so you don't leave her (like you'd ever do that) including killing people.....it's not like she wasn't planning mass genocide before she met you anyway

"H-huh r-really?"

"Hehe, that would be nice wouldn't it?"

"....o-ok, I g-guess I c-could try"

"...what?"

"B-but then i-i'll be late for our date tonight, c-can you wait o-one more day please"

"......wait for what?"

".....for her......s-salvation"

"...........were you thinking of killing our teacher?"

".........i-is that not what you wanted?"

"No, it was just a joke"

".....oh........t-then no, i-i would have never t-thought about that......hehe.......eh"

"..................."

"W-wahhhhhhhh!!!! I-i *sniffles* I'm so sorry y/n......p-please don't break up with m-me!"

"I-it's fine fami"

Death will just nod and look at you like you asked her to take out the trash or something

To be honest she already thought about killing her the moment she saw the teacher was being too mean and harsh to you (and because she told her she couldn't eat in class) but never went through with it cause she thought you'd be angry with her if she did that

But now you actively said that you wished she'd die so there's nothing stopping her. She casually continues your conversation while sending falling devil to take care of the teacher

"Maybe we'd even get some days off from that, I doubt that's just magically gonna happen though"

"...................."

"....death, why are you looking at me like that?"

"...did you...not just say you wanted her to die?"

"Well yeah but it was just a joke"

"....................."

".....death what did you do?"

"Sorry, it seems I still don't fully understand human humor"

".....oh my God did you actually just kill her?"

"I could go and see what parts of her remain......I did ask falling to be brutal because she insulted you thought....so it's probably not much"

"...........*sighs* it's.....it's alright, she was awful anyway"

[krispdreemurr]

How far do you think the characters who know about… US know about… US?

Like, does Ralsei know that we’re playing a game? Because im pretty damn sure Jevil does. Does Spamton? I dunno, just thoughts.

—————————————————

Sincerely, Abel

i feel like it's more likely just with like, toby fox's established trend that it will be consistently framed as game like without ever just being "yeah you're playing a video game". honestly ive become increasingly interested in the idea the angel is a 'character' because of this, an entity at a higher level of reality that basically is the 1:1 player analogue without just. being a player of video games. but I don't know for sure lol that's just my guess

jevil definitely has a good idea of what the world looks like to us (knows about numerical concepts of hp most tellingly lmao) but that doesn't strictly mean He Knows It's Video Game. spamton I think definitely sees us as a resident of heaven

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

sg men x reader and aphrodisiac chocolate?? 🫠

Chocolate

Pairing: Thanos, Namgyu, Gyeong-Seok, Young-il

Thanos

It started with a chocolate truffle.

You’d found it at the bottom of a gift box Su-bong had won in some weird staff lottery. He didn’t even like sweets.

“I’ll trade you this for those instant noodles,” he said, wiggling it in your face.

You snatched it instantly.

You should’ve asked more questions.

Because now?

Your skin was burning.

Your thighs were clenched.

And Su-bong was watching you from across the bunk room with a growing look of concerned panic.

“You okay?” he asked.

You swallowed.

Hard.

“Yeah. I’m—hot.”

His brows knit. “Like fever-hot or… other-hot?”

You stared.

And then whimpered.

“Oh no,” he whispered. “Was that that weird chocolate they were joking about?”

You blinked. “What?”

“The one they said was, uh—‘energy-enhanced.’ Like… adult energy.”

You slowly lowered yourself to the mattress. “Su-bong.”

“Yes?”

“You just fed me a f*cking aphrodisiac.”

Five minutes later, you were a mess.

Sweaty, flushed, thighs soaked through your thin shorts. Every breath felt like it brushed nerve endings you didn’t know you had.

You curled into yourself, face hot.

Su-bong sat beside you, bouncing his knee in full panic mode.

“I didn’t mean to drug you!” he said, voice cracking. “I thought it was just fancy chocolate! Like rich people stuff! Not—sex magic!”

You groaned, squeezing your thighs together. “Stop talking.”

“I can’t, I’m nervous!”

You reached for him—blind, desperate. Grabbed his shirt.

And dragged him down to whisper in his ear.

“If you don’t shut up and do something about it, I’m going to hump this pillow until I cry.”

He froze.

“Oh.”

A pause.

Then, in a voice ten times lower:

“Okay.”

It was like flipping a switch.

One second, Su-bong was stammering.

The next, he was on his knees between yours, mouth on your thigh, fingers tugging your soaked shorts down.

“I’ve never—” he whispered, breath shaking. “But I want to. I really want to.”

You nodded, breathless. “Please.”

He spread you open with trembling hands.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re soaked.”

You moaned as his lips met your clit—hesitant at first, then obsessed, lapping like he was starving.

The aphrodisiac made every flick of his tongue feel like a live wire. You bucked, cried out—already close.

And he just kept going.

"You're twitching so much," he breathed, voice muffled against your heat. “You're making these sounds—I can’t—”

You came hard on his tongue, your legs locking around his shoulders.

But he didn’t stop.

“Too much—wait—Su-bong—!”

But he was gone. Lost in it.

“Need to taste it again,” he mumbled, licking you through your second orgasm like it was his only purpose in life.

You were shaking by the third—legs quivering, mind blank, the chocolate still pulsing in your bloodstream.

When you finally tugged his hair back and gasped for mercy, he looked wrecked.

Lips shiny.

Eyes wild.

Cock hard and tenting his pants.

“Can I—fuck—I need to feel you,” he groaned. “You’re so hot—I think I’m gonna combust—”

Namgyu

(reader originally had the chocolate in her bra, hence why she has it in the game)

You only had one piece left.

One tiny square of chocolate smuggled deep in your jacket, traded from a guard with no morals and a sweet tooth. You’d planned to savor it tonight—maybe with Namgyu if he asked nicely.

Instead?

He found it first.

“Mm?” he mumbled, already chewing, eyes lighting up. “Oh my god, is this real? This is so good—”

You turned around just in time to see him swallow it.

And you blinked.

“…Namgyu. Where did you find that?”

He grinned, chocolate-smudged lips. “In your pocket.”

“No—shit—that wasn’t normal chocolate.”

He blinked at you. Paused.

Then frowned. “Wait. What do you mean it wasn’t—”

😳 10 Minutes Later

It started slow.

A deep blush. Sweating. Fidgeting.

Then his eyes got glassy.

His hand kept tugging at the front of his uniform pants.

“Are you hot?” you whispered, looking around. The bunkroom was nearly empty.

“I-I dunno—just—” He squirmed, sitting weird. “Feels like my blood’s boiling. Everything's tight. I—my pants—I swear they shrunk—”

Then his eyes flicked to you.

And stayed there.

“Y/N,” he said softly. “You smell... really good.”

Your heart dropped.

“Namgyu,” you whispered, grabbing his arm, “You ate aphrodisiac chocolate.”

His eyes widened.

“Oh.”

Then: “Oh no.”

He followed you to the back corner of the bunkroom like a dog in heat.

Literally.

You sat on the lower bunk, trying to assess the situation, and Namgyu immediately dropped to his knees between your legs.

“Gyuuuu,” you hissed, shoving his shoulders. “You’re burning up.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “My whole body’s buzzing. And I—fuck, I keep thinking about your thighs.”

You choked.

“My what?”

He buried his face in your lap.

“Your thighs,” he whined. “They’re so soft. I just wanna... grind on them.”

You froze. Absolutely stunned. Entirely, shamelessly aroused.

Then he moaned.

Actually moaned.

His hips rutted forward, slowly, the heat of him pressing between your legs as he rubbed himself against your thigh.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I can’t stop—please don’t hate me.”

“Holy shit, Namgyu—”

He whimpered again.

You let him.

You shouldn’t have—but god, you let him.

He climbed into your lap, legs straddling one of yours, arms around your shoulders. Every time he rocked his hips, the bulge in his pants pressed right against your thigh—hard, twitching, so fucking needy.

“Y/N,” he gasped, nuzzling your neck. “It hurts. I’m so hard, I—I think I’m gonna come—”

“You haven’t even taken your pants off—”

“I know,” he moaned.

You cupped his face, made him look at you. His cheeks were blazing, eyes glossy, lips bitten raw from trying not to sob.

“You need help, baby?” you whispered.

He nodded, grinding again.

You let him.

You held his hips, let him hump you like he couldn’t breathe otherwise—rubbing himself raw, desperate for friction.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come, I can’t—”

“Do it,” you whispered. “Come in your pants, baby.”

And with one more thrust, he did.

He collapsed against you, panting, damp and trembling.

“I think I ruined my underwear,” he muttered into your shoulder.

You smiled, brushing sweaty hair off his forehead.

“You definitely did.”

“Are you mad?”

“No.”

You kissed his cheek.

“Next time, though?”

He peeked up at you.

“Ask before you eat my snacks.”

Gyeong-seok

Somehow, you and Gyeong-Seok end up hiding out together post-Games in a shitty little one-room apartment.

No money. No escape. Just each other. And a stolen box of fancy chocolates left on someone’s doorstep. (“Don’t ask how I got it,” he mutters. You don’t.)

You split one in half and bite in.

It hits fast. Warmth. Need. Low in your gut.

Then your thighs start rubbing together, and your nipples ache under your shirt, and Gyeong-Seok… won’t meet your eyes.

Because he’s feeling it, too.

Hard.

🍫 Five Minutes Later

“You okay?” you whisper.

He nods once. Then again. Sharper.

But his eyes are blown wide, his jaw clenched, and when you shift where you sit, his head snaps toward you like a predator scenting blood.

“…What was in that chocolate?” you whisper, breath hitching.

“I don’t know,” he growls, “but I need to leave. Right now.”

He starts to move. You grab his wrist.

“Please. Don’t.”

He freezes.

Your fingers curl around him. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

He turns—slowly. Controlled. Barely.

And you see it.

The bulge in his sweats. The flush in his cheeks. The tremble in his fingers.

“Shit,” he mutters. “This is—”

You press your body against his.

And he breaks.

The kiss is teeth and tongue and heat. His hands cup your ass, lift you to the counter like you weigh nothing. His lips devour yours, rough and frantic, like he’s been starving for months.

Maybe he has.

“You smell—fuck—you smell like sugar and sweat,” he groans, voice shaking as he pushes your thighs apart.

“Do you wanna stop?” you ask, panting.

His jaw flexes. “I want to stop.”

Then his hand dips into your panties.

“And I can’t.”

🖤 Gyeong-Seok Unleashed

His fingers are thick and fast, curling up inside you like he’s mapping out your weak spots.

And then he finds it.

You scream.

“I knew it,” he mutters, darkly amused. “You get loud when I hit that spot.”

“Please—don’t stop—”

“Couldn’t if I tried.”

His mouth replaces his hand. Tongue hot, desperate. He eats you like it’s the only way to cure the fire crawling through his skin.

Your legs shake. He doesn’t stop. He can’t.

His hands are shaking, cock straining against his waistband.

“I need to fuck you.”

“Then do it.”

He takes you hard against the kitchen counter—deep and fast, panting in your neck, his whole body trembling with restraint.

You cry out when he grinds in deep and stays there.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he hisses. “Like your body was waiting for me.”

You clench.

He groans—growls, really—and comes with his hand over your mouth, muffling your moans as your orgasm rips through you like lightning.

He doesn’t stop.

Keeps moving.

Keeps fucking you.

Until the fire starts to fade.

And all that’s left is your name on his lips—and your taste on his tongue.

Later, collapsed on the floor, he runs a hand through your hair.

“That was insane.”

“Chocolate shouldn’t do that,” you mumble.

“Remind me never to eat stolen sweets again,” he groans.

“…Or do,” you add, grinning.

He looks at you.

And then laughs.

Low. Warm. Yours.

Young-Il

You’d found it tucked at the bottom of the supply crate—a shiny little wrapper nestled between protein bars and water bottles.

"Hey," you’d said, tossing it to Young-il. "Looks like someone up there likes us."

He caught it midair, grinning that half-feral grin of his. "Aw, sweetheart, is it Valentine’s Day already?"

You unwrapped yours. Popped it into your mouth.

It was good. Shockingly good.

Too good.

You blinked.

Then shifted.

A slow, molten warmth unfurled in your stomach.

Young-il watched you chew, tilting his head. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you lied, squirming as heat built low and slow between your thighs. “Just… warm.”

He smirked. “Cute.”

Then popped his into his mouth.

Ten minutes later, the room felt hot. The kind of hot that makes you peel your jacket off, then your long-sleeved shirt, until you’re left in a tank top that suddenly feels too tight.

Across the room, Young-il was shifting too—cracking his neck, loosening his collar, dragging his fingers through his hair with a clenched jaw.

You made the mistake of glancing over.

His eyes met yours.

Something snapped.

“Okay,” he said slowly, voice like smoke. “What the fuck was in that chocolate?”

You swallowed. Hard.

“I… I don’t know.”

He took one step toward you. Then another.

By the third, you backed into the wall behind you, heartbeat jackhammering.

“You’re flushed,” he murmured.

“So are you.”

“Yeah, well…” His voice dropped. “Pretty sure I’m hard as a rock and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your breath hitched.

“Young-il—”

His hands slammed on either side of your head, caging you in.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, nose brushing yours. “Because if you don’t—if you moan when I kiss you—I’m going to ruin you.”

The kiss is feral. Teeth and tongue and hunger. His hands are in your hair, dragging your head back. He bites your lip, sucks the sting away, and mutters, "Fucking sweet… everything about you is sweet—"

Then he drops to his knees.

Yanks your pants down with a frustrated growl.

“I should take my time,” he mutters. “Lick you slow. Make you beg.”

You whimper as his fingers stroke up your inner thigh.

“But that chocolate? Baby…” He presses a kiss over your soaked underwear. “It made me starve.”

And then he eats.

Fucking devours you—tongue lashing, teeth scraping, lips sucking until your knees buckle and your hands claw at his shoulders, begging for more.

When you finally come—shaking, crying his name—he looks up, mouth soaked, eyes black with lust.

“Your turn,” you whisper hoarsely.

He grins.

“Now you’ve really got me hard.”

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

tidbit Tuesday again hell yeah!!! another technically teaser but I swear to god I'm gonna actually finish this one (in a. timely fashion.) n you can explode me if I don't

"Dally's got a heater. A real life actual heater." Soda's eyes are wide as saucers. Speakin all fast n low so all his words trip over each other n bubble up like a creek. He glances up n around n I peek over my shoulder instinctively. The lawn is still empty n abandoned save for me n him n I knew it would stay that way til Darry got home from practice or mama got off work.

"Where'd he get a gun?" I can't completely keep the awe outta my voice. Which was kinda stupid cause we'd all held a gun before. Daddy took us out on his huntin trips n taught is how to hold em just right. How to keep from hurtin ourselves.

But this ain't daddy n those big ol shooters kept locked safely away from pryin eyes n graspin hands. This was Dally. N he weren't that much older than Soda. Even though he acted like he was. Sometimes, he even seemed it. Mama said seein too much of things kids ought not to would do that. I dunno what she meant by that really.

"Dunno. Who cares! He's got a real life heater n he's gonna let me shoot some pop bottles with him this weekend." Soda puts his hands out in front of him, mimin his best impression of a handgun. He shuts one eye n levels it at my forehead. "Bang!"

I pout at him n he giggles. There's a move from those westerns he loves too much where they spin their pistols round their fingers before they slip them back into heavy holsters n he grins, mimes a sloppy impression. Tips his unseen hat to unseen women n laughs himself silly.

"I wanna go." He stops gigglin to himself immediately, raisin one thin eyebrow n frowin at me seriously.

"Y'can't go, Pone. You're too little." I scowl at him.

"Cmon Soda, I won't even shoot it. I just wanna see it." I can hear the edge of a whine creepin into my own voice, n I know it ain't helpin prove my point at all. Soda plonks his hands down on his hips n gives me an incredulous look I know he only learned from bein on the other side of mama's most his life.

"Nuh uh you're a kid, Pone. You could get hurt or somethin n then we'd both get hollered at." I fold my arms across my chest n kick a hole in the grass. I feel bad for that immediately. Mama worked real hard on the grass. I dunno why. She had a garden n all n she was always gettin us to help. Soda n I were useless n always got distracted playin in the mud but mama n Darry had a real 'green thumb'. Whatever that meant.

Soda, havin figured he'd settled the debate, raises his imaginary gun again n aims to my chest beneath crossed arms. "Cmon, I'll be cowboys n you can be cops."

"You sound like Darry. Never lettin me do anythin fun." Darry had big high-school friends now n he never wanted either of us taggin along.

Soda drops his hands immediately n I can tell this particular jab has landed. Both of us had been feelin Darry’s recent epiphany that apparently we weren't nearly as fun as his stupid football friends.

He pulls a face, squints, purses his lips in thought. After a long moment I spend the entirety of tryin not to look too hopeful, he sighs n nods n I know he's conceded. "Alright, alright. Fine."

I jump to my feet, grinnin wide, 'n throw my arms tight around him. He huffs out a small, insincere noise of frustration before wrappin me tight back in a hug n bonkin our foreheads together.

"Ouch, Soda!" He giggles again, raises his gun.

"Oh, you got such a hard head you'll be fine." He flashes a bright, toothy smile 'n I forget I'm meant to be put out. "Now c'mon! I wanna play cowboys 'n cops."

"I'll be a cowboy." I scramble away from my brother's arms n cast around for a branch to use as a horse. Soda's response is immediate n through, both bony knees in my back as he tackles me to the dirt.

"Nuh-uh. I'm the cowboy." He musses up my hair 'n I buck up, throwin him off 'n into the grass beside me. "You gotta be the cop if you wanna come on Saturday."

He nods resolutely n climbs back to his feet, leavin me flat on my back on the lawn squintin into the sun behind his head that make his hair look like a halo.

If it had been Darry I woulda threatened to tell mama on him n he woulda called me a brat n then we'd both get in trouble for fightin n the whole original plot would come out either way n both our fun would be spoiled. But I ain't a lil kid anymore n I know better. N also this is Soda.

So instead I roll my eyes into the bright midday sun n take the hand he offers me up. "Fine. I'll be cops."

[system-hottakes]

mildly simmering take: most* of hot topics the system community gets itself into a rut with can easily be answered with this: just ask the individual system/alter yourself!

should littles be treated as children? I dunno, but if you asked your friend's little, she could tell you her boundaries

should fictives be treated as their source? I couldn't tell you, but if you ask our introject, he'd be happy to tell you how he prefers to be treated

no two systems are identical, after all!

maybe that's too simple of a answer and more nuance is needed, though :( one can never be too sure yk

this is probably my first and only ask I'll probably send to this account because I'm shy 💔 but I've been low-key just quietly reading these posts from this and other blogs ygs run, hi!

honestly, yeah! We've been saying this for a long long time. When it comes to how you treat alters, be you a system yourself or a friend of one, you should always just ask the alter (or the system if you cannot speak to the alter themselves). I don't even think there's like, anything more to say about it, at the end of the day you should always be treating people in a way they want to be treated (nicely, most likely) and you should always be asking for boundaries (when applicable, obviously I don't expect you to ask a stranger for a list of boundaries or something, but still)

But hi!! I'm glad to see you around, whether you just end up lurking and reading the posts or sending more asks in you're welcome here :3

[kalied0skull]

accidentally becoming a series: here's sodas, ponys and johnnys though — and now I'm getting to steve next !!!

i dunno it's really fun to thing of these guys as concepts instead of characters

steve's the feeling of oil and dirt inside the creases of your hands, the grime and gunk inside of every crevice and print line, looking like a map out of your entire palm

steve's the feeling of slipping and falling because the grass is wet and it's dark outside, awkwardly sat on the grass for a moment as it stains your jeans green and leaves you soaked, feeling embarrassed and disgusted at the same time

steve's the feeling of barking back at a dog as it chases after your car, yelling at it to go home and when it keeps yapping eventually you just start growling and laughing to yourself at it

steve's the feeling of when you close a fist and hold for too long and you can feel your nails making an imprint on your palm, the red lines from where your fingers once were being a sign of frustration and stress

steve's the feeling of a car engine roaring underneath you, feeling it pop and vrrrm as you prepare to speed up and give it gas, always having that temptation to put the pedal to the metal

steve's the feeling of crushing a can after finishing it, whether it be against your head or on a surface or underneath your foot, that crackle snap of metals crunching down on themselves is a therapeutic experience

steve's the feeling of scribbling on a piece of paper so hard it rips, the swift motions of going back and forth as hard as you can and seeing the pen ink fly and toss itself down where you tell it to, only focusing in on just getting that page colored and then— it tears. leaving you accidentally coloring on another page, and you have to stop altogether

steve's the feeling of holding your breath, the weight in your chest pressing down as it begs for you to let go, the way your eyes immediately widen or squint depending on why you're holding it, and how your shoulders tense up to stay as still as possible as you do so — just don't breathe, stay still, keep it all in

steve's the feeling of your skin after being in the sun all day, hot to the touch and steaming when you put cold water on it, leaving you hissing in pain as you think about the aches you'll probably be having from all the stuff you did outside today, and now you've got a nice burn-and-tan to show it

steve's the feeling of sitting at the edge of a lake, never feeling confident in fully dipping in, and just wanting to see everyone else in there; watching the water flow and the people dance around you and you're still... sitting there, on the grass, with just your legs imbedded in sand and water

steve's the feeling of waking up just before sunrise, the annoyance that comes in waking up too early at first, until you sit there for a moment and listen to the birds and the silence and for once everything feels... so calm, just for a moment... until the clock hits 6:40 and you hear the thuds come from the other room of someone else waking up, ready to start a ruckus

steve's the feeling of slipping on the same busted ass sneakers everyday, boring and disappointing but they've taken you everywhere and they're no where near unusable just quite yet – they've still got some good steps in 'em.

steve's the feeling of kicking a door closed instead of letting it, the exertion giving you pride as you step into the next room with the loudest announcement of "i have just entered this room! and i KICKED the door!"

steve's the feeling of sliding against a wall, friction against the surface as you plop down and fall limp, letting your hands land wherever they please and your legs awkwardly bend to stay in place

steve's the feeling of a congested nose, the anger the comes of not being able to smell or breathe and huffing harshly so something will leave and it never does, you just have to let it take it's course even if you really don't want it to

steve's the feeling of a bald tire, smooth and awkward and kind of funny because DAMN, did you really rub these good tires out, treadless and trapping the heat of the roads forever inside of them

steve's the feeling of accidentally tasting the hand sanitizer on your hands, recoiling and regretting it immediately, the taste burning your tongue and making you cringe because you... just licked your hand, and forgot all about it

steve's the feeling of sitting down for a horror movie you've been waiting for, the trailer was stupid but the story hooked you and now you're waiting for whatever shitshow is about to happen of freaks and screams as your friends all shake up in their seats terrified

steve's the feeling of flicking your friend's hat up just to annoy them, as a unpleasantly pleasant way to say "hello friend, your hat looks dumb. that is all :)"

steve's the feeling of grabbing denim tight in your fists, the rough fabric scrunching into your hand and feeling tight as you hold onto it, not quite like cotton ever would — because cottons not rough like denim

steve's the feeling of chewing on your nails, biting down and tasting nothing yet tearing and pulling back and every once in a while getting this sharp pain in your finger because you bit down too far and now the nerves are aching

steve's the feeling of hugging a pillow because you don't have anything else to hold at night, even if you do have a friend or a partner you could simply ask, you know you never would, because you gotta stay tough and by yourself just like dad said.

[aastroopheel]

Chaos Theory

summary: you and cook bump into each other on a rainy day after being way for some years. SO YEAH TIMESKIP COOK.

It’s raining in Bristol again.

You don’t have an umbrella, of course. You never do. The weather here is more of a permanent mood than a temporary inconvenience, and today it feels like it’s matching you beat for beat.

You duck into the corner shop mostly for shelter, but also for something sweet—comfort, distraction, whatever. You're rummaging through a pack of Haribos when you hear the door chime behind you and in comes James fucking Cook, loud as ever, soaked to the bone, and grinning like he just won the lottery. He looks older, more miserable,  than the last time you saw him a few months ago. 

"Oi, look who it is," he says, eyes locking on you like he's just spotted the best kind of trouble. His eyes trailing your soaking body as if nothing had happened between you two and things were the same as in college. "Fancy seeing you here. You stalking me, yeah?"

You roll your eyes. "Obviously. Been tailing you for days. Real MI5 shit."

He laughs, that deep, reckless sound that makes people turn their heads and that, sadly, you had missed.  "Knew it. I’m irresistible."

There’s a second of silence before he closes the distance between you two. His jacket smells like wet cotton and smoke, and his energy crackles in the air around him—feral, unfiltered, alive. You look away from him, biting your inner cheek as when you feel something forming in your stomach as memories of you two from a few years ago come to your mind. 

"You alright?" he asks, serious now, which is somehow more disarming than all the bravado. "You look a bit... I dunno. Like the world kicked you in the teeth."

You shrug, trying not to flinch at how accurate that feels. "Guess I'm just tired." Tired of being so fucking alone, you think looking at the new wound on his left eyebrow. 

Cook nods, then grabs a bottle of orange Lucozade and tosses it to you. "Energy boost. On me. Doctor Cook's orders."

You catch it without thinking. He always does that—makes you forget the weight you're carrying for a second.

"What are you even doing here?" you ask, watching him dig through his pockets for loose change. "Shouldn’t you be off causing chaos somewhere?"

He grins again, wolfish this time. "What makes you think I'm not?" And then he adds, lower, almost as an afterthought  "Maybe I’m here ‘cause I knew you would be."

Your chest does something stupid at that. You look away again before he can see it on your face.

But he already knows. Of course he does. He knew you too well. Your words, your expressions, your tears, your moans. Everything. 

You laugh, sharp and short, almost bitter. “Right. You just knew I’d be in this random corner shop at the exact moment you felt like popping in.”

Cook raises an eyebrow. “What, you think I’m lying?”

You shrug, twisting the cap off the Lucozade. “I think you lie for fun. Or maybe just out of habit.” You glared at him.

He doesn’t respond right away. That grin of his falters, just slightly. Enough to make you realize you’ve hit a nerve—which is rare. Cook wears his chaos like armor, but you know the weak points.

“You’ve got that look,” he says quietly.

“What look?”

“That one where you’re building walls in your head. Like you’re pushing me out before I’ve even had the chance to say anything real.”

You meet his gaze. “Maybe I just don’t buy the whole ‘suddenly interested’ act. Not from you. Not after everything with Effy.”

There it is. You said it. Effy and him were something you simply couldn’t ignore. They were one for so long even if they pretended not to, even if Freddie was between them you could see in their eyes everytime the other was in the same room. Even if you were the one holding his hand. His eyes were always on her and her messy blue eyes. 

His eyes flicker—regret, maybe, or just annoyance that the past always finds its way into the present. He exhales, dragging a hand through his wet hair. “That’s what this is about? Effy?”

“No, it’s about me randomly having trust issues with blokes who flirt with everyone and mean it with no one,” you snap. “Of course it’s about her, James. You were obsessed with her. You’d have burned down the world if she asked you to.”

“I wouldn’t’ve needed asking,” he mutters, more to himself than you. Then louder: “But that was different.”

“Was it?” You don’t mean to sound so small when you say it. You hate that you do.

Cook steps closer, voice low. Not cocky this time—raw. “She never looked at me the way you do.”

You look away, not because you don’t believe him, but because part of you does and that’s worse. You remember perfectly her eyes looking at him. The pain and the lust and how she would unconsciously lick her lips. And how then regret would appear as she looked at you, because she was your friend and it hurted her to be such a bad friend to someone so nice and kind as you who had helped her so much. She apologised so many times and you would forgive her every time. You couldn’t stand seeing her sad, you just couldn’t.  But Cook was something different. He could have stopped it. He could have talked to her and told her that he loved you as much as he told you every time he kissed you before falling asleep between your arms. But he never did. 

He leans against the snack rack beside you, his shoulder just brushing yours. “You think I’m still that version of me,” he says. “Maybe I am. Maybe I always will be. But you make me want to be someone else. Someone better.”

You sip the Lucozade to avoid answering. The sugar hits your tongue, but it doesn’t wash anything down.“Don’t say things like that unless you mean them,” you murmur.

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?,” he replies. And for once, there’s no smirk. No bravado. Just Cook—messy, complicated, and maybe… just maybe, telling the truth.

But trust isn’t something you give for free. 

“There’s a party tonight? Will I see you there?” he asks you, his fingers grabbing one lock of your hair. 

You move away. His touch burns and you already spent too much money on ice to calm your burns. “Maybe” He smiles at you before you leave with nothing left to say. 

—----- —

The music is too loud, the lights too dim, and everything smells like cheap vodka and damp clothes. Someone’s already passed out on the stairs, and some couple is snogging hard enough in the kitchen to make you consider sobriety as a permanent lifestyle.

You didn’t come here for fun. You came because it was better than staying in. And maybe of him. 

You're halfway through your drink when you see him. Cook. He’s standing near the back doors, smoke curling from the cigarette tucked between his fingers. His eyes scan the room like he’s not really seeing anyone—until they land on you.

And just like that, you want to run.

You slip into the hallway instead, where the music thumps through the walls like a second heartbeat. A breath. Then another.

And then he’s there, behind you. Like always.

"You’re avoiding me." his accent it’s a little bit raspier because of the alcohol on his throat. 

You don’t turn around. "I didn’t realize I owed you my time."

"Don’t owe me anything," he says, voice low. "But you left without saying anything the other day. Thought we were past that."

You scoff, finally facing him. "Past what, Cook? Past the part where you mess people up and pretend it’s love? Or past the part where I pretend I’m not one of them?" Maybe you shouldn’t have accepted that spliff from a random pretty girl that had her shirt too low for your brain to actually connect two and two. But you did accept it and now your tongue was a little bit too loose. 

His face hardens. "You think I’m pretending?"

“I think you don’t know what you want.”

He takes a step forward, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I do. I know exactly what I want.”

“No,” you say, heart pounding. “You just don’t like being alone.”

That lands like a punch. 

He looks away for a second, jaw clenched. And then, softer, he says, “You think Effy was love?” Silence stretches between you. He steps closer. “That wasn’t love,” he says. “That was me trying to feel something. Anything. And her letting me because she needed someone to break.”

His voice cracks—not much, just a fracture—but it’s enough.

You want to say something. Maybe to soften the blow. Maybe to dig it in deeper. Maybe to just make him stop talking and kiss you hard against the wall like he used to. 

But he keeps going.

“I wake up some mornings and I feel like I’m drowning. Not ‘cause of her. Not anymore. But because I keep thinking about you. And how I’ll fuck it up. Like I fuck up everything.”

You shake your head, eyes stinging.You always cried easily. You were always so fucking sensitive and you fucking hated it.  “You don’t get to dump all this on me like it’s some twisted love letter.”

“I’m not trying to win you,” he says. “I’m just trying to tell you.” And then, quieter: “I don’t want to be that kid anymore. I want to be someone you can trust to not disappear, or lie, or break you down to build myself up.”

You swallow, hard. “And what if I don’t believe you?”

Cook looks at you like you’re the last thing keeping him standing. “Then I’ll keep showing up until you do.”

It’s not romantic. It’s not some sweeping confession that fixes everything. It’s two broken kids in a stranger’s house, trying to find a reason to be better.

And maybe, just maybe, that's enough.

You don’t say anything. For a while, neither of you does.

The silence hangs heavy, the kind that doesn't ask to be filled. Just lived through.

Cook leans back against the wall, sliding down to the floor like the weight of his own words finally hit him. He runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the roots like he’s trying to hold himself together. If you ignore his short beard, he would look just like in college. Broken, mad. 

You stay standing. Because if you sit, you might not be able to get back up.

“I scare myself, you know,” he says eventually, voice barely above the hum of the music, but loud enough for you to hear him.  “I don’t say that out loud. Not to anyone.’’ He laughs, hollow. “I thought if I was loud enough, mad enough, if I did enough stupid shit, then the pain wouldn’t catch me. But it always does. Always bloody does.”

You look down at him. His head is tilted back against the wall, eyes closed, like he’s waiting to be hit.

“I’m not your salvation,” you say quietly. His eyes open. “I’m not here to fix you, James.”

“I know,” he says, and his voice breaks for real this time. “That’s why it hurts more.”

Your throat tightens.

“I wanted to be good for you,” he says. “Still do. But every time I get close to something real, I fuck it. Like I’m hardwired for destruction.”

He looks at you, and there’s no mask left. No bravado. No ‘Oi, babe’ smile. Just James Cook. A boy trying not to drown in himself.

“You make me feel like there’s a version of me I haven’t met yet,” he whispers. “One that’s worth something. One that could actually love someone right.”

You sit. Slowly. Carefully. The floor is cold against your thighs. You sit close, but not touching. He notices. The space between you is bigger than the closeness, abstractly because you can actually feel his baggy trousers against your naked leg. But not his skin, you can’t feel his skin and maybe it's better that way. 

“You know I wanted her,” you say, voice steady. “Not just Effy. Everyone liked her. All the broken girls that boys like you chased ‘cause they were beautiful in a way that didn’t last.”

You look at him now, and he doesn’t look away.

“But I’m not Effy. I won’t burn myself to keep someone warm. And if you come near me, bleeding, expecting me to patch you up, you better know I’ll bleed too. And I don’t know if I have anything left to give.”

He swallows hard. “Then don’t give. Just… stay. Let me do something right for once.”

It’s not a promise. It’s not a vow. It’s a plea.

You’re both just trying not to fall apart, lit by the flicker of bad decisions and better intentions. You want to tell him you believe him.

But instead, you reach out and take his hand.

Not tightly. Just enough.

His fingers twitch like he’s afraid even this will slip through.

But it doesn’t. Not yet.

You don’t know how long you sit there—your hand in his, the music echoing like a heartbeat that belongs to someone else. The hallway smells like damp coats and something spilled long ago. The longer you stay, the more the walls press in.

You stand first.

He follows without a word.

The back garden’s half-dead, rain-soaked and ugly under the yellow glow of a porch light. Someone’s dropped a bottle in the grass. There’s a discarded shoe by the bins. This place was never meant to be pretty. But it’s quieter. Honest.

Cook lights a cigarette with shaking hands. Offers you one. You shake your head. You’ve been trying to quit, you tell him. He laughs. 

You lean against the brick wall, arms crossed, watching your breath fog in the air.

“You’re freezing,” he says, shrugging off his jacket before you can protest.

You let him drape it over your shoulders. It smells like him—smoke, sweat, something wild you can’t name. You hate how much comfort you take from it.

“I keep thinking,” he says between drags, “about how many people I’ve hurt just by being near them.”

You look at him. “And you think being near me is gonna be different?”

He exhales smoke through his nose. “I want it to be.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

He nods. Doesn’t argue. That’s how you know he means it. When he is silent, when he isn’t loud and when he just breathes in and keeps his words inside his mouth. 

You both stand there, the sky spitting rain again, soaking into your hair. And maybe that’s what does it—something in the cold, or the silence, or the fact that you’re both just tired of pretending.

“I’m scared,” you say. The words fall out like teeth.

He turns to you, eyebrows knit. “Of me?”

You laugh, bitter. “Of myself. Of believing you. Of what happens if I do.”

Cook doesn’t answer. He just moves closer, slow and cautious like he’s afraid of breaking the moment.

His hand brushes yours again. Not a grab. A question.

You answer it.

You look at him with your head slightly tilted. He rests his forehead on your shoulder first, and then he kisses it and his kisses climb to your neck and you jaw making you sigh before he kisses your soft wet lips. 

The kiss isn’t soft. It’s hesitant and clumsy, all teeth and tension and the taste of smoke. It’s not romantic, not really. But it’s real. It’s two people trying to meet in the middle of the wreckage.

You pull away first, forehead pressed against his.

“I don’t want to be someone’s second choice,” you whisper. “Not again, Cookie.” He smiles at the nickname.

“You’re not,” he says. “You never were.”

You close your eyes.

You want to believe him. God, you do.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re starting to.

[oligbia]

Hello! Glad to see that you're back! Could I request an Izuku x reader with canon Izuku (teacher/pro hero) and the reader is a disabled support item engineer, preferably wheelchair bound? I'm disabled and would love some domestic vibes if possible please!

Hello!! I dunno if we knew each other or not before my hiatus or not but regardless thank u for the warm welcome on my return :)

I want to let you know that I myself do not have a physical disability so please, if you want something else or had a more specific vision, let me know! I did what I could with some research!

Your Smile

SPOILERS FOR CURRENT MANGA PLOT

Tags: Izumi X fem!reader (reader is referred to with she/her pronouns), Fluff, wheelchair user reader (no specific disability described)

Word count: 1k

Songs I thought about while writing this: "Would That I" by Hozier, "Sweet Nothing" by Taylor Swift, "Love You For a Long Time" by Maggie Rogers

When Izuku started his hero career, he thought the biggest pride he’d ever have was saving lives. He always imagined each life saved would be a reminder of why he got into the hero field, giving him reasons to get up the next day and risk is life again and again. 

He never imagined that your smile would be the thing that keeps him going. After the war, the loss of his quirk, the change in career- he never once lost hope or motivation because he had the lasting image of your smile in his mind, one particular sweet memory that reaches his deepest soul whenever the exhaustion sets in, the paperwork gets too high or the work gets too draining. 

He remebers when he bought you that house. He never told you he was buying land by the beach to build a house, it was a surprise he somehow managed to keep for over a year until the house was done.  But when it was finished, and he took you to see it, he never forgot the smile you had when you saw the ramp he had made for you to the front door that had large, beautiful bushes of roses in front of it. He finds strength again every time he remebers how your smile grew even warmer when you went inside and saw how he carefully and intentionally modified every single space in the home- lowered countertops, a less shallow sink, a large shower without a tub and a bench- dozens of details methodically planned out for you. 

What you never knew was the months he spent courting you, he took detailed notes. He took note of the tasks you still managed to do, but with less ease than others. He remembered how you had to work a little harder to reach the countertops in the dorms, how you struggled with doors that opened outwards rather than inwards- he never tried to do anything for you without your asking. To him, you were always more than capable and didn’t need his help. But it didn’t stop him from knowing early in your relationship that if you ever blessed him with the opportunity to have a home together- he was going to make sure the house was one that you could call home without strain. So things like a lower oven with a slide-in door, lower light switches, and a sink that can raise and lower were worth every single penny. 

His favorite part? The special lab space he had made for you with state-of-the-art equipment and top-of-the-line tools- all of it just for you. A space for you to expand your career as a support item engineer. He loved your mind as much as your smile, if not selfishly more. He always had an appreciation for what goes into making hero gear, to him a hero is nothing without support items. That reality was cemented even further for him when he gave up his quirk but maintained a hero career in a suit that almost perfectly mimicked his quirk- the one you helped make. That’s how he met you and your beautiful mind, in his worst moment you were a radiant soul. 

Coming home one night from a particularly grueling day, finding you humming happily in the kitchen was all he needed. He basked in your light for a while, watching how you roll with ease from the counter to the stove, cooking vegetables and rice on the stove for him. You hummed a sweet tune, a soft smile on your lips as you stirred the vegetables. He pushes himself off the wall he was relaxing on behind you to come behind your chair and place a soft kiss on your head. 

“You’re too perfect for this world, honey.” 

You perk up at his sweet whisper, your smile growing. He steps back from your chair so you can turn around. He kneels in front of you to be at face level with you. “You’re home,” You say with warm affection in your eyes. You reach out to hold his face, his smile is genuine but exhaustion is in his eyes, “you look so tired. Long day?”

Izuku chuckles, you always can see right through him. He rests his hand on top of yours where it rests in your lap, “The longest, the students were extra restless today and then there was this robbery by the docks- must be the moon.” 

You smile, hand moving from his face to his hair, brushing through his messy locks “It’s a full moon tonight.” 

“That would make sense then. What are you making?” Izuku tilted his head, leaning into your touch in his hair. 

“Chicken stir fry- go take a shower and relax okay? No more hero work today, just Izuku tonight.” 

He looks at you like you just hung the moon and the stars in the sky for him. He loved you so much. He loved the way that you not only encouraged him to let down his load, but you helped him carry it. You never demanded strength from him, just dependability. You never needed him to be a hero with you, you just wanted Izuku. You supported him in his hero work, but more importantly, you were his rock outside of it. 

He nods and presses a sweet and soft kiss to your lips, hand resting on the back of your neck for a moment before standing up. “I’ll be just a moment, okay?” 

You nod and roll back to the stove to continue dinner when he leaves. He wanders to the back of the house to your large bedroom with an ensuite bathroom. He heard you start singing softly to yourself from across the house. His eyes soften and his smile grows as your sweet voice fills his ears and his eyes briefly land on the small ring box that holds both of your futures in it that he has hidden on top of his dresser- and when he gives it to you someday soon, he will be sure to include that you are his soul motivator. 

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writing about anyone in mha has me a little rusty. I lowkey stopped interacting with the fandom when there became a clear disconnect between like-- who actually likes MHA and who likes the fannon idea of MHA. Does that make sense? is that mean? idk. anywayyysss i love current up to date with the manga deku. Also can you tell i didn't really edit this? Bc like i gave it some edit but like i really was a little unsure of what my plot goal was other than 1k words of this man being WHIPPED

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[rozzingit]

WIP Wednesday

i was fucking bullied into this

"—a surprise trade today by the East City Royals. It's no secret the Royals have been in need of new catcher to fill the hole left behind by Renso's retirement."

"That one was a long time coming, Brett, but still tough to see him go; it's gonna be a different team next season, I'll tell you that much."

"You've got that right. The rumors have been swirling for months now, but we've finally gotten the news: it looks like the Royals have been in negotiation with the South City Dragons for a while now. The Royals are letting go of Designated Hitter Broly—"

"Which, I gotta say, is a surprise to let go of someone of his calibre, especially for a team like the Royals that doesn't play much small ball, but there's been friction there between him and management for a while now—"

"—to secure up and coming catcher Son Goten. Goten, of course, famously a legacy player on the Dragons following in the footsteps of his legendary father, shortstop Son Goku."

"Nobody expected Goten to leave the Dragons anytime soon! Everybody always loves seeing a father and son playing on the same team together, and Goku may be in great condition, still, but he can't have that many years left in him."

"I dunno, Cal, would you want to go to work every day with your dad?"

"Hah! Fair enough, fair enough. Goten will be slotting into an impressive lineup over in East City, and I expect he'll do well. Of course, the real test is going to be how he meshes with the pitching lineup. It's always interesting to see new batteries. I mean, the great players work well with everyone, of course—"

"But you never know when you're gonna get a powerhouse pair like they've got over in Red City."

"The real question is gonna be how Goten matches up with everybody's favorite ace—"