#(…and that it wasn’t serious enough at the time to really do anything aside from keep an eye on it)

[northwestofinsanity]

Well, it turns out a couple of days ago, I gave a correct, unofficial diagnosis for my aunt’s dog based on a frantic call from my uncle and his description (my mom’s sister has been in town from far away visiting to help with my grandmother, but my uncle did not come into town… I’ve been less active here the past few days while spending time with family). It’s not the worst thing, and the dog should be okay, but I kinda wish I had been wrong, because he is going to need surgery, as they found out when they were finally able to get into an appointment with their vet today.

[chuluoyi]

Baby gojo and daddy gojo not wanting to share mama gojo😭✋i-

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 06:20 P.M 」

aww this is so cute of course this is the first i worked on after getting back from my weekend break <3 and actually i have this one similar ask too so i combined yours with theirs! here's some cute blinking gojo in phantom parade and okay now let us have some crack and make gojo suffer

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

“bwah!” a nudge.

“myah!” a shove.

and then—

“waaa!” a… slap (?) on the cheek.

“huh?” satoru winced, touching where the baby’s palm just connected with his face, blinking rapidly. so he wasn’t imagining things. this really was happening in front of his eyes.

and it was the baby—his baby.

your giggles filled the air in response.

“hey, you,” satoru took on a very stern look and an exaggerated frown, glaring at his own son. the baby merely babbled at him innocently, blinking his wide crystal blue eyes that mirrored his. “bad, bad minion. this is a very serious issue. you shouldn’t do that, you hear?”

the serious issue being each time he tried to lean closer to steal a kiss from you, your son always found a way to repel him away with his tiny hands.

you snorted at his righteous tone. “he’s just protecting me. even your kid knows you’re a danger.”

a gasp left your husband’s shiny lips, mockingly in disbelief. “me? a danger? i make your life a heaven on earth!”

“heav—pfft—”

“i give you love, food, my body—” he emphasized, pointing at himself for a dramatic effect, and you threw your head back, dissolving into a fit of laughter even more, “—heck, i even give you this naughty baby!”

“wha—no! that’s team effort!”

“still! and now he is staging an uprising against me?” satoru cheekily eyed his child, who was now clutching the fabric of your blouse, tiny fingers playing with the shiny diamonds of your necklace—a gift from satoru too, actually.

“look at him go,” he grumbled, his eyes following each little movement his son made, then dramatically yelped when the boy pawed at your breasts. “hey! no touching! those are mine!”

“please.” you almost choked on your laugh. your silly husband always had a way to make things sound funnier than they actually were, and that was what made you fall in love with him more each day, really. “the milk is his!”

“he can have the cow’s! and more importantly, it’s thanks to me that you’re so milky—”

“satoru! you’re so uncouth i can’t—!”

“see? you’re laughing so much! this proves enough that i make you happy every day!”

later that night, after you put your baby to sleep in his crib, satoru gently poked his cheek, his expression tender despite his pursed lips. “he is out like a light…”

satoru might whine a lot, but ultimately, you couldn’t miss the look of adoration and fondness that made him the father of your child. even without saying it out loud, you knew that he would willingly put everything aside and sacrifice anything—first of all, himself—if it was meant for his dearest, most precious treasure.

knowing he'd do the same for you only served to melt your heart even more. and you felt full—so full, in fact, with warmth and love and anything that was soft.

you really do love him, don’t you?

“look at him, he’s like a shrimp,” your husband pointed out, still gazing at his baby in wonder as he kept poking and prodding at the chonky rolls of his little arms, and you thought, nothing could have been more precious than this.

“satoru.”

“yeah?” he turned instantly at the sound of his name, but before he could react further—

you stood on your tiptoes and planted a swift smooch on his cheek, putting the overflowing love you held for him in it. “mwah!”

“…?!”

for the next three seconds, satoru malfunctioned. the brush of your sweet lips on his cheek was so innocent that he was rendered speechless. heat steadily gathered on his face, turning him pink despite himself.

“you…” he groaned, collecting himself, a dopey smile was quickly plastered on his face to cover up his setback as you burst into hearty laughter. “now you’ve started it…” and then he latched on you with a glint of a joker, launching a full-blown tickle attack.

“a—ah! why?! satoru! ahahahaha!”

. . .

safe to say, your wheezes effectively awoke your son from his slumber, and as a bit of payback, you left satoru in the dust to deal with the crying baby, both of them whimpering in unison since he had absolutely no clue how to comfort the little one.

[rafecameronssl4t]

F1 driver!Rafe x Reader! As someone that loves watching F1, I'm so happy you're doing this, and damn fans can be vicious sometimes so it gave me an idea. Maybe Reader is getting hate online, with jelaousy comments, saying that ''she's not pretty enough, she's so basic looking, I don't understand what he sees in her, I guess anyone has a chance with Rafe,''. And gradually the words get to her, making her really self concious when she's around him in public, girls near him that are (in her opinion) prettier and eventuallys she tries to break up with him, but he does not let her (not in a toxic way, more so because he loves her and isn't going to let anyone come between them)

Public eye || F1 driver!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: So sorry this took awhile!!!!!! But thank you for the request it was sm fun to write :)

Warnings: angst, mental health struggles, bullying and online harassment, if theres anything else lmk!

Word count: 2, 946

MASTERLIST (F1 driver!Rafe x fem!reader au masterlist)

Your fingers hovered hesitantly over the comment section of the video, your heart beating just a little faster as you stared at the screen. The clip, a simple moment of you and Rafe walking into the paddock, was already gathering attention. He was beside you, his hand casually draped over your shoulder as you both made your way through the crowd, looking every bit like a power couple.

You could still hear the soft hiss of the shower jets from the bathroom, Rafe taking his time to wash off the stress of the race. You should have been doing something productive, but the pull of curiosity was too strong. Lately, your presence on social media had been growing—both the praise and the hate.

You’d never been one to look at the comments, always avoiding the spotlight, but today… something felt different. You clicked on the comment section, your thumb hovering nervously over the screen as you scrolled down. The first few comments were harmless, even flattering. “You two are perfect together,” one said. “Her smile is contagious,” said another.

Your lips curved into a faint smile as you read through them, the warmth of their compliments offering a brief comfort. For a moment, you forgot about the nagging feeling building in your chest. But then the tone shifted. You could feel your stomach tighten as the first negative comment appeared. “She looks so out of place with him,” one user wrote, followed by another comment: “She doesn’t belong in paddock.”

Your fingers trembled slightly, but you tried to push the discomfort aside. It was just one comment. You kept scrolling. More criticisms followed. Someone commented on your outfit: “Why does she dress like that? She looks like she’s trying too hard.” Another user posted, “She looks so stiff next to him. Does she even smile?” A sharp sting pierced your chest, and you tried to shake it off, but it wasn’t easy.

You’d spent so much time trying to dress right, trying to look the part, but now it felt like none of it mattered. “Her resting face is so rude,” one person said. Another added, “She looks miserable. Why does she always look so cold around Rafe?” You couldn’t help but feel your stomach drop. You knew you had a more serious expression, but it hurt to see it picked apart like this, as if your face wasn’t enough.

You quickly scrolled past more hurtful comments, but the damage had already been done. The video, which had once seemed like a simple moment between you and Rafe, now felt like an invasion of your privacy, like everyone was judging you. You glanced back at the bathroom door, where the sound of Rafe still hummed softly from the shower, completely unaware of the thoughts swirling in your head.

Your hands tightened around your phone, and you felt the familiar weight of insecurities settling in. You weren’t sure why this time felt worse than before. Maybe it was the fact that you were constantly being compared to Rafe’s world now, his fame, his fans, his life in the spotlight. It felt suffocating at times, and the negativity from strangers only made it worse.

You took a shaky breath, trying to pull yourself together. This wasn’t about you. It was about Rafe, and his world. You tried to convince yourself that you didn’t need their validation, but the ache in your chest remained. Before you could sink any deeper into the spiral of your thoughts, the bathroom door creaked open, and Rafe’s voice, still heavy with the sound of water dripping, called out to you.

“Hey, everything alright?” Rafe’s voice was soft as he stepped into the room, the steam from his shower trailing behind him. His towel hung low on his hips, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. His brows furrowed slightly when his eyes landed on you, the tension in your posture giving you away. You swallowed hard, quickly flipping your phone face-down on the bed as you forced a small, unconvincing smile.

“Yeah, just… tired. It’s been a long day.” Rafe didn’t seem entirely convinced. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his lips pressing into a thin line as if he were debating whether to push further. Instead, he let it slide, disappearing into the closet to grab a pair of boxers. When he returned, his tone was casual, though there was an edge of curiosity in his voice.

“Did you want to walk in with me tomorrow?” he asked, tossing the towel into the hamper before slipping on boxers. He moved with practiced ease, his body language as relaxed as ever. It was a question you’d heard countless times before, something routine between the two of you, but tonight, it felt heavier. Different. You nibbled on your bottom lip, his question tugging you back to the comments you’d just read.

She looks out of place next to him… She doesn’t belong there. The words replayed in your head like a taunting echo. You hesitated before replying, your voice quieter than usual. Your fingers toyed with the edge of the duvet as you hesitated. “Uh, I think I’ll come a bit after,” you said finally, trying to sound casual, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. Rafe paused for a moment, his head tilting slightly as he considered your answer.

His brows furrowed just enough to show that he noticed the shift in your tone, but he didn’t push. Instead, he hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he climbed into bed. Once settled, he turned his attention back to you, his head propped on his hand as he studied your face. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his voice softer now, laced with genuine concern.

You nodded quickly, your smile brighter this time, though it still didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. I promise, I’m fine,” you said, hoping the words sounded convincing. But even as you said them, your mind was still swirling with doubt, the insecurities clawing at the edges of your composure. Rafe didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he let it slide for now. Instead, he reached out and tugged you gently toward him, his arms wrapping around your body in a warm, familiar embrace.

His lips brushed softly against your temple before trailing down to your shoulder. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, like an anchor. A shaky breath escaped your lips as you nestled into his chest, the comfort of his presence momentarily dulling the ache in your heart. “I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice almost trembling.

~

Walking into the paddock alongside Rafe’s PR manager, Mia, you couldn’t shake the weight of countless eyes on you. It felt suffocating, as though everyone’s gaze was dissecting your every move, every expression. The hum of chatter and camera shutters blended into an almost deafening background noise, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they were saying—or thinking.

Were they silently judging you? Waiting for you to stumble, to make some minor misstep they could pounce on? The thought sent a sharp pang of anxiety through your chest. It wasn’t just paranoia; you’d seen how quickly narratives could form online, how a single bad photo could spiral into accusations and labels. If you weren’t smiling enough, they’d say you were cold, ungrateful. If you stood too close to Rafe, they’d call you clingy. Too far, and you’d seem distant, uninterested.

Your grip on your paddock pass tightened, glancing briefly at Mia, who was confidently walking ahead, her phone in hand, seemingly oblivious to the tension building inside you. She had a way of carrying herself that made it seem like none of this affected her—like the noise bounced off her shield of professionalism. You envied her for that. The click of a camera somewhere to your left made your heart skip a beat.

You didn’t dare look, afraid of what expression might’ve been caught. You straightened your posture instead, forcing a faint smile that felt unnatural, plastered on for the sake of appearances. The effort felt exhausting, but it was what you’d learned to do in this world—pretend you didn’t notice, pretend it didn’t hurt. As you walked, you could feel whispers trailing in your wake, the murmurs mingling with the mechanical hum of the paddock.

Were they talking about your outfit? Your hair? The fact that you weren't walking in with Rafe? It was a never-ending game of scrutiny, and you felt like a chess piece on a board you barely understood. "Hey, are you good?" Mia's voice pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. Her tone was light, accompanied by a small chuckle as she caught the distant look in your eyes.

You blinked rapidly, turning to her with a startled expression. “Sorry, what?” you asked, your voice slightly shaky. She chuckled again, tilting her head curiously. “Are you okay? You seem nervous,” she repeated, her eyes scanning your face as the two of you approached the Ferrari area. “Yeah! Yeah—I’m fine, just jet lagged,” you replied quickly, your tone a little too chipper to be convincing. You added a casual shrug for good measure, hoping it would sell the lie.

Mia’s gaze lingered for a moment, but she slowly nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Alright, if you say so. I’ve got to go organise Rafe for his interview. Will you be okay by yourself? I think Austin’s around here somewhere,” she said, glancing around the bustling paddock. “Yeah, of course, go ahead. I’ll look for him,” you assured her with a polite smile.

She nodded, giving you a quick wave before disappearing into the chaos, leaving you alone amidst the buzz of mechanics, media personnel, and fans. You continued walking, your eyes darting around in search of a familiar face. The usual hum of the paddock felt louder now, almost oppressive, as you noticed more phones and cameras turning in your direction. A knot tightened in your stomach.

Normally, you could brush it off, but today the weight of their stares was unbearable. Biting your bottom lip nervously, you quickened your pace, practically darting into the safety of the Ferrari garage. The moment you stepped inside, a voice called out to you, making you pause. “Y/n!” Relief flooded your chest as you spotted Austin waving you over from the balcony of the hospitality area.

“Hey!” you greeted him warmly, embracing him in a quick hug. “Rafe should be done with his interview pretty soon,” Austin said, glancing at his watch. You hummed in response, setting your things down on the table before joining him at the railing. The two of you leaned against it, looking down at the sea of people navigating the paddock below. “Yeah, Rafe and I were planning to head back to OBX for a week after—”

Your words trailed off as your eyes froze on a group of girls huddled together, their phones unmistakably aimed in your direction. Their whispering and laughter sent a chill through you, making your shoulders stiffen visibly. Noticing your silence, Austin followed your gaze. His brows furrowed in concern. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft but probing.

You swallowed hard, tearing your eyes away from the girls. “I-uh—I’ll just sit down for a bit,” you muttered, moving back toward the table. Austin watched you carefully, his confusion evident. “Do you know them?” You shook your head, avoiding his gaze. After a moment, he sighed, his tone shifting to something more knowing. “Have you been reading comments again?”

The question made your head snap up, your eyes meeting his. You didn’t respond, but your silence was enough. “Y/n,” he said gently, pulling out a chair across from you and sitting down. “You know those are just jealous people who wish they were in your position, right?” “I know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But they still hurt, Austin.”

“I know they do,” he admitted, leaning forward. “But think about it—what they’re saying about you… Is any of it true?” You bit your lip, your gaze dropping to your phone as you hesitated. “They’re not,” Austin continued firmly. “Because they don’t even know you. But we do. Rafe does. Don’t let them get to you. They’re just miserable people trying to make someone else miserable too.”

His words sunk in, easing some of the tightness in your chest. A small smile crept onto your lips, the warmth of his reassurance breaking through the cloud of doubt. “Thanks, Austin. I really appreciate it,” you said, your voice softer now but filled with genuine gratitude. He grinned back, leaning back in his chair with an air of casual confidence.

“Anytime. Now, let’s get you smiling again before Rafe gets back, or he’ll never let me hear the end of it.” You chuckled lightly, feeling just a little lighter as the weight of those comments began to fade, replaced by the comfort of a friend who truly understood.

~

The jets in the bathroom continued to hum, the sound blending into the background as you stared at your phone screen, your chest tightening with every cruel word you read. The image of you and Rafe walking into the paddock, so innocuous and routine, had somehow become the catalyst for a torrent of negativity.

Your throat constricted, and you bit down hard on your bottom lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. But it was too much. The weight of their words pressed on you, an avalanche of insecurities crashing down. You dropped your phone onto the bed as though it had burned you, standing there frozen for a moment, your hands trembling.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Rafe stepped out, a towel slung low on his hips, droplets of water clinging to his skin. His carefree, post-shower demeanour faltered the moment his eyes landed on you. “Hey,” he said cautiously, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?” You shook your head, quickly wiping at your cheeks, but the tears had already betrayed you. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His tone was firmer now, his blue eyes scanning your face for answers. He glanced at your phone lying facedown on the bed, and his expression hardened as he pieced it together. “Did you read the comments again?” The lump in your throat grew, and you couldn’t speak, your silence confirming his suspicion.

Rafe let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his damp hair. “Y/n, why do you let them get to you? They’re just a bunch of—” “It’s not just them, Rafe!” you snapped, cutting him off. The words spilled out before you could stop them, sharp and heavy. “This is my life now—being constantly judged, criticised, compared. It’s exhausting. I can’t do this anymore.”

His brows furrowed in confusion and alarm. “What are you saying?” “I’m saying I can’t be with you anymore,” you said, your voice breaking as the words left your lips. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Rafe’s face fell, his confident façade cracking in an instant. “What? No. No, that’s not happening.” “Rafe—”

“No!” He stepped closer, his voice low but desperate. “You’re not doing this because of a bunch of idiots online who don’t know anything about us.” “It’s not just them!” you cried, the dam of emotions finally breaking. “It’s everything! The constant attention, the pressure, the way people look at me like I’m not good enough for you. And maybe they’re right! Maybe I’m not!”

“Don’t you dare say that,” he interrupted, his voice rough with emotion. He reached for your hands, holding them tightly even as you tried to pull away. “You are good enough. You’re more than good enough, Y/n.” “I can’t keep living like this, Rafe,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “I feel like I’m losing myself.

Rafe’s grip on your hands tightened as if letting go would make your words true. “I don’t care what they say. None of it matters to me. You matter. You’re the only thing that matters.” Your lips trembled as you looked into his eyes, the sincerity there almost too much to bear. “But what if I can’t handle it?” “Then I’ll help you handle it,” he said firmly, his voice softening as he pulled you closer.

“You’re not doing this alone. I love you, Y/n. I don’t care what those people think. They mean nothing to me—nothing.” You let out a shaky breath as his words washed over you, your resolve weakening under the weight of his conviction. Rafe cupped your face gently, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “Please don’t do this,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “We’ll get through it together. I promise.”

For a long moment, you just stood there, your forehead resting against his as you tried to steady your breathing. The pain was still there, raw and jagged, but so was the love in his voice, in his touch. “I don’t know if I can be enough,” you whispered. “You already are,” he replied without hesitation. “You’ve always been enough for me.” And somehow, in his arms, the weight of the world felt just a little lighter.

[heliosunny]

Bidding for trouble 2

Yandere!Sugilite x Reader

[part 1]

You didn’t understand.

One moment, you were handling paperwork at your desk, and the next, Sugilite was standing there, arms crossed, staring at you with an expression too unreadable for comfort.

And then he said it.

“You’re fired.”

You had laughed at first. Because surely, this was a joke. A ridiculous, elaborate joke. But then he shoved official termination papers onto your desk, and reality crashed down like a hammer.

“What?” Your voice shook despite your best efforts. “You’re serious?”

Sugilite’s face remained unmoving.

“You’re dismissed.”

You searched his gaze, looking for the usual amusement, the smugness, the proof that he was messing with you, but there was nothing. Just cold finality.

No explanation. No reasoning. Just like that, you were erased from the department.

Gone.

The bartender placed another glass in front of you, pity in his eyes.

“You sure you wanna keep going?” he asked. “You’re already pretty far gone.”

You sniffled dramatically. “I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough.”

The man sighed, muttering something about ‘corporate assholes’ before turning away to serve another customer.

You slumped over the bar, utterly miserable.

Fired.

Just like that.

After everything you’d been through, after everything you’d done, Sugilite just tossed you aside like you were nothing.

And the worst part?

He didn’t even seem to care.

You wiped at your eyes, feeling the overwhelming combination of sadness and alcohol making you way too emotional.

“Hey.”

Your head snapped up, only to find Sugilite himself standing there, arms crossed, looking down at you with his usual unimpressed expression.

Your drunken brain short-circuited.

“YOU!”

Sugilite sighed.

“You BASTARD.”

A few heads turned toward your dramatic outburst, but Sugilite ignored them. Instead, he grabbed the empty glass in front of you and pushed it aside.

“You’re done for the night” he said, voice firm.

“You FIRED me” you slurred, jabbing a finger at his chest. “I hope your stupid company goes bankrupt. I hope you choke on your coffee. I hope your stocks plummet.”

Sugilite blinked, then smirked.

“You really do care, huh?”

You let out a pathetic, drunken wail.

“OF COURSE, I CARE! YOU WERE THE BEST—” Your voice cracked. “THE BEST BOSS I EVER HAD, AND YOU THREW ME AWAY LIKE TRASH.”

Sugilite exhaled through his nose. “I didn’t throw you away.”

“YES, YOU DID!”

He frowned. “No, I didn’t.”

“YES. YOU. DID.”

Sugilite ran a hand down his face. “Y/n, enough...”

You pouted, slumping against the bar. “Why are you even here? Did you come to LAUGH at me?”

“The owner called me” he muttered. “Apparently, you’re his problem and mine.”

You huffed. “Not your problem anymore. You FIRED me, remember?”

“…Right.” Sugilite rubbed the back of his neck. “And yet, here I am. Cleaning up after you like always.”

“Like always” you echoed bitterly.

He didn’t say anything to that.

Instead, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you up from your seat.

“Alright, let’s go.”

You whined. “Nooooo. I wanna stay here and drink until I forget you exist.”

“Too bad.”

“Sugiiiiii” you slurred his name like a drunk child, making a few nearby patrons snicker.

Sugilite rolled his eyes. “C’mon, before you start crying again.”

“I ALREADY AM” you cried.

Sugilite just scoffed.

“Yeah, yeah. Get it all out now. Because when you’re sober, you’re gonna owe me big time.”

Your hangover wasn’t even gone yet when trouble found you.

You had woken up still mildly suffering from last night’s antics, and just as you were debating whether you should ever show your face at work again, a cold sensation crawled up your spine.

You weren’t alone.

It was subtle at first, a feeling of being watched.

Then, just as you turned to grab your coat, something moved.

You barely dodged in time. A blade embedded itself where your hand had just been. You reacted on pure instinct, shoving the table forward and knocking your attacker back. The stranger, cloaked, masked, obviously trained—corrected his stance and lunged again.

But you had worked under Sugilite long enough to know how to fight. It wasn’t pretty. You weren’t flawless. But you held your own.

By the time you pinned the guy down, his mask had slipped enough for you to see a distinct mark on his wrist, something that looked eerily familiar to a case Sugilite had been handling before you were fired.

And that’s when it hit you.

This wasn’t a coincidence.

This had everything to do with Sugilite firing you.

But now that you were no longer employed, you had no access to internal IPC reports, no clearance to request mission updates. You were cut off. Sugilite had completely severed your ties with the company to keep you away from this.

But it was too late.

You were already involved.

You knew Sugilite’s employees had a habit of gathering at this bar after work.

So you waited.

Blending in with the usual patrons, you kept your head down, sipping at a glass of water (because you were never drinking again after last night) and listening.

At first, it was just small talk. Complaints about deadlines. A joke about some lower-ranked official messing up paperwork.

“Have you heard? The boss is moving out tomorrow. Said the operation’s gonna be messy.”

“Figures. Heard the guys upstairs saying it’s high-risk.”

“Honestly, I don’t get why he’s handling it personally. He already cut off that assistant of his to keep them out of it.”

“Yeah, but you know how he is. He doesn’t trust anyone else to pull it off.”

“Still, it’s dangerous as hell. Even for him.”

You gripped your glass tighter.

Sugilite had known this mission was bad. That’s why he fired you. He had cut you off completely, knowing you’d try to follow him into it.

But now that you knew just how serious it was, you weren’t going to let it slide.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

That much was obvious.

The moment you stepped onto the outskirts of the mission site, you felt it. The heavy air. The tension that clung to the atmosphere.

Sugilite was here.

Even without official IPC clearance, you had pieced together enough clues to track his movements, stolen mission notes, hushed conversations, the whisper of a deal gone wrong.

And now, you were on the scene.

Just like old times.

Except now, he wasn’t expecting you.

And that made you a liability.

You had barely made it past the outskirts when something shifted in the shadows.

Trained mercenaries. Heavily armed. You didn’t even have time to curse before they rushed you. Your heart pounded, but your body reacted before your mind could process the fear.

It wasn’t perfect, and you weren’t unscathed, but you fought. By the time the last one collapsed, you were panting, bleeding, but standing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Sugilite stood a few feet away, expression unreadable.

But you knew him.

You knew what that look meant.

He was pissed.

You wiped blood from your lip, forcing a grin. “Hey, boss.”

Sugilite exhaled slowly. “I swear, you are the most stubborn person I have ever met.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is a bad thing” he snapped. “Do you even know what you just walked into?”

You glanced at the unconscious men on the ground.

“Yeah. And I handled it.”

Sugilite rubbed his temples. “You—” He stopped, gritting his teeth. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Too bad,” you shot back. “You can fire me from the company, but you can’t fire me from watching your back.”

“I don’t need you watching my back.”

You scoffed. “Really? Because from where I’m standing, this whole thing looks like a suicide mission.”

Sugilite didn’t respond.

Because you were right.

But before either of you could say anything else, bang.

A single, precise shot

Then, Sugilite staggered back.

“Sugilite—!”

His body hit the ground.

You didn’t remember much after that. Only the panic. The rush to get him out. The feeling of his blood on your hands as you dragged him back, desperate, terrified. By the time you got him to safety, your hands were shaking. You pressed down on the wound, breathing shaky, uneven.

“Stay with me” you whispered. “Please.”

Sugilite didn’t respond. He had pushed you away to keep you safe.

And now, because you had followed, because you had been too stubborn to listen—

You were going to lose him.

The door swung open.

You barely registered Numby’s chirp, but the moment you did, your head snapped up. If Numby was here, then that meant-

“I see you still can’t listen to orders”

You turned, eyes wild with desperation.

“Help him” you choked out. “Please.”

Topaz sighed. “I would, but…”

Then, to your absolute horror, Sugilite chuckled. Slowly, he sat up.

No sign of pain. No sign of actual injury.

Sugilite smirked. “What’s with that face? Thought I died?”

Topaz crossed her arms. “He was wearing a bulletproof vest.”

“You—”

Sugilite grinned. “Faked it.”

“You FAKED IT?!”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

“YOU LET ME HAVE A BREAKDOWN FOR NO REASON?!”

Sugilite just shrugged.

“Consider it payback” he mused. “For making me drag your drunk ass home.”

And that’s when you knew, you were never going to live this down.

Meanwhile,

-----

Bonus – Back at Work

When you walked into the office, everyone was staring at you.

You barely had time to sit down before one of your coworkers leaned over.

“So,” they whispered, grinning, “I heard you confessed your undying loyalty to Sugilite while drunk.”

You slowly turned to glare at Sugilite.

He was across the room, watching you smugly.

The bastard definitely told everyone.

And that’s when you knew, this was never going to end.

-----

The atmosphere in the meeting hall was heavy, a weight that could not be seen but was undeniably felt.

Around the grand table sat the Ten Stonehearts, each commanding their own authority. Some leaned back in their chairs, others sat upright with hands folded, and a few were already tapping away at holographic screens, preparing for the discussion at hand.

At the head of the table, Topaz exhaled slowly, fingers drumming against the armrest of her chair. She wasn’t one for needless meetings, but this case wasn’t something they could afford to ignore.

A familiar, lazy voice broke the silence.

“So, what’s the damage this time?”

Another voice, calm but firm, cut in.

“Sugilite went too far.”

Pearl. Ever composed, ever professional. “This case was supposed to be handled under standard IPC regulations. Instead, you disregarded protocol and took matters into your own hands.”

A low scoff came from Sugilite’s seat.

“And?”

Pearl's expression remained impassive. “You faked an employee’s termination, went radio silent, staged your own injury, and deliberately excluded us from the process.”

Sugilite leaned back in his chair, resting an arm over the backrest lazily. “Still got the job done, didn’t I?”

Aventurine chuckled. “He’s got a point.”

“This isn’t about whether or not you succeeded. It’s about the fact that you acted independently, with no authorization, on a case that turned out to be larger than what we initially believed.”

Sugilite’s expression darkened.

“Yeah. And what do you think would’ve happened if I waited for authorization?” His tone was cool, but there was an underlying edge to it. “The situation was rotting from the inside. If I didn’t move when I did, we’d still be tangled in red tape while those bastards continued their business as usual.”

Sugilite wasn’t wrong.

Topaz finally spoke.

“Sugilite knew something we didn’t. That’s why he went off the radar. The enemy he was dealing with wasn’t just another financial dispute.”

She pulled up a holographic display, and suddenly, the true depth of the case became visible. Files. Communications. Traces of an underground operation that had remained undetected for years.

“The people Sugilite was dealing with weren’t just corrupt businessmen. This was part of a larger network, one that deals in illegal trading, smuggling, and possibly… slavery.”

The word hung in the air.

Aventurine’s smirk faded. Even Pearl remained quiet.

Opal’s fingers tapped against the table.

“You all think I’m reckless.”

“That’s because you are” Opal muttered.

Sugilite ignored him. “But you know what’s worse than being reckless?” He looked at each of them, voice dropping. “Doing nothing. I believe we all value the final result.”

His words settled heavily.

“I have bigger fish to fry.”

He had recognized the signs.

Aventurine was the first to break the silence. “Well, well. Looks like our dear Sugilite wasn’t just playing hero after all.”

Topaz gave him a look. “You’re not invincible, you know.”

“You sure? Because last time I checked, I walked in here just fine.”

“You walked in here after making your assistant have a full-blown breakdown because they thought you died.”

Sugilite winced.

Yeah. That wasn’t his best move.

Aventurine chuckled. “What, feeling guilty now?”

Sugilite scowled. “Of course not.”

Topaz sighed. “Regardless, the mission is complete. But there are still loose ends. And knowing you…” She gave him a knowing look. “You’re not done yet, are you?”

Sugilite didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he exhaled slowly, gaze sharp.

“No” he said finally. “Not yet.”

“In that case, I'll take over.”

[redflagshipwriter]

Red Hot Ghouls Chapter 13 part 1/2

masterpost

The next patrol night, Jason’s shoulder was still a little sore from how hard Jack Fenton had pumped it to say goodbye after they’d gone ‘ghost chasing- not hunting!’ in the family van. The van and the family were both growing on him. He was going to really hate it if he had to arrest either of the Fenton kids. It might damage his relationship with Jack and Maddie.

“How was your trip?”

“Might have gotten adopted but I’m not sure why,” Jason said. He shot his grapple and aimed to get a good view of the neighborhood. He winced as it reeled him up. It was a quiet night and cool air buffeted him hard from the side. He didn’t expect trouble. He’d been seen, which was the main deterrent Crime Alley needed at this point. “Did a bit of journalism. Had an impromptu refresher on tactical driving.” He hit boots-first with relief and immediately rolled his shoulder.

“...You’re doing that shitty thing where you make it sound like you’re blowing me off with lies, but then later I find out it was all true and you make some jackass comment about being an honest guy,” Tim diagnosed. He sounded cranky about it, too.

Jason just shrugged. “Did Gotham miss me?” Horns honked in the distance. He looked in that direction on reflex; but no explosion or crash followed. He relaxed again.

“Not even a little bit. But something happened while you were in the air, actually, that might be relevant. Have time to watch?” A little red cursor appeared on the feed inside his helmet.

Jason retracted his grapple and settled in on the ledge like a gargoyle. “Go for it.” He rested his elbows on his knees and crouched. Then he redirected his focus from the real world around him to the little screen that Tim was hijacking.

“Yeah, you’ll like this,” Tim said under his breath. “Just a sec. No theory yet, but check this shit out.”

Jason grimaced preemptively.

The shared screen switched to an Arkham security camera, complete with logo in the bottom right hand corner. It showed a single occupancy low-security cell at night. A man was sleeping in the bed. The quality was crappy enough that Jason doubted he’d be able to identify the prisoner if they looked directly at the camera.

“That Waters?” he checked.

“Sure is.” A button clicked. “Here we go.”

It was hard to tell that the video was playing, aside from the seconds ticking by on the display. Jason resisted the urge to fidget. Tim had selected this part for a reason. Maybe that reason was to be a dick, but probably he was serious.

The screen went black. Then static. Then the feed started wavering across the screen in lines.

“Huh.” Jason lifted his eyebrows. “Not great quality.”

“Reminds me of the quality of Jasmine Fenton’s phone calls,” Tim muttered. “But hold on. It’s hard to see, but-”

Waters was sitting up in one frame. In the next, he was scrambling out of bed and to the floor to prostrate face down in front of absolutely nobody.

He had to make a dry comment. “Wonder why he’s in Arkham.”

Granted, Jason knew the guy was kinda right about the afterworld. But he really wasn’t conveying ‘I am a stable member of society who won’t try any more human sacrifices in a community center rental room.’

Jason squinted. “Does it look like he’s talking to you?”

“Sure does.” Tim sounded frustrated. “No sound, and there’s no chance of reading lips on this even if the angle was better.”

Jason checked the full view of the camera angle again with a sharp eye for any anomalies. Lots of people had special powers that let them go unseen. There was usually some kind of sign, though. A shadow? Something small on the floor that was disturbed? An indication that something moved because someone touched it?

If there was anyone in that room, they didn’t touch anything, and they didn’t stay long. Waters wrenched himself up and threw a fit, hitting the floor and pulling at his hair. Jason watched impassively, waiting to see how long it took for something to happen.

“Response time isn’t too bad,” he remarked. Two orderlies appeared outside of the cell and began trying to talk Waters down.

“Over two minutes,” Tim said judgmentally.

Jason rolled his eyes, because he lived in the real fucking world where that was a short amount of time to notice and reach a cell at night. On the screen, Waters started to respond to whatever was being said. He uncurled from his ball on the floor. He gradually got up. He nodded a few times. The rest of the clip seemed utterly unremarkable and Jason had to assume they were only watching it to be certain they were thorough.

When it was finally over Jason leaned back and contemplated the night sky. “You think that Jasmine Fenton is connected?” he had to ask.

“She did look up when his cell transfer would be and this happened half a day later, the last night before he got moved. I can’t think of how she’d be connected, unless you believe- well.” Tim cleared his throat. “I looked up the Fentons. They say they’re, uh.” He sounded embarrassed just to say it.

Jason could have cut in at any time with ‘ectobiologists?’ Instead, he sat back and enjoyed how uncomfortable his shitty little foster brother was about mad science. Bit rich, coming from the mental breakdown cloning guy. But hey, free schadenfreude source.

Tim sighed so hard it sent static across the feed. Jason turned on the recording function just in time to capture Tim say, “They’re ghost hunters. Ecobiologists. Hey, you sack of-”

Jason ended the recording. “Imma trim that,” he muttered to himself, and saved the file where Tim couldn’t access it. “Gonna be my ringtone for you,” he lied cheerfully. He could think of much better uses for ‘they’re ghost hunters.’

But in the interest of fairness-

“They’re not ghost hunters,” Jason clarified. “They’re ghost chasers, now. Like storm chasers.”

“Wow,” Tim muttered. “I’ll take that note down for my diary.

Jason stood up and ignored the sarcasm. “You’re theorizing that there might have been a ghost in that cell?”

[mammonieruless]

OLDER BROTHERS’ PAST RELATIONSHIP HCS

Lucifer: 100% a virgin

I’ve seen many people agree on him being incredibly experienced when it comes to hookup culture, but I headcanon him to be quite the opposite. He is the avatar of pride himself; he would be wayyyyyy too prideful to offer himself as an one-night stand, no matter who the person might be. there will be exceptions when it comes to Diavolo, of course. He has never been in a serious relationship either; the man has no experience whatsoever. Aside from never having the time to pursue someone and build a connection with them because of his duties, he would be wayyyyy too scared and worried about bringing someone home only for them to harm his beloved brothers or his reputation. Mammon might be MC’s "first,” but MC is definitely Lucifer’s first. It is a match made in hell. All mc had to do was to live with him and his brothers for the entirety of the exchange program, which meant he didn’t have to go out of his way to make time to meet someone, and with time, they both grew on each other, the chemistry grew, and naturally, a strong connection formed without him ever needing to force any of it.

Mammon: He has done everything for quick cash, including sleeping with every living being that could hand him money. Even when cash is not involved, it is canon that he is a model and a party monster, so easy quick club, casino hookups are not a shocker. Out of all the brothers, him and Levi are the only ones who are the most experienced when it comes to serious relationships. Since he wears his heart on his sleeve, all the serious relationships he’s been in ended badly because his partners took advantage of him. Satan, in season one, commented that if Mammon likes someone enough, they will be showered with the richest, but if he breaks it off, then they will be left without a single penny. Knowing that many, especially his exes, only had money hearts in their eyes when they looked at Mammon, despite him pouring his heart out to them, they only viewed him as an ATM. I also headcanon that his tsundere behaviour wasn’t always there; he just started to act like that because many of his exes laughed behind his back, calling him easy, naive, and easy to trick into falling in love, thus leading him to develop this tsundere-like behaviour towards the person he likes to come off as cold, hard to get, and not easy to fool. Though he fails at acting cold and harsh towards MC, he doesn’t act all shy, blushy, or tsundere-like towards his hookups. As he doesn’t feel anything towards them, they only see a very confident, arrogant, bad boy side of him, which MC doesn’t know about.

Levi: Since he is a big anime nerd, he has high standards when it comes to dating and completely rejects hookup culture. All the romance anime he watches really set the bar high for him and makes him somewhat delusional. He has only been in a couple of serious relationships, which were all online, but unlike Mammon, some of his past lovers truly loved him for who he is but didn’t love him enough to keep up with his jealousy and his need to be reassured 24/7. Some might’ve seen him as an easy ticket to get up there in devildom’s hierarchy and get their status high up, as the seven demon brothers are hell’s government officials. + he’s literally the grand admiral of hell’s navy, man’s loaded. His insecurities, shyness, and introversion aren’t the main reason why he is in denial of someone enjoying his company or having any romantic feelings for him, but his experiences in relationships made him push away everyone and anyone who showed him any interest. We see this a lot when he friendzones or tries to find a ground where things are more platonic than romantic with the MC, despite being completely whipped for them, he is simply is terrified of them getting annoyed with his constant need of reassurance or getting into a relationship with them only for his jealousy to be too much for them to handle which would make them leave him and he would lose his only best friend, yet again.

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Stepdad!Hopper x Reader • age gap (reader is 21, Hop’s in his 40’s) • angst, mutual pining, masturbation mentioned, troubled marriage, Hopper is a pervert wracked with guilt aka my favorite kind of Hopper… 🤪

You wiggled on Hopper’s lap, causing him to stifle a groan. God you were beautiful. So fucking pretty and sweet, using his lap to sit in while you did your makeup at the dresser mirror.

“Thanks for the boost, by the way,” you told him, smiling at his serious reflection in the glass. “I’m too short for this dresser, I swear.” You giggled, patting your cheeks with a rosy blush. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be stretching on my tiptoes just to put my makeup on.”

Hopper swallowed back another groan as you adjusted on his lap. “But with you in this chair, and me on your lap-” You finished slicking your lips with a cherry-flavored gloss, and popped them. “-We make a great team, don’t we?”

Hopper forced a polite smile back at you, struggling internally. He shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, or doing it at all. You were so trusting of him, so naive in many ways. Even though you were an adult now, Hopper was aware of the fact that you had next to no experience with boys. He wasn’t doing anything wrong right now, by letting you sit on his lap…not technically. But because of the feelings he’d secretly had for you, for awhile now, even the most innocent gestures Hopper made toward you felt taboo…

When he’d met your mother, you’d just turned nineteen. And without an older, stable male figure in your life, you became attached to Hopper quickly. After marrying your mother the following year, Hopper hoped you’d finally begin dating, forming relationships with boys your age. But now, at twenty-one years old, you still insisted on designating Hopper the only man in your life.

He hadn’t minded, at first. Not when his relationship with your mother was going well, when she and Hopper were still being intimate together. But things had soured between them over the last six months or so, to the point that now, Hopper couldn’t remember the last time he and his wife had made love. There never seemed to be any interest on her part, leading Hopper to wonder sometimes if perhaps she were having her sexual needs met by another man?

With the tension in his marriage at a peak and its intimacy completely evaporated, Hopper found his desires traveling elsewhere in the home. He hated himself for it, despised the way he came almost daily to the thought of having you…but the woman you’d become was a temptation too great for Hopper to ignore.

Seeing you every morning, moving about the house in just your pajama shorts and a tank top like it was nothing, Hopper realized how disgusting he’d truly become. You obviously trusted him, just as you had for years, enough to prance around him half naked and think nothing of it. This realization only added to Hopper’s guilt, making him hate himself a little more each time he masturbated with your body in mind.

“There,” you said, capping your mascara and placing it on the dresser. “All done. What do you think?” You fanned your fingers around your face and batted your lashes dramatically, smiling at Hopper’s reflection.

“Beautiful,” he replied; and from the almost reverent sincerity in Hopper’s tone, you knew he meant it.

You slid off his lap, his hands immediately moving to your hips to steady you as you dismounted. Hopper rose from the chair, turning aside so you wouldn’t see him discreetly adjust himself in his pants.

He sighed with relief, feeling as if he’d passed some kind of test. “Hey,” he said. “You really do look great, kid. But-.” Hopper moved his finger to boop your powdered nose. “-Who’s all this for, anyway? You gettin’ all dolled up just for the hell of it?”

You glanced down at the floor, a blush warming your cheeks beneath the makeup. “I…uh,” you stammered bashfully. “I have a date.”

Hopper’s eyebrows lifted, his lips parting in surprise. “A date?” he asked, before quickly softening the accidental sharpness in his voice. “Oh. Who’s the lucky guy?”

There was a pause before you answered Hopper, and he found it a bit strange that you didn’t answer him right away. Maybe you were just shy, he wondered? This was the first date Hopper had ever known you to have, in the two years he’d known you. Maybe the situation was so new, you didn’t know how to talk about it casually?

“Uh, just a guy from work,” you explained. “You’d like him, he’s funny. But serious too, when he needs to be.” You bit your glossy bottom lip, chuckling. “He kinda reminds me of you, Hop.”

Your stepdad’s eyebrow quirked curiously, as if he doubted your sincerity. “Hmm,” he muttered. “You meeting this guy somewhere?”

“At the new mall they just built, yeah,” you replied, checking your look again in the mirror. “We’ll probably see a movie, or something.”

Hopper nodded, another polite smile once again fixed onto his face. “Well, be safe,” he told you, and gently squeezed your shoulder before heading for the door.

“Just, one more thing,” Hopper said, lingering in your doorway. “What’s this kid’s name, anyway?”

You froze outwardly, but your mind was scrambling for a response. “Jack,” you blurted. “His name’s Jack. He’s a nice guy, really.”

Hopper’s brow was creased in ‘detective mode,’ a familiar expression for him, but one you rarely saw directed at yourself. He nodded silently as he exited your room, patting the doorframe on his way out. You watched Hopper leave, exhaling the knot of tension you’d been holding.

“Like I said,” he called from the hallway as he walked away. “Be safe.”

Be safe. A sentiment that struck you as both ironic and unnecessary, as you observed your made-up reflection in the mirror…the mirror you could easily access, without having to strain. You hadn’t needed Hopper’s lap to boost you; you wanted him to be there. The innocence you feigned around your stepfather was as fake as your date for the evening, Jack.

The truth, which as always is more complicated than fiction, was that you’d been in love with Hopper for awhile now. You weren’t as naive as he (and your mother) thought you were. What you lacked in actual life experience, you made up for in observing others. And as you began to see problems in your mother and Hopper’s marriage arise, you watched each crack form on the surface with a growing interest.

Although Hopper didn’t realize it, your choosing him as the only man in your life was not an accident. You didn’t want anyone else; you wanted him. Tonight had been a test, to gauge his reaction to you actually having a date for once. And from the way Hopper had reacted, his change of tone, his sudden and deliberate need for details, you were convinced that jealousy was at play in his response.

Reaching for your bag, you checked to make sure you had your car keys and enough cash on you for a movie ticket and some popcorn. You’d go to the mall and see a movie, just as you’d told Hopper, minus a date…

…or at least, you thought you’d be going alone. You didn’t notice, as you exited the driveway and drove through the streets of Hawkins, that another (very familiar) vehicle was discreetly following a few cars behind you.

Hopper wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to see, with his own eyes, the boy you’d suddenly, uncharacteristically, made the choice to go out with. The expression ‘know your enemy,’ may have been resting at the back of Hopper’s mind as he followed you to the mall; but more accurately, Hopper was hoping to know his competition…

PART TWO

[lliminall]

Passione Boys After You Dump Them | Headcanons

How they react and how they try to win you back. Because we love to see a man grovel.

tags: gn reader, slightly toxic in some of them, nsfw implications in abbacchio’s

Giorno Giovanna

Your announcement that you wanted to break up with him wasn’t exactly a surprise to the Don. He’s perceptive of your feelings, and he knows that he doesn’t have as much free time as most. He certainly isn’t able to be there for you as often as other suitors would. That doesn’t mean he’s happy to hear it, though.

This may be one of the few moments where you see his carefully crafted shell begin to crack. You mean more to Giorno than you know. He’s had so few people he loves in his life. The thought of losing you breaks his heart in a way he hasn’t experienced before.

Giorno isn’t willing to let this conversation end until you see things his way, and he is incredibly persuasive when he wants to be. Maybe you should wait and cool off a bit, amore. He can take care of all of this if you’ll just give him some time.

But…you don’t give in. He realizes, too late, that in all the time he’s spent away from you, these problems have become too much for you to bear any longer. You made up your mind and nothing he says is going to change it. Any further attempts to convince you are equally rebuffed, until he accepts that you’re just not willing to speak to him right now.

So he gives you space. No big deal. He’s patient. He can keep himself from pursuing you…for a while. The last thing Giorno wants to do is act impulsively on his emotions, and he’s certainly feeling more emotional than usual right now. He lets you have some distance, but ultimately he’s confident in his ability to win you back. No one else can take care of you like he can.

There may never be a moment in his mind where he truly feels as if he’s lost you. You’re not really broken up, you’re just taking a break. Yes, maybe you were right in saying that he hasn’t been setting aside enough time for you. And yes, he can understand why you might feel as if you only come second place to other priorities in his life. He’s a busy guy! But you have to understand that he’s doing his best, and he’ll find a way to do better. For your sake.

So he leaves you alone. Maybe you need a few weeks, or even a month or two. When he feels you’ve calmed down enough, he’ll start reappearing in your life again. As a friend, of course! He wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable, ha ha, but you two have always gotten along, even before you were together, so surely you won’t object to him just checking in? :)

And it’s like you’d forgotten how easy he is to talk to. How helpful his advice is. How nice it feels to bask in the glow of one his soft, genuine smiles, which so few others are lucky enough to see. And so, maybe you end up spending more time with him than you wanted to, in the wake of your breakup. He acts so nonchalant about all of it, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to be spending time with you, no awkwardness, no lingering bitterness, that you can’t help but lean into it.

He knows exactly the right time to strike up a conversation about getting back together. When you’re alone together and the mood is high (and maybe you’re starting to realize that you really do miss him. Just a little bit), he’ll lay a hand on your arm and finally allow himself to be honest with you again.

“I’ve thought about what you said, and I want to apologize for the ways I’ve fallen short. But you must understand, amore, there’s no one for me but you. If you can find it in yourself to give me another chance, I promise I’ll prove that to you.”

Guido Mista

Totally blindsided. He doesn’t even know how to react at first. I mean, sure, you two had been having some issues, but it wasn’t anything that serious, right?? He’s already planned your whole lives together. He even picked out the name of your future cat. You can’t just leave him now!

Be prepared to have a very long, very emotional argument. Mista cannot accept you leaving him, and he can’t understand why you’re not willing to stay and work these problems out. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so distraught as he is now. He loves you so much, and he knows you love him too. Shouldn’t that be enough?

It isn’t, and you tell him that, and it absolutely crushes him. You’re both in tears by the time you leave, and even then he’s following you out the door trying to convince you to stay. He’ll be blowing up your phone afterwards, and then your email if you block him. There’s almost nothing too embarrassing for him at this point, he’d cashapp you money just to get you to read the note attached. This poor man lmao. He just really, really loves you, and he can’t not have you in his life.

He’s so mad at you. He can’t even remember the last time someone cut him this deep. The rest of the team is immediately made aware of how crushed he is, and Mista doesn’t even have to tell them. The cloud hanging over him is dark enough that passerby’s on the street can tell there’s something wrong with this man.

I can see him getting a bit nasty with you during this period. Whether it’s through text or if he manages to get you face to face, he’s not the type of person to hide how he feels, and right now he is feeling a lot.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to show up here if you would fucking unblock me and listen! Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell, ok? I just…you have to hear me out. Please?”

The time apart from you, no matter how long, leaves him absolutely miserable. The distance does give him time to think, though. About everything you said to him that night, the issues you couldn’t bear anymore. If you can’t bear the problems, and he can’t bear to be away from you, some compromises will just have to be made.

I give it a month, max, before he comes back to you, now much more level-headed and solemn. He’s trying his hardest to make things right again. He just needs you to meet him halfway.

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo knew you two had been on the rocks lately. He isn’t an idiot. Every argument, every miscommunication, every day you became a bit more withdrawn, it was all noticed and filed away carefully in his mind. But when you finally find the courage to sit him down and tell him it’s over, he still can’t control himself. He’s panicked, at first, until he hides that vulnerability behind a much harder and safer emotion: his anger.

The resulting outburst, of course, only serves to strengthen your resolve. This is exactly why you had to leave to begin with, and as much as you’d hoped he would have found it in himself to be civil, you knew it would go like this. He’s so upset he can hardly breathe, and when the yelling finally becomes too much, you leave him to fall apart alone.

With time, the rage subsides to simmering anger that lingers and persists for weeks. It’s easier to pretend he hates you for it. You left him, like everyone always does. He trusted you and loved you more than anyone else, and processing those feelings is just too painful, so he turns them into anger instead. At least that’s an emotion he knows what to do with.

It isn’t sustainable, though. Maybe it takes a push from Bucciarati or another friend, someone he respects enough to take correction from, but sooner or later he realizes he has to process these awful feelings. He misses you. Every day. And maybe you weren’t entirely wrong about your reasons for leaving. But if those reasons were things that could be changed…maybe this can still be fixed.

The next time you see him, he’s unrecognizable from the man you left screaming in his apartment. He’s nervous, clearly, but composed. He asks you gently if you have time to talk, and the tension visibly drains from his body when you agree.

He starts by apologizing for how things went that night. He shouldn’t ever speak to you that way, and he knows that. He just didn’t know how to control himself then, but he’s learning those skills now! If there’s one thing Fugo can do, it’s study, and he tells you all about the books he’s been reading to better himself. Topics ranging from anger management, to emotional intelligence, to relationship conflict.

He asks, anxiously, if you would be willing to give him another shot. He’ll even agree to see a couples counselor, if it makes you feel more comfortable. He knows that with his effort to improve, and your willingness to find better ways to work with him, you two can work all of this out. He just hopes you still think it’s worth the effort.

“I know I messed up, but I just wanted you to see that I’m trying. And I’m getting better. And I’d like to keep getting better with you, if that’s ok.”

Bruno Bucciarati

Bruno can’t say that he didn’t see this coming. The state of your relationship was clearly less than ideal. Bruno is a man who stretches himself thin, who gives so many pieces of his time to so many people and projects, that sometimes it can feel as if you’re only getting the leftover scraps of him.

He’d always assumed that he would be able to commit more of himself to you later. In the future, when Passione was stable, when the Don didn’t need him so much, when his community was safe without him. Of course, there’s no guarantee that any of these things would happen soon or ever, and his assumption that you would be willing to wait on him indefinitely is proven wrong.

Immediately, he tries to deescalate. Explaining that all of these problems are fixable, that he loves you so much, that maybe you should both just go to bed and things will feel better when you’ve slept on it.

“Slow down, amore. Shh, I know. Things have been difficult lately, but we can work through all of this. Just trust me, all right?”

As the conversation goes on and he sees that you aren’t going to be convinced, he begins to lose his composure. Bruno is a passionate man. In his time as a Capo he’s become accustomed to being obeyed, to having his every request carried out, and to having the absolute trust of most of the people he considers important to him. For you, his most important person, to be slipping out of his grasp with no control is not something he’s prepared to deal with. At least not gracefully.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so frantic as he is while you’re leaving. He tries to remain composed, but he can only stay so calm when he’s watching the love of his life prepare to walk out on him. You can’t do this. He can’t let you do this. He can take care of everything, he always takes care of everything, if you’ll just let him, don’t you see?

In the aftermath, he’s devastated. He throws himself back into his work, and to most people he would appear to be functioning just fine in your absence. To his team, however, this facade is easily seen through. He’s sharp. Barbed. A little more ruthless, a lot more unfocused. Giorno all but forces him to take some time off and recollect himself, and Bruno does so begrudgingly.

Time off is just time without a distraction. It hurts (and maybe digs up some trauma from his childhood that he didn’t realize he still harbored), but it also allows him to do some necessary reevaluations. Bruno cannot live without you. In the time he’s loved you, you’ve become his reason for the work he does. You’re the reason he wants to clean up these streets, the reason he needs his city to be safe, the reason he needs to be a strong and dependable figure, always improving, always moving forward.

I don’t think it would take him long to come to this conclusion. A month, max, before he seeks you out again, ready to offer himself back up you—as much of himself as he can. He’s ready to make compromises if you are too.

Narancia Ghirga

Dear god. Brace yourself lmao

Narancia’s abandonment issues run bone-deep. From the earliest stages of his life, the people he loves the most have been leaving him in one way or another. He cannot bear to be left behind again—especially not by you.

Prepare for screaming, crying, punching walls, and desperate begging. There’s no outcome where you and Narancia have a calm, respectful conversation about this. As soon as you mention leaving him, he’s spiraling. He needs you to take it back. He needs you to change your mind. He needs you to apologize and promise to never ever even think of leaving him again. He could never imagine walking out on you. How can you do this to him?

When you leave and the panic begins to wear off, he’s furious. He’ll oscillate between hopeless despair and anger, and you’ll be on the receiving end of both. Narancia is not leaving you alone. You may have to dissolve into tears yourself, pleading with him to just give you the space you need and work on getting himself over this. He may agree—temporarily. Even if he promises to stop showing up and bothering you in person, that doesn’t mean he can stop himself from texting you when he’s drunk in the wee hours of the morning.

“Fuck, how can you do this?! I’m sorry! Whatever I did wrong, I’m sorry and I promise I can fix it! Please, can we just talk?”

With enough time, he’ll have calmed down enough to at least have a more mature conversation about what happened. And that conversation will happen. It has to. He knows you asked him to stay away, but you have to understand that he can’t ever do that. He needs you, and he’ll do anything to prove that to you, no matter how long it takes.

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio’s immediate reaction is to shut down. It’s a self-preserving reflex more than anything, but to you it’s just confirmation that what you’re doing is right. You can’t keep begging for what he’s obviously not willing to give: vulnerability. Inwardly Abbacchio is crumbling, but the only response he allows you to see is irritation and cold indifference. Go ahead, leave him. It’s not like you were ever going to last to begin with, and it’s not like he can’t find another fuck-buddy whenever he wants.

This is, of course, a lie. You’ve never been just a hookup to him, but the fact that he could even say something so cruel to you is just more proof that you need to remove yourself from him. By the end of the argument, you’re crying and he’s waiting for you to shut the door behind you so he can finally break out the alcohol and get plastered.

Very few people would be able to sense that there was anything wrong with him. He falls back on his old method of disguising his misery: burying it under ten masks of indifference. He puts on a convincing performance, but he knows that’s all it is. You were a light in the dark trenches of his life, bright and warm and inviting, and he snuffed you out. One more colossal failure to haunt him at night.

He finds other partners. One night stands and shallow, meaningless hookups. They’re meant to be a distraction, but they’re only half-successful. His connection with you wasn’t just about physical pleasure, it was about an emotional connection that his other partners can’t replicate. He loved you, in a way he hasn’t loved anyone else.

It will take Abbacchio a very long time to work through this. He doesn’t just have to bite back his pride to ask for reconciliation, he has to overcome his self-loathing enough to allow himself to hope. When he does come back to you, he comes as a man who’s finally begun to build himself back up into someone he believes is worthy of you.

“Hey. I know it’s been a long time, but I just wanted to check up on you. And maybe, if it’s all right…could we go somewhere and talk? There are some things I wanted to tell you.”

[custardcrazy]

true connection

summary: Your boyfriend returns to you after a short disappearance (to who knows where). (gn!reader) 

wordcount: 2.4k 

A/N: set after peter gets dropped back to his universe. established relationship woohooooo!!!!!!!! (too lazy to write friends to lovers rn but i really want to) 

You weren't sure what happened to Peter when he vanished, but there was definitely something different about him when he returned. 

It was late, the sky an inky blue by the time you'd attempted to go to bed. Filtered through the small gap you left in your bedroom window were the sounds of the city at night: cars passing by, the occasional angry horn, pumping music from a couple of doors down. 

You didn't mind any of that. You could deal with the noise, of course. 

But what caused you to jump up and push all your covers aside was a familiar knock on the glass. 

It'd been years since he'd stopped showing up at your window, but lo and behold: there he was. 

To your mild relief, he didn't look injured or anything. Just a little scruffier than usual. 

Before, when he'd leave for certain periods of time, that usually meant he was off fighting some big bad alongside other superheroes. However, he always told you before he left to fight said big bad; this time, he was just up and gone. Apartment empty, things scattered around as if a tornado had swept through the small space. 

It was only natural to assume the worst. 

So, when he climbed through your window, landing maybe a little clumsily, you were torn between bombarding him with questions or clinging to him like some sort of touch-starved koala. After all, you'd been worried. To say the very least. But you didn't speak yet, as he stood up straight and rolled his shoulders. 

The air hung low, for a moment. His gaze met yours. Searching.

And then, his arms were around you. You were encapsulated by familiarity -- his were hands you knew, hands you'd held and kissed and examined countless times, even when frustratingly covered by his suit. You could feel the slight scratch of stubble as he pressed his lips to your forehead, lingering. 

"I missed you." Voice low, though it trembled a little. There was something else besides the normal homesickness that you were accustomed to.

"I missed you too," you echoed. Peter seemed content to just look at you for now. Now, his thumb was tracing your cheek. You let the tenderness of the action sink in, before breaking the silence. "Where were you?" 

And how important was it, for him not to let you know? 

His mouth opened as if he was going to speak, but he closed it soon after. A crease formed between his furrowed brows. "Uh," he began, "it's … a really long story. I'd try and explain it to you, but you'd probably think I was crazy or something." The corner of his mouth quirked up, and you couldn't help but match it. 

"You've fought countless outright bizarre villains -- I think I can handle it." 

There was another scratchy kiss pressed affectionately to your forehead. "I bet you could." 

"But, really." Even though he was smiling, you knew he was being serious. "I wasn't kidding. It's a really long story, and I don't really feel like doing the whole play-by-play right now." 

You exhaled slowly. "That's fine. But you'll tell me … eventually, right?" 

"Of course I will." Peter inclined his head a fraction of an inch, dipping more into your space. "I just need a really, really long hot shower and then a really, really long nap." He huffed out a quiet laugh. "And maybe a grilled cheese." 

"I think that's possible." You dropped your eyes for a second, thinking, then quickly met his once more. Naturally, he was downplaying his own exhaustion -- but again, you'd known him long enough that even his strong and practiced attempts at hiding his own weakness were easy to decipher. Obviously, he was worn. Tired. He always carried it on his back and shoulders, and especially in his eyes. 

"There's definitely some of your old clothes around here somewhere, if you wanted to use my shower." 

At that, Peter's smile widened. Sure, it wasn't an all-out grin, but it was just as sweet. From your close proximity, you could pick out the beginnings of crow's feet making their idents; sure, you were well aware that he wasn't the fondest of the few wrinkles that were forming on his face. 

Honestly, though? They only made him more attractive. 

"You're a lifesaver," he gushed, "seriously." Hesitating for a second, he added: "But could you indicate which towels I can use? I'd feel guilty for stealing yours." 

"Like last time?" 

"... That was three years ago." 

Reluctantly, you detangled yourself from his arms. "And yet, I still remember." 

"I'm a changed man, okay? You can trust me. Stealing is against my moral code." 

As you headed the short distance to the bathroom, Peter stuck close to you. Even if he wasn't holding you anymore, he didn't seem keen on leaving your side just now. His arm brushed yours as you moved past him to get to the closet. 

"These  -- and those, too, if you want." It took a little effort to reach around the various piles of things, but you handed him a towel. Bright cyan, with seashell patterns. "That's big enough, right? 

"Looks like it," he affirmed. "Thanks. I'll be out in a jiff." 

As if. Whenever he said that it'd take him at least half an hour. You wouldn't be surprised if your water bill suddenly skyrocketed. 

You retired to the living room, flicking on the television. Some late-night old movie reruns that looked semi-interesting, even if the video quality was a little shot, and the Transatlantic accents a little too smooth. Since the bathroom wasn't too far from the living room, you could distantly hear the water running in the background. 

"But Richard, no, I, I -- " pleaded the female lead, gazing at her man with nearly-teary eyes.  

" -- You've got to listen to me," he interrupted, nearly void of emotion in comparison. "Do you have any idea what you'd have to look forward to if you stayed here? Nine chances out of ten we'd both wind up in a concentration camp." 

--

It wasn't long before Peter emerged, hair damp and the seashell towel around his waist. A distinct cloud of steam wafted from the bathroom as he approached you, thankfully not dripping water onto the carpet. Even so, you could still notice some drops lingering on his shoulders and whatnot. 

"I'm guessing my leftovers are in your room," he said, a little pink in the face from what you assumed had been a burning hot shower.  

"Probably," you answered, getting up from the couch. "Let's see." 

After some rifling around in your dresser, you found them -- gray sweatpants, some worn plaid sleep shorts, an assortment of boxers, and a couple of ancient tee shirts which were probably old enough to legally own property. All the clothing got unceremoniously tossed at Peter, who looked mildly amused. 

"You should assign me my own drawer." Checking the shorts for holes, he paused to grin at you. "I bet there's even more stuff in there, huh?" 

Leaning back to sit on your heels, you sighed. "There's definitely more. But trying to find it all would be like trying to find buried treasure without a map." 

"And in this case, 'treasure' would be an extremely faded Daily Bugle sweatshirt." He raised his eyebrows. "Speaking of. I want that back, please." 

"Hey, it's really comfy, okay?" 

By the time you managed to rearrange the rightful contents of the drawers you'd thrown into a state of chaos, Peter had put on a shirt and the sleep shorts -- the latter were maybe a bit too small, but it wasn't like you were complaining. And it didn't seem like he cared, either, yawning widely as he stretched his arms to the sky. 

You stood up, mirroring his stretch. "Tired?" 

"You bet." He rubbed his eyes a little, before running his fingers through his hair; that ever-present lock of hair falling onto his forehead. "Are you?" 

"I was just about to go to bed when you showed up, so … " You absentmindedly fiddled with the hem of your shirt. "Yeah." 

"Oh, sorry 'bout that." Suddenly sheepish, he scratched the back of his neck. "I wasn't really thinking about the inconvenient time. I just wanted -- " 

" -- to see me?" You finished. 

The Peter of years prior would've ducked his head shyly. And, sure, that in itself was adorable, and would've made you go a little crazy. However, this Peter maintained eye contact, and nodded firmly, dropping his arm back to his side. 

Your heart did a neat double backflip. 

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I did. Like I said earlier … I missed you. A lot." 

The look in his eyes was genuine and you couldn't help but smile. 

"I'm glad you're back, Peter." 

--

The morning eased its way into your room, rays of sunlight trickling through your window and onto your face. 

You could hear the whirring of air-conditioning from the apartment above yours, as well as a couple of birds chirping. However, the sounds that overpowered the rest were the usual city ones: the aggressive morning commuters paired with the train passing by, clacking loudly on the tracks. 

His arm was slung over you, face somewhere near your shoulder or the top of your head. And he was completely dead to the world, quietly snoring near your ear. You smiled a little -- he smelled like your soap now, and not that three-in-one shampoo that he used. It was a nice change. 

For a little while, you remained laying there, enjoying the moment. He was warm, of course. Very comfy. A lot less sarcastic when he was asleep. 

Though, eventually, you did have to get up in order to make breakfast. 

With some effort and finesse, you wiggled out from under Peter's arm and scooted off the bed very slowly. To your relief, he was still basically unconscious, and just rolled over as you left the room, the wooden floor cold under your bare soles. 

There was some pancake mix left in your pantry, and although you were still a little groggy, making pancakes was practically second nature to you by now. Just like boxed macaroni and cheese. Or instant ramen, even if that didn't really count as cooking. 

By the time you'd loaded up a plate with the fruits of your labor, he was awake, practically lumbering into the kitchen. 

Upon sighting the food, he immediately moved to snatch a pancake straight from the plate. With no preamble whatsoever. Not even a 'please'. You knew by now it was futile to try and stop him, so you just let him take it. 

By the time he had half of it in his mouth, he finally spoke, words garbled by the food. " 'Morning." 

"Good morning to you, too." You tried not to comment on his lack of manners. "Sleep well?" 

He swallowed and leaned in to plant a kiss on your temple. "Excellently, actually." Pulling back, he brushed a couple of errant strands of hair out of his face; speaking of, his hair was sticking wildly in multiple directions, and he hadn't bothered to fix it just now. "I haven't slept that well in ages." 

Idly, he split the half of a pancake he was holding in half, lost in thought. "Scratch that. Maybe I have? After you helped me get that new bedframe from IKEA or wherever." 

"Yeah," you agreed, "seriously, why didn't you get a new one earlier? I didn't even know you were using just the mattress." 

He shrugged. "Couldn't fit the thing in the moving van." 

"Oh." 

Soon, you were both seated in front of the television, pancakes in tow. Peter flipped through the channels, before settling on the news. It was all normal stuff -- traffic backups, strings of petty theft, a new office building, et cetera. For a bit, you sat in a comfortable silence, the only sounds being the ones that weaved their way in from outside, and the noise coming from the TV. 

Even though there was more space on the couch, neither of you wanted to move away from each other. 

Peter's head fell to rest on your shoulder. Instinctively, you wrapped your arm around him, and he audibly sighed, scooching closer. 

"So," you said, after a few seconds. "How long are you gonna stay here? Your apartment's a mess, isn't it?" 

"Do you want me gone that bad?" He volleyed back, teasing. "Then, no, I'm not leaving. I'm gonna mooch off your food, money, and WiFi -- forever." 

"Peter -- " you couldn't help but snicker, "you know what I meant." 

"Okay, okay." Dropping the snark, you could practically hear the grimace in his voice. "Later today, most likely. You're right, I do have to clean all that crap up." Barely audibly, he muttered, "god, I hate cleaning." 

"I know, I know." You leaned your head against his, not even paying attention to the news lady going on about some sort of rain pattern. "Seriously, though. Did a bomb go off in there or something? When I went to check on you, it sure looked like it." 

There was a noticeable pause before he responded, as if he was trying to figure out the best way to phrase what he was saying. 

"Uh, I swear I'm being honest, okay?" He began. "I'm not joking or anything. Really.” 

“But no, it wasn't a bomb, it was a … a portal.” He inhaled slowly. “And I got sucked through it. Some of my stuff got messed up because of its sucking." He made a couple of motions with the hand that wasn't resting limply on his thigh. 

"A portal? Like, a Doctor Strange portal?" 

"No, no, not like that." More hand gestures. "It was to another dimension. And that was why I didn't get any of your calls." 

After the initial shock -- honestly, it made sense. It had seemed like he'd just straight-up disappeared right off the face of the Earth. Sure, he got busy, but usually, your voicemails never went unanswered. 

"Oh, okay," you replied, calmly. 

He sat straight up, looking at you with more than a little bewilderment. "... 'Oh, okay?'" He repeated. "That's it? You're not gonna question it?" 

You shrugged lightly. 

"Why should I?" 

Just like you, it only took him a split second to recover. 

"Fair enough." 

He was back to leaning on you before he spoke again. "So … I'm assuming that you wanna hear all about my thrilling adventures?" Smirking, he sounded pleased with himself. "I became a mentor, you know. And saved every single alternate universe ever." 

"Oh, really?" 

When he kissed you, you reciprocated without hesitation. He tasted very faintly of chocolate chips -- and lingered again, before finally pulling away. 

"Really," he said. 

You smiled. 

"Tell me all about it, then." 

[al-the-remix]

Six Sentence Saturday (or something like that)

Starting on my second bucktommy fic 😌 This was inspired by a post I'm pretty sure @unfuckablebogtroll made a few months ago that I can't find anymore, but the gist is that Tommy buys his house during the 2007/8 financial crash, refinances during covid, and has been saving since then to be able to renovate it himself. In this fic Buck's obviously going to volunteer to help Tommy out ( with his previous construction experience and all) and slowly insinuate himself into Tommy's home without either of them fully realizing it...at first. Buck learns Tommy as he learns more about his house: starting the inside and working outwards. Meanwhile Tommy learns how to let people help him and that Buck's really in it for the long haul ✨

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

Looking over his shoulder, Tommy raises a brow. He’s elbow-deep in Evan’s kitchen sink, warm, sudsy water tickling his skin as he finishes the last of the dinner dishes. Evan made a chicken parm that had Tommy contemplating the existence of God and carefully planning the head he’d be giving his boyfriend later. As long as Tommy had known him–which was admittedly not very long–Evan has been a shoot first, ask questions later kind of guy. More likely to barrel through any awkwardness than couch his questions in some kind of lead up. “Of course you can, you know that.”

Evan takes the plate Tommy offers him in hand, drying it and setting it aside, his expression just hesitant enough to give Tommy pause. 

“Why do we always hang out at my place?”

The question startles a laugh from him. That…wasn’t what Tommy had been expecting. “We don’t, sometimes we go on dates.” Tommy allows his face to settle, faux serious and gently teasing. “Are you claiming I’m not romancing you enough Buckley, because I take that accusation very seriously.”

It gets him the reaction he was hoping for: Evan rolls his eyes like he’s aiming to hit 20 Klicks into the stratosphere and keep climbing. He can hear Evan's common refrain in his head, only coworkers call me Buckley, and I don’t even want to contemplate explaining what we’ve been up to to HR.

 “Ha, ha. You know that’s not what I meant. You don’t think it’s a little weird that it’s been two months and I haven’t made it past your garage?”

Tommy’s brain goes straight to the gutter, but Evan’s arms are crossed over his chest in what Tommy has come to learn is a tell-tale sign of him feeling a little insecure.

Tommy tucks away the innocent expression he’d been pulling and sighs, yanking the plug and reaching for the discarded towel to wipe his hands clean. “I mean, it’s a shorter drive for me to come here from Harbour than make you slog it all the way out to mine. I was just trying to make things easier on you.”

Evan holds up his hands like he’s trying to brace both himself and Tommy for his next question. “Okay, let me be more direct. Do you still live with your mom?”

That one shocks, a genuine, full belly laugh from him. The concern on Evan’s face is beginning to grow, and Tommy waves him off. 

“No, it’s nothing like that. My place is just…a little unfinished at the moment, is all.”

Evan’s apartment was so put together it had honestly taken Tommy aback the first time he’d gotten a good look at it He didn’t know what he’d been expecting but it hadn’t been anything this nice, clean, or stylish, and the next opportunity he’d had to linger and poke around…with fewer distractions…he had quickly reevaluated the person he’d assumed Evan to be based on first impressions alone.

It had been his first in a long chain of lessons he’d learnt to never underestimate Evan Buckley. It had also made him feel slightly…lacking.

“Okay,” Evan says slowly, he’s using that tone of voice that usually means he already has a succession of twenty questions in the barrel and was just barely holding back from pulling the trigger.  “Unfinished, how?”

Tommy scratches at the side of his nose before he can stop himself. A nervous tick. “Well, I bought it with the intention of renovating it myself--my first job was working for a contractor–but I, uh, kept getting a little side tracked.”

Evan shrugs. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“You haven’t seen it yet…” Tommy warns.

Evan’s smile slides sideways. “Yeah, and don’t you think it’s a little unfair that Eddie’s seen your place and your boyfriend hasn't?”

He feels silly, but Tommy can’t stop the way his stomach goes hot and squirmy every time Evan says it. Boyfriend–like it’s a pearl cupped lovingly on the bed of his tongue. 

It’s Tommy’s turn to roll his eyes. He reaches out, covering Evan’s damp hand with his own and offering him a direct, hot-eyed look. “I’m not trying to impress Eddie.”

His words have their intended effect, Evan grins and ducks his head, cheeks going pleasantly red. 

Evan laces their fingers together. “I don’t care how rough it is around the edges, I want to see every part of you,” he says, devastatingly sincere. 

Every time Tommy thinks he’s gotten an upper hand on his feelings, Evan throws him for a loop. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

Evan’s grin spreads across his face like soft butter on toast. “You got it.”

[ryuhour]

HI MY POOKIE OKIE SUPER DOOKIE

since my now #1 writer is doing requests, can i please ask for hyun-ju with a reader who hypes her up to wear a skirt/dress (or anything feminine, really!)

I am so bad at requesting so feel free to ignore this if you want 😭🙏

a/n: OH MY GOODNESS … UR #1 WRITER???1? AHHH ILY❤️❤️❤️ i couldn’t tell if the reader was encouraging hyunju or if hyunju was encouraging the reader but I hope this is right :((

trust me? | cho hyunju x reader

sum: you (the reader!) hype your girlfriend (hyunju!!) up into wearing feminine stuff ^_^

warnings: none! aside from mentions of a poor self image and transphobia

gen: fluff :3 (with a tiinyy dash of angst)

Of all the girls to embrace their femininity, Hyun-ju stuck out the most. No matter where she went, she stuck out like a sore thumb, like a large splotch of bright white on a dark, dark canvas. God, did she hate the way others looked at her, their eyes anything but kind. They were ridden with distaste and judgement, with whys and ews and ughs because who did this man think he was pretending to be a woman? Who did this man think he was pretending to be something he wasn’t?

Maybe they were right, she couldn’t help but think at times.

You, on the other hand, had never worried about such things. Right now, you were shimmying a shirt over your torso, your girlfriend by your side(after so long, changing in front of each other was far from weird now). She eyed you while searching for clothes of her own, her smile as full of twinkles as it’d always been, her lips red with carefully applied lipstick. “ You look good. “ She idly hummed as she rummaged through your shared closet. Her voice was melodic and pleasant to your ears, prodding at the edges of your lips, threatening to curl up.

“ Thank you~ “ You practically purred, tip-toeing to press the softest of kisses to her cheek. (You could smell your own scent on her - she’d taken a liking to your body spray some time ago, and after so many days of you offering it to her, she eventually just started using it without question or word. You didn’t mind, you never had nor would you ever. If anything, it smelled sweeter on her.)

She gave a giggle - it was short and ended almost as soon as it started. It was a pattern, you’d recognized - how Hyun-ju would cut off her laughs or snickers or chuckles before they became long enough to focus on. Hyun-ju didn’t like her voice much, to put it straight - she thought it was too deep, too manly. (To you, it was the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard.) If only she would see herself more for what she was.

Even after so much time, Hyun-ju still struggled - and now she was quietly eyeing a skirt that was draped oddly over a hanger. She looked like she was itching to grab it, but … something, only god knows what, was coiling around her hand and pulling, pulling, pulling whenever her fingers inched too close to the article of clothing that you knew would look absolutely divine on her.

“ .. If you wanna wear it, then wear it. “ You eventually spoke up, smiling to yourself (yet also to your girlfriend). “ I was waiting to grow into it, it’s too big for me - maybe it’ll fit you, love. “ You said as you pulled a newly chosen pair of pants up your legs and over your hips. Hyun-ju just kept looking and looking and looking - and then she finally reached out for it, curling her fingers around the edges of the skirt and pulling it off the hanger.

“ I think you’ll look really good in it, “ You soon added in a further attempt of persuasion, leaning against her once you’d gotten your outfit in check - but when your body pressed against hers, you could feel precisely how tense her muscles were, and perhaps this was slightly more serious than you’d originally thought it was.

“ .. Are you okay? “ You stood up straighter, trying to meet her eyes - but she kept staring daggers into the skirt, conflicted. You could only wonder what she was thinking about. “ You don’t have to if you don’t wanna. “

“ I want to, “ Hyun-ju finally breathed out. “ I … don’t think I’ll look good in it, is all. “ She finally fessed up. So that’s what it was? “ What???!! That’s crazy. You’re crazy. “ You shook your head, taking the skirt from her hands and crouching to press it to her waist, as if examining how it’d look. “ It looks really good already like this - so imagine how good it’ll be when you actually put it on? “

Hyun-ju flushed, but still seemed a bit unconvinced. “ .. I don’t know. It’ll show my legs. “

“ What’s wrong with that? “

“ Everything. “

And so you thought, and thought, and thought. Hyun-ju clearly really wanted to do this, but her insecurities were often unrelenting.

“ I have leggings somewhere here! Would that make you feel better? “

“ …. maybe. “

With that, you went to scour your wardrobe for the forementioned leggings - once you found them (which took maybe 5 whole minutes…) you beckoned her to the bed and urged her to sit down, taking the liberty of pulling the nylon over her legs.

After all was set, you guided the skirt over her hips and stepped back to look over your work. Hyun-ju looked a bit uncertain, rubbing her thumbs over each other.

“ Is it .. pretty? “

“ The prettiest. “

Hyun-ju picked at the fabrics of the skirt with an unsure hum. “ I’m not so sure. “ You dropped down on the bed next to her, leaning all your weight against her. “ You look amazing!! Other girls would kill to look this good in skirts, “ You playfully poked her stomach. “ I bet people will look at you and be like .. wow, that girl looks so cool in that skirt.. “ Hyun-ju just giggled - it was a full one this time, and you smiled a bit wider than usual.

“ Okay, okay, “ She shook her head with a little grin, standing up. “ Come on Ju!!!! “ You grabbed her hand, lacing your fingers with hers. “ You look really beautiful. It suits you. Trust me? “

Hyun-ju gave an amused sigh. “ For sure. “

AHHHH IM SOO SORRY THIS IS SO BAD idont proof read my stuff and im a certified yapper both in regular convo + in writing.. i hope i didnt branch off too much or bore you :(( im sorry it took so long too .. i hope it serves ur request at least a little bit justice, ur my first one ever hehe

[hornedandwingedangel]

Raphael thoughts

I’ve been analyzing him a lot recently so here are some thoughts I have about my favorite cambion.

SFW

- tbh, I don’t think he’d be that bad in a relationship. He canonically says he cant resist helping you, he likes you. Maybe he almost respects you? In a way. Sure, he’d be toxic sometimes. But he even said he’d “make time for his favorite client”. He cares about you, I think he’d be pretty nice.

- For example, I think he’d buy you nice things. He has expensive taste and he’d want you to look good next to him. And ofc he’d love handing you a beautiful dress or necklace to see a smile on your face.

- he’s actually your biggest supporter. He genuinely wants you to succeed in the things you do. You can see from a conversation with Korilla.

- He reminds me so much of Ursula lol. Flamboyant, manipulative, condescending

- It’d take a while of being in a relationship with him for him to open up, but eventually he’d vent to you about his father and issues between them. I think in general, he’s not super open, but he is quite honest.

- an example of that honesty is that he tells you that the Orphic hammer is a good trade and he writes in his journal that he really believes it is. I think he genuine likes you and wants to help you (but not quite enough to let you get in the way of his plans)

- I don’t think you can “fix” him or calm his ambition down as much as you can with Astarion or Gale. But I think you can calm him down just enough for him to let himself express his human side around you more often.

- hugs! He would be suave and very nonchalant about letting you hug him, but he secretly LOVES holding you in his arms. Feeling you in his grasp. His own little mouse all to himself.

- LOTS of banter. Well, he likes your praise and attention all to himself. But he also likes some arguing. He finds you being opinionated and having stimulating intelectual conversations attractive.

NSFW

- This guy has serious anger issues. It’s not hard to piss him off. I think it’d be a lot of fun to rile him up sometimes. He’s cute when he’s angry. Ofc, this can lead to… “punishment” and such… “activities”

- now about him being a bottom and whatever. Here’s what I think based on other headcannons I’ve heard. 1) he wouldn’t rly bottom for you. he wouldn’t submit to anyone who wasn’t him (or on his level like Haarlep who is in Raphael’s form anyway). 2) he’s “bad” in bed bc he doesn’t have to do any work to be satisfied. Haarlep does all the work and they don’t have a romantic relationship aside from sex so there’s no real reason for him to put in any effort. But you can’t tell me after idk, hundreds of years? of having sex he doesn’t know how to fuck?

- he would never make you do anything you didn’t wanna do. When it comes to how you guys do the devils tango, I think these headcannons are totally up to you. But imo, he’s a dom on the aggressive side with teasing, humiliation, and condescending praise.

If you have any bc questions (ex: would he like ___?) pls comment :) I hope you like these hcs 🫶🏼

[guiltyasdave]

are you ever dreaming of me?

series masterlist • this is part IV

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

a/n: This got very dark very quickly, but it had to be done. It’s basically just one big love letter from me to Dave and his character. I know Dave’s behavior in the last chapter has been a little frustrating but I hope it’ll make more sense now (it’s still frustrating though ngl). I also know this is not as smut-heavy as the other chapters, which might come as a disappointment to some. Stay with me here, more filth is coming soon, I just had to get emotional for a second. <3 (also, please be nice because I lowkey hate this, actually)

word count: ~3.1k

summary: Dave’s side of the story.

warnings: ANGST, bits of fluff if you squint, age-gap, mentions of killing people, mentions of death, mentions of rough sex, power imbalance, able-bodied reader, somewhat unhealthy relationship dynamics, dubios morals (Dave is cheating on his wife… kinda), idiots in love, this whole serious is still very much 18+ only, mdni… did I mention angst? (As always, please tell if if I forgot something!)

dividers by @/saradika <3

find my full masterlist here!

Dave York isn’t a good man.

He isn’t a good man and he hasn’t been in a long time. He probably had been, once, when he first joined the military, when he still thought that he was doing the good thing, the right thing. Before he killed his first man. Now he’s living in shades of gray, where nothing is as simple as right or wrong.

He knows that what he’s doing is not right, but then again, the people that he’s killing aren’t good men either. He’s doing what he’s good at, what he has been trained to do for years. He doesn’t really know what else he’s good at. If there even is anything else.

He makes enough money to provide well for his daughters, the only thing in his life that he really cares about, the two girls that he loves more than anything. He loved their mother too, once, when they were both young. They were high school sweethearts, got married quickly simply because that was the thing that you did, only to realize later that adult life with each other wasn’t what either of them had imagined.

He’s never told Carol what exactly it is that he does, trying to protect her, which then led to her not understanding what was going on when he came home feeling cold and empty, a void inside of him that nothing could fill. They both grew distant from each other, not sharing any real connection anymore, just living aside one another. It works for him; their daughters are still the top priority for both of them, and they’re going to do everything in their power to give them the best possible childhood.

He suspects that Carol is seeing someone else, with the way she’s sometimes working late for no good reason, sliding out of the room to answer her phone at odd hours, the way he occasionally finds a position on their shared credit card bill that he doesn’t have an explanation for.

Dave knows that if he cared, he could easily find out every little detail about it. If he cared, he would probably be angry at how she’s not even making an effort to hide it. But the thing is - he just can’t bring himself to care. Has never done the same thing either, neither out of spite, nor because he had any desire for it.

Until he met her.

Sitting in a hotel bar, two seats over from him, when he’d just gotten a job done and figured that a quick drink might help him fall asleep easier. The whiskey’s burn in his throat didn’t ease the coldness that felt like it had permanently settled into his chest, not that he’d expected it to.

He had just decided to retreat to his room and get out of the city first thing in the morning when she sighed loudly and downed her own drink abruptly. He had noticed her when he walked in, the way he always clocked every person in any room he entered, and every possible exit route. He had absentmindedly noted that she was attractive, then dismissed the thought immediately. Probably here for a date, much younger than him, not paying him any mind. Not a threat, and therefore not important.

Not important at all, until he found himself turning to her and offering to buy her another drink before his mind had even caught up to his actions, learning that she had just been stood up for what would indeed have been a date, noticing the glint of interest in her gaze as she eyed him up and down, feeling a kind of longing that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Getting her to go up to his room with him had been easy. A mutual understanding of wanting each other, the desire to turn a shitty evening into something else, something that he doesn’t think either of them understood at the time.

Kissing her for the first time had been easy, too. Touching her, feeling her hot skin under his fingertips, her entire being so much softer, lighter than he was, felt easy. It felt right, like something that he hadn’t known he was missing right until that moment. He wanted to devour her, make her his, get her as close as he possibly could, before he inevitably had to give up this fleeting moment of something that suspiciously felt like happiness, and happiness never stayed within his reach for too long.

Sinking into her for the first time, hearing her gasp, her breath hot against his neck, felt even better. This was never gonna last, things this good never did. The way she clenched around him when he first slapped her ass and her whimper of “harder, please” turned him feral in a way that he hadn’t known before. How she gave up all control to him so willingly when his entire life had felt out of control for so long - it was addicting. He had known that he would come back for more again and again before he had even spilled himself into her for the first time.

He hadn’t planned for her to stay the night. Hadn’t planned for the way she kissed his lips in the morning, acting a little shy, like she was worried that he might send her away, but so clearly showing him that she wanted more of him, if that was what he wanted. And god damn, did he want to give her more, give her all that he had to offer, if only it wasn’t for the fact that any more of him would be enough to scare her away for good.

So, he didn’t give her more. Made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t looking for an emotional attachment, told her about his marriage, told her that they couldn’t be a thing. She was quick to hide her disappointment, but not quick enough for him not to notice. He half expected her to walk out then, that this wasn’t something she wanted, but instead she scribbled down her phone number, gave him a flirty smile and told him to call her “whenever”.

He knew he was being greedy, that he should have kept it a one time thing that he could keep a fond memory of, but of course he called her. Kept making stops in her town before flying back home, started spending weekends with her, the feeling of being around her too good to let go of.

He knows that it’s not right, that he’s probably taking advantage of her in some way. Of course he sees how badly she wants to please him, how she looks at him like he’s hung the moon for her. She has never denied him anything, no matter what kinds of depraved things he’s wanted to do with her. Hesitated, yes, but she has never said no. Never called red, never asked him to stop. Not when he first told her to call him “sir”, not when he spanked her for the first time, not when he’s edging her until she’s barely coherent, not when his fingers tightened around her throat for the first time. He could leave her a crying, shaking mess on the floor, and by the end of the night she’d still look up at him with those wide eyes and thank him.

It’s addictive and he can’t stop, always comes back for more when it feels like his whole life is spiraling out of his control again, when the darkness around him is threatening to swallow him whole. She’ll let him grab at her with rough hands, mold her body into any shape he wants, let him spit filth at her and let lose until he feels grounded again, until some of the darkness around him has dissipated.

Lately, work has been weighing on him even harder. Maybe he’s just getting older, maybe he has finally reached his limit, he’s not sure. With the whole week off, an incredibly rare occurrence, he knew who he wanted to spend it with. She had seemed stressed lately, like she needed a break too, so it was easy to convince himself that he was doing this for her. That it wasn’t just a selfish plan of his to spend more time with her.

Because somewhere along the way he has come to enjoy the time with her way too much. He enjoys lying in bed together, both of them catching their breaths, laughing about a stupid joke, the little tidbits from her life that she shares with him, the rare occasions when they’re walking around her neighborhood. The way she shyly grabbed his hand the first time, like she was scared that he would pull it away. The smile that she tried to but couldn’t hide when he didn’t.

This isn’t right and it’s not going to last, he’s well aware of that. As clear as he has been about his intentions, he still feels like he’s leading her on sometimes. But it feels too good to stop, to let go of one of the few comforts that he has in life.

The past few days with her have been heaven. He hadn’t anticipated how much he would enjoy spending so much uninterrupted time with her, how good it would feel to be around her the entire day, just watching her be herself and listening to her talking. And he has been talking as well, the feeling of speaking to someone without an ulterior motive, of someone listening to him just because they wanted to, more meaningful to him than he could put into words.

And all throughout, she had so willingly bent to his every wish, put all her trust into him, secure in the knowledge that in the end, he would take care of her.

So, Dave had let his guard down. Relaxed. Then the dream happened.

Last night, he had come home to find the girls slaughtered in their house, their small bodies soaked in blood. It’s a recurring nightmare, a fear that he can never entirely shake off, that haunts his subconscious every couple of weeks. He’s being thorough in his work, never leaving loose ends, keeping his private life concealed from the world that he moves in. The risk that anything could happen to them is as low as he can push it, but it’s not zero. Never zero, and it’s eating at him. Usually, he wakes up alone, gasping for breath, the sheets soaked with sweat. Him and Carol haven’t slept in the same bed for a long time.

Last night, it had been different. It had been different because she had been there beside him, shaking him awake and holding him in her arms until he calmed back down. It had also been different because she had been part of the dream. Just as dead, just as blood-soaked as his daughters.

She had been so sweet when he woke up, and it broke his heart. He wasn’t a good person. He was endangering everyone around him, he was endangering her by not being able to end this thing with her, and yet here she was, oblivious, comforting him.

He had always thought that eventually, he would be the one to break things off. But what if it was her? What if she figured out what a pathetic excuse of a man he was, that he couldn’t give her anything? Not a real relationship, and no future. He couldn’t let her in, couldn’t let her see who he was. What he did, what he was afraid of - and just how realistic those fears were.

He couldn’t even bear to picture the look on her face if he ever told her. The betrayal, the disgust, and eventually the fear. He couldn’t tell her. He wouldn’t. But how could he go on with this, knowing that every minute that he spends with her, he puts her in danger? Someone could find out. Someone could find her.

So does what he does best. Makes a plan. Suppresses his emotions until he’s sure of what to do. How to keep her safe. The logical part of his mind arrives at a solution pretty quickly: She’ll be safest if she stays away from him.

The emotional part of him, the part that he tries to keep shut down, doesn’t approve of this idea.

He has to tell her. Sooner rather than later, while the dream is still fresh in his memory, while he can still see her dead body when he closes his eyes.

Because he obviously knew about the dangers of being with him when he first laid eyes on her. When he kissed her for the first time, texted her for the first time, walked up to her apartment for the first time, when he booked this damn vacation because he’s unable to stay away from her. Unable to think straight when it comes to her. There’s a million reasons why he shouldn’t be with her and yet, he always finds a reason not to quit.

He tells himself that he’ll speak to her as soon as she gets up. Then once he’s done with his phone call. Maybe after they’ve had breakfast. At the end of the day, when they’re back in the room. He never does. He can’t.

The tension has become unbearable at that point. He knows that she’s confused, that she has questions that he doesn’t have answers for. His life feels out of control once again, so he tries gaining it back in the only way that he knows.

He half expected her to refuse him, but she seems just as relieved as he feels when he tells her to get down on her knees. Afterwards, he doesn’t feel better. Possibly hates himself even more.

He can tell that she’s off afterwards, and he’s battling himself to comfort her. This is not what he should be doing. None of this is what he should be doing.

Usually, she tucks herself into the space between his shoulder and his chest before he can even say a word. Not tonight. Tonight, she had her back turned to him before he had even switched off the lights, the “good night” that she normally breathes against his neck nothing more than a murmur from her side of the bed.

He stares at her backside in the darkness of the room, the way she seems to be curling in on herself, and he has no idea what to do. What they just did seemed like what she wanted, she had appeared eager, enthusiastic even, but maybe he read her wrong. Shit, he hadn’t even asked for her color once.

It’s quiet for a long time. He finally feels himself slowly drifting off to sleep, when her hears her sniffle. His eyes fly open again. It’s only minimal movements, but he can see her tremble ever so slightly. Fuck it, he thinks to himself as he reaches out towards her.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

You tense at his words, at the fact that he’s apparently awake. Has probably been the whole time. You try your hardest to make your voice sound normal, even though you know that it’s pointless.

“Nothing.”

It comes out even weaker than you had anticipated. You keep your back to him and feel him shuffling closer, his hand gently pulling at your shoulder to turn you towards him. “Baby. Talk to me.” His voice is soft in your ear and your heart is beating painfully in your chest. Baby. He has never called you Baby before. You feel a fresh wave of tears welling up in your eyes and shake your head but let him turn you around until you’re facing him.

His eyes search your face in the faint moonlight that’s filtering into the room and his hands cup your damp cheeks, his thumbs gently running over the skin under your eyes. The worry that’s so evident in his expression right now makes you want to break down. You’re exhausted, and confused, and you don’t understand the man in front of you and his contradictory behavior at all. So far you’ve been crying silently, but you can feel your bottom lip trembling as you try to suppress the sobs that are threatening to crawl up your throat.

“Did I- shit, was I too rough, did I hurt you? You didn’t say anything, but I never asked- I should’ve checked, I’m sorry, I-“

“You didn’t hurt me,” you whisper, cutting off his frantic rambling. He didn’t, not in the way that he’s referring to, anyway.

“Then what’s wrong?” he pleads, his hands still on your face, “Talk to me.” You inhale deeply. You really don’t want to have this conversation, but maybe it’s best like this. Rip the bandaid off, make it quick.

“Do you want to leave?”

Your voice breaks on the last word. He stares at you for a beat, his eyes wide. “Do I- What?” You shrug, unable to bring yourself to ask a second time. One of his hands slides down to your shoulder, holding you there. He doesn’t speak, his eyes boring into you.

You can’t hold his gaze any longer, your eyes dropping down to his chest instead. “You’ve been… weird. Today. I thought- I don’t fucking know, that I had done something or that you’ve-” a sob breaks free and interrupts you, “that you’ve had enough of me. That you don’t want to go on with… this.” You gesture helplessly between the two of you.

You’re certain that now you’ve said too much, that if he hadn’t had enough before, he definitely has now. You’re supposed to be fun, a distraction, not someone who’s clinging to him, but you’re feeling too exhausted, too raw to keep pretending like this thing between you doesn’t mean something. To you, at least.

“Fuck,” Dave mumbles, and you gaze up to see the anguish in his eyes before his arms envelop you and he presses you against his chest, speaking into your hair. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.”

It’s quiet for a minute as you’re inhaling his scent, trying to calm yourself down, when something occurs to you. “You didn’t say no,” you whisper into his chest, “you said that I didn’t do anything, but… you didn’t say that you don’t want to leave.” Dave freezes for just a second, searching your face, then he sighs heavily. He sounds defeated, you think.

“No, I don’t want to leave.”

taglist/people who have expressed interest in this: @joelscurls @reddedmiller @iamasaddie @guelyury @theywhowriteandknowthings @amanitacowboy @corazondebeskar @vabeachazn @mellymbee @bbyanarchist @untamedheart81 @missladym1981 @no1-nosesitter

let me know if you wanna be added, also no hard feelings if you wanna be removed! 🫶🏻

if you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging <3

series masterlist

[blinday]

Fuck it. Um. I'll post it on AO3 tomorrow.

If I don't remember to add something else.

You Ruined Yourself

Chapter 1.

Polite Stranger Smile #2

Ford didn’t know what he'd expected. He hadn’t spoken with his brother in a long time, hadn’t even seen him aside from his infomercials. Ford didn’t like that his face was plastered in those ridiculous things, but it did bring him comfort to see his brother's smile.

Stan's smile was something only he had, one of the few traits they didn’t share. Ford's smiles had always been a bit tight, a bit nervous, because he was never quite relaxed in his own skin; it's hard to be so when you have such a huge sense of alienation. Stan's smiles were bright enough to light up a room. It could be a wide toothy grin with a playful tint to it, or a small subtle smirk of someone you know is proud of you. Ford had loved Stan's smiles, and used to have a mental list of their differences and meanings.

The one Stan was using at that moment was the Polite Stranger Smile #2, mostly used during festivities when they met relatives they were supposed to know but didn’t quite recall who they were. It was a funny smile all things considered, specially because it was usually followed by his favorite, the I Don't Know What I'm Saying, which Stan always directed at Ford as they greeted the unremembered relatives. But right now Stan wasn’t looking at someone else with the Polite Stranger Smile. It was at Ford.

Ford, who had a crossbow pointed at his twin and could not afford to get lost in memories, even though those thoughts pulled at his heart in a way that made it hard to breathe. He had to focus, focus.

"Were you followed?" He inquired, looking over his brother's shoulder but never leaving the crossbow unaimed. Stan narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, his smile straining. It was now more akin to a grimace.

"No. And I know because that's totally a concern normal people who aren't doing anything wrong have." He said, and Ford couldn’t tell if Stan was being sarcastic or not. He couldn't do it without much concentration in good days, so trying now would be futile at best. He decided to not press the matter further, and tried to pull Stan in to check his eyes.

Only, Stan stayed firmly planted in his place, looking at him with that same grimmace, slightly furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. He was suspicious. Scared? It was hard to read him, now. Ford would not think about this now.

"I'm sorry bro, I am sure you don't have any terrible or vengeful intentions, but I'm not getting in while you have that crossbow in hands." He said breathily, like he was trying to say something serious with a humorous delivery. Ford frowned and slowly put down the crossbow.

Stan followed Ford's pull, and Ford checked his eyes. Stan stared at him, not even pretending he wasn’t weirded out by the situation at this point. Stan sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Good to see you don't think I'm a junkie." He said with what Ford knew to be sarcasm, so he had to stop for a second. Upon further thought, yeah, he could see why Stan would think he'd thought that.

"No, no, I just had to... You could've been..." Ford looked away, trailling off. "It's complicated."

Stan seemed fine. He could handle this task, right? But what if he couldn’t understand? What if it was too much? But if he didn't explain, what if Bill got to him? He had to explain everything. Yes, yes. He could do this. Stan could do this.

"Uh, you gonna explain what's going on, here? You're acting like Mom after her tenth cup of coffee." Stan said, interrupting Ford's musings. Ford looked at him and took a deep breath.

"Listen, there isn't much time. I've made huge mistakes and I don't know who I can trust anymore." From the corner of his eye he saw his research skeleton (for anatomycal comparisons with gnomes) flash a bright yellow eye at him, and quickly turned it away. They weren't safe. What if Stan didn’t understand? What if they really were just strangers sharing a face after all these years? Ford started pacing, muttering to himself.

"Hey, uh, easy there." Stan had both his hands extended like he was trying to calm down a wild animal. Which, fair enough, Ford could concede he might look a little... rough. "Let's talk this through, okay?"

"I have something to show you. Something you won't believe." Ford said, rubbing his hands. Everything felt scratchy, like his consciousness was just barely there. Stan smiled, and this time it was his reassuring one. Ford liked this one. Their childhood was filled with this smile, reflecting how their own mom smiled at them.

"Look, I've been around the world, okay? Whatever it is, I'll understand." Stan said. Ford hoped he was right, but knew he couldn’t be.

Ford led his brother towards his secret lab, and only as they stood in the elevator, did he stop to notice Stanley himself. Ford was hungy and exhausted and on the lookout for a demon who threatened to gouge his eyes from its sockets. He couldn't afford to pay attention to these details at every waking moment, but it didn’t mean he didn’t care. He just had a lot in his mind.

Stan had a tidy jacked that looked well worn, but cared for. His hair was wrapped in a ponytail, and he had a bit of beard on his chin. He looked nice. Didn’t have huge bags under his eyes like Ford, and didn’t look too thin. He wasn’t as big as when they were teenagers, but strongly built. Ford was glad. He'd always had a tiny voice at the back of his head worrying if Stanley would be able to make it alone in the big world, specially when they were teens. But by the looks of it he'd been fine.

It almost made him mad. Stanley was here, a fully functional adult with his 5 normal fingers and no demons to haunt him, after costing Ford everything. No, no, not now. He couldn't let himself go that way. He had to finish this. He turned on the lights as they walked into the lab, revealing his beloathed portal.

Stan gaped. Ford expected something like 'there is nothing about this that I understand', maybe a joke about it being a doomsday portal, or just a questioning look. He hadn’t expected Stan to look at him like he fully understood what he'd done, the magnitude of the situation, how much danger they and the whole wolrd could be in, like he got it.

"Ford," Stan said in a raspy, breathy voice lacking any of his usual humour. "What the fuck did you do?"

[vivwritesfics]

Shine A Light Into The Wreckage

Chapter Four - Not-Bob

Bob Floyd was many things. He was an instructor at Top Gun, a lover of Tolkien books and a huge fan of coffee. But Bob was also clumsy. That was how he bumped into the table, knocking her drink onto her notebook. He felt bad about it. Bad enough to come back time and time again, in the hopes that she would be there. And, every time, she is. Each time looking a little worse for wear. It doesn't take Bob long to realise he has to save her.

2K

Warnings: Abusive relationship! Abusive hair pulling! Abusive choking! Forceful sex! Domestic abuse! Seriously don't read if you're affect by stuff like this! Talks of stalking (but in a non serious manner) (Specifically this chapter has 0 warnings, it's just cute)

Series Masterlist

"You officially dress like a grandpa."

On the two other times they had met, she had been at the café before him, almost like she was waiting for him. This time, though, Bob was there first. He had her hazelnut latte with oat milk and a black coffee in front of him. 

When she took off her bag and sat opposite him, Bob pushed the hazelnut latte towards her. "You know," she began as she settled into her seat. "I come here to write. You're making it really hard, Bobby," she said, wearing a smile. "But thank you."

Bob gave it a second. "You owe me a name," he said, one hand around his coffee shop mug.

"You're a terrible stalker." She shook her head, grin widening as she took another sip. It was perfect, her exact order. But then she gave him her name. 

Bob repeated it back to her, letting it roll off the tongue. "It's nice," he said. "Nicer than Bob."

"Shut up," she said quickly. But it wasn’t malicious in any way. "If you don't like it, why does everybody call you Bob?"

Bob brought his coffee to his lips. "It's my Callsign," he said as he took in a too big sip, burning his mouth in the process. But Bob ignored the sensation as he looked at her. 

She looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "What's a Callsign?"

"It's pretty much a nickname that's used for identification. There's probably loads of Roberts on a carrier at any one time but I'm the only Bob," he said and adjusted his glasses, a nervous habit.

She folded her arms over her chest, holding her elbows as she looked at him. "Well, I like Bob," she said, reaching for her coffee. "It's... nice." She couldn't tell him it was cute, even if that was what she meant.

Bob looked around at the café. On the two previous occasions they had met, she had been alone. Even now she was sitting with Bob. Not friends, not her boyfriend. She was alone, aside from Bob.

"What do you do for fun around here?" Bob asked as he leaned forward. 

She let out a laugh, but only a weak one. "What do I do for fun? What do you do for fun, Mr Pilot Guy?" 

"I go to The Hard Deck," Bob answered.

He stared at her as he waited for her to answer. But, for the first time since they had met, he had left her without anything to say.

Her eyes met his as she fiddled with her cream, cuffed sleeve of her sweater. "Is it... do you guys really have fun in there?" She asked him.

Bob's brows furrowed behind his glasses. "I thought you said you'd been there."

"I have!" She said quickly. "But, you know, it wasn’t all that fun," the last part she said quietly. 

That look crossed her face again, the one she wore when he had asked about the book. As much Bob wanted to reach across and touch her hand, he didn’t. "You could come with us, if you'd like. I'd make sure Hangman behaves."

"Yeah," she responded quietly. "I might take you up on that." 

She quickly changed the subject, making things light and fun once again. She asked him about Montana, she had so many questions about Montana. Bob answered all of them. He told her about his grandparents farm, about the little house at the bottom of the property. When he was eighteen he had promised his Grandma that he would fix it up, but he hadn't gotten around to it yet. But he had certainly meant to. 

She checked the time on her phone periodically, comparing it to the sky. Watching for when it got dark, Bob figured. He had hoped that, once again, he'd get to walk her home. 

But, when the sky turned orange, she stood and slung her bag over her shoulder. "I've got to go," she said with a smile. "Thanks for the coffee, Bob." 

He stood up with her, bumping the table as he did so. "Do you want me to walk you home? I'm more than happy to," he said, but she shook her head. 

"It's okay," she replied and looked at the sky as it turned orange. "It's not dark yet."

But, still, Bob wasn't quite ready to say goodbye. "It's on my way home. It really wouldn't be a-"

"I said no, Bob," she said suddenly, firmly. "Drop it." 

Bob just watched her as she walked out of the cafe, shoving her hands into her pockets as she walked down the street. As soon as he couldn't see her, he walked out of the cafe and climbed into his truck. He watched her in his rearview mirror, at least until she turned the corner. 

Bob couldn’t help but sigh as he drove off, heading in the other direction to his apartment. He hadn't meant to lie about where he lived and, while it felt harmless at the time, Bob regretted it.

When she disappeared, he let out a sigh and began driving back to his house, back to Frodo. Did she like cats, he found himself wondering. Would she like Frodo if she met him? Frodo would like her. He'd attached himself to the few women that had come into his little house. 

***

On the Monday, Bob volunteered for the coffee run yet again. He was already patting his wallet as he began walking out to his truck. 

But a hand on his shoulder stopped him. "I'll get it, Baby Bob," said Jake. He gave Bob no time to respond as he climbed into his own car. 

"Wait!" Bob called as he watched the car disappear. "Hangman!"

Jake wasn't getting the coffee out of the goodness of his heart. He wasn't doing it to pay Bob back for all of the times he had paid for coffee. He wasn't doing it to give Bob time to prepare for his next lesson at Top Gun. 

When Bob was gone for all of those hours on Saturday, he and Natasha had been discussing all sorts of theories. After going in circles, they narrowed in on the cute barista with the pink hair. 

Jake parked up outside of the cafe. He climbed out of the car and strode in with the confidence of a saltwater crocodile (a notoriously confident animal).

He didn't spot the cute barista with the pink hair right away. His eyes scanned behind the counter as he stepped up to it. He rang the bell, waiting for someone to serve him. 

The cute barista with the pink hair came around the corner. "Hey there," she said with a charming smile. 

Jake didn't know what Bob's type was, didn't know that his type was sitting on one of the tables behind him, writing in her newly acquired notebook. 

Jake wore his award winning, charming smile as he looked at her name tag. "Hello," he squinted at her name tag, "Mariana," he said, drumming his fingers against the counter top. "Can I get three black coffees?" 

Immediately she turned to make coffee. "Do you like a man in uniform, Mariana?" He asked.

"Sure, hun," she said and placed the first coffee in a cup holder on the counter in front of him. 

"Yeah," Jake muttered as he rocked on the balls of his feet. "Yeah, one of my fellow aviators has been coming in here a lot," he said. "You haven't seen him, have you? These geeky glasses, Callsign Bob?" 

Mariana wore a contemplative expression as she placed the other two coffees in the cup holder.

"Yeah," she finally said, nodding. "Yeah. A hazelnut oat latte and either a black coffee or a tea," she said, looking past Jake. But her eyes quickly went back to him as she rang him up. 

He pulled the money from his wallet. "So, Bob hasn't been flirting with you?" He asked with his brows furrowed. 

Mariana couldn't stop the laugh from leaving her lips. "I wish," she said to him. "Hasn't he gotten a girlfriend? He always gets his drinks and then sits on one of the back tables with a girl in a knit sweater."

Jake picked up his coffees, thanked her and walked out of the cafe. He climbed into his car and looked back towards the café. Girl in a sweater. He was looking for a girl in a knit sweater. 

Of the three people sitting in the café,  none of them were wearing a knit sweater. 

Jake let out a sigh as he drove away. 

She had noticed him the moment he had walked into the cafe. His khaki uniform was the same as what Bob was wearing when they first met, when he threw the coffee over her. She couldn't help but hope it was him, until she looked at his face. 

She was crushed with disappointment.

When Not-Bob started talking to the barista, she tried not to listen in. It wasn't her business what this navy man was talking about. He wasn't Bob, so why should she care? Even if it was Bob, she shouldn't be caring if he was flirting with Mariana. 

But then Not-Bob mentioned Bob's name, and she couldn't stop herself from listening in. The questions that Not-Bob directed at Mariana, she couldn't help but think that they should have been directed at her. 

She sipped her hazelnut oat latte, pen still against the paper as she listened. When Mariana told Not-Bob about her sweater, she grinned, holding back a laugh. Oh yeah, they were definitely talking about her. 

Not-Bob thanked Mariana and walked out of the café. She watched him sit in his car for a moment before he drove away. 

When he was gone, she closed her notebook and tucked her pen into the binder rings. Slipping her notebook back into her bag she stood up and left the cafe, making her way back to her office. 

As she sat at her desk, she stared at the phone. All she wanted was for it to ring, just for something to do. Her notebook, the one that Bob had bought for her, was in front of her, open once again, but she didn't write in it, not with how her boss was staring at her from the office. 

The phone finally rang and she directed the call to the salesman. At the sight of her finally doing her job, her boss looked away and she began writing in the notebook. 

If she had been clever, she would have gotten Bob to give her his number. God knows she would have spent all day texting him if she had his number.

But then, if she did have his number, how long until Ken found out? How long until Ken broke this phone, just like the last phone she had?

She knew she had to get Bob's phone number, but she wanted to put it off. When Ken found out about Bob, there was no telling what he would do. There was no way she would ever see Bob after, and she enjoyed his company far too much for that. 

She would go to The Hard Deck. Ken be damned, she'd go. It was all planned out in her head, what she would do and how she would do it. 

All through the work day she imagined how that night would go. Drinking with him, meeting his friends. It sounded like a perfect night, better than any night she had spent with Ken in a long time. 

But the more she thought about it, the more anxiety settled in her stomach. 

Her boss cleared her throat and she picked up the phone, one she hadn't noticed was ringing.

Taglist: @biancathecool @not-nyasa @burningwitchprincess @darksparklesficrecs @primroseluna @littlemsbumblebee @wretchedmo @imaginecrushes @calpalsbestie

[grandmother-goblin]

Simple Magic

AO3 - Masterlist

Summary: When Sarana shows up to Gale's room with a basket full of food, he invites her in for a drink. Turns out, she had other things on her mind.

Relationships: Gale x Female!Tav

Word Count: 7.3k

Tags: Smut, romance, light dom/dub, blow jobs, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, inappropriate use of mage hand, she calls him "Sir", mild begging, mild praise kink.

A quiet knock on the door to his room pulled Gale out of the book he was reading. He bookmarked his page with a Sorcerer's Sundries receipt and got to his feet, his muscles aching from hours of disuse. “Just a moment,” he called and stretched his arms above his head, trying to wake his body.

“No rush,” Sarana’s distinct voice replied from the other side of the door. It was high pitched and sweet, like a storybook princess or perhaps a fairy. There was an almost whimsical quality to it. If Gale was being completely honest, her voice did not fit the rest of her at all.

Gale quickly checked himself over in the mirror, taking a moment to comb his fingers through his hair and straighten his clothes. He didn’t look his best, but it was good enough. After weeks on the road, Sarana had definitely seen his worst. But still.

Even if Sarana couldn’t be his, he still wanted to look nice for her. It was pathetic really, but Gale just couldn’t seem to get her out of his head.

Though neither of them admitted it, there was something going on between Sarana and Astarion. Gale had noticed her sneaking off to Astarion’s tent every couple of nights, but he didn’t think much of it. He didn’t think it was anything serious. That it was just a little, meaningless fling. That he still had a chance.

Hells, she even got his hopes up. When Sarana’s mind had connected with his whilst they were cloaked in the Weave, she had imagined kissing him. She had wanted him to see the image. Wanted him to see the way she would stand on her toes and loop her arms around his neck as she pressed her lips to his. Her hands tangled in his hair as he lifted her off her feet….

Not only that, she was always flirting with him. Making little excuses to touch him or to have a private conversation. So many private looks and smiles when no one else was looking. Something special just for him.

Or so he thought.

But then he saw Sarana and Astarion embracing one night and…. Well, it wasn’t the kind of embrace he would expect from two people who were just blowing off some steam. Her head tucked against Astarion’s chest as they just held each other, Sarana swaying slightly in a way that made Astarion chuckle. As much as it hurt, it was sweet.

Gale was happy for them.

So instead of humiliating himself, he just let her go. Who was he to get in the way of what she really wanted?

Though part of him couldn’t help but wonder what she saw in Astarion.

Sarana and Astarion seemed to disagree on just about everything. Sometimes, Astarion was downright rude to her, questioning everything from her intelligence to her judgment. On more than one occasion, Gale heard Astarion mutter some snide remark under his breath when Sarana was doing something nice for someone else. The two of them bickered all the time, but perhaps that was just their relationship.

Or perhaps she was only interested in Astarion for his good looks. While Gale thought himself decent in that department (he did get the attention of a goddess after all), there was a reason why Astarion tended to turn heads.

Feelings for Sarana aside, the two of them had a perfectly normal, completely platonic, definitely-not-awkward relationship.

Everything would be fine.

Gale tucked his shirt in and gave himself one last look over before he opened the door.

Standing in the hallway, with a bright smile and blonde hair that shone like gold under the light of wall lanterns, was the gentlest Gith that Gale had ever met.

Lae’zel didn’t even consider Sarana to be a true Githyanki. Or even Githzerai, for that matter. She was only Githyanki (they assumed) by blood alone, having been raised outside of a crèche and away from her kin. According to Sarana, her adoptive parents just found her wandering alongside a country road one day. The couple never discovered where she came from and no one ever came searching for her, so the halflings took Sarana in and raised her as if she were their own.

“Hey,” Sarana greeted with her usual chipper tone as she adjusted a wicker basket under her arm. “I noticed that you didn’t come down for supper so I brought you something to eat since the kitchen closed for the night. Just some fresh fruit, bread, and some really yummy cheeses that I got from the market this afternoon. Oh! And a bottle of wine because I remembered you like this kind. At least, I think you do…”

Sarana thrusted the basket toward him. “Probably not as good as the stuff you can cook, but I didn’t want you going hungry.”

A light chuckle passed his lips, feeling a little flustered over the gesture. Sarana just did things like that. For everyone. She was always looking for a way to lend a helping hand or some way she could give. One time she literally gave a tiefling child her shirt and spent the rest of the afternoon walking around in her bra (not that she or anyone else seemed to mind).

Heat rose to his cheeks as she watched him expectantly with those bright ocean blue eyes. “Thank you,” he said as he accepted the basket. “That’s very kind of you.”

Gods. She was cute. Gale never would have thought the words “Gith” and “adorable” went together until he met Sarana. Slender face with high cheekbones framed with black markings, a petite nose, and full pink lips that seemed to always have a kind word.

How he wished he had had the courage to make a move on her sooner. Perhaps then Astarion wouldn’t have snatched her up.

She was such a good person. A paladin for crying out loud. Sworn to uphold values of mercy, kindness, forgiveness. To be a light in the dark. To stand against wickedness. What would a man like Astarion, who was chaos and debauchery incarnate, want with a woman like her?

It was just that… she really didn’t seem like Astarion’s type.

“Do you want to come in?” he asked before he could really think about it. He really shouldn’t invite a woman to his room so late at night. Especially when that woman was already spoken for.

But another part of him struggled to find any harm in asking. They were friends, after all. They didn’t have to stop spending time with each other just because she was with Astarion. That would have been ridiculous.

Mustering a bit of confidence, he held open the door wider, gesturing for her to come in. “At least share a glass of wine with me,” he said. “I feel like it would be rather sad to enjoy all of this alone, wouldn’t you agree?”

Those captivating eyes of hers widened for a brief moment, as though surprised by the suggestion. He swore he saw a hit of pink coloring her golden cheeks, but it could have been a trick of the light. She twirled a loose strand of hair around her finger as she smiled up at him. “I’d love to share a glass of wine with you,” she said and then she pointed to his chest. “As long as you help me figure out what cheese goes well with it.”

“Oh, it would be my pleasure,” he said as he let the door close behind them. “Back in Waterdeep, I took a class all about wine. The history of it, how to pair it, how to detect the nuances in the flavor. There’s a lot more to it than one might initially suspect.”

Sarana’s eyes glittered in the orange glow of the dwindling fireplace as she listened to his every word. That was something he always liked about her. When he spoke, she listened. Really listened. Given his predisposition for being verbose, he had grown used to people zoning out after a while. But not Sarana.

Gale set the basket down on the little table at the front of his room. He removed the deep red cloth that covered the contents of the basket to find a lovely arrangement of everything Sarana had mentioned, plus a few more items like a small jar of honey and a tin of herbed butter. “You brought a feast,” he chuckled as he removed the bottle of wine. “Surely you don’t think I eat this much.”

“I didn’t know what you’d want to try,” she said, holding her palms out in a gesture that suggested she meant no insult.

With a simple hand gesture, he uncorked the bottle of wine and floated over two wine glasses from the cupboard. “The thought is very much appreciated,” he said as he poured a healthy amount of wine for them both. “Wine first, then we’ll figure out what cheese will go best with it.”

Her fingers brushed against when he handed her a glass, and he tried to ignore the little spark that shot through him. Gods, he was like a teenage boy with his first crush. Just a simple touch from her and his skin felt like it was on fire. It was embarrassing.

What was worse was the fact that Gale could never act on those feelings. Even if Sarana was interested in reciprocating, he couldn’t bear the thought of playing second fiddle to someone else. He couldn’t do that to himself. Or to Astarion, for that matter. Though they had their differences, Gale wasn’t about to try to whisk away someone who undoubtedly made Astarion happy.

The man needed a good influence in his life. Gale didn’t understand their relationship, he wasn’t about to drive a wedge between them.

But still…. The temptation was there. To test the waters, so to speak. After all, Sarana was interested in him once upon a time. Maybe, just maybe, some of those feelings still lingered.

Before he could indulge that thought any further, he took a sip of his wine. It had raspberry overtones, but it was also pleasantly acidic. One that he definitely pointed out to Sarana once before. He let the flavor linger in his mouth as he watched Sarana take a sip from her own glass.

Her delicate pink tongue darted out to catch a little droplet of wine on her lower lip. “So tell me what you’ve been up to today,” she said, her voice bright and friendly as she took a seat at the end of his bed. “I was worried you weren’t feeling well.”

Some part of his brain screamed at him to sit next to her. Side by side on the bed, where they could inch closed together as they talked in hushed whispers and he could— no. He couldn’t let his mind go there.

Gale sat down in the same armchair he had been in practically all day. A perfectly respectful and friendly distance away from the bed.

It had always been easy for him to talk to Sarana. She was an active listener and always had a good question or funny remark about whatever they were discussing. Oftentimes, Gale ended up dominating the conversation, but she never seemed to mind one bit. She would sit quietly and listen to him for hours, her curious eyes on him the entire time.

Yet, he couldn’t help but feel like there was something a little different that night. Something about the way she paid attention to him. It was subtle. Her eyes were on him as they always were, but they were wandering. Like she was taking in every detail, watching his lips as he talked, darting to his legs when he shifted in his seat. But her expression was as bright and friendly as always.

Perhaps she was just a little distractible due to the late hour and a bit of wine.

When Gale finished his wine, Sarana stood from the bed with her own empty glass. “I should listen to your wine recommendations more often,” she said and held out her hand for his glass. “Want to have another glass with me?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” he teased and passed her his empty glass.

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing.” She giggled and refilled the glasses, pouring them a little less than he had poured them. “I’d probably get to hear you tell me more about Tara.”

He leaned back in his chair with a small smile on his lips, watching as Sarana put the stopper in the wine bottle. In that moment she had her back turned, his eyes trailed down her slender body.

Soft pink leggings clung to her curves and she paired them with a flowing white top detailed with gold embroidery. The shirt was cut low in the back, held together by a gold clasp at the nape of her neck. One of the first things she did when they got to Baldur’s Gate was march right up to one of the finest clothing shops in the city and bought an armful of new clothes. Though he was accustomed to her heavy armor or her more casual clothes, she seemed more at home in her new outfits.

When Sarana passed Gale his wine glass, he expected her to return to her spot on the bed. But she didn’t. Instead she seated herself right on the arm of his chair. Close enough that he could feel the heat of her body and smell her perfume. Something feminine and sweet, like jasmine and vanilla mixed with something he couldn’t quite place.

“But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather talk about something else,” she said and crossed one leg daintily over the other. “Something that has been on my mind for a while now.”

Gale swallowed.

She was so close he wanted nothing more than to pull her into his lap. To feel her weight on him and the warmth beneath the palms of his hands. He would caress her as he whispered adorations in her ear.

Instead, he cleared his throat and shifted away as far from her as the chair would allow. She was with Astarion, he told himself over and over in his mind. He had to respect that. Even if at that moment, he really didn’t want to.

“By all means,” he said, doing his best not to let his discomposure sneak into his tone. “What’s on your mind?”

She took a sip of wine and set the glass down on the end table. “You, mostly.”

Something in his brain sputtered. “Me?” he asked, blinking at her. “What did I do?”

The levity he forced into the question was false, but the way his heart pounded in his chest was very real. Sarana hadn’t even finished her thought, and his heart already wanted through itself at her. Gale reined in back with another sip of wine.

“Nothing at all,” Sarana said and lightly touched his arm, making his skin prickle. “Well, nothing bad. At least, I hope you won’t see it as a bad thing.”

Gale stared at where her fingertips touched his sleeve for a moment before he looked back to her, his brow furrowed.

Her hand squeezed his arm as she took a deep breath. “I like you, Gale,” she said. “I really like you and I have for a long time. You’re amazing and kind and funny and your friendship means the world to me. I don’t want to lose that, but I would never forgive myself if I didn’t at least… ask if you wanted to be something more?”

Warmth rose to his cheeks as he stared at Sarana, almost dumbfounded. A bright, giddy feeling that bloomed in his chest was quickly swallowed up by dread. Disappointment. And, ultimately, sadness.

Gods, he wanted to tell her he felt the same way. He did feel the same way. He wanted to let her know how he longed for her as well.

But he couldn’t.

With a heavy sigh, Gale stared into his wine glass like it was a divination pool, looking for the right words. The right way to answer. “I care for you deeply, Sarana, but — ” he turned toward the fireplace as if he could watch any lingering hope he had for a relationship with her go up in flames “ — Even if Astarion would be okay with the idea, I just can’t do that. I’m sorry.”

“What?” Sarana leapt off the arm of the chair, startled like a cat who had their tail stepped on. Her face paled and she covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my gods, I feel like such a bitch. I didn’t realize you two were a thing. I’m the one who should be sorry. I never would have said anything if I had known.”

Gale’s head whipped toward her, his brow furrowed as his brain processed what she had said. “What?” he asked incredulously. “Where the Hells did you get that idea? How could — you’re the one in his tent every night.”

“I don’t know what he does after he drinks my blood!” she replied, looking positively mortified. “Should I leave? I should probably leave. Please don’t tell Astarion about this. I think the only reason he tolerates me is because I feed him.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” He stood from the chair and set his glass on the fireplace mantle. “You sneak off to his tent every night so he can drink your blood?”

Sarana just blinked at him, looking adorably (infuriatingly) confused. “Only if he doesn’t get it from somewhere else during the day,” she said like it was completely normal. “I have a spell so I can heal it right away, so it’s not an inconvenience for me. I just don’t want him going hungry.”

Gale pinched the bridge of his nose and took one deep breath in, then out. A bizarre mixture of frustration and elation ebbed and flowed inside him, neither one overpowering the other. “So you and Astarion aren’t in a relationship?”

“No!” she said, her eyes big and sincere. “I care about him, but like he’s my annoying little sister. Not… ew. I don’t even want to say it out loud.”

The look on Sarana’s face was all the confirmation Gale needed. He didn’t need the tadpole or to detect her thoughts to know if she was telling the truth: Sarana and Astarion were never in a relationship.

He had been mistaken.

The times in which Gale felt like an idiot were few and far between, but at that moment he felt like a complete moron. Gale screwed his eyes shut and took another deep breath. “This whole time I thought you and him were together.”

Sarana’s mouth fell open and he could practically see the wheels in her head turning. “Oh,” she said. “I guess I could see how you would think that given… yeah.”

At a rare loss for words, he could only hum in agreement, his mouth drawn into a thin line.

For a few moments, they just stood there with nothing but the sound of the fireplace crackling between them. The soft orange glow from the fire flickered across her skin, making her look as though she were bathed in golden light. Like a goddess. A very embarrassed, slightly confused and uncomfortable goddess, but a goddess nonetheless.

He had spent weeks denying his feelings, trying to protect himself from inevitable heartbreak. Just the thought alone that Sarana was already in a relationship was enough to keep the emotions he felt around her at bay. But as soon as he knew that wasn’t the case, it was like a floodgate had been opened, overwhelming him in the best possible way.

A smile tugged at his lips as his heart tried to pound right out of his chest. “Sarana,” he said, his voice much steadier than he felt. “I’ve been in love with you almost since the moment we met. I just haven’t said anything bec— ”

He didn’t get to finish that thought as Sarana flung herself at him with enough momentum to throw him off balance, making him stumble back into the armchair. Her body molded against his as she captured his lips with her own. It surprised him enough that his hands remained suspended in the air for a few seconds before he enclosed his arms around her and kissed her back.

Her knees pressed against either side of his hips, straddling him. Soft hands cupped his face as she kissed him as though she could breathe him in. Her fingers threaded into his hair, pulling his head back slightly so she could deepen the kiss. A tremor went through him when her tongue slipped past his lips and his trousers suddenly felt a little too tight.

It had been so long since he had been kissed. With Mystra, their time together was spent in the Weave. Incorporeal, ethereal, wonderful in its own way. But it was nothing like this. Nothing like the simple magic of a real kiss.

Gale’s hands traced over the vault of her ribcage and down to the slight swell of her hips as he breathlessly broke away. “I take it that the feeling is mutual then,” he said, his mouth brushing against hers as he spoke.

“Gods, yes,” she said and her mouth crashed down on him once again. When the velvety tip of her tongue brushed over his lips, he opened to her again, tasting the wine on her breath as he drank her in. With her sharp little teeth, she gently nipped his lower lip in a way that caused pleasure to pool in the pit of his stomach.

There had been so many nights when Gale had woken up with his face flushed and his cock half-hard from just dreaming of such a moment. A moment of her in his arms, wanting him, her lips against his as their bodies pressed together as if they could fuse into a single being. The real thing was so much better than his dreams. The dreams never told him how warm she would be, how soft her skin would feel, or how she would caress his face like he was the most precious thing she had ever held.

His hands lowered from her hips over the curve of her backside and gripped her thighs. His lips trailed down the column of her neck, from the pulse point beneath her jaw to the pesky neckline of her blouse. Without even thinking, he reached up and undid the clasp at the back of her neck, letting the top pool around her waist. Her breath came in soft gasps as his mouth traversed the newly revealed flesh.

His parted lips dragged slowly over the slight curve of her breast, over the scars and adorable black markings that dotted her skin. When his mouth closed around the sensitive, pink peak, Sarana arched into him. He flicked his tongue over her, and she moaned when his teeth grazed against her skin as he sucked gently. His hand covered her other breast and shaped her in his palm.

“Gale,” she gasped as her hips rolled against the thick ridge in his trousers, her fingers tight in his hair. “Take me to bed. Please. I need you so badly.”

Gods, if he didn’t need her too. His cock ached, desperate to be inside of her. His flesh burned with the desire to meld against her own, without a single barrier between them.

But he was an arch mage. Mystra’s former Chosen. A master of the Weave. He didn’t want to disappoint Sarana by just throwing her on the bed and rutting into her like a mad beast. Not when he had so many other wonderful things at his disposal.

He wouldn’t dare give Sarana any less than he gave Mystra. Not when Sarana deserved so much more.

“I can do more than just take you to bed,” he replied as he caught her gaze, her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes dark with desire. “I can take you places beyond your wildest imagination. Make you feel sensations most mortals would never get to experience. We could bond in the way the gods do, intertwining our spirits in the Weave.”

Her fingers trailed from his face to his throat as she traced the dark lines of the Netherese mark beneath his skin. “I don’t want magic,” she said and began to work on the buttons of his shirt. “I just want you.”

Gale felt himself frown slightly. Not because he was upset, but rather confused. Magic was his entire life. Separating him from magic was akin to separating from his own heart or lungs. It was a part of him.

But perhaps Sarana didn’t see it that way.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his throat feeling a little tight as she slipped his shirt from his shoulders. Once his arms were free from his sleeves, he grasped the curve of her backside and gave her a squeeze. “I could conjure up anything you could possibly dream of. We could go anywhere, do whatever your heart desires.”

“Whatever my heart desires, huh?” she asked, something mischievous sneaking past the lust in her eyes. As she leaned close to his ear, he felt her hand reach between them and undo the buttons of his trousers. “In that case, why don’t we take off the rest of our clothes,” she said as her fingers ghosted over his erection through his briefs.

He pressed himself into her palm. “I thought that much was a given.”

“Then,” she said and nipped his earlobe, sending a shiver down his spine as she started to stroke him, “I want you to sit back and relax while I suck your cock.”

Gale nearly choked on his tongue.

That couldn’t honestly be the first thing on her mind. Could it?

Out of all the things he expected to come out of Sarana’s mouth, what she just suggested wasn’t even close to the top of the list. It wasn’t even in the top ten.

He cleared his throat. “Surely there are other things you’d want to do.”

“Of course there are,” she said as she kissed down his neck, nipping at him in a way that would definitely leave a mark. “But I’ve been thinking about this in particular for a long time.”

Before he could figure out how to reply, Sarana removed the rest of her top and slipped out of her tight leggings, baring herself completely to him. With a sultry grin, she lowered herself to the floor between his knees.

Big blue eyes looked up at him so sweetly as she hooked her fingers into the waistband on his briefs. Gale lifted his hips, allowing her to tug his pants and briefs off of him, freeing his cock. It bounced just inches from her face, hard, thick, and desperate.

“Sarana,” Gale said, at a loss for words for the second time that evening. Part of him wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to do that. That her pleasure was more important than his own. It had been so long since he had been pleasured in such a way, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted—

That thought stopped in its tracks the moment he felt her warm, wet mouth wrapped around the head of his cock. Then her tongue flitted over the tip, tasting him, and his body nearly jerked in response. Her hot breath fanned across the tip of his shaft. “Gods, you’re gorgeous,” she said as she held him in her hands, admiring him for a moment before meeting his probably lust-filled gaze. “Let me take care of you.”

The gentleman in him warred with his baser urges. The gentleman would take things slower. The gentleman would take care of her needs first. Yet, the gentleman also could never have imagined the sight before him — Sarana kneeling between his legs, her blonde hair cascading down her back in golden waves, and her hand wrapped lovingly around his cock.

The gentleman could piss the Hells off.

Gale threaded his fingers through her hair and guided her closer. “I suppose I can indulge you,” he said and summoned a spectral hand. “So long as you don’t mind if I take care of you as well.”

“Careful, Gale,” Sarana said and licked him again, teasing him. “You’ll spoil me.”

He nearly lost his concentration on the spectral hand when her lips closed around the head of his cock, sucking lightly. His head fell back against the armchair as she took him further into her mouth with an edacious moan.

For a moment, not a single thought entered his mind. It was just the sensation of her warm, wet mouth sliding up and down his length, the gentle way she caressed his balls. And that view. The sight of her on her knees, lips wrapped around his cock while she gazed up at him adoringly. Like there was nowhere else in the world she would rather be.

The spectral hand coasted down the curves of her body with a feather light touch. Gale couldn’t feel what the hand felt, but he could control it as if it were his own. When the spectral hand dipped between her legs, Sarana moaned around his cock as the hand fingered her. Closing her eyes, she rocked into the motion.

“Fuck,” Gale hissed. His fingers tightened in her hair as he lifted his hips, urging her to take him deeper as the spectral hand picked up speed.

Sarana whined around his length, but she took him beautifully. The movement of her hips started to grow erratic as she fucked the spectral hand, and he cupped the back of her head as if to steady her. “That’s it,” he whispered as he forced himself further into her mouth. “Just a little more.”

She relaxed her jaw as his cock slid along the length of her tongue. Deeper and deeper. Her eyes began to water and she looked up at him adoringly even as the head of his cock nudged the back of her throat. But she didn’t pull back. If anything, it seemed to turn her by the way her hips were moving faster.

“Look at you,” he said as she took him to the hilt. “You’re so damn perfect.”

That little bit of praise seemed to send her right over the edge. She moaned around his solid length, riding out her orgasm even as she continued to suck him. It was too much. It took everything he had not to come right then and there.

He slipped his cock from her eager mouth before he could unload down her throat. She stared up at him with her reddened lips, her eyes dark with lust as she ran her hands along his thighs.

With his fist still in her hair, Gale tilted her head back and crushed his mouth against hers in a bruising kiss. He wasn’t sure where the bit of roughness had come from, but Sarana seemed to enjoy it. Maybe she was a little more Githyanki than either of them originally thought.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered and nipped her lower lip.

Her lips brushed against his when she spoke. “Yes, Sir.”

If Gale thought he couldn’t get any more aroused, those two words had proved him wrong. His cock twitched, eager for more attention as Sarana strutted over to the edge of the bed. Leaning back slightly when she sat, she spread her thighs, watching him beneath her thick lashes. Then she dragged a fingertip through her folds, looking at him as if to say ‘What are you waiting for?’

Sarana was his. After all that time pining over her, believing she was with another man, she was finally his. It was like she flipped some sort of switch in her brain. She might have called him ‘Sir’, but the gentleman in him was long gone. The man that took his place knew only carnal desire and possession. That man wanted nothing more than to claim her in the most primal way.

He stalked over to her slowly, his eyes locked on where she touched herself. With just a thought, the spectral hand gathered both of her wrists together in a tight grip. He took her jaw in his hand and kissed her softly, trying to convey something. What that something was, he didn’t quite know. Perhaps he just wanted to assure her that she was still precious to him, even if he was being a little rougher than he normally was.

But he liked it. Dominating her. Having her at his whims. How she so willingly placed herself under his control.

He liked it a lot. And she clearly liked it too.

Smiling into the kiss, Sarana arched her back so her stiff nipples brushed against his chest. “How do you want me, Sir?”

“Bend over,” he said, his voice sounding almost like a growl and completely unfamiliar to his own ears.

Obediently, she did exactly as he asked. The spectral hand yanked her forward until her top half was against the bed with her ass in the air. Her pussy was pink and glistening with her arousal. With her face pressed against the bed, she tossed her hair over her shoulder so she could watch him from the corner of her eye.

He gripped her upper thighs, spreading her wider. Then his hands coasted up the curve of her asscheeks, massaging the firm flesh. There was a sudden desire to mark her skin, to claim her in some private way that only he knew about. He dropped to his knees and gently nipped the junction between her ass and her thigh, making her jump.

“Aren’t you a pretty sight,” Gale murmured, nibbling around the curve of her ass as she trembled with need. When he reached her center, he inhaled her scent like a bloody animal before he buried his tongue in her cunt.

Sarana gasped as he fucked her with his mouth. “Oh my gods,” she said as he flicked his tongue over her clit. He spread her wider before devouring her again, alternating between licking and spearing her until she was a shaking mess. “Fuck, I’m going to come.”

A soft cry tore from her lips as he drank in her orgasm. Her clit was so swollen and sensitive to the slightest touch she nearly screamed when he dragged his fingers through her folds as he stood behind her.

Her pussy was still pulsing when his fingers slipped inside her. “Was that too much?” he asked, his voice low and husky. “Or is there more I can do for you?”

“More, Sir,” she whined. “Please.”

“You’ll have to tell me what you want.”

“You,” she said as she squirmed on his hand. She tilted her hips up, desperate for something bigger than just his fingers. “I want you in me.”

Gale withdrew his fingers. “What was that?” he asked and gripped his length in his hands, but didn’t touch her yet. “I’m not sure I heard you.”

“Sir.” She tried to rock back, searching for him, but he gripped her hips and held her still. “I want your cock, Sir. Please.”

“Well,” he said and notched himself against her entrance. “Since you asked so nicely.”

With his hands on her hips, he held her still. Then he slowly eased his way into her, savoring the sight of her taking every inch of his cock.

A breathless “yes” passed Sarana’s lips once he sank into her completely, and she tried to shove herself back against him with need. She writhed helplessly around his solid length with a whine.

Gale groaned at the way she felt around him. So tight and warm and slick. “You take me so well,” he said with a shallow thrust. “Do you want me to be gentle or — ”

“Rough, Sir” she said. “As hard as you can. We can be gentle later.”

In all of his fantasies involving Sarana, he never imagined taking her like this. He imagined candlelit dinners and making love in the Weave or in a bed covered in rose petals. It should have been romantic. He should have done it right for her.

Yet, none of that mattered. He didn’t need to impress her. He didn’t need to put on a show. Sarana wanted him; no magic required.

Well… mostly. She certainly didn’t seem to object to the spectral hand, but that was beside the point. Sarana liked him just as he was. Not as a wizard or as a prodigy or for the things he could do with the Weave, but as a man. And that meant the world to him. She meant the world to him.

The spectral hand kept her wrists pinned to the bed, holding her in place as Gale pulled out almost completely. Sarana whined and wiggled her hips, desperately trying to get him deeper.

Gale’s fingers dug into her hip bones and he plunged back into her so hard that the bed shifted. A pleasured moan ripped from Sarana’s throat as she tilted her hips to meet him. Her breath came in harsh pants as he slammed into her over and over again.

Sweat slicked down their bodies, making it easy for his hands to slide over her. He leaned forward, kissing the back of her neck as his hand found her breasts. As his thrusts became slower he could feel her hot cunt clenching around her. She was so close. Each moan she made, each breath she took, grew closer and closer together.

When his fingers found her clit, her whole body tensed as her walls gripped his cock. Sarana trembled as another orgasm tore through her, her cunt fluttering around him as she moaned his name.

His own muscles grew tight as he slammed into her. Firm, steady movements quickly became rough and erratic. With two more bruising thrusts, his hips snapping around the curve of her ass, he groaned as he found his release. Her pussy pulsed around his length as he spilled inside her.

With just a thought, he dismissed the spectral hand and freed Sarana’s wrists. He flipped her over, needing to be face to face with her. To make sure she was okay. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“You were perfect.” She smiled up at him. Bright, beautiful, and full of love in her eyes. It was the way she had always looked at him, but now he saw that warm gaze in a whole new light. She wrapped her legs around him, pressing his still firm length against her core as she looped her arms around his neck.

Gale brushed a strand of hair away from her face as he grinned back at her. He pressed his forehead to hers. “Stay with me tonight?” he asked as his hands cupped her face, stroking the black markings that dotted her cheeks.

“I’ll stay with you as long as you’ll have me,” she replied and pressed her lips softly against his.

Then she made a faint whining sound, a sound that she made when she was unsure or embarrassed. Sarana looked away toward the wicker basket that still sat on the table, full of untouched food.

“Is there something wrong?” Gale held her chin between his fingers, turning her attention back on him.

Sarana bit her lower lip. “That… uhm. That wasn’t too much too soon, was it?” she asked, her voice small as her eyes looked anywhere but at him. “I feel like we should have at least gone out to dinner first but I — ” she chuckled and played with the hair at the nape of his neck “ — I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

“I’ve been wanting that for a long time too,” he said and her eyes finally settled back on him. “As for dinner, well, you tried but we failed colossally on that front. Besides, I don’t think I would have made it to dessert before I’d try to get you alone.”

Sarana laughed. “I don’t think I would have made it past the appetizers.”

“How about this,” Gale said and kissed the corner of her jaw. “Let’s wash up, have some dinner, and then I’ll take you to breakfast tomorrow morning. There’s a great restaurant that overlooks the water and I heard they have some of the best coffee in the city.”

She cupped his cheek and brought his mouth to hers. “It sounds like a date.”

—

Waking up with Sarana in his arms was a feeling Gale wouldn’t trade for all the riches in the world. He hugged her close, her back to his front, his cock already thick and hard against the curve of her backside from the moment he woke up. Sarana tilted her hips back in invitation, and he slid into her welcoming heat.

He rocked into her with steady, unhurried strokes. His fingers rubbed lazy circles around her clit as he kissed her neck. It wasn’t long before her breath quickened as she came around him, and his release followed behind shortly after.

Yes. Waking up with Sarana was something he could definitely get used to.

Although he would have loved to have stayed in bed with her all morning, reality awaited just outside the door. Mindflayers, demons, the Absolute, the damn tadpole that was still lodged in their heads. But still, it was nice to pretend for a while that it was just the two of them and the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Somehow, with great effort, they both managed to get dressed again and made themselves presentable. Or, at the very least, tried to make it so it wasn’t obvious to everyone that they had spent the last twelve hours in bed, only seven of which were spent sleeping. They both had slight dark circles under their eyes but that seemed to be the worst of it.

Once they were out of the bedroom, Sarana leaned close to Gale as they made their way down to the first floor of the tavern. “Do you think we should tell people about us?” she asked.

The question made him smile. Us. Him and her together. He could still scarcely believe it. How everything had happened for them to finally be together. Separated by a stupid misunderstanding.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Gale said and placed his hand on the small of her back. “They’ll all find out in their own — ”

The moment they reached the main room of the tavern, Astarion greeted them with a knowing, shit-eating, grin. “Well good morning,” he drawled as he leaned his elbows on the table where he was seated, resting his chin atop his folded hands. “You two look like you slept well.”

Jaheira scoffed into her coffee. “Looks like they haven’t slept at all.”

“Stay up late having fun, did you?” Minsc added without bothering to look up from feeding Boo a carrot. “Not to worry. Minsc heard not a peep!”

Knowing Minsc, that statement could either mean he actually heard nothing at all, or he heard everything. His face did not give the answer away, and Gale was afraid to ask for clarification.

Just as Sarana’s face was turning from gold to a lovely shade of scarlet, Jaheira rolled her eyes and said, “Walls are thick. We didn’t hear anything.”

Sarana did not seem completely assured by Jaheira’s words as she took a step back towards the stairs. “You know what,” she said with a sheepish laugh. “I forgot my shopping basket upstairs. I’m going to go get that really quick.”

As much as Gale wanted to pull her into a hug, to assure her they had nothing to be embarrassed about, he let her go. If she needed a moment to breathe, then who was he to stop her? “While you’re up there, can you grab the green book from my dresser?” he asked. “I need to return it to the library.”

“Yes, Sir,” Sarana said and darted up the stairs.

Heat rose up Gale’s neck and Astarion choked on his drink.

Oh, he wouldn’t hear the end of that any time soon.