#Because she's like ten here she don't know how to say shit

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 27: ~

No Hard Feelings:

And, here we are, the final chapter for season 1. Yes. You read that right. There will be a season 2, but it won't begin until after Christmas. Until then, I have another announcement and I'll be focusing on my own project as well.

I also want to thank everyone who's been following this story, and hopefully will continue to do so going forward.

The glow from the fire pit greeted Suze and Rennick. Caz waved them over as Trots and Simon began to serve everyone. Suze headed for her husband and took her spot on the steps. Rennick awkwardly sat between Gibbo and Roy, unable to look them in the eye. He wanted to be with Suze. In just ten minutes, she had become a source of comfort for him. Letting out all his feelings and washing away his 'King' façade, which was both a blessing and a curse, because now he was just Davey Rennick. But, who was Davey Rennick?

Gibbo handed him a bowl of casserole, which he took with a quiet 'thank you.' He could feel everyone's eyes on him. Soon, they all took their seats around the firepit. Small chatter filled the air. Rennick stared at his food. He didn't have the appetite. One last thing weighed on his mind. Now, it was his turn to be brave.

'I know,' everyone stopped and turned. They saw the anxiety in Rennick's eyes. Too late to go back now. 'I've been more than a shit manager to all of you. And, what I did has caused us all to be here. Because of me, you lot,' referring to the infected. 'Will never be the same again, and I can't fix that. You all had to deal with who I was for so long, and, looking back, I'm surprised you didn't throw me overboard.' An empty joke no one laughed at, but Rennick made another empty chuckle. It was his way of finding strength. 'And I'm sorry you had to deal with who I was for so long. I just...' A sigh. 'I dunno. Turned into something you all had to see.' He paused to catch his breath. 'I don't want to be that man anymore, but I don't know where to start. And-'

'And we want to apologise.'

Rennick flinched when he felt someone touch the top of his head. It was Gibbo. That surprised Rennick. He thought Gibbo would never speak to him again. The last time he did, he split his cheek and brow open.

'...F-For what?'

'For not supporting you. You got us here, and we never thanked you for it.'

'No. You don't need to-'

'We're also sorry for not noticing how you've been feeling,' Brodie interrupted. 'We're in this together, and we should have seen what you're going through.'

Rennick was stunned. He glanced to Gibbo, then to everyone else. He didn't understand. He saw their kind eyes, causing his to widen. No one's looked at him like that in a long time. He didn't know what to say.

'Ah, King Rennick,' Roy hummed, breaking the silence. 'Well, if he's officially gone, then...' He moved to grab a beer, opening and handing it to Rennick. 'I'm happy to finally meet you.'

He accepted with a small yet genuine smile. 'Let's hope this one isn't a prick, eh?' They tapped the bottom of their bottles together before taking a swig. Still weaker than piss. The robin flew and perched on Rennick's arm, softening his eyes. Everyone noticed, and seeing their manager smile, whilst different, was nice to see.

'Okay then, Davey, tell us a bit about yourself?' Trots smirked.

'What?'

'Oh God,' Caz snickered under his breath.

'We do it with anyone who joins the friend group.'

It took Rennick a moment to realise what they were saying, and he just laughed. Yet again, it was different but nice to see.

'So, we know you like to laugh,' Trots joked. 'Good to know.'

'Oh, and what about you, Campbell?'

'He's trained in ballroom dancing,' Simon answered without hesitation, causing Trots to snap his head to his lover and nudge him in the arm. Everyone except O'Connor, Mary, Gibbo, and Irene was shocked. They knew he was into classical music from the 40s, but he never told anyone that he swayed around on the dance floor.

'And you never told us,' O'Connor teased, causing Trots' face to go red, who now realised he's been played at his own game.

'So, you do have a personality outside of a Union,' Gibbo continued.

'Come on,' Addair encouraged, putting on a terrible Scottish Accent. 'Do a little jig.' For once, everyone agreed with him.

'Okay, next!' Trots yelled a little too loudly, making Simon laugh, earning another small nudge. 'You're on the naughty list,' he whispered.

'Oh, you tease,' Simon whispered back, before sneaking in a small kiss on the cheek.

'Well, actually...' Raffs got to his feet and went inside the house. Rennick didn't expect anything and just thought the young lad was going to get more drinks. Until he returned with a dart board in his hands. 'We'd like to know if you can play?'

For some reason, that got Rennick to laugh again. He didn't know where it came from. Was it nerves? Maybe. But, the man was happy, and his smile grew wider.'Got any darts?'

The crew and their families had learned three things about Davey Rennick.

One; He loved to laugh. Sometimes, it fell into a mischievous giggle, which was rather infectious.

Two: He adored the bird. A tendril was always stroking the top of the robin's head, and she didn't seem to mind. Roy, however, had a feeling he was an animal lover. The food he always gave him would quickly vanish with a clean plate, knife and fork, and seagulls loved to perch around his office.

Three: He was really good at darts, beating Brodie's score with flying colours, causing everyone to cheer and hug him. Something else for Rennick to be surprised by, freezing up his body and just allowing it to happen. His mind wandered back to the final night on the rig, when Caz confessed what he did to Billy. Although he wasn't there, he completely understood Caz's feelings and the high spirits everyone felt. It then flashed to when Brodie won the darts. Again, he understood the feeling. How wonderful it was. No wonder he was jealous. Thankfully, it wasn't a mosh pit, but he, too, had to hold back his tears again.

'Alright, get off. I need another beer.' That wasn't going to be so easy. Muir, just like he did with Brodie and Caz, lifted the man up above his head as if he was holding a cat under their arms. Rennick yelped in surprise before begging to be put down. Wish granted. He moved away from his crewmates, who were now setting the dart board up for another round, because Brodie wasn't losing his title after working so hard to get it.

With a content sigh, Rennick sat near to the firepit and watched from afar. The robin landed on his nose. A beer came into his peripheral vision. He turned. It was Caz. Rennick accepted whilst the leccy pulled reposition a chair and sat beside him.

'Thanks.'

'Nae bother.' They tapped the bottles together and took a swig. 'I see Suze got through to you.'

'Aye. You chose her well.'

'Nah. She chose me, and I nearly fucked it up.' Caz felt Rennick wrap a tendril around his shoulder for support. 'But, I think we're back on track now.' He then noticed the robin still resting. 'What's her name?'

'Still debating on that.' They watched the bird fly and nestle on the crown of his head. 'But...' Rennick didn't have any personal memories of her, but the name was fitting. 'I like the name Ruby.'

'Ruby it is then.' Another tap of their beer bottles. 'See, Rennick?'

'What?'

'Does this mean we're okay, like? No hard feelings?'

Rennick was quiet for a moment. He looked at Caz. Deep down, he expected some feelings to bubble to the surface. The hatred and anger he felt when he read the letter. That feeling of betrayal from someone he did respect. His blood boiling. How he wanted to give the leccy the same treatment he gave Billy during their 'meeting.' How he wanted to crush every bone in his body when he chased him throughout Administration. But, none of that happened. Not even the pain from transforming entered his mind. The man was content. Finally at peace. The pair turned back to watch the darts game.

'Aye. No hard feelings.'

[discordiansamba]

Is bending still a thing in modern au? Does zuko still have his scar? If yes how did he get it? Have ty lee's fans made up some wild theories about it? (Because let's be honest, parasocial fans have no boundaries for the CC or the CC's friends) What's Ozai's job in the au? Is he still Firelord? Does the Firelord even still exist as a concept?

i like to think of it as just a chill little au where they just get to be kids for the most part but also there's still bending and aang's still the avatar. but being the avatar is mostly just a ceremonial position here and his only real duties are mastering the four elements and participating in various rituals in the four nations. his guardian monk gyatso is adamant that he gets to grow up as a normal child and with no war looming on the horizon or looming spirit duties everyone's just like yeah okay. sure.

iroh's probably fire lord but being 'fire lord' is simply a ceremonial role equivalent to the being the head fire sage, but he steps down and passes the role on to his son lu ten after the death of his brother so he can go and help his sister-in-law with her children and pursue his other lifelong passion of owning his own tea shop.

ozai died under mysterious circumstances (read: ursa poisoned his tea) but since it happened right after zuko was admitted to the hospital with a terrible burn from 'firebending training gone wrong' everyone just sort of turns a blind eye to it and nodded their heads when it was announced he died of natural causes. she's put up with a lot of shit because she knows he won't let her divorce him without robbing her of her custody rights but laying a hand on one of her kids was a step too far, ozai. <3

zuko meets aang at the hospital (he broke his leg) gets adopted by a nine year old child. hi you're my friend now. no you don't have any say in this. want to see my marble trick? you're going to love it!

(ty lee's moderators will ban you if you bring up zuko's scar in her chat.)

[meteors-lotr]

So it's Father's Day in Sweden, and it gave me feels

Because as a single father household, Bard of course got a lot of love and appreciation from his kids, even as they all grew into adults

But it's a human thing, so neither Legolas nor Thranduil had ever heard of it once they joined the family.

But I can just imagine when Bard and Thran were still just courting, tiny Tilda handing Thranduil a little card with squiggly and messy Sindarin letters and a little drawing of the whole family together. "I made it myself! Princess has been teaching me to write in Simdarin, and he asked if he should write it down but I wanted to, so if the spelling and stuff is not very good then I'm sorry. But I got both Bain and Sigrid to sign it, though I did have to trick Sigrid into doing so, and I even drew a family pict- Ada why are you crying?"

[alexiroflife]

"first day"

fluff, happy fushiguro family, slice of life, megs' first day of school send-off

Synopsis: you've been dating toji for a while now and megumi subconsciously calls you mom for the first time on his way out the door

to sum it up: you adore the little family you've come to be a part of

WC: 1,701

Warning(s): none

"Megs!" you call out, standing by the front door awaiting the dark-haired boy's arrival. He soon shuffles around the corner from his room, throwing a bag over his shoulder with a tired expression on his face.

His father turns to watch him walk in, crossing his arms as he leans against the counter. "The hell were you doing in there that took you so long?"

"Nothing," Megumi grumbles, moving to brush past the two of you to rush to the door. "I just wanted to look presentable, that's all."

"So you took thirty minutes to get ready?" Toji quirks a brow.

"Believe it or not, dad, some would say that's not enough time to get ready in the morning."

"Not at all, actually," you agree.

Toji tugs the corner of his mouth in judgment. " Well, you should know," he says to you. "You spend at least ten years in the bathroom when we have somewhere to go."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "That's such an overreaction. I never take any longer than an hour." Megumi and his father exchange knowing looks and you place your hand on your hip. "What?"

"Don't worry baby," Toji assures you. "It's okay to be in denial."

"We've timed it before. The last time we all went out to dinner as a family, you took two and a half hours to get dressed," Megumi adds.

"That's only because I had to shower and pick out an outfit then do my hair and makeup," you defend.

"Isn't that a little overkill? It takes me half that time to shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, and get some homework done."

"Whatever. Your sister would understand," you sigh.

"Unfortunately, she may be worse than you."

"Women," Toji tsks. You slap his bicep and he pretends to flinch, smirking down at you playfully. "Ouch."

"Alright, well, I'm ready now. I don't wanna be late," the sixteen year old says, turning back to reach for the door handle.

"Ah ah ah, wait!" you stop him. "You're not going anywhere without me getting a good look at you. Turn around, I wanna see how the uniform fits."

Megumi lowers his head and complies, turning back around stiffly for you to admire him. You press your hand to your lips to conceal your smile, eyes gleaming with pride as you look over the sharp navy jacket and pants he adorns.

"Awwww," you coo. "It fits perfectly! How does it feel?"

"Pretty good," Megumi nods, moving his arm around slightly to show his mobility in the fabric. "It's comfortable too. It shouldn't be a problem during missions."

"I still can't believe how quickly time has gone by," you muse. "You're already going into your first year at Jujutsu High! Are you excited?"

"You better be," Toji grunts. "Your uncle Gojo hasn't gotten off my ass about your enrollment for years. At least now, he'll finally shut up."

"I still don't understand why I have to have him as a teacher. He's such a moron, I doubt he'll teach us anything useful," Megumi mumbles.

"Moron or not, he's the strongest sorcerer of the modern age and he's helped out so much. I'm sure he'll be able to give you a good experience," you say positively.

"We talkin' about the same Gojo here? The one who trashed my house playing tag with Megumi and the dogs in the living room?" Toji points out and his son grits his teeth at the memory.

"Oh come on, Satoru was like twenty one back then. I can only imagine the crazy shit you've with the kids when you were raising them," you tease.

"You don't even want to know," Megumi exhales.

"Please, you came out just fine, didn’t ya?” Toji says, reaching out his hand to ruffle at Megumi's spiky hair. The teen recoils, craning his head away and shielding himself with his arm.

"Quit it. I'm not five anymore."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're all grown up now, I know. Gonna be a first-grade sorcerer before I can even blink an eye."

"Who said that I would be first grade? I'm only a first year."

"Yeah, and look at who your pops is," Toji grins. "Plus, you got an advantage that I never had. You'll do just fine."

Megumi hums indifferently, doubting himself momentarily but accepting the words nonetheless. "Alright, are we ready?"

"No, not yet!" you pull out your phone quickly and open the camera. "I need to get pictures."

The blue-eyed boy slumps. "(Y/n), I gotta go."

"I know, I know, just a few," you promise, holding your camera up to capture his awkward figure in the frame. "Okay, smile."

Megumi doesn't, and of course you don't actually expect him to. Instead, he calmly stares at the camera with his arms at his sides, unsure of what to do with themselves. Toji moves to stand behind you, leaning down to take a peak at the million pictures you're snapping.

"Toji, go stand with him so I can get one with the both of you."

The two groan simultaneously. "Doll, can we just focus on gettin' the kid to school?"

"It's fine. His stuff is already moved into his dorm. We have time."

"But-"

"Shut up and go stand with your son, now," you glare firmly up at the green-eyed man and he huffs.

"Yes, ma'am."

Toji raises a hand to his hip and tilts his head boredly as he stands beside Megumi, the two of them sharing the exact same blank stare as they look into the camera. You squeal happily. "You two are so cuteee!"

"We done, now?"

"No, I wanna get one more with Megs, and then I'm good." The boys give you a look, but you wave them off. "I mean it! Gosh, here Toji. Take our picture."

Toji obliges, grabbing your phone from your hand as you rush over to the tall boy. His expression melts into serenity as you place your hands on his shoulders and lean your head against his arm, smiling widely at the camera as a hint of a smile touches Megumi's lips.

Toji's heart warms at the sight, watching the way his son grows comfortable in your presence. The picture of the two of you looks so natural t to him like you are meant to be a part of his family, which he knows you are.

He snaps the photo and nods. "Got it."

You exhale, turning to face Megumi. You brush your hands over his shoulders to straighten his jacket, ridding it of any lint and wrinkles. "Okay, Megumi, please remember to be safe."

"I know. I will," he nods.

"And don't be too reckless when it comes to training."

"I won't."

"And try to make friends. I know how easy it is for you to push others away."

"I'll try."

You press your lips together with a final sigh, looking over Megumi's face warmly. You wrap your arms safely around him into a hug, your emotions getting the best of you. You have spent the past year caring for Megumi like your own, and watching him head off to achieve his goals makes your heart swell with joy and fear all the same.

"Text me or your father or Tsumiki if you need anything. Anything at all," you tell him. He returns your hug gently.

"Okay," he chuckles lightly and you pull away. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"...I know you will..." you pout. "Okay, I'll let you go. Good luck. I hope you have an amazing first day. I'll see you at the end of the week, yeah?"

"Mhm. I'll call you to let you know how the day went later."

"Please do."

Toji hands you back your phone and walks toward the door with Megumi. "Let's get a move on," he says. He leans over quickly to peck your lips farewell. "I'll be back in a few."

"Don't speed, Toji."

"Speeding gets you places quicker," he winks and you suck your teeth disapprovingly. Megumi opens the door, his dad gripping the frame.

"Bye, boys. Stay out of trouble," you wave, eyes glassy as you watch Megumi walk out.

"See ya, doll."

"Bye, mum."

The three of you freeze the second the words hit the air, everyone stilling in their tracks.

You feel your heart burst as overwhelming happiness consumes you. Megumi keeps his face forward, hiding his reddening cheeks as he processes what he has just said. Toji stares at the back of his son's head, eyes wide, before he turns to look at you to find your shocked, giddy face.

You don't have any time to reply when Megumi clears his throat suddenly, sweat dotting his forehead, and he walks rigidly out of the house and swiftly down the hall without looking back.

Toji stays behind, keeping an eye on you when you look up at him, stunned. "Did he just...?" you murmur.

"Yep."

Your eyes immediately well with tears and your lips wobble, your hands flying over your mouth. "He sees me as his mom?" you whisper.

Toji chuckles, ducking down to you with his hand still gripping the door. "Of course he does. He's always adored you. Him and Tsumiki."

"I'm gonna cry."

The assassin chuckles softly, pressing his thumb to the corner of your eye gently. "You're already cryin.'"

"Shut up," you sniff. "God, I love those kids so much. I just wanna give him all the hugs in the world."

"And you'll be able to. There isn't a better woman on this planet to be there for the kids," he kisses your cheek. "That's why I plan t'marry you someday."

"Fuck you, Toj. You're gonna make me cry even more."

"Sorry, baby. Can't help talkin' about it," he leans back to the doorway. "Let me get the kid squared away and make sure he's not dyin' of embarrassment, then I'll be back to talk to ya about makin' this official."

"You're being for real?"

"Of course I am."

You lower your hands and beam. "Tell Megumi I love him and get back here soon."

"I will," he hums. "But I thought you said no speeding?"

"Just- make sure the two of you at least get to the school in one peace."

He smirks. "Will do, doll."

[icemankazansky]

A Simple Guide to Not Being Afraid to Write Comments to Fic You Read

I've seen a lot of posts about the current state of fanfiction comments. Writers, especially writers who have been in fandom for a decade or more, are frustrated by the lack of comments, and have noticed a definite decline in comments (and all other forms of reader interaction) in the past ten years or so. Many readers feel daunted by the expectation of leaving comments, afraid they'll do something wrong. As a fandom old maid, the latter confused me for a while, until I realized that most of the people who feel that way probably have not been taught this form of communication.

But your loving fandom elders are here for you. Come along as your auntie tumblr user icemankazansky makes this shit easy.

The easiest way to think of fanfiction comment etiquette is to compare it to something you likely already know: Gift Receiving Etiquette.

Fanfiction began as largely a gift economy. And a lot of it still is! You'll see authors participate in exchanges like Yuletide and Id Pro Quo; those are ficswaps in which authors write for a specific person to specific prompts. And even outside that, fanfiction is not written for money; authors write and post it simply for the joy of creation and community with fellow fans. Fic is posted free for anyone to enjoy. Is that not a gift?

So. When you as a reader finish the chapter or story you're reading and you are faced with the comment box, try to follow the same etiquette you would when receiving a gift. (And even if you didn't love this gift and it's not your favorite gift ever, we already know that it's more useful than the products from your cousin's MLM that they're passing off as gifts, because you read the story. At the very least, it entertained you for the time you took to read it.)

The big rule of gift receiving etiquette is not to insult the person who gave you the gift, either directly or indirectly. That's it. Full stop.

I've been seeing a lot of comments lately that are just along the lines of, "Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us." A+, top of the class, full marks, you're doing amazing. If you don't feel comfortable commenting on the story itself, that is perfect feedback. And that's the most basic way you respond to a gift, yes? Thank you for the gift. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for sharing.

Does this rule mean that you cannot say anything at all that might be negative about anything? No, absolutely not. What you want to avoid is saying something that is, at its core, a negative evaluation of the author or their work. Let's do some examples.

Character A's obliviousness about Character B's MASSIVE crush on them made me so frustrated! I was tearing my hair out internally screaming, "JUST LET HIM LOVE YOU."

✔️ Excellent comment! You're allowed to have all sorts of feelings about things that happen in the story, and in fact authors LOVE to hear about any emotions they made you feel. Yes, frustration is not a positive emotion, but the thing you are expressing frustration about is not the author themselves or their shortcomings.

Contrast that to:

I was really frustrated that it took you so long to post this chapter. The cliffhanger at the end of the previous chapter had me tearing my hair out, and then you just left us hanging FOREVER!

❌ Nope! Here what you are expressing is frustration with the author and how fast they come out with new chapters. Imagine your sister buys you a gift for your birthday, but she isn't able to give it to you until the next week, and you respond with: "What took you so long?" I think Emily Post would frown on that.

Reframing

The way you say something and the point of view from which you give feedback can have a HUGE impact on the message you're sending. Let's take the last comment (the one about wanting an update) and see what happens when we reframe the same sentiment as a positive:

I was SO EXCITED to see that you updated this story! I have really been looking forward to seeing what happened after the cliffhanger in the last chapter.

✔️ Now it's not an insult. The author will be happy to know that you are happy to see new work from them.

This idea extends beyond the story itself: to the fandom, the characters, the pairing, the tropes, etc. Let's do some examples.

I looooove reading about these sexy boys SO IN LOVE even though the movie you're writing about is SOOOOO problematic.

❌ Nope! Assume that the author enjoys the canon, characters, pairing, etc. in the stories they write. This comment is insulting to the author because it basically says, "That thing you love is not great, and you should probably feel bad for liking it." Imagine your aunt gifts you a sweater from a popular retailer, and you respond with, "This is so cute, I love it! It's a shame that it was made in a sweatshop." Do you have a valid point about the canon or the retailer's business practices? You very well might. Is this the proper time and place to talk about it? Absolutely not.

Let's do a reframing exercise. You should be very careful about how you approach commenting negatively on anything in the story that appears in the tags list, but you can make it a compliment and good feedback if you have the right perspective. See the difference with these two approaches:

I kind of think frottage is disgusting, but I liked it in this story.

❌ Nope! You just told the author you think their kink is disgusting. That's like telling your poor aunt who is just trying to keep you warm this winter that she has awful taste in knitwear. Try again.

Frottage normally isn't my kink, but I love your other stories with this pairing, so I decided to give it a try, and I'm SOOOOO GLAD that I did! This story was 🔥🔥🔥

✔️ "This normally isn't my thing, but you made me expand my horizons!" Authors love to hear that. That's like telling your aunt, "I never thought this color looked good on me, but I look so cute in this sweater! I'm so glad you helped me step outside my comfort zone, because I'm the better for it."

thank u, next

The last thing I want to address is this new trend I've seen in commenting lately: placing an order. If your mom surprises you with new headphones, you don't respond with, "I wanted the white ones 🙁," or, "You should get me a new phone, too." It's easy to see why that isn't appropriate in a gifting situation, and it's also not appropriate when commenting on fanfiction.

Let's do some examples:

This fic was soooo cute, but it would have been a million times better if Character A had been with Character C instead of Character B.

❌ There are a few things going on here. Number one, you're telling your mom you wanted the white headphones, not the ones she actually bought you. You're also disparaging the A/B pairing that the author chose to write about, and as we discussed, we can assume that the author wrote the pairing because they liked it. Even if it's not their favorite and/or they also write A/C, they made a choice for this story to be A/B, and the comments section of a fic is not the place to question choices the author made in their own work.

You should write a story where Character Z who is not even in this story does [thing that is vaguely referenced in the B plot].

❌ "You should get me a new phone, too."

I want a sequel. 😞

❌ "Thank you, next!"

You can reframe this kind of sentiment if you are careful about it, and it's not all you say.

I really loved this story. I would be so interested to see these ideas explored further if you ever decide to write more in this universe.

✔️ Not "gimme." Not "more." This is, "If you build it, I will come." It is a HUGE difference.

You already know how to do this. You know how to graciously accept a gift; just use that same etiquette, and boom! Now you know how to fearlessly write a comment to fic you read. You're doing amazing. Go forth and comment.

[prael]

Touch

Kinktember Day 9: Spa

Newjeans Danielle x male reader smut

words: 7,422 Kinktember Masterlist

"My client, did you see her come in?" you ask.

"No, why? Is she famous or something?"

"Well, that would explain the secrecy, and it would also explain a woman barely twenty having cash to burn at a place like this," you whisper to the colleague who is far too jealous of how you just got requested by name because that usually means big tips for a good service.

"Did you get her name?"

"Supposed to be a secret." Your answer dissatisfies her, and she throws you a side-eye. "Okay. Okay. Danielle something... Marsh?"

"Shut up!" She hits you on the shoulder. "No fucking way. Let me take this one and you can have my next ten VIP bookings."

"Sorry, but she asked for me by name," you tell her. She mutters an obscenity under her breath. "Want to tell me what I'm getting into here?"

And then the girl spews out a jumble of ramblings about K-pop this and K-pop that—the kind of reaction that only the truly obsessed can have. Millions of views on this, charting on that, really fucking popular is the gist of it. So basically the whole planet Earth knows who this Danielle is. Well, shit. No pressure or anything. "Get in there already, do your best work and maybe get me an autograph."

A few forceful pushes out of the staff room and you find Danielle where you left her, her cleansing mask still on her face, sitting in that long white robe. You step barefoot over the soft wood, heat rising from underneath it.

As you draw near, you ask, "Miss Marsh, are we ready to begin?"

"Dani, please," her voice says from beneath the mask. It's hard not to be intimated after being hit with the fact that the woman before you is world-renowned. Though from here, she looks like any other delicate young woman. Her feet are small. Bare, tiny and arched, they hang just a few inches from the floor, and they are as perfectly still as the rest of her. "No need to be formal, I'm here to relax."

"Then let me start by offering you a drink." The bottle pops as you twist it. The label is adorned in cursive. "Bottled at source, premium mineral water." Your arm raises the bottle so she can see the brand clearly.

"Is it magical water?" There is a playful lilt in her voice, "Maybe it has some healing powers?"

"Guaranteed to nourish the soul and unclog those emotional pores," you deadpan.

The facemask stretches with Dani's wide smile, and she lightly chuckles. "That's good, laughter is good for the soul."

"Right." You pour from a height and a theatrical stream flows. When the flute is halfway, you stop the flow and pass it to her hands, which take it gently.

"What? You don't even hold the glass for me? Put it to my lips and tilt?" It's another tease, the joke stretching on her grin, but now it is her hands holding the flute, her fingers long and smooth around the stem.

"I serve, not control."

"Those don't have to always be exclusive." She laughs, and the sound makes you feel something. "But I appreciate the intention. I hear you're the best in the business."

"I'll let you be the judge, Miss Marsh. Now, allow me to remove that mask. I have raised the temperature in here to help open the pores, and I would like to begin with a facial."

"I do love a facial." Danielle smiles to herself. "And again, please, just Dani is fine."

You step over behind her, where her head tilts back against the chair, her long hair cascading below, shimmering in the moist air. Lightly, you place the tips of your fingers along her jawline, finding the edge of the mask and gently lifting it upwards. She doesn't flinch at all, and you watch the wet mask give way to her face. Even upside down, Danielle is indeed beautiful.

With her sun-kissed hair, radiant skin, and effortless, elegant beauty. She is, in summation of all her parts: perfect. The image the word calls up has always been fuzzy around the edges, an abstract idea more than a specific concrete thing, because real people aren't like this. That's what you believed until you laid eyes on her.

"You take good care of your skin, Miss—Sorry—Dani."

"Thank you," she says simply, no joke this time. Your fingers ghost over her chin and then trace to her cheekbones, moving lightly to test her texture, all so smooth.

"First, I shall cleanse away any impurities," you say and lean down to examine her face. Even when you are so close, there is nothing for your scrutiny—no visible crevice, no blemishes, despite there being not a trace of make-up. It's all-natural.

There's a light whisper on her lips, one that you barely make out, "Good luck with that."

You tilt your head as you reach over for a fresh sponge, run it under hot water until it is filled, squeeze out the excess, and slowly drag a path of heat across her forehead. As your other hand holds the sheet over her neck to catch stray water, your first-hand works in large strokes from above, rinsing her skin with each successive pass.

As you focus, she leans back into the chair, and a soft hum escapes her lips. "Feels nice already," she murmurs.

You say nothing, working her in silence. Her eyelids are closed, her lips slightly parted, and she remains so still that, if not for the sound of her breaths, she could be easily mistaken as unconscious. This silence has a tranquillity and familiarity to it, one that feels like home, and without thinking, you are smiling.

She stays just the same as you begin to exfoliate her, brushing across her face in ever-widening circles. It's with such tenderness that her cheeks take a pink tint as she grows hotter and she smiles as you rub in gentle swirls, one spot, then the next.

Time passes in silence as you finish the exfoliation and apply all manner of natural, topical lotions, toners, and peels to Dani. When her skin is primed, you press your fingers against her skin and, starting at her forehead, you massage her face to a rhythm of long, soothing strokes. You enjoy touching her, you admit, which isn't exactly right for a professional, but since you have no outward reaction from her, you assume it isn't the end of the world.

Throughout it all, she keeps her eyes shut. Over time you move around her face, applying more pressure in some spots than others. She shifts and sighs, soft exhalations of her warm breath tickling your arm, yet otherwise doesn't move an inch. Her shoulders relax against the leather of the seat. "You really know what you're doing," she says, with a smirk. You pull her skin with your fingertips, moving them in large circles as it comes to an end. Finally, you tap your fingers gently over her skin to soothe.

"Now, your body, Dani."

Her eyes crack open, but slowly. "Are we moving?"

"I'll wash your skin over there, but the massage will be in the next room. Now, I'll need you to—"

Dani doesn't let you finish your sentence before she rocks forward in her seat and pushes herself to a stand. She's facing away from you and puts her hands in front of her, then she throws the robe back off her shoulders and lets it slide off her arms to the floor in one quick motion.

"Good," she says. "I was for too hot in that thing anyway."

Of course, as a professional, you would never gasp in surprise, yet, at the sight of her ass, the muscles tight, small, and round, the curves of her waist so thin, hair over her shoulders threatening to hide her slender back and those long slim legs, you manage to just barely gulp.

Too hot, she certainly is, you want to tell her and not just in the sense that perspiration coats her skin. Tiny beads of sweat that, as your eyes crawl over her, are in the process of running downwards. This glistening on her flesh is hypnotic. The curve of her ass, the slight tilt of her hips forward, the way the base of her spine leads downward, right down to a crack between her—

Focus. You remind yourself you have a job to do.

"In the far corner. The stone pool. Please, stand by the edge." It takes a second before Dani's head bobs, and then she slinks forward, slow and catlike. Her stride, and every motion of her muscles beneath her flesh that accompanies it, are mesmerising. And with every sway of her hips, you love her tight body more.

She pauses, a foot by the edge, and looks down into the water. Steam rises and envelops her form in a pale white that hugs her curves.

"Please, step in," you say as you walk over to her side and take her hand. Now, you catch a glimpse of her profile, and her chest, small, round and perky, and as you avert your eyes to guide her down the step, you tell her, "Watch your step now, go from stone to stone until you stand in the middle just there."

"Got it," Dani says. She steps with confidence and the hot water reaches quickly above her ankles and then halfway up her calves. With each careful move down the next step she gasps, soft and light. The water splashes with her movement and then swallows her up to the upper thigh.

"Please, take a seat there, on the wide stone." You reach to help steady her as she sinks down, her knees bending as she perches down so the water is at her hips as she sits.

"I just sit?"

"Yes, Dani, and I will bathe you." You step into the pool until the hot flowing water covers your knees, and then you stand behind her. You reach for a sponge, submerge it, and watch it fill, then draw it out and over her lower back and drag a large circle across her soft skin. "How's the water? Feel okay?"

"Great. Wow." She goes quiet as you work up and down her back, long, relaxing, soothing strokes until all the tension has left her shoulders. "That's wonderful," she says.

You clean her shoulders and then down her arms, the sponge dipping under the surface, and caressing her in a movement that feels like worship. With a slow rhythm, you run the sponge over her shoulders and around her neck, and finally, reaching over her, down to her chest. She shifts back as you do, resting herself against your legs. You run it over her chest a few times before coming up again to her shoulders.

"So soft..." her voice says, almost a breathy moan, and you catch a hint of it. Maybe she realises how it sounds because she soon goes quiet. Next, you work downwards, to her tight, toned stomach. Slowly you make sure you cleanse every part of her body. All while her back rests on you and her breathing is warm and pleasant.

"Miss, I mean Dani, can you stand now? We need to get you clean." You prompt, a hand on her shoulder.

"Sure." Dani snaps out of it. She stretches and cracks her neck before rising, leaning forward for a moment. When she rises, ripples run out in all directions and your eyes drift over her ass. It looks plump, perky, perfect. Then you sponge it, giving purpose to your stare. You push it down, over her cheeks and Dani shivers.

You repeat your slow, languid movements. Wipe away any trace of imperfection from her hips and thighs and then when you make her slowly step out of the pool, you work down her bit by bit. Finally, she stands on the edge of the pool, looking down at you, towering over you in her naked glory. She presents to you her foot and you hold her ankle to steady it and clean each digit, scrubbing between the toes.

"You can take the towel, on the peg, Dani."

"You do it." Dani doesn't move at all, keeping her eyes on you, staring into your eyes and through you.

You cautiously nod and then climb from the pool. You keep eye contact and wrap the towel around her small, wet frame. In your arms, she feels so fragile. You rub her down, first her legs. Long strokes, left and right. Each, in turn, both legs. Then you bring the towel up. When you wrap it over her hip and move upwards along her torso, Dani presses herself to you.

"You really know how to put someone at ease," she mutters.

You nod silently in return, and finish drying her shoulders, down her arms, back up, and down her back. You remain stoic as the heat between you builds, and she turns around without prompting. You wrap her again and bring the towel all the way down. Then over her rear. Soft, short circular motions with your palm.

"The table in the next room, Dani. Start by lying on your front, you can use the towel on the table to cover yourself. Once I see you settled in, I'll join you."

She laughs quietly and starts her slow walk to the door. You take your own towel, drying your legs, the water has soaked into the front of your shorts from where she leant against you.

She's on the bed. The towel, provided for her decency, is in a pile on the floor.

"Dani, the towel..."

"I'm fine, I want it off. I want everything off. Is that a problem for you?" There's this undeniably confident quality to her like the universe just has to be as it is because she likes it that way.

"Not a problem," you tell her. "It does tend to get in the way."

You're close to the bed now, looking down at her, still so perfectly nude. So vulnerable and relaxed, and not a drop of shame in her eyes. She gives you a look that says she's in charge, and that she's been waiting for this, and now it's finally going to happen. And that smile is impossible to refuse. "You could join me if it helps. Make it feel more like an equal partnership."

"Miss— I—"

"I'm joking," she winks. Danielle bunches her hair by her head and turns her head to the side as she rests.

The first of your oils, imported, rich and infused, drip with a consistency thick as honey over her. You watch it roll from the top of her back and run down her spine. Its warmth makes her twitch gently.

Slowly you reach out, press your hands into her skin and drag them from top to bottom, following the oil, making sure you cover her.

She hums in delight.

With great care, you begin your work. Fingers sink in, and your thumbs feel her muscles. Stroking and rubbing, from the top of her back, your fingers coax and prod at the flesh beneath. Pressing it back and forth, at times as gentle as a summer breeze and then as hard as a hammer.

There are knots in her back, beneath the tender surface. You find them easily and work at them to relax, coax them into submission, untying the muscles until they go soft. She gasps at your touch as you release them. Her body responds to you in the sweetest ways. With the smallest of whispers, the little fluttering breaths, and with her skin taking on a pink glow.

When the last knot goes soft, she writhes in response, and a content, relaxed murmur comes out of her.

"Oh god, that's it, don't stop," she says, the first words to come from her for a while.

"You were very tight." You reach across, add a small amount of more oil and start working back upwards. One stroke at a time. Up her neck. Over her shoulders. She trembles when you go deep into her flesh and reaches out to grasp at something, anything, and finds the edge of the table, holding herself steady. Her arms now, you lift them one by one, prying them from her grip and then holding and rubbing and pulling to coax the stiffness out.

Oil over her legs, next. Slowly you run your hands over the outside and inside and rub them into her skin, kneading it into her. Danielle keeps her mouth firmly shut the whole time. No jokes. Nothing funny. You lean down to her, focusing on her thigh that refuses to let go. Bending down, you push into her. As you feel her tension drain, you are rewarded with another quiet hiss.

You place the oil upon her feet and work it into her soles with a finger, an instant trigger, she cackles as her foot recoils at your touch. "Sorry, that's a bit ticklish," she tells you, apologetically.

Her feet go still and she inhales deeply as you set back to your task, much to the quiet amusement of Danielle. It's the slowest you have ever worked on a client, with long, dragging strokes to make sure she really enjoys it. Each is careful, so careful, to pull and tease. "Keep working it all the way up, all the way up my legs," she orders, quietly. "Nice and slow. Can you do that?"

You agree.

You hear Danielle sigh as you move your hands slowly up her calf. So soft and firm at the same time as she breathes so gently. A trace of laughter, an easy smile. You work her in the same manner, up her thigh, as slow and relaxing as before, massaging deep and heavy. Danielle begins to roll her hips as you grip the flesh at the top of her thighs and dig in.

"Higher, please, just for me." Danielle makes a little hum to accompany the instruction. You obey, knowing where this is leading. You take the oil, and let it pour lightly onto the peak of her cheek, it threatens to roll away so you capture it in your palm, a firm squeeze of her rear, a spread of oily warmth. She shivers and pushes up her hips in silent encouragement.

Your hands trail along, smooth and oily, each touch brings more shivers. Her legs part slightly, a slow squirm of her hips. Your fingers glide on her tight, round cheeks; running across, back and forth as she breathes deep. You press deeper with each sweep and listen as her gasps become a little louder, and her body moves a little more. She bends her arm, reaching back, as you watch it shake. Her nails claw onto the side of the bed.

The more you tease her with your touch, the harder she grips and the more she parts her legs. You've known the perfection of her body, just by seeing it, but this feeling confirms it.

Your hand wanders with long, oily strokes as you glide up her back, tracing the curves of her slim back up, all the way to her neck. There, you hold her as you lean in. "You can turn over now. Let's work out your front," you say, and Dani nods in agreement.

She smiles, though she remains silent, slowly, with such care, turning onto her side, then twisting to face you, her face flush, eyes drowsy, her mouth agape. She rests upon her back, arms by her sides, legs flat against the bed, open, as you gaze into her eyes.

You apply the oil with long slow strokes down her stomach, feeling her as she flinches, watching the dimples at her waist appear then vanish with her body's twists, with every flexing of her muscles. When you trace up, her flat, beautiful chest, and slowly slide a finger beneath her small pert breast, Dani takes a deep, quick, raspy breath, then says, "They didn't lie when the reviews said you have the best hands in the world."

Your oil-covered thumbs graze upon her nipple, soft at first, gentle in pressure, but this becomes firmer, building and rising, faster. Round and round it swirls, and this delight sends Danielle's breath to hitches and sharp, shallow pants. As she squirms in delight, her legs twist, rubbing and clenching. Her teeth bite down on her lips. The flesh of her body glistens.

One hand reaches, down a thigh then back up, across her stomach and down the other. Repeated in pattern as the other thumb never ceases on her pert nipple. Dani's eyes go blank as your touch continues, circling, teasing, stroking and grabbing. Her body responds and you are delighted to witness every tremor and gasp as it arches. And finally, for the first time, a full-blooded moan rings free.

Your hand goes lower. Deeper into the pit of her thigh as she spreads her legs wide. You seek out the inevitable and when you reach her crotch, you watch her tense up. And when the touch slides between her pussy's folds, and against her clit, there's an immediate reaction, her body jumping as you make the slightest flick of motion with your middle finger. You lift and let a trail of oil roll down her slit and back down to her rear.

"I wasn't really joking before," she gasps. "You should be naked. It would make this whole experience better." Dani tilts her head, fixes her drowsy gaze onto you, and holds the stare for what feels like a hundred heartbeats. "Don't you think that's fair? The way things are going?"

You hold the eye contact and consider this, a sudden lump in your throat making any immediate reply a struggle. Her eyes don't move from yours. Even her chest barely heaves with her short, fast panting.

"Go on, I want you naked. I'm going to feel so, so empty otherwise..."

That's all it takes.

How could you deny her?

Your hands, still covered in the hot oil, reach for the buttons at your collar. You slip them in order from the top and release one after another. Danielle's lips twitch, and her teeth rake them to a shine. Your clothing drops to the floor. Bared. It feels so wrong, and unprofessional, yet Dani looks on and gapes with a hungry, dark delight.

"Nervous now?" Her eyebrow twitches up.

"Never," you bluff.

Danielle's mouth stays open wide, and her breaths get caught and flicker as your touch returns to the same spot as before. Gentle, light touches flutter with your fingertips, drawing the tips of your fingers back and forth, back and forth, over her clit. You watch as her eyes widen, how her legs straighten out and she starts to kick her feet with the faintest hint of frustration as you tease.

"I paid for a deep massage." She emphasises the adjective, dragging the syllable out like a whine. "This teasing is bad for my heart," she whispers.

Her arm rises, then reaches for your chest and trails its way downward. The pressure of her finger, nails lightly scratching at your skin, trailing down to the waistline and then she wraps her slender fingers around you. It's hard. Incredibly so.

"And I'll show you how generous I can be with a tip."

She licks her lips slowly and sensually as her eyes meet yours with a mischievous gleam.

You grunt, pressing down with your fingertip, and then without a second thought, push it inside of her. Danielle throws her head back in silent bliss.

"Holy shit," she mumbles in a muffled, muted moan. "Don't hold back." You circle inside her slowly with one finger, letting the oil's moisture guide you. Then, adding a second digit, you delve back into her, pushing in deep and making sure she can feel it all the way inside as the palm of your hand pushes against her crotch.

Dani rolls her head to one side as you work, staring you right in the eyes and biting down on her lip as she throbs and you press down inside of her, moving in all sorts of subtle directions that are impossible for her to guess. With that, she moans again and there's a little grunt from deep within her. Her fist twists around you and she gets bolder with her touch.

You build it into some sort of rhythm and she moves, each time, reacting so well with your own thrusts. When she's relaxed enough for it, you introduce another finger.

"I— You can— Go a little bit faster," she pleas. Stretched wider, Dani starts to grow even more restless. This time, instead of small, languid strokes, your whole hand works, fingers rubbing and swirling, thumb finding her clit to massage it with purpose, building, always building, until she is shuddering under you, every single time, tensing and twitching with every change in direction.

"Come on—more," she pleads, bucking up against your hand, so slick with arousal.

She's barely jerking your cock, not even intentionally, just the jolts through her body causing the occasional twist of her grip or slide of her palm. You let it just rest in the loose curl of her grip and focus on doing what she commands, twisting your hand, gripping and stroking, tugging in circles and holding inside. The quivering gets worse and worse. And her breath grows heavier.

You keep working her relentlessly, as she squeals a drawn-out curse. Dani nearly loses control. She grips you hard, tightens her fist around you in spasm, a pained wince on her face, as she curls her toes so hard.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop." It's the only thing she says, no jokes, no banter, as her eyes roll back, mouth agape as if the wind's been knocked from her, and a final, body-length spasm overtakes her. Her whole body. Back arched off the table, eyes pinched shut. It lasts for the longest time, almost impossible to sustain, you watch with an odd mix of terror and wonder. Her hair is a mess. Her naked, stretched-out limbs, glisten in the warm light.

It takes her a good half minute to fall back down, her lungs now sucking in the air as if there were none at all. One leg quivers. Her breaths slow, her eyes open again and you're holding her stare, her cheeks a faint scarlet, strands of hair plastered across her forehead.

More oil. More rubbing. From tension to relaxation again. Slowly she softens and you turn her whole body limp beneath your hands. All while you barely manage to hold yourself back from ravishing her. She keeps her eyes fixed upon you, so you force a smile, ignoring the ache clenched in her fist. You could kiss those lips, right now. Taste them. How soft and smooth would she feel pressed against you? What noises would come out of her?

You'd be forgiven for letting your imagination run wild with desire, but not forgiven for taking this service in any direction that Danielle didn't command.

She watches your thoughts as they float by, and seems to be considering the same. Then she smirks, and just with a look, reassures you that it's going to happen, and it's going to happen just exactly the way she wants it.

You're working your slick hands over her midriff, and have been for a minute or two, waiting for instruction. You work slightly up her body, perilously close to taking some initiative, but then she speaks, "That was... unexpected."

"Was it? Seemed to be your plan all along."

"Planned to tease. Planned to be touched. But did not expect it to be that good." She shakes her head softly, her cheek touching her shoulder as she stares with a fuzzy, dreamy look that is impossible to decipher. She has a cute, beautiful way of pouting her lips that's fascinating, you're struck still, hypnotised by the sight and the motion. "A few more would be perfect."

"You have me booked for another hour, and the client gets what the client wants."

Dani laughs. A light, melodious chime. "I know what I want," she tells you, gently rocking her palm over your cock. "I'm incredibly hard to fully satisfy, you better get to work."

Dani releases you from her grasp, and turns back over to her front, stretching out once more and looking back at you over her shoulder, holding a stare as she parts her legs. This stare could kill a man if his heart were too weak, and though your heartbeat quickens, your mind focuses on your purpose.

Your hands glide over her oil-coated thighs, wet and glistening. Dani rests her head back down and you are unable to stop your gaze from wandering along her spine, the gentle dimple above her ass, the two tight round cheeks below and the line bisecting between them. Up over her ass, you caress, then you slip and stroke in the valley, this, she clearly enjoys, judging from how her butt rises to greet your touch, her hips rolling once more.

Lower now. Lower and lower, until once again, your finger meets her lower lips and she hisses an inwards breath and tenses. Her body is so reactive to every touch. It makes this so easy, so rewarding, so deeply arousing. You are confident you can build her up, high, and crash her down in waves, for hours, until the sun breaks.

Two fingers again, to begin, that same twist and swirl to coax her towards delirium. Her quiet huffs and suppressed moans fill the air. With a heavy push, you dive in deeper, to watch as her whole body, muscle by muscle, starts to become lost in the sensation. And when you curl your fingers down and grind the heel of your hand over her clit, Dani absolutely loses it. She bites the sheets, body tight, hands trying to grab the far edge of the bed to give something to hold onto.

Her feet kick uselessly and a series of incomprehensible phrases fill her breath and break apart on the way out of her. Though you don't quite understand them, you grasp the meaning. This is what she wants you to do right now, to see how high you can bring her.

Her whole body starts trembling again. Tingling, quivering, shivering. It's one constant shake and her moans are louder, and longer. She struggles to breathe out a scream. Sweat begins to mix in the oil, and she lets out another unintelligible mess of words as you pull away. Dani collapses back into a quivering heap, gasping for air and stretching her hands out as if reaching out to the void, reaching out, grasping for something in the dark.

She lies there, spent, breathing deep. Her entire body is hot and burning as her muscles relax. Each breath is a moan, and her thighs clamp tightly together as if the feeling of nothing after being so worked up is torturous to endure.

Your fingers are soaked in her creamy fluids, it drips down onto the bed below. Yet somehow, this isn't over. No. There's a single goal, right in the back of your mind, that's never stopped clawing. If only you could taste her. Sink your face between her firm ass cheeks and tease her with your tongue and suck and devour her, the entirety of her.

Maybe you could ask. Or maybe you could just start kissing her lower back, your nose rubbing against her tailbone, working to the left, towards her hip and tease, trailing your lips ever lower to a spot just over the peak of her butt, until she wants your tongue to dive right in.

The thought is interrupted by her blessing, "Again. Another. However you want," her words stumble upon each other, a raspy, spent quality to her. "Whatever you want."

You kneel at the very end of the bed, lean over and take her hips and you lift them up with an abrupt strength that earns her immediate interest, judging by her sudden gasp. You put her on her knees, ass in the air. Beneath it, her lips shine and spread. You're going to drown in her. You lean over, planting kisses along her body until they land right where your fingers had been, right along her soaked pussy.

The taste is so sweet. Dani whimpers as her body twitches. Your lips part her, and your tongue stretches and laps her up with an unshakeable excitement. Dani tastes amazing, like every inch of her, hot and rich and so unbelievably delicate. She is desire—concentrated and distilled into the female form. Your mouth descends, kissing every tiny spot you can reach, your lips closing, sucking the sticky warmth into your mouth. You might spend the rest of eternity here, savouring her juices.

Each rough lick gives Dani a small burst of pleasure. This is perhaps not the most elegant approach, but you wouldn't dream of stopping and so you continue, over and over, eager to return Dani to her previous, tranced bliss. So wet and sweet and smooth as velvet, your tongue flattens over her clit.

Dani cums twice like this. Ass in the air, your face in her cunt, two more delicious releases and you lap up both. They come accompanied by Dani's musical screams and moans and swearing and mumbles and complete incoherence. Every part of her body tenses. Every movement becomes forced, with less control, until every part of her, quivering and shaking, is taken by a rapture. Her throat chokes off her moans and breathy whimpers, and then she becomes lost for a time, struggling to remember to breathe, caught up in the overwhelming, and unstoppable waves.

"Enough, enough," Dani chokes out, and so you stand back, watching as she twists back into a flat position on her back again, her hips shaking with the effort. She trembles for a while longer before lying perfectly still on the table. As you gaze at her, she still appears ethereal, unattainable. She gazes up at you with lidded eyes and the drowsy content smile that rests upon her lips—she is a goddess. Even after all those body-racking orgasms, she settles into that same elegant grace that makes you question what makes her mortal.

Dani raises a hand and curls a beckoning finger, "Come here."

And you come to her, to her smile that draws you in, a moth to a flame and the moth will burn, not the flame, it will never tire, it will consume anything. She takes you in her hand, hard and throbbing under her delicate touch, and yet so helpless against it. With a pull, Dani draws you in—to consume.

She parts those pretty, pink, curled lips and then looks up into your eyes and sighs as her warm breath runs across your length. Danielle curls her tongue to the underside of your head and engulfs it. She doesn't raise her head from where it rests, instead making you clamber up to her, so you put a knee on the wooden frame and a hand next to her shoulder. The heat grows, and Dani is swirling her tongue over your tip, making you twitch and throb in her grasp, a slave to her touch.

You're pushing forward, leaning over her, as her mouth opens wide and lets you in, then, all at once, tightens. Her tongue and lips stretch around your thickness and then enclose you, sealing tight. She makes a point of looking you in the eye, holding your stare, a curl at the corner of her mouth that only further sets a tremble to your loins. She pulls, slow, agonising and without hurry, her mouth holds tight and sucks back.

You pull out of her, an inch, and she stays clamped tight and as she draws away, she uses the time to slowly slide her tongue along and around your crown and against the sensitive underside. Once Danielle has pulled right off with a wet smack, the warmth of her breath covers your cock once more. She flicks her tongue against your tip, first as a long, sweeping, lingering brush, then a rapid flick that teases.

"Dani, fuck," you groan.

"That's the idea," she whispers, right against you, her warm, panting breath driving you crazy, her own burning desire barely contained. "Get down there and do me. Right now."

Then, in one fluid movement, her hands find her legs. She grips behind her knees and pulls her thighs up and back. She spreads her legs wide, with her feet in the air.

"Fuck me. I mean it," she states firmly, fixing you with that stern gaze. Her words send a flaming arrow directly to light the most basic of your instincts.

She has presented everything to you and wants to give even more. You can think of nothing else but ploughing her into the table until your vision fades to white. It takes only seconds and you find yourself over her, between those slim legs. You put a hand on each thigh and spread her.

Cock bearing down on her leaking cunt, you lower your body until she has all of your weight on top of her. Her hips squirm under your pressure, and she drags your arm tighter around herself until she finds exactly what she's been looking for. A rub between her folds as your length slips against her, up and down.

"Mmm, yes," she giggles, "put it in, all of it."

In an almost unconscious action, you place the head of your cock against her opening. Her wetness provides no friction, and Dani uses her nails to scratch your back impatiently. Slowly you flex forward. Every inch. So warm, so fucking hot. Tighter than anything.

"Oh, yes," is all Dani has to say as her breath cuts short. You feel the intense squeeze, you have no doubt this is a step beyond the pleasure your fingers gave her, and her entire body tightens, and she pulls you in, deep and full. Her eyes grow wide and her fingers dig into you as you draw back and drive in once more.

Another moan, her pitch gets deeper, this one drawn out from her very core. You hear it right in her chest, from the depth of her lungs, before it squeals free, right into your ear. "Worth every penny." Her words are thick and drawled, hard to make out, she can't seem to decide whether she wants to open her mouth or close it and keep it shut.

She wraps her arms tight around your neck and pulls you in deeper, you push her legs higher, folding her body up and it only makes things tighter, a thrill she clearly relishes.

You roll forward, holding her close to you, giving you a better purchase with her feet held up so high. Dani groans as you bite and suck at the soft skin along her neck. Your thrusts are still slow, so damnably slow. You push, and fill, and wait. Over and over, it's a cruel torment to both of you.

"Ah, come on. Give it to me, hard," Dani says, raking nails on your neck. She turns her head. Finds your mouth. Seals her lips against yours. Teeth nibble and then her tongue penetrates your mouth. Her hips start to rise and drop. Her sex grabs at you, pleading to pound her.

So you let go of your iron self-restraint and fuck her. Fuck her good.

Your tempo grows more powerful. Her walls squeeze and pull and writhe with a desperate need. It's tight, so, so tight, the way she envelops you, the slick warmth around you. Each stroke sends a shudder through her. Another ripple follows and with it, her high, pitchy wails. Dani's never been so loud, so demanding that her pleasure be delivered.

Number five is close, you can feel her body going rigid, the quivering, twitching, curling of her toes, the growing tension, you go faster, a force building within, trying to rush her to the inevitable. Dani screams, moaning incoherently, her eyes screw tight as you throw yourself into her with such ferocity, like an animal, with no regard for pace, or rhythm. Pure, unrelenting pleasure.

She grips so hard on your shoulder, and then her other hand goes back, over her head, gripping the edge of the table in white-knuckled desperation. "I'm... cumming," Dani spits through a clenched jaw, unable to even form her tongue around the word.

Her orgasm feels more powerful this time, so much more; it flows through her and you can't help but stare. Watching the way the pink blossom blooms on her face and how the rest of her pales. One orgasm into another, you think, it's difficult to discern. You're in no rush. No race. Instead, you delight in the absolute loss of control you see in Danielle's face and you feed off it.

Her mouth forms a soundless scream and she reaches up and sinks her nails into your chest and drags them across, not breaking the skin, but hard enough to leave marks. It feels amazing. All the more so watching Danielle break herself, willingly.

"Holy shit..." Danielle pants then sucks air into her empty lungs.

Her little, flexible body, pinned beneath yours, seems incapable of even the tiniest motion, save the trembles.

Through gritted teeth, she says, "I want— I want a facial. My face. Cum."

This is the single sexiest thing she could have possibly said at that moment. For all the time you've spent watching that pretty doll-like face contort in a hundred different ways, you want nothing more than to see it coated with your lust. To paint every last bit of that sweetness on her lips, on her cheeks—everywhere. To witness that brief moment, after climax where she is confused and awash with bliss and trying to remember how to breathe, and it's interrupted by a load of your cum. You want it.

You round the table, standing over her head, lowering down and watching her eyes spark with anticipation. Danielle knows how bad you want it, how close it is, and you watch, enraptured by the way she tilts her head up and licks her lips. Her little, eager tongue.

Dani wraps her fingers around you and strokes and pumps fast, pulling, urging you to completion, teasing you to spill over her, onto those pretty, dainty features. Your skin feels alive, like static and pinpricks and pure lightning, like your nerves have come to the surface. Pent-up energy coils low, threatening to snap. You cannot resist her anymore.

It all unfurls in a glorious, explosive instant. Blinding. A shiver climbs up your spine, spreading to every limb in one long spasm. A long, raw growl in your throat as you shoot thick and hard, some on her face, and some overshooting onto her chest. Dani gasps a cute little "Oh" and then starts to giggle as the second rope lands right over her perfect little features. And then another, this time across the bridge of her nose and her cheek and down her lips. Her tongue collects whatever it can.

Dani's small hand keeps a hard grip and keeps coaxing, even as you feel like you have nothing to give, with it all painting her face, still, she jerks up and down, until you are empty, trembling and drained. Still, she goes, forcing you through painful shivers, laughing the whole time until the pain becomes too much, and your hands take hers and pull.

You prop yourself against the table, looking down at the mess you made. Dani's happily laughing to herself, licking up what she can. "You'll need to clean me again now, won't you? Sponge away all your dirty filth," she giggles.

Her giggle is intoxicating. Loving. It warms you right through. You wish you could bottle up her laughter.

"Need a minute," you grunt, and there's so much pride on her cum-strewn face.

"Aw, need time for recovery?" Dani quips. "I'll just lay here, all messy and defiled. Waiting to be tended to. Enjoy the sight of me, of your filthy cum all over my sweet, innocent face, until you get the strength to lift me. Really, don't rush, I love this feeling."

[rambling-at-midnight]

Don't Go Disappearing On Me Again

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Jason's lost too much to lose you, too. (We stan healthy communication in this house)

Word count: 2.3k

Ow.

You've never worked Friday nights before at the restaurant, and you never want to again. And you'd thought Saturday mornings were bad.

But one of your favorite coworkers had called you in a panic early this morning, begging you to take her shift, because her lab group's department at GCU was going out to bowling and it would be a great networking opportunity. You were the last person she called, but everyone else before you had declined because they were either scheduled or determined to avoid the shitshow.

And because you were weak, you gave in and said you would cover her Friday night shift as long as she covered your Friday morning shift.

So you two swapped shifts, and you went into your library internship in the morning instead of the evening. It wasn't a particularly hard job, but end-of-week returns had you dashing all over the three floors, so your feet already hurt before you walked into the restaurant.

Right before coming in, you'd texted Jason that you'd gotten held up, and it was a good thing you did, because you haven't had a single break to look at your phone the whole shift. He likely wasn't even awake yet—last night's patrol had been tough on the both of you, him because he came home half beaten to death, and you because you'd had a heart attack waking up in the middle of the night to your bloody boyfriend passing out on top of you in bed. But you usually got home around six from the library, and it was looking like you wouldn't be back until ten at the earliest, so you wanted to let him know. It was going on hour seven after starting at two p.m., when the restaurant switched from its brunch to dinner menu. Personally, you think two p.m. is obscenely early to eat dinner, but apparently rich people loved eating at weird hours, because you had had nonstop tables the entire night.

But the good thing is that the restaurant closes at nine, so you’re almost there. After your last three tables eat and leave, all you have to do is clean your section, close your checks, and clock out.

In the kitchen, you lean against the fridge, rubbing your hips and knees. You’re a little too young to feel so creaky after seven hours on your feet. After all, Jason works all night, doing athletic feats you could never dream of.

You can't really complain, though. You'd gotten lucky with your tables; they'd all tipped well. Maybe you could even add a little bit to your savings account instead of shoving every paycheck right at your student loans, which just keep growing, no matter how much you pay.

“Oh, no,” says Charlotte, one of the other veteran servers at the restaurant. She’s staring at the camera feed display, which is tuned to a livestream of the restaurant’s entranceway. “Don’t you dare seat me now, Ashley, I swear to God.”

“What time is it?” your head jerks up. “We’re about to close, right? Is someone looking for a table?”

“Yeah,” she says, pointing to the screen. “The hottest man in the world just walked in our front door.”

You just hum, not bothering to look in favor of pulling out your phone. You know for a fact that the hottest man in the world is actually at home in your bed right now. “The kitchen’s stopped receiving tickets. No way Ashley seats someone right now.” The screen doesn't light up when you click the power button. Well, shit. It's dead.

“I can’t tell what he’s saying.” Charlotte squints at the screen. “He’s, like, huge. Does Ashley look a little scared to you?”

You’re out of the kitchen without even looking at the screen. You speedmarch right past your tables, ignoring one man’s halfhearted attempts to flag you down for more ketchup. A righteous fire is boiling in your gut. You’ve been here long enough that the managers won’t fire you for telling off any customers that harass the younger workers that are more scared to stand up for yourself.

Your mouth is already open, ready to spew forth the beginning of your tirade, when you recognize the man in front of Ashley at the host stand.

Dressed in gray sweats and a dark T-shirt, slouching slightly, he looks even worse than when you kissed his forehead goodbye that morning. The bruise on Jason's face has properly colored now, purple and blue along his jawline. His hair looks a little flat, like he's been wearing his helmet, which is strange.

Jason's eyes snap onto you the second you appear, and you falter at the intensity there. Something has happened, but you're not sure what.

"Hey," you say, a little hesitant. "What's up?"

Ashley exhales with relief. "So you do know him."

"Yeah," you say without breaking eye contact with Jason, who's staring at you with the same expression you think a wolf would wear when stalking a hare. "He's my boyfriend."

You expect Jason to tell you that someone was in an accident. Someone's in the hospital. Something terrible happened to your apartment while you were gone.

He says none of those things. Instead, Jason says, "I didn't know you picked up a Friday shift."

Ashley's face goes blank.

"I told you I would be home late."

“No,” he corrects. “You texted me that you were being held up.”

“Yeah, at work.”

“And then you disappeared.” Jason’s jaw clenched. “Did you know that a bank was held up this afternoon? Your bank?”

“Oh, shit,” your hand flies up to cover your mouth. “My phone died, I don’t know when. You couldn’t check my location and see I was here?”

He just shakes his head, stiff and wordless.

“Hey, Y/N.” It’s your manager approaching the host stand now, customer service smile on and eyes taking in Jason’s appearance. “What’s going on up here?”

“Hey, Steve,” you say. “Sorry, this is my boyfriend Jason—Jay, this is my manager, Steve—”

Jason gets the hint and smiles close-lipped, reaching to shake Steve’s hand.

“My phone died so he came to see if I needed a ride home.”

“As soon as your tables leave and your section’s clean, you’re good to go. Oh, and you have to roll silverware.”

“It’ll be at least another hour,” you say apologetically to Jason.

“Okay.” His eyes keep boring into you like he’s trying to send you a telepathic message. He’s mad, you get it, but it makes you a little mad, too. You’re a grown adult. Yeah, the miscommunication was your fault, and it’s fine for him to be worried, but he looks close to Red Hood levels of anger, which is totally unwarranted for this situation. “Is it cool if I wait at the bar for you, then?”

“Of course!” Steve answers for you. "Our bartender, Lacy, will be happy to serve you while you wait." He checks his watch. "Until last call, that is."

"He didn't scare you, did he?" you ask Ashley as soon as Steve leaves. You smile at Jason, trying to tease him, but his expression doesn't twitch. "He looks mean, but I promise he's a big ol' softie."

Jason just grunts, but on his way to the bar, he doesn't forget to drop a kiss to your forehead. It warms you from the inside out.

As soon as he's gone, Ashley blurts out, "What happened to his face?"

"Motorcycle accident," you fib. "Oh, my table's calling me."

You rush over to take care of the poor man's ketchup—he's been waiting almost five whole minutes—and check out another party. The back of your neck prickles as you do. Every time you glance at the bar, Jason's green eyes are locked on your every move. It flusters you so much that when your table leaves, they say thanks, and you respond with, "Good morning!"

"What?"

"Thanks, you too!"

You run back to the kitchen, and everyone immediately starts interrogating you about your 'huge hunky boyfriend' (Charlotte's words, not yours).

By some miracle, all your tables clear out by closing time, and you’re out by 9:20. There are still a couple people at the bar, but Jason’s up immediately to walk out with you, leaving his water glass on the counter.

He doesn’t say anything, though you can feel his eyes on you whenever you aren’t looking. You won’t fight in public, so you follow his lead and stay quiet.

He drove your car to pick you up, and even though he’s obviously mad, he holds the passenger door open for you before getting into the driver’s seat.

The drive home is silent. He parks in the spot for your shared apartment, then immediately, quietly, asks, “Why’d you pick up a shift without telling me?”

"It was super last-minute," you say. He's still facing forward, so you do the same, eyeing his profile out of the corner of your eyes. "Like, it happened this morning. I thought you were sleeping, so I didn't want to blow up your phone with texts. I thought you'd just check my location and see where I was when you woke up."

Jason's hand clenches on the center console. "I woke up and I was terrified."

"I'm sorry—"

"And the bank, and your wording, and your phone was off—"

"I know," you say, putting your hand over his fist. He unclenches immediately to lace his fingers with yours. "I'll make sure I tell you next time."

Jason takes a deep breath in, then lets it out. In a rush, he finally turns to face you and says, "I don't mean to be controlling."

You blink. "I don't think you're being controlling."

"You don't?" Jason frowns. "Then why were you so mad when I walked into your work?"

"Mad? I'm not mad—you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you, what are you talking about?"

"You've been glaring this whole time! And you didn't say a word this entire car ride."

"Because I thought you were angry. I wanted to give you space."

"Okay, wait, wait, wait." You hold up a hand. "Let me get this straight. You're not mad at me?"

"No," he says earnestly. "I was worried and scared, but you're an adult. You don't have to ask for permission if you want to pick up a shift at work." He makes a face like the thought disgusts him.

"Okay," you say. "Okay, well if you're not mad at me, I'm not mad at you, either."

"Then why did you look so pissed when I walked in?"

You press your lips together to keep from smiling. "Well, we have cameras that show us up front while we're in the kitchen, right? One of my coworkers was watching and said 'the hottest man in the world' walked in and I didn't look because I thought the hottest guy in the world was still asleep in my bed—"

Jason covers his face with his hands. You can't stop your smile now, and you pull them away so you can look at said handsome face. "And I didn't even look because I'm such a loyal, awesome partner—"

"You are pretty awesome," he agrees, trying to sound serious, but he's grinning like an idiot, too. His cheeks are flushed pink.

"I know I am. But then Charlotte said that the hostess, Ashley, looked a little intimidated by him, so I walked out to see if she needed help."

"Aw," Jason says. He lowers his chin to look at you from underneath his lashes, pretty as a picture. "Were you going to give me a stern talking-to?"

"I can still give you one," you offer.

"Maybe later."

He's still grinning, and you're still grinning, so the both of you are grinning at each other like idiots in the car.

You want to kiss him, and he's your boyfriend. You're allowed to do that whenever the two of you want, so you take Jason by the chin and pull his mouth to yours.

Jason sighs against you, and it's like all the tension in his body melts away. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw, the other on the back of your head.

You break away to murmur, "Are you patrolling tonight?" He's still so beaten up.

"No," he whispers, voice low and gravelly in a way that has butterflies whipping around like a tornado in your stomach.

"Good. Wanna go up and be the hottest patient in the world while I look at your wounds?"

"Only if you're the hottest nurse in the world."

"Oh, but then who will be the hottest chef in the world who makes dinner?"

"The hot chef is on vacation right now," Jason joked. "But I can be a really hot food-orderer. What takeout are you in the mood for?"

"You're the injured one. What do you want?"

"I want whatever you want."

You narrow your eyes in a glare. "Well, I want whatever you want."

"You gotta make a decision," he says, already on his phone. "You're the hottest decision-maker in the world, I'm the hottest food-orderer."

"Chinese?"

"You got it."

Right before he dials the number, you grab him and kiss him again. When you pull back, he chases after your lips. It's so tempting that you give him another firm peck before you pat his chest once.

Jason blinks twice, looking dazed. "What was that for?"

You shrug. "I just wanted to kiss the hottest man in the world."

"Oh, my God." He groans and covers his face again, but you can see his red ears. "You're never gonna let that go?"

"Mmm." You pretend to consider it. "No."

DC taglist:

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

Forever taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

[envy-of-the-apple]

Infinite Rewind

Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: Instead of dying, you are sent 13 years in the past, but this isn't your face. "Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"

Part two: Rewound Infinitely

Word Count: 18.1k

(Warnings: slight yandere, death, murder, inaccurate Tokyo geography, blood, violence, mild gore, obsession, unhealthy relationships, child abuse/neglect, time looping(?), fem!reader) Ageless blogs that try to follow me will be blocked

First, you saw a monster. 

It was big and horrible—nasty teeth. You heard screaming. People. Running as fast as they could away from the creatures. Pain. 

And then, you saw a bright, clear sky. 

The sun was blaring down at you. It was so hot. Wasn't it December? How was the sun out at night? 

"Hey, you good?" 

A girl is looking at you. Short brown hair. A high schooler, judging by the uniform. How is she wearing all black when the weather is so hot? 

When you don't respond, her eyes squint. 

"Suguru, are you okay?" 

That's not your name; your mouth moves faster than your brain.

"I-I'm fine." That wasn't your voice. It was deeper. More masculine. What the fuck happened to your voice? 

The girl gives you another strange look but you're too busy freaking out over your new voice. Your hands are different too. A completely different skin tone, larger. 

And then you're fumbling with your pockets, clothes you know you didn't buy. The girl is calling for you again but you're too busy pulling out a fucking flip-phone and looking into the black screen, the only thing you have for a mirror. 

Purple eyes stare back. These aren't your eyes. This isn't your nose. This isn't your hair. This isn't your face. You blink. He does too. You open your mouth. So does he. You pinch your cheek. In the reflection, he winces. 

Oh, you just fucking bodysnatched someone. 

ⴵ

Ten minutes later, you conclude that your name is Geto Suguru, you are a 16-year-old boy, the year is 2006, and you attend a religious academy. 

"You're finally acting normally again." The girl-newly discovered as Ieiri- says. "No more weirdness." 

You don't blame her, considering you grabbed her by the shoulders, asking ridiculous questions like: what year is it, who am I, why am I here, who are you, am I dead, is this Hell, etc. For a teenage girl, she took your outburst well. 

"Sorry," you say and by now you've gotten used to your voice, "it must have been the stress from studying." 

She just hums, continuing to walk beside you. Though, Ieiri had a point. You were definitely calmer, and it was mostly because you figured it out. 

You were dreaming. 

You were lucid dreaming, to be more precise. Your brain was conjuring up a weird setting and you just happened to be placed in another person's body. You heard about this happening before. You were just so freaked out because this was the first time anything like this had happened to you. 

An impulsive part of you wants to tell Ieiri that this is just a dream, but you've heard weird things happen after a lucid dreamer tries to break the illusion. It's best if you just let it just play out and see where this goes. 

“Excited?” 

“Hm?” You ask. And Shoko rolls her eyes. 

“For the mission you have this evening. Special grade. Sounds scary.” She says, her sarcasm evident. 

Mission? Special grade? You don’t know what those words mean but it sounds like a school field trip. Shoko takes your hesitance as something else. 

“Ah,” she says, “so you forgot.” 

“I didn’t.” You reply on instinct. 

“I expected this from Satoru, not you. You should stop hanging out with him, he’s starting to rub off on you.”

You give a sheepish laugh, and it’s enough to quell her questions. 

She leads you into the school, all through the winding halls and through an office door. You couldn’t be more grateful, it’s not like you would have known where to go. It’s a teachers room. Two people are already inside. 

“Wait, for once, I’m early?” The boy with sunglasses asks, voice dripping with amusement. He’s leaning dangerously on a chair. You stare at him. You’ve never seen someone with white hair before. It can’t be real. 

“He forgot.” Shoko pipes up and the boy cackles. 

“That’s hilarious. I’m starting to rub off on you.” Ah, this must be Satoru. 

You give a nervous smile. “Haha, yeah.” 

The boy stops rocking in the chair. Three pairs of eyes look at you. Your uniform feels itchy.

“Gojo, stop making such a ruckus.” The man, presumably his teacher, gruffs. "You two got the briefing yesterday. Do your job and for the last time do not leave your assistant manager behind again." 

Gojo groans, and you delve into more confusion. Before you can say anything, the kid is hopping out of his seat before lazily striding out the door. Shoko and the teacher look at you expectantly. 

Oh, you were supposed to follow him. 

Not wanting to make a scene, you catch up to Gojo. He's tall, his footsteps are long and wide. But you're tall now too, so it's easy to keep up with him. This new body of yours has a lot of pros. 

"Yaga's so annoying," Gojo suddenly says, "constantly nagging us like that. It's not our fault the assistants can't keep up." 

What should you say? You clear your throat. 

"He just wants what's best for us." 

Wrong answer. 

"Where'd that come from?" He snorts. How charming. "I know you agree with me. You're just tryna' act like the nicer one, again. It's starting to get a little old." 

Is that how 16 year-olds talk? Rude, but also strangely off-putting, like he can see straight through you. Or more accurately, he can see straight through Suguru. How close are these two, anyway? 

Why did any of these questions even matter? This is a dream! You need to wake up already. 

On the campus grounds, a sleek black car waits outside for you two. Along with a miffed man in a black suit. This must be a very rich school for a field trip to have a chauffeur. Where were you two going again?

Gojo hops in the back, taking one of the window seats. You take the other. In your own body, you would've fit nicely. But Suguru's legs are long, and the spacious car feels cramped. You should've taken the passenger seat. How do tall people live like this? 

The ride is quiet. Out the corner of your eye, you catch Satoru type away on his flip phone. A moment later, yours beeps. You still have no idea how to use Suguru's phone or his password, so you ignore his message. Satoru groans. 

Quickly, you learn that Satoru has a very low attention span. When looking out the window gets boring, he bugs the chauffeur. When the chauffeur ignores him, he starts bugging you. 

"Hey heyyyy," Satoru says, "when this is all over, we should go to that new ice cream place. Like you said, we should." 

You look at him. "Uh, sure." You say. 

"And you should pay for it, 'cuz you said you owed me last time." 

Fine, whatever. "Sure thing." 

He grins. You can't see his glasses, and it makes his smile even more unnerving. This kid. 

This doesn't feel like a normal field trip at all. Why did you stop in front of some rackety house that looked as though it were about to collapse? You turn back to the only adult in the vicinity, but he's out too. He takes out a lighter and a cigarette. In front of impressionable children, too. Wonderful. 

"I'll wait out here." He says, though his tone is uncaring. "Since we're out in the country, there's no need for a veil. Do your best." 

Veil? What? Gojo's already going off again and you've already decided to be his chaperone, so you follow. You reluctantly trail behind him. Feet crunch the leaves. The house grows bleaker and bleaker. 

"Okay, I have a plan!" Gojo exclaims when he gets through the squeaky door. He's so loud, can't he be quieter? "I check upstairs and you check the ground floor and the basement. Got it?" 

Check the house? Were he and Suguru electricians in training or something? That still wouldn't explain why a grown man decided to drop off two teenagers in front of a creepy mansion. And why in God's name did Gojo want to split up?

"I-I don't think that's a good idea," you say, "shouldn't we try to stick together?" Or, better yet, leave. 

He clicks his tongue. "Ugh, you're so lame. Not like Suguru at all." 

Wait, what did he say? You're about to call out to him when he climbs up the stairs, disappearing from view. Unbelievable. 

This kid was starting to get on your nerves. Enough, you were leaving. You could have a nice dream where you met and fell in love with Zendaya, not babysitting some teenager, whilst possessing another person's body. You were going to wait outside with the man and hope your dream finally came to an end. 

Except, you couldn't go outside. The door was gone. 

It-it was right behind you, right? The entrance was right behind you. You couldn't have gotten turned around so quickly? What the hell happened? Or maybe you had gotten turned around? Considering how distracting that Gojo kid was, you might not have realized it. 

You look around the house. Looks like it'd been abandoned for a while. There's dirt on the shelves. Chairs were toppled over and left to rot. The wooden floorboards dangerously creaked beneath you. Just what had happened here? 

There's no patio door. No door leading to the outside. At the same time, you hadn't explored everything yet. Each door led to a room. The only door that didn't, led to a basement. And no, you weren't going down there. 

When you got back to where you started, you noticed something had changed. 

There was a person. Seated right at the base of the stairs? 

Gojo? Was he done with urban exploring? Maybe he knew the way out. He stands up, reaching to his full height, then higher, then higher. 

Gojo was tall, but this thing was taller. Gojo was human. This thing wasn't. 

What the fuck you can only mouth because your voice is stuck in your throat when it takes a shaky step towards you. It's a black husk of a figure, too skinny but too tall and twitching fingers. You don't know how you could've mistaken this for the kid. 

Another step. You're running, back into the house, leaping over the fallen shelves and creaky floorboards. It gives chase, and you can hear it groan behind you. It's deep and rumbly and terrifying. It just motivates you to go faster. 

It's slower than you. That's good, but it seems to realize this. You can barely celebrate your advantage before something heavy is smashed into your back, sending you toppling to the floor. You and wooden chair crash on the ground. 

It hurts. 

Everything hurts. 

Dreams aren't supposed to hurt. Because this wasn't a dream. 

This was real. You were stuck in the year 2006, stuck in another person's body, about to get mauled by a monster. 

You were going to die. 

You aren't even fighting anymore. How pathetic is that? The shock numbs your body as the thing grows closer and closer, all you can do is reach your hands up, protecting your face. 

And then the creature explodes. 

An implosion. It's skin and bones twist in a way no one should. There's a shriek, something wrong and high and inhuman before it's gone. Like it never existed in the first place. 

After all that, he's still smiling. Like the cat that just caught the mouse. 

"I guess we're not pretending anymore, are we?" Gojo asks, stretching his arms. "That's good. That game was starting to get a little boring, anyways. Now, then." 

He folds his glasses, tucking it on his uniform. Blue, his eyes are. As blue as a clear sky. 

"Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you, and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"

ⴵ

Contrary to your belief, Gojo Satoru is a good listener. 

There's never an interruption. Not even once. Every once in a while, he nods, a hand on his chin. It's probably because he can't interrupt. You just keep going on and on. Word vomit. 

He only speaks when you pause to catch your breath. "So you are from the year 2017, and you went back in time to body-snatch someone. I had a feeling your technique had something to do with possession." 

You look at him warily. "Wait, you knew this entire time?" 

You two hadn't moved from your earlier spot. You were still sprawled on the floor, still feeling the adrenaline surge through you. Gojo had transitioned to squatting on the floor. He scratches his neck, still so casual. 

"I have good eyes. Don't worry about it." He shrugs. "Anyway, you seem pretty harmless, and as annoying as it is not having Suguru around, I doubt killing you would do any good." Why is he being so nonchalant about murder? Is this kid really sixteen?

"I think we gotta' just wait around until your technique reactivates." Gojo whistles. "2017. That's like a decade away. I wonder what happened for your technique to show up." 

You blink, trying to remember the date. 

"It was Christmas Eve..." You glance at him. "And then I was here." 

He thinks for a moment. "Yeah, I got nothing." Of course. 

He sighs, before sprawling on the dirty floor, belly up. You grimace at his antics but choose to keep your mouth shut. 

He doesn't seem very worried. At the most, he looks mildly inconvenienced. Why isn't he worried about his friend? 

When you ask him, he just snorts. 

"Sorry, but you're not that scary. Besides, I don't have to worry about Suguru. He's strong." 

Well, that's nice to know, but one other thing still bothers you. 

"You speak so casually to me," you mutter, "You know I'm older than you, right? I'm 22." 

He laughs. "22? Damn. You're old, man." 

"That isn't old!" You argue. "You have no concept of age since you're just a teenager." And why did he assume you were a man? Oh right, you were trapped in a teenage boy’s body. Of course.

"I mean, technically, I'm older than you, right?" Gojo ponders with a grin. "If you're 22 in 2017, that makes you what—11 in 2006?" 

You say nothing because you have a feeling that if you continue to argue with him, he'll just drag you down to his insanity. 

"Technique, you've said that a couple of times." You look at him. "That's what you call your 'powers', right? Does Geto have one too?" 

"Yeah," Gojo says, "but you can't use it. You have zero cursed energy. Honestly, it's at the same level as a plant. A bit lower than regular humans. It's a little impressive, actually." For one second, could he stop being so condescending? 

"What's his technique?" You ignore his comments. "Could it be related to how I got here?" 

He gives you a look over. "I doubt that, but Suguru's technique is curse manipulation. Uh, you remember that thing you saw earlier." You nod. "Yeah, he can control and absorb them." 

He sounds pretty awesome. You look at your hands. Not your hands. Geto's hands. They're paler than yours, and a lot longer. This isn't your body. Your soul can feel it. You can feel the guilt too. 

'I'd give it back if I could,' you think, 'I just don't know how.' 

Gojo's getting up. He stretches. He was lying on the ground but you can't see a speck of dirt on his uniform. 

"Okay, then. No use mopping around." He grins down at you. "Maybe Yaga can do something about you. Let's get you back to jujutsu tech." 

You blink up at him. His hand is outstretched, reaching out to you. He's still grinning that insufferable grin but his eyes have slightly melted. 

"Okay." You say, barely touching his fingertips. "Let's-" 

And then Gojo's gone. And then, you're standing. And then it's cold. 

You're wearing a coat; weren't you wearing a uniform before? There's no clear sky. It's nearly dusk. 

You were standing on the sidewalk, where people bustled all around you. You fumble through your jackets, putting out a phone. An actual iphone. You flick on the screen. 

December 24th, 2017, 7:06.

Holy shit, you were back. 

Was it because you touched Gojo? That makes no sense, but how could you explain anything else that happened so far? God. You rake a hand through your hair. Your hand. Your hair. You can't believe how much you missed yourself. It felt so good to be back. 

Your mind is spinning, you had no idea what the fuck just happened.

For now, you just wanted to turn your mind off and grab a drink. 

You know there was a bar not too far from your location. Along the way, you pass by the bustling town. There's a couple walking side by side, giggling over something you couldn't hear. Right, it's the 24th. You remember your empty bed with no one to share it with, and you cement your desire to drown yourself in alcohol today. 

Your self-pitying session is almost how you nearly miss him. His shoulder brushes past you. You're about to apologize when you hear his voice. It's familiar. 

It used to be your voice. 

It's all there. Black hair, but it's longer this time around. Of course it is, he's had years to grow it out. He's tall, he must've grown since highschool. His broad back is the only thing you see, you're almost afraid to reach out to him. 

"Suguru...?" 

He halts in his tracks. When he turns around, it's like looking into a fractured past. He looks older, no longer a youthful teenager. You should have paid more attention to his eyes, how scrutinizing they were, how condescending his fake smile was. All that you could think of was that it was actually him. 

"Do I know you?" He tilts his head. "Apologies, but my girls and I are quite busy." 

You don't notice the two young ladies beside him until Geto points them out. Teenagers, maybe just around the age when you first met him. He was a father now. 

You're so swept up by the emotions that you barely notice they've continued walking. You stumble behind, ducking behind the alleyway they went into. 

"Wait! Geto!" You call. "Please! We need to talk!" You still needed your answers. You didn't know care how desperate you came off as. 

In hindsight, you should have noticed that they looked more annoyed than worried about a stranger chasing them across the street. 

The one with the ponytail scoffs. "This one talks an awful lot. How annoying." 

Geto sighs. He leaves his daughters, finally standing in front of you. This is what you wanted, right? A chance to talk to him. 

Still, you can't help but feel wrongness within you. His smile is off. 

"Most monkeys are just that, unfortunately." You don't move. You can't. Not when he places a hand on your skull. "I suppose it'd be humane to put this one out of its misery." 

Geto Suguru crushes your skull. And then you die. 

ⴵ

Again. You died again. 

This is the second time Geto has killed you. Fuck, you should've realized. 

"Back again, Greeny?" Gojo asks. 

He and Suguru were sitting outside in the grass. Satoru's holding up a few playing cards. You look at Suguru's hands and find yourself doing the same. 

Not again. 

"What year is it?" You ask warily. "And what did you just call me?" 

Gojo grins with teeth. You remember he compared you to a plant before, didn't he? He's so clever with nicknames; someone should give him an award. 

"Welcome back to 2006!" Gojo beams. "It's only been a couple of days since you left. And why are you so grumpy? I'm the one who just lost a player." 

You weren't grumpy, you were pissed. You figured out what's been going on with you, and it's all because of the asshole you're possessing right now.

The look on his face when he killed you. Like you were nothing more than an animal. A monkey. Now, you feel a lot less guilty about possessing his body. 

At least you figured out two things. You know how your technique works. Whenever someone kills you, you are sent back in time to take over their body. But you can go back whenever you touch Gojo, or perhaps just another sorcerer. 

Secondly, you have access to Geto's memories. 

It didn't happen the first time you died. It must have been because the kill wasn't direct (from Getos curse, rather than himself), but milliseconds after Geto split your skull in two, your brain was overwhelmed by his past, his present, as well as his future. 

Geto was set to die on December 24th, 2017. At the hands of his best friend, Gojo Satoru. 

Fuck him. Let the bastard die. You didn't give a shit. 

You reach over to touch Gojo's arm, ready to leave. He pulls back with a snicker. Ugh, the brat must've figured out your technique, too. 

"Stop messing around." You tell him. "I need to go back to my timeline." 

"Sure, sure," he says as though speaking to a time traveler is just another Tuesday. "But first, finish the game with me." 

"No." You tell him before leaning out even further. He isn't moving away anymore, but you still can't reach him. Fuck, he must've activated his technique. 

Despite your annoyance, you decide to keep the future away from Gojo's ears. He doesn't need to know that he'll be the one to kill Suguru. He shouldn't. Not at his age. He's just a kid. 

"Just one game! I promise!" He pleads. "Then I'll let you go. Suguru never lets me beat him, I want an easy opponent to boost my ego." 

You roll your eyes, but you settle down, picking up the cards. You already know the rules; you have Geto's memories, after all. 

It's silent, save for Gojo's humming. When you place down your King of hearts, you ask:

"Hey, is my cursed energy different at all?" You ask.

"Not really." He squints. "Wait, it has grown a little. Aw, Greeny sprouted!" 

So, every time you die, your cursed energy increases. That, or your cursed energy, increases every time you time travel. It doesn't matter either way. Does this mean you can use Geto's technique now? It couldn't hurt to try, right? 

There's a demon-no, they're called curses you know that now- floating beside you, just a little ways away. Small. Barely fourth grade. You stick your hand out, calling out Geto's power. There's a pull, a rush of energy. 

A blue ball drops into your hand. 

"Holy shit." Gojo leans forward. "So you can use his techniques." Surprisingly, there's no wariness in his voice. Just awe. 

"Yeah." You breathe before glancing up at him. "Shouldn't you be focused on your cards?" 

He shrugs, tossing the cards away. "What cards?" 

You sigh before staring at the ball. Well, you captured the curse. All that's left to do is swallow it, right? You can do that. You open your mouth. Gojo is still staring. You scowl. 

"Look away." 

He rolls his eyes. "It's not like I haven't seen you do this before. Well, not you, the guy that you bodysnatched." 

Ass, you keep that in your head as you hold your breath. You swallow the ball down. 

Instantly, you choke. 

It's horrible. Like a rotten carcass on the highway, oozing blood and oil and pus. You start dry-heaving, suffocating, spit dribbles down your chin. Nothing comes out. You've already absorbed it. The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. Like swallowing a rag that was used to wipe up vomit and shit. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. 

"Is it really that bad?" Gojo observes you. "That guy swallows them down, no problem." 

Because Suguru was used to this taste. He was used to the responsibility. The hoarding mass of distraught absorbing a curse comes with. It was a disgusting art. Something he'd perfected to mask for years. Until he couldn't take it anymore. 

Fuck, you might have lost your mind, too, if you kept having to eat this. To protect people who were happy you failed. 

You snapped out of it. Suguru's memories were affecting your own. That's probably a sign that you need to get out of here. No way would you be sympathizing with someone so monstrous. 

"Hopefully, I never do that again." You slowly recover, wiping your spit away with your hand. You lean back on your hands, exhausted. 

"Something I've always wondered." You call out to Gojo. "What did Suguru ever think about someone possessing his body." 

Gojo laughed. "Funny thing. He never knew." 

"What?" You look at him. "No gaps in his memory? Nothing?" 

"Nope," Gojo said, "he remembered what happened in the house, but he thinks he did everything. And then he said something weird." 

You perk up at that. "What did he say?" 

Gojo tilts his head. Then, he shrugs. 

"I forgot." Typical. 

You pinch your nose bridge. "So, did you tell anyone else about...this?" You gesture to yourself. 

"Wait, you're supposed to be a secret?" You look at him in alarm. "In my defense, I didn't know, but I haven't gotten the chance to tell anyone. After the mission, Suguru and I went to the arcade, and then I kinda' forgot about it." 

Well, at least Gojo's arrogance works in your favor sometimes. You can't let anyone know, especially anyone connected to the higher-ups. From Geto's memories, you know they don't like anything new. It's best to stay under their radar. 

"Good, well, from now on, we're keeping it a secret. Got it?" 

"What are you two keeping a secret?" A new voice pops up. You jump. 

You know him—at least from Geto's memories. Haibara beams at you. He looks so alive in the sunlight, smiling and with bright eyes.

He'll be dead within a year or so. 

Gojo takes advantage of your shock. "The bodysnatcher wants me to promise that I won't tell anyone that a curse-user is possessing Suguru's body." 

"What the hell? You just promised that you wouldn't tell anyone!" 

"Uh, technically, I didn't promise anything yet." Gojo retaliates. "But okay, fiiiiine. I won't tell anyone....except for Haibara." You groan. 

"What's going on?" Haibara's smile fades. "Wait, Gojo, is this not Geto? Is this person actually a curse-user!?" 

"I'm not a curse-user." You correct. "I'm not a sorcerer either, for the record." 

"You just used a curse technique to travel back in time to take over someone's body." Gojo enunciates. "Sounds like a sorcerer to me." 

"Wait, you're a time-traveler, Mr. Not-Geto?" Haibara asks and you are genuinely impressed he's able to keep up. 

"The name’s Greeny, Haibara." Gojo supplements. Haibara nods, still a bit unsure. 

"So...do we fight Greeny?" 

"It's not my name." You get ignored. 

"Nah, it's all good. Greeny's harmless. Just a weakling, don’t worry about it." Rude, but you don’t think you’d want Gojo to take you as much of a threat, not after knowing what he can do.

"Oh, okay!" Haibara instantly relaxes. The kid's really trusting, huh? 

"Okay, fine, but no one else can know, got it, Gojo?" This promise doesn't matter. It's not like you're planning on returning to the past anytime soon. As soon as you return to the present, you are leaving Tokyo and escaping the night parade of 100 demons. Fuck that. You don't want to die again. 

He waves you off. "Yeah, yeah."

He's so insufferable. You don't know who's worse: the genocidal maniac or this brat. 

"Give me your hand. I want to go home." 

Haibara looks confused. "Wait, why does Greeny need your hand?" 

"It's how the curse technique works," Gojo explains. "Greeny gets sent back in time, and then my true-love's touch sends him careening forward into the future." You frown at his comment, but he turns to you before you can say anything. 

"Which reminds me, Greeny: ever figure out how your technique works?" 

No way are you telling a kid that their best friend killed you....twice. Instead, you just shrug. 

"Haven't figured it out yet." 

Gojo stares at you. "Huh." He responds. "Well, if you ever figure it out, lemme' know." 

Sure you will. You hold up your hand. Gojo, finally holds his own up. Out of the corner of your eye, Haibara waves. And then you're back in your own body, on December 24th, 2017, 7:06 pm.

You waste no time. You push at the crowd, squeezing through the hoards of people. You need to get out. You need to leave before the death parade starts, before you're trapped in that terrifying cycle of death again. 

You need to leave. 

Exorcised. Ingested. 

No no no. Shut up. This wasn't you. This was Geto's memories. 

Exorcised. Ingested.  

You need to leave. 

Exorcised. Ingested. 

You need to survive. 

The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. 

You stop, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. People glare, cursing as they move around you. They don't know this place will be a bloodbath in a matter of minutes. They'd all die. But you could stop it. 

If only if you hadn't accessed Geto's memories. If only if you hadn't eaten that damn curse. If only if you hadn't sympathized with a murderer. Maybe you'd have the courage to escape your future. 

But you'd felt that taste. Horrible. If you eat enough, you could go insane. If you were lonely enough, that would do it too. 

The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. No one except for you. 

At 8:06 the screams start. The monsters come out to play their song. You close your eyes, forgive Suguru, and you die once more. 

ⴵ

For once, when you open your eyes, Gojo isn’t there with you. 

You’re still on the campus of Jujutsu tech. Suguru was just about to grab his soda from the vending machine. You finish his job. The can feels cold. It feels refreshing on your tongue. It’s a momentary distraction to the fact that you have no clue what you’re doing. 

You understand your cursed technique, but you still struggle with the application. Fuck, what did you do? You were utterly fucked. You’re playing a dangerous game. If you died- if Geto died- here, what would even happen? 

 The worst part is that you can’t even think of the hypothetical because there’s no other choice. You needed to do this. To not only save the people in Tokyo from the Night Parade, but to also save Geto Suguru. The man who has killed you three times now. 

Geto’s dissent starts to worsen at Riko Amanai’s death. If you could prevent that from happening, you could probably change history. But Geto’s true fracture begins with the curses themselves. They were rotting him from the inside.

You grimace, but you have to do it. You have to eat every single curse that Geto couldn’t swallow down himself. 

One was coming up. In less than an hour, Yaga will call you and Gojo for a mission. It’ll be a special-grade grave-type curse. Dispatching it will be simple, but Geto would be the one to exorcise it, ingesting the screams of all that the curse devoured. You needed to prepare yourself for that. 

Maybe you should save some of this soda to wash the taste off later. 

“Geto!” Someone cheers, you jump, but Haibara’s already poking his head around the wall. He grins. 

“Hey! Oh, you’re not Geto, aren’t you?” He tilts his head. “Greeny?” 

“Keep your voice down,” you whisper, “wait, you can recognize me?” 

He nods, after checking to make sure no one’s around, he says, “yeah, your eyes are different? It’s hard to explain.” He tells you. 

Huh. Interesting. 

“You’ve been gone a while.” Haibara beams. “It’s been a few weeks. I’m glad you’re back, Gojo was starting to get cranky.” 

It’s probably because he had no one to mess with. Poor him. He has all your sympathies. Ass. 

“I’m glad to return as his punching back.” You mutter. 

Haibara shyly shuffles his feet. 

“So, are you really from the future?” He asks. “Was Gojo telling the truth?” 

You nod. “Haibara, you haven’t told anyone, right?” 

“Of course not!” He instantly says. “Not a soul. Not even Nanami, and I tell him everything! Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“And Gojo, too! I know he doesn’t look very trustworthy, but me and him have kept it under wraps.” 

Reluctantly, you can’t help but agree with the kid. Gojo is annoying, but so far, he hasn’t done anything super harmful. 

“So anyway, Greeny.” He clears his throat. “Considering you’re from the future and all. Would you mind telling me what my future will be like?” 

You blink at him. He takes it as a sign to continue. “Nothing much! I just wanna know what I’ll be doing in 2017. Will I finally be a grade 1 sorcerer?” 

You think of Geto’s final memories of Haibara. A child burying another child. 

“Sorry,” you lie through your teeth, “but I didn’t know you in my future. Again, I’m not really a sorcerer.” 

Haibara nods, disappointed but still very excitable. He asks you about other things about the future, and you try to answer to the best of your ability, but you can’t shake off his dead glass eyes, staring at you from the morgue. 

“Another thing, we should have a code word.” Haibara exclaims. 

You blink. “A code word?” 

“If we ever meet in the future,” he explains, “y’know, in 'Groundhog’s day', he has to keep explaining what’s happening repeatedly? In order to prevent that, we should have a secret word between eachother so I instantly know who you are.” 

Not the same exact situation, but it sounds like exactly something a child would come up with. You indulge him anyway. 

“Okay, what did you have in mind?” 

“Well, it can’t be anything too crazy, or we might attract unwanted attention.” Haibara puts a hand on his chin in serious thought. You smile. 

“Got it! If you ever see me, just yell ‘brocolli head’ really really loudly. Then I’ll know.” Haibara chirps. 

“Wait, why broccoli head?”

“Because broccoli heads are green!” Haibara chirps happily.

You’re starting to learn it’s best not to question his logic.

You nod, very amused. “Sure thing, Haibara.”  

Someone calls out his name. He jumps before he waves to you. You watch as he joins with Nanami. They talk about something you can’t hear. Haibara laughs and you decide it would be a shame if his laugh was lost to death. 

Gojo finds you eventually. You can’t hide from him forever. You were walking into the school when he caught up with you. He’d ran there. His breath was slightly ragged. 

“Greeny, couldn’t get enough last time, huh?” You shoot him a look. 

“What are you talking about? Doesn’t matter, we need to go, the missions coming up.” 

Gojo’s smile dips ever so slightly. “How’d you know about that?” 

It’s probably not a good idea to tell the guy's best friend that you’re possessing that you’ve unlocked his memories. 

“Haibara told me.” 

“Ah,” He replies, “let’s go then.” 

The car ride is different this time around. Less tension. You aren’t as confused. Gojo is seated quietly beside you, watching the scenery go by. The assistant is too preoccupied with belting the radio to notice Gojo's words. 

“Figured it out yet?” He asks. “Your technique.” 

He's persistent about that answer, isn't he? You're sure the only reason Gojo cooperates with you is because he thinks you're inhabiting Suguru's on accident. How would he react if he knew you were doing it intentionally? It's best not to get on the strongests’ bad side. 

“Oh, not really, but I think it’s random. I can’t seem to find a set pattern. Maybe Suguru calls out to me, somehow?” 

“Maybe.” Gojo replies. His time is flat. Anxiety flips through your stomach. 

“You’re different this time around,” Gojo says. 

“Am I?” You ask. “I guess I’m just more determined today.” 

He gives you a look over. "Oh yeah? What for?" 

"The curse. I'll exorcise it, today." 

You don't know how you wanted Gojo to react to that, but you're still disappointed when he turns back to the window. 

"Do whatever, Greeny." 

In the end, you do swallow the curse. You manage to hold your gags in this time. 

It's worse than before. It makes sense. This curse was first-grade. Stronger. In terms of taste, it was like curdled blood and mold. You were so grateful for that soda. 

Gojo only watches with a tilted head. 

"You're getting better at that."

You give a weak grin. 

"Practice makes perfect," you reply, "do you think I'll get strong enough to absorb a special grade soon?" 

He doesn't like your question. You can see it in his stiff expression. 

"Maybe. Why do you want to swallow up curses, anyway? Last time you were here, you were practically begging to go back." 

His response wasn't exactly hostile but far from his usual playful attitude. You knew you'd have to confront this eventually. Despite how nonchalant he acted, it's clear Satrou doesn't enjoy watching someone prance around in his friend's body like this. If he starts to dislike you, it could rupture your entire plan. You need his cooperation, more than anything, to save Suguru. 

A little bit of the truth. Just a bit. It can't hurt, can it?

"Curses taste horrible," you say, looking at the ground. You can still taste the remnants of it, "it's the worst thing in the world. I can't even explain how wrong it feels to eat one. I thought...while I'm in his body...I could maybe help Suguru a little. I could ingest the curses in his stead, so that way, he still gets to absorb it." But it'll lessen the trauma it has on his mental state. 

You can't see how Gojo feels about that. Those glasses of his cover everything. But you know he's staring at you. The six eyes are taking you apart, observing you whole. 

"Did you know Suguru in the future?" He asks. 

"I didn't." The man that killed you. The man that will keep killing you. And you'd forgive him each time. 

Another beat of silence.

Finally, he just sighs. "You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?" 

You give a sheepish laugh.

"That isn't a compliment, by the way. You're just really reckless. And maybe stupid, Greeny." His tone isn't mean. 

"My name still isn't Greeny." You tell him. 

"Oh yeah, what's your name, then?" He's reverted back to that teasing lilt, and it almost makes you relax if you don't note the curiosity underneath. 

So far, you've been lax giving away information regarding the future, but you don't think you should continue that. What if you're too careless and the future changes in a way you didn't intend? A name, personal information, that could be way too dangerous. 

"Actually, just call me Greeny. I like that name a lot better." 

"You complained about it all the time, though?" Gojo argues. 

"It's starting to grow on me." You grin. "Grow? Get it, because you compared me to a plant and-"

"Stop stop, you really are an old man." Gojo groans. You just grin wider. Then, you grimace.

“I can still taste it.” You complain. “I’d kill for a cigarette right now.”

“I caught our assistant manager smoking a while back,” Satoru suggests. “Maybe you could go and beg him for one.”

You toss him a look. “Suguru doesn’t smoke, and I’m not giving a teenager a nicotine addiction.” You have found lighters inside Suguru’s pockets, but you have a feeling it isn’t for his own cravings.

"Hey, could you do me a favor?" 

He gives a wordless hum.

"Maybe after this, could you take Suguru out to a cafe'? I can taste the aftertaste of the curse." You shudder. "Just get him something to wash it down." 

Also, Suguru couldn't go back to his dorm after this. Suguru dissented because of his fractured relationship with everyone, not just with Satoru. You'd try to bridge the gap between him and his peers as much as you can. You go through Suguru's flip phone, asking Shoko if she wants to join the two. 

When you're done with that, you snap the phone closed. 

"Okay, I'm done here. You two have fun, okay?" You raise your hand. 

Gojo just huffs, amused. "Sure sure. By the way, someone wanted to thank you." 

You blink at that. "What?" 

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it."

He gives you a high-five, and then you're back in 2017 in your own body. 

Temporarily. So far you figured out that you get sent back an hour before the night parade happens. 8:06. Considering you have a couple more minutes to kill before you’re killed, you reach into your pocket for that cigarette you’ve been craving. You pick the first out of the box, cherry burns just out of corner of your eye.

You notice things now. The children giggled to their parents. Old couples gingerly held hands with sweet smiles. You'd save them, but first, you need to save Suguru. 

And do really do that, you'd have to save Riko. 

Easier said than done. You could go back in time, but you can't really control when to go back in time. It's been random, but your trips are typically two days away from each other. You can work with that. 

But in order to get to Riko's death, you'd have to die...a lot. Absorbing curses made Suguru lose his mind, but how well would you fare with dying over and over again? 

"Hungry?" 

Someone looms over you. A woman. She's pretty, with short hair and bangs. In her hand, she holds a bag of chips. 

"The vending machine gave me an extra." She gives a laugh. She kind of sounds like you. "Would you like one?" 

"Oh." You take it. "Thanks." 

"Don't mention it." She trots off into the crowd. You watch her.

A stranger's act of kindness. She didn't even know what would happen to her soon. You grip the bag, it crinkles in your grasp. 

It didn't matter how well you'd fare with dying over and over again. You'd get over it. So many innocent people depended on you. You can't just abandon them like this. 

You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right? It's aggravating how accurate he is, honestly. 

The screams start up again, and you forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

It takes a few cycles to finally reach the day Amanai Riko is assassinated. Whenever you deem yourself too early, you often accompany Gojo on a mission and exorcise a special-grade curse. Your overall plan is working, bit by bit. Each time you return, Suguru's memories swarm you. Each curse he remembers as less painful. 

It's why you get worried when you get there a little too late. 

"Something wrong?" Riko asks. 

You've stopped in the middle of the hallway, and of course, they're looking at you strangely. You know this place. Tengen's barrier is just an elevator ride away. Suguru, Riko, and Miss Kuroi were all almost there.

Fushiguro Toji has already arrived. 

In the first timeline, Geto leads the girls all the way down to Tengen's barrier. He puts his trust in Gojo. Of course, he would. They're the strongest. And in the end, Gojo does kill Toji. 

But the kill comes too late. Riko still dies, and the fracturing happens. 

You thought you'd have more time. If you had arrived a bit earlier, you could have fought with Gojo, and the chances of defeating Toji would have significantly increased. 

What do you do?

"What's the matter?" Miss Kuroi asks. She's supposed to die today, too. 

"Sorry, ladies." You smile. "But I need to go back for him." 

You don't answer their calls, running back up the hallway. The sun's bright, shimmering beautifully in the sky.

It contradicts the blood dripping all over the stone floor. 

Gojo's lifeless body is draped across the rubble. It's a horrifying sight. Eyes that were once like the sky are just this empty blue. A dead sea. He isn't breathing. You know, if you touched his wrist, you wouldn't feel a heartbeat. 

"Hate to break it to ya', but the Gojo kid's dead." Toji's right behind you. You can feel him grinning. 

You know Gojo isn't dead. At least, he won't be dead for a while, but seeing the boy who used to tease you, annoy the shit out of you, laugh at you, be so....it made you freeze. Falter. 

You were wasting time. 

"Sorceror killer." You say after a minute. You almost can't bring yourself to turn, to look at him. The man who kills Gojo. The man who could've killed Suguru, but chose not to. "You certainly live up to your name." 

Toji's grin widens. The only man in the world with zero cursed energy. It'd be awe-inspiring if it weren't so terrifying. 

It's funny. You weren't afraid of dying, not anymore. You were afraid of failing. Failing when you were so close, when victory was just a blink away. 

"The flyheads." You mention to the swarms of curses all around you. "That's really smart." It gives you an idea or two. 

You have Suguru's memories, but they aren't always concrete. You just have snippets. A general idea of what happened within a certain event. It makes sense. Humans can't remember everything. 

But regarding the memories of Suguru and Fushiguro, everything is crystal clear. It's almost like you were there when it happened. 

It also means that you know Suguru, at this current level, won't be able to defeat Fushiguro. 

But Suguru doesn't need to beat the sorcerer killer; he just needs to hold him off. 

Currently, Suguru's body contains 368 curses: 3 special grades, 24 grade ones, 33 grade twos, 103 grade threes, and 205 fourth grades. 

You release all 368 of them. 

In another timeline, these curses would look to you as something to devour. Today, these curses have a new target. 

It won't stop Fushiguro. You're not dumb enough to think that. But it should give you time. Hopefully, it'll be enough time. 

Your knees hurt when you collapse next to the corpse. Gojo's so beautiful, even when he's dead. 

"Gojo." You shake him. Nothing happens. "You need to wake up. Gojo." 

Nothing happens. You don't know what caused Gojo to become the strongest, Suguru wasn't there. For once, you are blind to the past. 

"Riko needs you. Wake up. You-you need to go and save her and Miss Kuroi." 

His body's so cold, and you know he's dead because when you touch his skin, you don't wake up in the present. You push against his body, and he falls limply right back to place. You're sure this sight will haunt you for the rest of your life. 

"Satoru." You beg. "It's Greeny. Please, please, please wake up."

 Nothing happens. 

Everything happens. 

The brightest blue you've ever seen. It's heavenly. A glow that warms and chills your skin. It takes a while for you to see again. When you do, Satoru is standing. 

Somehow, his eyes are even brighter. You don't think you're looking at a teenage boy anymore. 

You're sitting in front of God. 

"Greeny." he states, voice flat. "You're late." 

You manage to smile.

"Sorry." 

You’ve seen Satoru fight before. He’s always calm, body relaxed as he practically floats in the air. Those fights differed from Suguru’s memories—post Satoru’s awakening. There’s always this twinge of desperation. An aftertaste of bloodlust.

But seeing it for yourself is something else entirely. Even with Suguru’s heightened senses, you still can’t follow him. He’s barely a mirage. One milisecond you can see a blue flash, the next you see nothing.

It's barely a fight. Not this time around. Fushiguro is completely unmatched. There's a flash of purple. And then, it's over. 

Fushiguro is in shambles. You didn't realize he was human until he started to bleed and shatter. Parentage over labor. It's sobering, in a way. 

Satoru's mouth moves. You're too far away to hear anything. They stand there for a few more seconds until Fushiguro slumps. Then, he falls.

You wonder when you got so desensitized to death. 

Gojo stands there. You should let him compress, but the clock is ticking. You need to do one more thing before you can let Suguru go. 

"You need to go." You say when you're close to him. He doesn't acknowledge you. "Riko's about to enter Tengen's barrier." 

He looks at you right then. His eyes. They're so bright, but they're strangely lifeless. Like he can't process you, your words. 

"I can see you now," he says, "it was so foggy before, but now, you're crystal clear." 

Six eyes look at you. You don't think you're hiding behind Suguru's face anymore. 

You clear your throat. 

"Gojo." You remind him. "Riko. You need to stop her." 

He blinks back into focus, rising from his high. 

"Oh," he says after a moment, "right." 

You stop him before he can walk any further. You hold out your hand. 

"You and Suguru." 

For the first time in a while, Gojo hesitates to send you back. You wait a couple seconds longer. 

"Yeah," he finally says.

His skin still feels cold. 

ⴵ

This death is a lot more painful than the others. 

The curse that's holding you is more intelligent than its predecessors. It keeps you alive, tearing at your skin, feasting on your flesh. Blood is everywhere. You scream until it rips out your vocal cords. It's almost a mercy to just die. 

You forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

Time skips a lot faster now. 

You stand in 2006, four months after the death of Fushiguro Toji. It takes a second for Geto's memories to kick in. What you see makes you nearly cry in relief. 

Gojo and Geto made it in time. You can still remember the tears spilling down Riko's cheeks, the smile on her face when Geto asked her if she wanted to go back. They were safe. They were home, with each other. 

You did it. You actually managed to pull it off. 

But you can't celebrate, not yet. From what you can gather from Suguru's memories, Geto defects after four years. You've just held off the eventual. 

It's nearly the middle of December. The air feels a bit chillier. You stay on that bench where Suguru once occupied. He was finishing his lunch. Usually, he'd eat with Satoru, but Satoru wasn't on campus these days. 

Right, you weren't finished with your work, yet. There was still one other issue. Suguru went on missions alone these days. Swallowing curses, letting them fester and rot in his body. It's isolating and grueling work. You might have been able to help him with the absorption, but your aide won't be enough to prevent his eventual downfall. 

You'll have to deal with his natural isolation. To do that, Suguru will have to make friends with people who aren't Satoru. 

Suguru does have friends, but he's the closest to Satoru. Considering Satoru is getting busier each passing day, Suguru needs to broaden his horizons a bit. 

It's a good thing this school is filled with such colorful characters. 

Haibara and Nanami were sitting in the back of the school. From Geto's memories, their dynamic was interesting. Haibara was definitely more outgoing than the two, but Nanami seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. They looked out for each other, in that way. 

Ah, Shoko was there, too. You haven't seen her since your first day. Her hair's grown longer. It lightly brushes her shoulders now. The cigarette in her hand burns a cherry red. 

Your reaction is rooted in Suguru's instinct than anything on your part. You reach out, taking the cigarette and stomping on the embers. 

"You shouldn't smoke in front of kids." You tell her, hoping she didn't read too much into your action.

Shoko scoffs, but to your satisfaction, she doesn't take out another one. 

"We're just one year below you." Nanami retaliates, but he looks more at ease now that the cigarette's out. 

"Did you finish lunch already, Geto?" Haibara asks kindly, then he takes a closer look. "Greeny?" 

You suck air through your teeth, giving Haibara a scathing look. Instead of looking exasperated, Nanami looks confused. 

"What's Greeny?" Nanami asks, and Haibara weakly laughs. 

"It's-uh-my new nickname for the tree that's growing over there!" He wildly points to something just behind you. "'Cuz it's so...green!"

"Of course." You note the hint of affection laced within his tone. 

"When'd you get back?" Haibara recovers with eagerness. 

"Recently." You grin. "Nice to see you again." 

"You saw him this morning," Nanami interjects, and you shrug. When he frowns, you know you pulled off a perfect Suguru impression. 

Suguru melds into the conversation perfectly. Haibara says something funny, Shoko and Suguru agree, Nanami disagrees. It's a lovely little cycle that ends when Nanami grumbles and picks himself up to go. Shoko starts to follow suit when you stop her. 

"Your hair's nice." You tell her. 

She hums, grabbing a strand to study it. You can see hints of dark circles beginning to form under her eyes. She looked livelier when you first met her. Curses have been popping up left and right since Fushiguro's death. Everyone is overworked, but Shoko looks like she's getting the brunt of it. She's one of the only people who can use RCT on others, and there aren't many healers on her level. All of the strongests share one thing in common it seems. 

"Pretty soon, it'll be longer than yours," Shoko replies. You smile in response. 

"Where are you going?" You ask. 

"Dorm," she replies, "I'm behind on paperwork." 

You had a feeling she always was. You gave a look of sympathy, but misery loves company. 

"I have some work too," You 'remember' the piles of papers lodged on Suguru's desk, "Maybe we can do it together later. The cafe right next to campus? It'll be my treat." 

She looks at Suguru. Her eyes are a pretty color. 

"Sure." She shrugs. "see you then." 

You feel your heart thump twice in your chest and decide that your work here is done. 

Haibara stares at Shoko's disappearing back. The forehead flick comes from both you and Suguru. 

"That hurt." Haibara whines. 

Good, you inwardly think. 

"Sorry." You tell him. He rubs his head, and you wonder if this is how kicking a puppy feels like. 

Luckily for you, Haibara recovers quickly. 

"You've been gone for a while." Haibara tilts his head. "What happened?" 

You can't exactly control your technique, it's more like it has a mind of its own, placing you exactly where you need to be placed. Instead of answering, you sigh, leaning against the wall. 

"Timeline gimmicks." You tell him tiredly. "It's hard to explain." He frowns, but he takes it as an answer.

"Do you know when Gojo's coming back?" You ask. "I think it's time for me to go back again." 

In previous time travels, you and Haibara tried to see if any physical contact would be enough to send you back. No matter how many times you two high-fived, shook hands, or even held hands. Nothing worked. Only Gojo Satoru could activate your technique. It must have something to do with the amount of cursed energy another person has. 

“He should be getting back later this evening.” Haibara muses. “But I’ll be happy to keep you company!”

It's nice to hear him chatter. If you'd let him, he'd go one and one. But you like hearing him talk about his sister. Apparently, she’s also a sorcerer, and his affection for her makes you smile.

"You remind me a lot of her, actually." He tells you. "Even though, y'know, you're a man." It's enough to get a laugh out of you. 

“Do you have anyone in your family who can see curses?” Haibaracasks.

“No,” you answer honestly, “at least, not that I can tell. My dad never spoke of curses or strange powers when I was growing up.”

You think he would have said something; after all, you two were too close to have secrets from each other. Your father was a single man, who took to raising you himself after your mother passed away. He often said you had her laugh.

“Maybe you’re one of a kind,” Haibara suggests.

You agree with him.

Gojo finds you before you can find him. He comes up to you with a grin and a wave.

“Hey, long time.”

His sunglasses are tilted down. You can see his eyes. They’ve lost the mania he had in his fight with Fushiguro. You’re relieved at that. You still can’t shake off that strange thing he said to you.

Wordlessly, you raise your hand. Satoru frowned.

“You wanna leave so soon? You just got here.”

“I’ve been here for hours,” you tell him, “also, you aren’t very concerned that someone is using your best friend’s body as a puppet.”

“He’s been through worse,” Satoru tells you off with a wave. Some friend.

“Let’s go to the arcade,” he suggests.

“Do that with Suguru.” You tell him. “I’m not hanging out with a high schooler.”

“Right right, my bad. I keep forgetting you’re an old man, Greeny.”

“22 is not old,” you say with exasperation, “didn’t your birthday just pass? You’re just five years away. I’ll see your attitude change, then.”

He grows quiet. You feel like you messed up somewhere.

“How did you know about my birthday?”

Fuck, you keep forgetting about keeping Suguru’s memories a secret. It takes everything within you to just relax.

“Haibara told me,” you say, “blabbermouth. You know him.”

“Oh.” Gojo replies. “Huh.”

You shuffle your feet. Distantly, you wonder what shoe size Suguru wears.

“How did your mission go?”

“Horrible,” he’s instantly back to his usual self, whiny and complaint, “and the curse was so ugly too. It was oozing goo everywhere.”

You frown. “Sounds gross. But you won, right?”

He doesn’t even answer. You secretly admire his sheer confidence. You certainly weren’t that when you were at his age.

“How’s Amanai and Miss Kuroi?” You ask.

“Safe.” He tells you. “The higher-ups weren’t really happy with us after that; pretty sure all these sudden missions are punishments.” He frowns. “But they’re fine. Miss Kuroi officially adopted her, so she’s a Kuroi now, too.”

You smiled. You already knew all that, but it’s nice to hear it.

“You saved them,” he says.

You laugh, “I didn’t do a thing.” You tell him. “You and Suguru did all the heavy lifting. I just caused some property damage.”

“You did.” He replies. “I don’t know how, but things always manage to work out whenever you’re around.”

You don’t like how he phrases that, but you don’t react.

“You think so? Maybe I’m lucky.” It’s supposed to be a joke of some kind. Neither of you laugh.

“You really don’t know us in the future?” He asks.

Maybe you should’ve asked Shoko if you could have a cigarette.

“I really didn't,” you say, “Honest, I—I have no idea what’s happening. I’m just as lost as you. Hopefully, I can figure out how to control my technique, and you won’t have to see me again.”

You never stopped feeling guilty for doing this to Suguru. Controlling him. Forcing him to laugh with his friends, make decisions based on your feelings rather than his. But you’re so close. You promise yourself that once you fix everything, you’ll never cause someone this much pain again. No matter how many times they kill you.

Satoru’s fists tighten. He looks even more upset at your response.

“That’s not what I—” He cuts himself off. You wait. Satoru says nothing more.

“You’re annoying.” He tells you in the end. It’s clean and cut, but it sounds like him. More confident, less wavery. “And stupid too.”

You can’t help but smile.

“Thank you. Am I done entertaining you now? Can I go?” He grumbles, holding up his hand.

“Yeah, sure, Greeny.”

ⴵ

You forgive Suguru.

ⴵ

Something’s wrong.

You can feel it. Something’s wrong.

You look through Geto’s memories. There’s nothing. Everything’s going as it should be. Everything looks perfect. Then, why do you feel so wrong?

Currently, Suguru was finishing excorcising a curse. You absorb it, swallowing down the remnant like it’s a pile of rusted nails but even the disgusting taste isn’t enough to wash away the feeling of dread.

The walls of the hospital was empty. The auxillary managers had already cleared everyone out by the time Suguru had walked in. Maybe it was the silence that added to your stress?

You walk out. Nothing changes. One of the managers comes up to you with a clipboard.

“The curse was exorcised.” Suguru tells them. “It wasn’t first grade, it was special grade. It was still disposed of.”

He curses, scribbling something down on his clipboard.

“The wrong information again.” He hisses to himself. “If we keep doing this, someone will die. We need more people, we’re way too stretched out.”

Those words are familiar. Hold on.

“Wait, what day is it?” You ask the frazzled-looking manager.

Offhandedly, he responds. He says the date so casually, and yet his mere words feel like a bear trap, tightening on your leg.

No. You should have had more time. Why weren’t you given more time?

Nanami and Haibara have probably already been dispatched. You go through Suguru’s phone, finding Haibara’s contact. It doesn’t go through. Nanami doesn’t pick up either.

You won’t make it in time. Even using Suguru’s curses, you won’t be able to reach them until it’s too late. Suguru’s memory of that day is muddled and dark, but Haibara’s dead corpse laying on the examination table. The pieces of him that Nanami could bring back.

You wouldn’t be fast enough.

He picks up on the second ring.

“...What’s up?”

“It’s Haibara.” You spit the words out as fast as you can. “Satoru, you need to go and get him right now, he isn’t going to make it—”

“—Greeny?” The exhaustion in Gojo’s voice is gone. You can hear something rustle behind him.

“Satoru, listen to me.” You beg. “Haibara and Nanami were just dispatched on a mission, but Yu isn’t going to survive it. It wasn’t a second-grade curse; it was a first grade. Please, you have to go and save him before it kills him.”

It’s silent. It feels like hours have passed when you know it’s just three seconds.

“We’ll talk later, Greeny.” The line clicks.

You’ve lost the trust of the strongest.

ⴵ

The future has changed when you get to campus. Haibara’s status is still alive. Barely. But he’s still there. Shoko’s currently taking care of him.

Nanami remains quiet the entire time since he returned with Haibara’s battered body. The only thing you can think of to offer comfort is to pat his shoulder. He barely even registers it. It’s more for you than for him. You’re self-soothing, taking care of something else, so you don’t have to recognize your own panic.

If Haibara dies, right here, on this day, everything can change. Everything can go back to the way it was in your original timeline. Haibara, with his sunshine, smiles, and bright eyes. His death is so important, and you can’t even think of him right now.

Gojo Satoru knows you’ve been deceiving him.

This is bad. So very bad. If he starts to suspect that you know more than you let on, he might deem you enough of a threat to kill, regardless of whether or not you’re in Suguru’s body. It’s not like that hasn’t stopped him before.

Gojo Satoru is selfless. He’s selfless enough to kill his best friend, if he thinks it will save everyone.

But if Gojo kills Geto here and now, would that really be bad?

You’d lose your path to the past, but the threat to your life would be over. Even if you did die in Suguru’s body, at least the people of Tokyo will be spared the Death Parade. You’ll still get what you want. And it will be much easier than your current plan.

Nanami shuffles behind you and you instantly snap out of it. That wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been you. That same lack of apathy when Fushiguro died in front of you.

It seems like dying over and over again caused you to lose bits of your humanity.

Shoko comes out. Nanami stands up, a tall ball of nervous energy. Shoko removes her mask. Her dark circles have grown even more prominent. She’s only 17.

“He’s still alive.” Nanami sags. “But he isn’t responsive. I’ve done all that I can.”

She looks at Nanami, and then she can’t anymore.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Nanami rasps, the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, “don’t apologize. It was my fault. I should’ve taken better care of him.”

You swallow. It wasn’t his fault, you wish you could tell him that it was yours.

You wonder what Haibara’s younger sister looked like. A spitting image of him, perhaps. Shorter. Darker hair, bigger eyes. Their smiles would look identical. What would she look like when she’s told her brother died doing the profession he forbade her from doing?

You can’t do that to her. You can’t be the reason she loses her brother the second time.

You’re not sure if a God is even out there. How could there be? What kind of entity would do something like this to you? Still, you sit on that bench, right outside the room where Haibara’s body lay, and you pray for a God.

Gojo’s footsteps stop right in front of you.

It’s hard to get the words out. For a minute, he just stands there.

“Did you exorcise it?” You finally ask.

“Yeah.”

You lift your head up to look at him. Even in his school uniform, he’s regal to look at. Like a warrior of the sun, blessed by the moon, sent to vanquish beasts and monsters.

Now, his blood-soaked sword is pointed at you.

Make it quick. You can only think. Just make it quick.

“Not here.” You say.

Nanami was still shaking. Shoko was right beside him. So you stand, you drag yourself away from Haibara’s fading presence, and Gojo follows behind.

It shouldn’t be this pretty outside. The sun is bright, and the sky is clear. There should be rain. Enough rain to drown the Earth.

“I figured out your technique a while ago, y’know.” You don’t look at him. You can’t. “Dying. Death activates your technique. Each time you die, you’re sent back 12 years in the past.”

You grip the fabric of your uniform until your knuckles turn white. Satoru’s cruel enough to continue.

“But I never got why your soul kept possessing Suguru’s body. It always felt kinda’ random. Unless he was the one who was killing you. Over and over again.”

“Gojo. Stop.” You beg.

“That’s how your CT works. Every time you’re murdered, you go back in time so you can kill them when they’re at their most emotionally vulnerable moment. It’s a pretty powerful technique, all things considered. I might not even stand a chance against it. Assisted suicide, never expected that from you of all people.

But you never do. Each time Suguru kills you, you just come back and try to save him and everyone else your hands can reach. I can’t get why you did that.”

He steps in front of you so you can see him. The God that he is.

“Let’s cut the shit, Greeny. Tell me what future is so bad you’re willing to die over and over again to prevent it.”

The worst outcome you could have ever thought of was standing right in front of you.

Satoru was demanding to know his future.

And...you couldn’t.

You’re taking in a shaky breath. It’s not enough oxygen. The sky was close to crumbling, and you still couldn’t breathe.

“There’s nothing to know.” You try. “There’s nothing, I’m fixing it—”

“—by Suguru killing you, or is this considering killing yourself, now?”

“You don’t understand.” Your voice is cracking, so high-pitched that even Suguru’s vocal cords can’t keep up. “You don’t get it. You can’t.”

“Then help me understand.” His voice is as ragged as yours, he steps closer, you step back. “Tell me why my friend would do something like this to someone.”

It clicks right then. Satoru’s anger isn’t directed at you.

No, it’s directed at Suguru.

It’s even worse than you thought.

“He—he was better than me. He was supposed to be the best out of all of us. I wanna deny it all that I can but—but I can see the proof right here in front of me. And—And I don’t—” His voice breaks too much to continue. 

You’re breaking, too. How many times have you been doing this, over and over again? All alone, with no one to support you. To comfort you.

The words are right there, threatening to bubble out. It’d be so easy to tell Satoru everything.

And maybe you would’ve, but then you looked at him.

Despite how disingenuous Satoru acted, you knew he was kind. The kindest person you’ve ever met. He’d sit there and listen, and he’d break every bone in his body to help. That’s just how he was.

Satoru was selfless, he was selfless enough to kill his best friend here and now if it meant he’d save the millions in Tokyo.

You can’t put another burden on the strongest.

You can’t do that to a kid.

“It—it isn’t him.” You manage to spit out. “He isn’t doing it on purpose. It’s not his fault.

It’s the curses. They were too much for him; they overtook his body. Suguru couldn’t control them anymore.”

He says nothing. It’s like you’ve put a spell on Gojo somehow, freezing him in place. Satoru can’t do anything but stare at the talking puppet that’s his best friend.

“He lost so many people.” You continue. “Riko, Miss Kuroi, Haibara. He couldn’t take it. It was too much. His body succumbed to the curses, and they took over Shinjuku. That’s how I keep...”

It’s okay to lie like this, you justify to yourself. Because the Suguru, you know—the one with fake smiles, beady eyes, and a broken expression—isn’t the one that Satoru knows. They’re two completely different people. Years—timelines—apart from each other. They aren’t the same.

Even then, you forgave both Sugurus a lifetime ago.

You’d get on your knees if you know that would make a difference. You’d plead and beg and cry if it would get Satoru to drop it. In the end, you can only stare at him.

“All I’m asking is that you trust me.” You whisper. “Believe that I’m making this right. Please, Satoru?”

His eyes. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s gone quiet and dull. The same look he had when he fully awakened his technique. The day he became God.

But he’s not a God. God’s don’t cry.

He leans ever so closely until his head rests on your shoulder. His body shakes.

“You’ll save him, right?” He asks. Gone, is his aura of confidence and resilience. He’s nothing more than a shell. If you feel something stain Suguru’s uniform, you say nothing about it.

You smile anyway.

“I will.” You tell the truth. “I will save him.”

You think of something morbidly funny.

“I’ll die trying.”

His shoulders shake with quiet, genuine laughter, the kind that’s wet and sticks to the top of your mouth.

“That’s fucked up, Greeny.” He whispers.

You hum, reaching up to pat him on the back. It takes another minute before he gathers himself up. His eyes are shiny. Satoru blinks it away.

“Haibara will be okay.” He says with such conviction. “I’ll take care of him. I’ll take care of Suguru, too.”

He doesn’t get it, not yet. He doesn’t understand that Shoko and Satoru and Haibara and Nanami need him. He’ll get it soon, though. You managed to put Suguru on the right path.

For now, it’s all you can do. 

“I know you will.” 

He scoffs, right then. 

“You’re really annoying, you know that? Next time, don’t piss me off like that. Just tell it to me straight.” 

Rely on me. Lean on me.

“I’m sorry,” you say and you truly are, “I won’t leave you in the dark from now on. I guess I just forgot that I had a friend in 2006.” 

His eyes get a little brighter. “It’s actually 2007—” 

“Shut up.” He laughs and it sounds like him again. 

You reach out your hand and his grin fades, the tiniest bit. He mirrors you, regardless. 

This time, you hesitate.

“You should learn how to be selfish every once in a while.” You tell him. “I won’t fault you if you’re selfish. I don’t think anyone will.

He doesn’t answer that, but his touch is finally warm.

ⴵ

It hurts. It hurts so much. Blood seeps into the pavement. You can hear the curse laughing. It sounds like him.

You forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

It’s today. 

You can feel it. You don’t even have to look at the date to know.

The catalyst for December 24th, 2017.

Suguru’s already dressed. You’re currently standing in front of a shotty mirror, watching your reflection.

He looks tired. His smile’s a bit muted. You notice a scar you hadn’t seen before. An unregistered special grade curse, Suguru’s memory gives.

He’s different from when you saw him a year ago, but there’s still a spark in his eye. You cling to that hope, as hard as you can.

You step out of the room. It isn’t Suguru’s. He’d rented accommodations with an older woman and her son for the mission. Their place smelled like home. It made your stomach turn.

She smiles when she sees you coming down stairs. She looks kind; she has the eyes of a mother. You’ll never understand how a person who raised children could do something like this to another.

“Mr. Geto.” She chirps. “I’m so glad you’re awake! Would you like anything to eat?”

“No, I’m fine.” Better get this done sooner than later. “I should be heading back now, anyways.”

Suguru had already absorbed the curse tormenting the village last night. You can feel the sticky aftertaste in your mouth. He should have left the village yesterday, but the people were insistent he stayed one last day as thanks, feeding him all they could.

Now, it’s obvious that it was a way to butter him up for today.

Her smile grows a bit nervous. She shuffles her feet a bit.

“If it isn't too much.” She starts. “The head of our village asked if you could look at something.” Her eyes darken into disgust.

You fight to keep your smile.

“Of course. Please, lead the way.”

It’s worse than you ever could have imagined.

You’ve seen this play out so many times in Suguru’s memories. He reminisces about this moment a lot. Because of that, you knew this scene too, like the back of your hand.

And yet, seeing two children huddled together on the floor. Nothing could prepare you for that.

The village head is saying something. The woman who Suguru roomed with is yelling at the scared kids, but you can’t hear any of that.

Their clothes were dirty and ripped. Their cheeks were hollow, and they looked like they hadn’t eaten for days. Himiko’s eye looks swollen.

The twins.

The first time you saw them, they stepped aside and let Geto kill you. There’s something oddly poetic about you being on the other side.

They tremble as they continue to look at you, flinch whenever that woman raises her voice. They must think Suguru’s here to kill them.

They’re too young to think like that. They’re too young to see the horrors of this world so soon.

It’s a mistake to look towards the end of their cell. Dirty water and dog food.

How could a human do this to them? How could a mother do this to them?

You feel red. It coarses through your blood, your veins, your soul. It feels like there’s lava right underneath your skin. Shuddering, tittering anger.

There’s more than enough fire to burn down an entire village.

‘Suguru,’ you think to your companion, your tormentor, ‘I think I’m starting to get it now.’

You reach for the bars of the cell. The twins shrink away.

“Ah! Mr. Geto, you musn’t get too close to them—”

“I’ll take them.”

“What?” The head of the village asks.

“The children.” You straighten yourself up. “I’ll take them off your hands.”

It’s pointless to do anything to these people. They’re delusional enough to think that they’re in the right. By torturing these children, they’re protecting their own. It’s fear. That’s all it ever was. Even without a curse, it’ll fester on and on until this village is nothing but abandoned homes. There’s no point to punish these people any further.

If you look at the adults a bit too long, you’re afraid of what you’d do, even without Suguru’s interference. Instead, you focus on Himiko and Nanako, looking into their wary gazes. Their hands are so tiny. You could protect them with your own.

When you got out of this backward village, you’d find them something to eat.

ⴵ

You go to Shoko first.

She looks surprised to see the twins. You can’t imagine why. Still, her voice is calm when she speaks to them, setting both of them up in the clinic room. Since you got them into the car, Nanako and Himiko seemed to calm down. Himiko even told you the name of her doll.

A little while later, Yaga comes for a visit. He’s the principal now. Usually, his voice is filled with gruff, but he’s oddly gentle when he speaks to them. Nanako cracks a shy smile.

You can’t escape the ‘we’ll talk later’ look he gives you. Inwardly, you sympathize with Suguru. But a harsh lecture is better than being branded a murderer.

He hasn’t come by, yet. With the twins aided for, you decide to go find him yourself.

Walking through campus feels a little nostalgic. The grounds of the infamous jujutsu technical college are a bright green. It’s summer again. You’ve met so many colorful characters since your time here. You’ve only seen snippets, mere seconds of their lives, and yet it feels like an entire lifetime.

He’s sitting on a bench when you finally see him, nursing a drink. He doesn’t acknowledge you. You have to roll your eyes at his childish behavior, plopping down beside him.

“Hey.” You say first.

“Heard you adopted two kids,” Satoru says, “Never thought Suguru would be a teen mom, but here we are.”

You laugh, light and breathless. The sky is so pretty today.

“I don’t think he’d have it any other way, personally.” You respond.

He reminisces on your words.

“This happened before too?” He asked.

It did. It was a lot less of a happy ending, however.

“Yeah,” you say regardless, “he took good care of them last time. He’ll do the same in this timeline too. I’m sure of it.”

And this time, he’d have help. Shoko, Satoru, his teachers. They’d all be there for him. Suguru’s memories haven’t changed yet, but you know the future you step into will be a different one.

“In any case, I’m glad I got to see jujutsu tech one last time. It’s a beautiful campus.”

“You act like you’re leaving,” Satoru says, uncaring. “You’ll just come back again next month. Or next year.”

You play with your fingers.

“I...won’t be doing that from now on.”

He pauses. Then, he looks at you.

“What?”

You can’t gauge his reaction, but he doesn’t look happy. You find this a bit hard to swallow.

“I fixed the future.” You smile at him. “I finally did it. Suguru won’t break. Himiko and Nanako won’t lose their father. You won’t lose a friend, anymore. There’s no reason for me to keep coming back. You’re all free.”

You phrased the last part as a joke, but Satoru isn’t laughing.

“Wait, you’re leaving? You’re...leaving leaving.”

You nod. “I can’t believe it either.” You still can’t believe you accomplished everything you set out to do. A task that seemed so impossible, now you’re standing on the other side of it.

It wasn’t truly over. Not really, but you were able to get Suguru through the worst of it. Now, you were sure Satoru and Shoko would take up your mantel, pushing Suguru through the finish line. Just like he’ll do to them.

Satoru’s quiet.

“You seem happy.” He notes.

“Well, I did just save everyone, I think I deserve to feel a little good about myself.”

For a moment, you want to ask if it’ll be okay to visit everyone in the future. To see how Shoko and Suguru and Satoru are doing as adults. You stop yourself. Of course, they wouldn’t want to see you. You needed to stop being so greedy.

This, was more than enough.

“Will you at least tell me your name?” Satoru asks.

“You know I can’t do that.” You tell him with a smile.

“Right right.” He laughs, it sounds hollow. “Time travel, bullshit. Makes sense.”

“I’ll miss you.” You tell him.

He straightens himself up.

“I’ll miss you too, old man.” He responds. “You were a lotta’ fun to mess with.”

For once, you aren’t offended by the old man’, comment. If anything, it feels somber.

“Can I ask for some advice?” He suddenly asks. “Y’know what they say, ask the old and wise or whatever.” Okay, now he was starting to push it.

“What is it?”

It’s his turn to shuffle with his fingers.

“What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it?”

You glance at him. He looks earnest. Did something like that even exist for Satoru?

“Something I can’t catch up to?” You ponder out loud. “I guess I’d have to make a big enough ruckus to where it has no choice but to look back.”

He frowns. “That makes no sense. You’re growing senile.”

You laugh. You’ll miss this brat.

You wish you could stay more. You wish you could ask about Haibara, and Shoko, and Nanami, but the clock is ticking.

Suguru’s getting impatient.

“Bye, Satoru.” You reach out your hand.

He scrutinizes it, before clasping it within his own.

“Yeah, Greeny.”

Within a blink, you’re back again in the middle of Shinjuku. December 24th, 7:06 pm.

It’s the same as always. People bustle around you. Children’s laughter. Everything always repeats itself, but you don’t think you can ever get sick of it. You’ll savor this peace for as long as you can.

You reach into your pocket, flicking out a lighter and the first cigarette of the box. You don’t know why you always chose this one. Despite outmaneuvering time itself, perhaps it’s within human nature to follow what’s written stone.

You’ve relived this hour so many times that you can list everything that happens. Down to the exact minute. 7:08- a little girl wearing a red dress walks by. 7:09- a lady with short hair catches your eyes and smiles. 7:14-an old man and woman bicker with each other as they pass you by. 7:21- A little dog sniffs the bench you sit on. 7:34- Two schoolchildren run past you, babbling. 7:45- five construction workers grumble out their grievances. 7:58- a businessman talks loudly on the phone.

You wait. You sit on a bench and wait until 8:06.

Five seconds after 8:06. Twenty seconds after 8:06.

The clock clicks to 8:07.

You were expecting to feel something else. Celebration. Elation. You half-expected to cause a scene and jump for joy right there in the streets of Shinjuku.

None of that comes. There’s just a feeling of relief. A weight presses you down, and you slump in your seat.

It was over.

It was finally over.

How long do you stay like that? Hours? Days? When you feel like you can finally breathe again, it’s only 8:12. Time travel warped your sense of time.

You stand up, stretch, feel your bones crack and pop. In the second timeline, you wanted to get a drink to drown your misery of nearly getting killed by a curse and being alone on December 24th. It felt like a lifetime ago when being single was the worst of your problems.

Honestly, you’d stay celibate for the rest of your life if it meant you wouldn’t have to go through that ever again.

Tomorrow, you’ll decompress and devolve into hysteria over what happened.

Next week, you’ll check yourself into therapy.

Today, you decide to go home and sleep for a couple hundred years.

You must look like a zombie with the way you wobble down the street. Physically, your body is perfectly fine. You’ve suffered no bruises or cuts. Even the numerous times you’ve been killed leaves nothing on your skin.

Mentally, you’re in shambles. The indomitable human spirit within you is snuffed out.

The stairs to your flat is your last enemy that you must vanquish before you can reunite with your adoring bed. You cling onto the railing with dazed eyes. You don’t see the curse until you’re right before it.

Distantly, you wonder how often you’ve passed a curse and didn’t even realize it. It’s almost instinct to reach out with your hand, intent on absorbing it.

Nothing happens. You remember you aren’t Suguru anymore.

It’s a grotesque-looking thing. No eyes, too many hands, a gaping mouth. It turns and looks at you.

Strange. Its’ smile mirrors the one in the abandoned house.

Adrenaline. You feel it coarse through your veins, meld into your bones, explode in your skin. You’re stumbling back, nearly tripping down the steps in your haste to get away.

It screeches. Loud and clear and angry and you can almost feel its teeth chomp on your leg, ripping your muscles and skin to mere tatters.

You’ve died before. You’ve been skinned alive before. You’ve been eaten before. Yet, it all amounts to nothing compared to the fear you feel at the thought of the curse catching you.

It can’t have been nothing more than a third grade. If you were taller, larger, special-grade, you could have killed it immediately. But you weren’t, not anymore, you were at the same level as a plant. Useless. Helpless.

A dead man stumbling, tripping, running.

The streets were quiet. You supposed that meant there’d be fewer casualties. But it didn’t make you feel any better. And even if there were people around, no one would have been able to help you.

Your brain isn’t working as clearly. Fear is the only thing that guides you. You’re reduced to a rat scampering through a maze. Sooner or later, that rodent reaches a dead end.

The alleyway was blocked off. You felt the rough brick wall scrape your hands and even the feeling of your raw skin couldn’t assuage your heart pumping in your throat. When you whirled your head back, it was right there, and you knew you were dead.

Again.

It might kill you, if it’s feeling generous. It might cut your legs off and watch you bleed, if its feeling kind. It might eat you, if it’s a decent curse.

It shouldn’t be happening. You fixed it. You were supposed to have fixed everything. But clearly you didn't. There must have been some piece of the puzzle that you forgot. You need to go back. You need to fix things, but why do you need to why can't he just leave you alone—

You don’t see what happens. One moment, the curse is there. The next it isn’t.

“Those things are so annoying.” The newcomer complains.

No, not new. You know him.

You blink. He grins. It’s kind. A toothy smile that warms.

“You alright?” He asks in sympathy. “Curses are pretty scary, aren’t they? Are you hurt?”

It’s him. You weren’t in 2006. You were in the present, here and now, and he was here with you.

He actually made it.

“Ma’am?” He asks.

It wasn’t intentional. You just blurted it out, the promise you made to him. It was a decade for him. Mere hours for you.

“Um, broccoli head...?” And then you instantly regret it.

Haibara Yu takes a minute, eyes squinting like you just grew a new head.

Then, he gasps.

“Greeny?”

ⴵ

A few minutes later, you’re seated at a restaurant. Haibara has not shut up.

“—I—I can’t believe it? It’s actually you! I thought I’d never see you again ‘cuz Gojo said you weren’t gonna be around anymore, and—and then suddenly you pop up outta’ nowhere—not that I’m complaining— but—”

“—Haibara.” You interrupt. “Please, slow down.”

He stops himself, right when the server comes with drinks. He shoots the waiter a smile, and then he’s back on you.

“Sorry.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I—I got a little excited. And nervous. It’s just...well, I didn’t expect you to be a girl.”

That might have been your fault. Both Haibara and Gojo kept referring to you as a man, so you decided to roll with it. Earlier, you would have justified it by insisting the less they know about you, the better. Now, you just think you were being petty.

“So, how you’ve been? A whole decade...” You murmur to yourself.

“Fine! But what about you?” Haibara asks, concern etched into his eyes. “Where’d you go?”

Wow, he was actually worried for you. Despite being in Suguru’s body, you didn’t really feel like part of the group Shoko, Gojo, Nanami, and Haibara were part of. You felt like an outsider, being somewhere you didn’t belong. It's because you were an outsider. Nevertheless, it’s nice to know one person missed you.

“This might be a little hard to believe, but I just came back to 2017 two hours ago.”

Haibara gapes.

“Wait, so to you, that whole thing happened, today?” You nod. He leans back in his chair.

“Holy fuck.” You laugh at his awe.

“Thanks for saving me, by the way.” You change the topic. “From the curse.”

He waves it off. “I was just paying my debt. From what you did for me all those years ago.”

Ah, Gojo must have told him. Oddly enough, Haibara doesn't seem all that perturbed that he shouldn’t exist currently. At the same time, it feels just like Haibara.

He’s different from when he was younger. Taller. The baby fat is gone. His face is more built, just like the rest of his body. His eyes are less round, but they haven’t lost the spark. A few scars here and there, but he’s all in one piece.

You weren’t able to see what he looked like as an adult from Suguru’s memories, he’d never grown up. But now, you can see it for yourself. You can see the active change you made in his life, to his life.

“Haibara—”

“Yu—” He says seriously. “My friends call me Yu.”

A smile twitches on your lips.

“Tell me about everyone.” You scoot your chair closer. “You, Suguru. How is everyone doing?”

He perks up at that, clearly delighted to be talking.

“Great! Everyone’s doing great! You should totally come visit the school, sometime. They’d love to see you. Uh, even if they don’t technically know you, but I’m sure they’ll love to meet you!” He rambles, and it’s nice to know he hasn’t changed from his younger self.

“Let’s see, Kento’s teaching the first years. I teach the second years—”

“—You’re a teacher?”

He nods. “We all are! Except for Shoko, but she has her own thing going on. Anyway, Mimiko and Nanako have become second-grade semi-sorcerors. Isn’t that incredible? I’m just a first grade semi-sorceror, and at their young ages too! But Suguru wasn’t surprised, he kept saying his girls were prodigies. Oh! You probably want to know about Suguru too, right?”

You nod. Even if you hadn’t done anything, you don’t think that would have stopped his enthusiasm.

“He’s a teacher too! At least, for right now. Yaga’s been wanting to retire, and there have been talks of Suguru becoming the next principal. Principal Geto has a ring to it, right? Oh, and Shoko is currently planning the wedding. You’ll definitely be invited, of course! She said I could bring a plus-one. Oh, and—”

It goes on like that for hours, you think. Not that you mind. You listen to Yu babble on and on about his friends, his students. He talks about Nanami’s recent baking addiction, Shoko’s new office cat, Suguru’s favorite tea pot. It’s a never-ending surge of information.

Eventually, you catch on to the fact that he’s deliberately leaving someone out.

"Yu?" You interrupt him while he's talking about the prank the fourth year pulled on Nanami. "What about Satoru? What's he up to?" 

Maybe you were overthinking things. Haibara likes to talk; perhaps he forgot to exclude someone else's story in his rants. But then, he grimaces. For the first time in this entire conversation, Haibara is reluctant to talk. 

"Satoru is..." He winces, and your hands turn into fists. 

No. No. You were supposed to save everyone. Why hadn't you saved everyone? 

A warm hand grips your own. You'd been shaking. 

Yu gives a soft smile, and you remember he's no longer younger than you. 

"He's not dead." He assures you, but his smile fades. He straightens himself up, and his hand pulls away. 

"Satoru defected from Jujutsu tech. We don't know where he is." 

What? You must have misheard him wrong. Satoru wouldn't do that. That's not like him. This is some sick joke.

But there's no teasing grin on Haibara. His face is grave. You hate it more than anything. 

"It happened when he was a fourth year. No one really knows what happened. Suguru refuses to say anything about it, but I think he's just as confused as the rest of us. It came outta nowhere." 

Yeah, it definitely came out of nowhere. It's so random. Why would Satoru do that? The last time you saw him, he was so happy. He was smiling; he teased you. What happened? It made no sense. 

"So, you haven't seen him for nine years?" You ask. "Not even a glimpse?" 

Yu shakes his head. "Nothing but his residuals. That's how we know he's still alive." 

Nothing computes in your brain. None of it made any sense. You saved Suguru. That was supposed to make everyone happy, including Satoru. Why would he turn around and do this? Defecting made no sense.

"We've actually been tasked to execute him. Since he’s been branded a curse user, all four of us. " Yu laughs with no humor. "Isn't that insane? I don't think any one of us could even fathom doing that, even if it were possible." 

It wasn't possible. Gojo was the strongest. Nothing could go toe to toe with him. Once he put his mind to something, no one could stop him.

But maybe you could. 

You're shutting that idea down immediately. You were done. You were done with dying and time-travel and strange powers. You wanted it all to be over. It'd be so easy to thank Haibara for the nice meal, to go home and sleep this entire day off. Satoru dug his own grave, he can go lay in it. You weren't responsible for someone else's actions. You wouldn’t. You can’t do that another time.

You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?

You hate that brat so much. 

You close your eyes. Take in a breath. Then, you open them. 

"Haibara?" You ask. "Did Gojo tell you how my technique worked?" 

He shakes his head. You grimace because convincing him might take a while.

"Okay, well, I'll need you to do a tiny favor for me."

ⴵ

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Oh, you're back already?" Satoru says casually, turning back to gaze at you. "I just left today. How did you convince Haibara to snap your neck? That guy cries after killing a mosquito.”

You’d caught him just as he was leaving campus. Yu’s body was less athletic than Suguru’s. Your breath was slightly ragged, pulled down by minor exhaustion.

It doesn’t weigh down your frustration for Gojo Satoru. The biggest pain in your ass you’ve ever met.

“Shut up.” You snap. “Just answer the question.”

“We haven’t seen each other for a year and that’s how you react?” Satoru ignores you. “That’s mean, Greeny. How ‘bout we discuss my treason over steak. Haibara can pay.”

“Satoru.” You beg, “Why are you doing this? What’s the point? Why is everyone happy with their life except for you?”

That seems to get him. His posture stiffens ever so slightly. You can see him work his jaw. He finally drops his act.

“You didn’t have to come back, y’know.” He murmurs quietly. “You could’ve just stayed in the future. Like you said, Greeny, everyone’s happy with their life. 4 outta’ five. That’s a passing grade.”

For once, you wish you could possess him. You wished you could open his brain and peer into his memories until he finally made sense.

“I could never leave you behind like that.” You say the truth just as quietly. “I’ll die a thousand more deaths than do that.”

He smiles. It looks genuine as it looks painful.

“Yeah, I know. I know you, Greeny. Always gotta’ play hero.” He gives a bitter laugh. “That’s why I defected.”

You stare at him. He’s a fourth-year now, even taller than before. You aren’t equal to him anymore in this body, now you’re starting to think you never were.

“Satoru.” You start because what he’s saying can’t be the truth. Your heart broke and broke. “Did—did you leave—did you leave everyone for a decade just so I’d come back? Why would you do that to yourself?”

He doesn’t say anything. Then, he steps forward, just a bit.

“It’s your fault,” Satoru says like it’s instinct to blame you for his actions, “this was your idea.”

What’s he talking about? And then memories of the two of you sitting on that bench just outside of campus.

What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it? So that’s what he meant. You were an idiot.

“That’s not fair, Satoru,” you say regardless, “I—I never—I couldn’t expect you’d do this.”

“What choice did I fucking have, Greeny?” There’s rapid steps and he’s in front of you, desperate and wild. “You—you just left me here. You left me alone and I couldn’t even look for you because I know nothing about you. Your face, your eyes, your hair, not even your fucking name! How’s that fair?”

It’s true. It’s all true. As much as you tried to claim you tried to make everyone happy, you only focused on Suguru. And Suguru’s happiness enlisted space from the strongest. In a different timeline, things would be different between them. A button he never left behind. Words Satoru never said. That timeline held too much pain and suffering, so you scrubbed it from history. In this rendition, everything was changed. Suguru had Shoko. Yu had Kento. Who did Satoru have?

You saved Suguru in this timeline. But to save him, you neglected Satoru.

Satoru must have known. He must have known you intentionally distanced Suguru from him, but he allowed it anyway. Satoru’s selfless like that. Too giving. Too Godlike.

But he’s selfish too. Purposefully demeaning himself so he could get one more glimpse of you, uncaring if you went through hell for his sake. Too taking. Too human.

Once, you told him that if he was selfish, just once, you wouldn’t fault him. What a liar you are.

You forgive Satoru.

“I’m sorry.” Haibara’s voice is like your own. You step closer. His infinity lets you in. “I’m sorry Satoru. I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”

It’s hard to wrap him in a hug. The brat’s too big. He sinks into your touch like a tiger, filled with dangerous claws, retracted just for your sake. He shakes the tiniest bit; even now, he’s keeping himself as a pinnacle. If you hear a sniffle or two, you don’t comment on it.

It’s why your heart breaks to tell him the truth.

“I can’t give you my name.” You whisper in his ear. He pulls back. He doesn’t look at you.

“Yeah, I know. I know. time-travel bullshit—”

“For now.” You add. “I can’t do that for now.”

Three pairs of eyes look at you. You’re not hiding behind Haibara anymore. You’re not trying to.

“December 24th, 2017. 8:06. Tokyo Skytree.” You look at him. “Can you wait until then?”

For you, it’d only be an hour. For Satoru, it’d be a decade.

You expect him to reject it, to yell at you. You decide if he wants to be selfish; you’d let him.

“If you don’t show up, I’ll turn evil.” You laugh. His grin widens and he’s back again. “I’m serious. I’ll take over the world. I’ll throw the biggest temper tantrum ever.”

“You’re such a brat.” There’s no hostility in your tone. “I will. I promise.”

‘I’ll save you,’ You promise in your head because he’s too prideful to hear it.

“Is it still possible for you to go back?” You ask, the wariness present again. “The higher ups haven’t taken any action against you, right?”

He shakes his head.

“I think Yaga might yell at me, but other than that.” He shrugs. “They’ll decide it’s teen rebellion and sweep it under the rug.”

You laugh again. Satoru shoots you a toothy grin.

When you reach out a hand, Satoru mirrors you. He clasps your hand in his. For once, you wonder how they’ll feel on your own.

“See ya’ later, Greeny.”

A blink. Satoru’s gone. Your hand is empty, and you’re standing in the streets of Shinjuku once again.

ⴵ

December 24th, 2017. 8:06, at the top of the Tokyo Skytree.

Why did you decide on that date and time for all the places? You were so fucking stupid. You needed to stop being so poetic.

It’s already 7:12 when you’re desperately waving down a taxi. The driver looks disinterested when you blubber out the location. When he tells you it’ll cost extra because Sumida City isn’t part of his route, you’re more than happy to fork over the money.

It’s already 7:35 when you stumble through the interiors of Tokyo Skytree town. It’s crowded. Fuck, it’s December 24th, of course people would be out and about.

At 7:44, you finally reach the observational building. And then you hit upon a snag.

It’s closed.

Renovations, the sign reads, accompanied by an irritatingly cute drawing of a cat, please come visit us next week.

Would this excuse be enough to satisfy Satoru? You’re only human. Surely he’d understand if you couldn’t make it because the entire building was shut down.

Or wait. Was this Satoru’s doing?

You look up at the tower. Lights were still on and flickering. No crowds. No people. No prying eyes.

Let it be known that you’ve never trespassed before, until you met Gojo Satoru.

With a guilty conscious, you step over the line. You justify it by convincing yourself you were saving the world because you know Satoru wasn’t joking a decade ago.

The elevators still worked. Thank God. Yet another hint he’s paving the way for you. You made the location, but it feels like you’re a mouse stuck in a human-designed maze. Even though you set up the game, he’s still managed to rig it.

You land on the first deck at 7:52. At 7:56, you reach the second observational deck.

It’s empty. You’ve never seen the skytree so empty before. Not a single soul is here except for you. Your footsteps echo across the floor. Were you early?

Out the corner of your eye, there’s a post-it note stuck on the window. A hand-drawn arrow. Up ahead, there’s another one.

You follow the next, and then the next. All the time you don’t know how to feel about him doing all of this just for an encounter. Something bubbles in your stomach. You’re pushing it down.

You follow the post-its until there’s one placed right on top of a door.

Authorized personnel only. Why does this brat continue to test you?

But it’s already 8:03; you’re far too deep to complain.

A service elevator greets you. If you press the button, it’ll take you all the way up to the broadcast equipment, the top of the Tokyo Skytree.

It’s different from the past two elevator rides. The service elevator isn’t all that polished. The wheels squeak a little too dangerously at times. It’s slower, too.

That’s bad, because now you’re starting to think.

That familiar feeling boils within your stomach, again. You’re anxious. It’s strange to say, but meeting Satoru through Suguru, meeting Satoru through Yu, it felt like you had a protective shell around yourself. You were free from his judgement, only invoking curiosity.

If you show yourself to him, how would he react? What would he say? Would he get angry that you made him wait a decade for such a blunder? Even worse, what if he doesn’t get angry?

What if—what if he’s disappointed by you?

Cold feet. It freezes your toes. You want to go back. You want the elevator to go back down, you want to go home and hide away.

But you promised Satoru. He deserves answers.

Pathetic answers are better than no answers at all.

Instead of your soul being protected by a sorcerer's body, it’s protected by your own. You’d steel yourself for whatever comes next. You could melt after.

It’s windy up here. That’s the first thing you notice. Icy wind cuts at your face and your eyes squint so they don’t dry out so quickly. It’s colder, too; your jacket is nice protection, but nothing helps your vulnerable hands.

But the view. Oh, what a view.

The sea of twinkling lights shines from the city. The sun has set, leaving Tokyo to do nothing but shine. She’s gorgeous like she’s picked the stars from the sky, burying them within her own soul. You could stay there forever, if she let you.

It’s 8:09. Satoru was late.

Or maybe he just wasn’t planning to show up.

You lean away from the railing. It’s just like him to make huge gestures and at the last moment, ditch everything. The balloon in your lungs deflates ever so slightly.

And then, you can feel hands.

Around your shoulders, caging you in. Large and warm despite the icy air. You know these hands. They’re familiar, even a decade later. His chest presses up against your back. His face settles in the crook of your neck.

His laugh tickles your ear, and you aren’t so cold anymore.

“Caught ya, Greeny.”

(“Did something happen to you, back there in the house?”

"Hm?" Suguru asked.

They were wading through long grass and overgrown weeds. Satoru glances at his friend. Suguru looks fine. His cursed energy has gone back to normal. That's probably good.

"You were just acting weird," Satoru said, "I mean you fell on your ass in front of a curse. Embarrassing."

Suguru huffed, a red hue across his cheeks. "Shut up, don't remind me."

'So he remembered,' Satoru thinks, 'didn't expect that.'

They're almost to the car when Suguru speaks again.

"Actually, I did feel a little strange," he says, "I felt like I wasn't really all there. There was this voice, guiding me along."

"Really?" Satoru shivers. "That sounds creepy."

So the entity within Suguru was a bad thing after all. He should try to get rid of it if it ever comes back. It might take a complex spell or something-

"Not really." Suguru said. "It's hard to explain, but it felt....nice."

"Nice?" Satoru echoes.

"Yeah."

And then it's quiet again.)

Part two: Rewound Infinitely

[ahgasegotarmy116]

It's Hard to Believe | Jungkook One Shot

Summary: Getting pregnant with your best friend's baby definetly wasn't a part of the plan... Pairing: f!Reader x Jungkook (fwb, f2l) Word Count: 2.7k Warnings: A tiny bit of explicit and suggestive language but nothing crazy a/n: This is something I started writing at like midnight and it's kinda shit but I thought I might as well post it since I haven't posted in a while (Like five days short of a month wtf?!?!? How has it been that long?!?!) (I just barely checked rn lmao my bad 🥲) p.s. I kinda wanna do a full on series on a concept like this but it'll be different and less fluffy but that won't be happening for a long ass time but yeah lol Requested by a lovely anon 💜

"How am I supposed to tell him?" I ask my friend Sam for the millionth time since I found out. "Y/n just tell him. You guys have been friends for how long?" she asks and it's like I'm having deja vu from both of our responses. "Like ten years" I mumble and pull my sweatshirt sleeves down over my hands in an effort to stop my nervous fiddling but it only makes it worse. 

"Right and you guys have been messing around with each other for over a year now, maybe even more...I don't wanna know" she says while holding her hand up in a way to assure me that she doesn't need the details. "Just tell him. If he's as great of a guy as you keep on telling me he is then I promise everything will be okay" she says and places a hand on my shoulder before she gets up off my couch. 

"Where are you going?" I ask while she shrugs on her jacket. "Didn't you say he's supposed to be here around five?" she asks and I nod my head, checking the clock and seeing that it's already 4:30. 

"Yeah...are you sure you don't wanna stay and say hi?" I ask and she glares at me. "Let me know what his response is to that bun in the oven and then we'll talk. I wanna figure out if he's an asshole or not before I decide to waste anytime on him" she says while lacing up her shoes. 

"Promise me you'll tell him tonight?" she asks and lifts up her hood, getting ready to shield herself from the pouring rain outside. I nod my head reluctantly, that being way more progress than I've made for the past few weeks since I found out. "I promise" I utter under my breath and she smiles, pulling me in for a bone crushing hug. 

"Text me if you need me" she says, worried for what might happen but hoping for the best. "I will...thanks" I whisper and she nods her head before walking out of my door and turning slightly and waving to offer me one last farewell.

I close the door after I see her get into her car and lean my back up against it, steadying myself for a second and taking deep breaths, trying to stop my racing heartbeat before pushing off of it and tidying up before Jungkook gets here to distract myself. 

Sam has been the only one I've been able to count on and honestly the only person I can trust since I haven't told anyone else. She was the one I called when I missed my period and she's the one who brought me a pregnancy test...and then when out and bought me ten more because I couldn't actually grasp the concept that I was pregnant...am pregnant.

Jungkook and I have always been careful and taken all the necessary steps to keep this from happening but I guess we got careless this time. 

Through out this whole arrangement we've made it very clear to each other that we're not sleeping with anyone else but neither of us are looking for any sort of commitment either so that's why this has gone on for so long. 

Like it or not though we're going to be committed to each other in one way or another no matter what because I'm keeping this baby. No matter what he says I'm keeping them. 

Jungkook is my best friend, the one person who has been there for me through everything. He's seen me at all of my highest highs and especially at my lowest lows and no matter what he's never made me feel shitty about it. I know he's not the kind of guy that'll turn on you because of something like this but I can't help but still feel terrified. 

This wasn't supposed to happen but even if this child wasn't made with love from his side...it was made with love from mine. 

I don't know how long it's been since I fell in love with him but I know I shouldn't have said yes to this whole fuck buddy ordeal. I just couldn't stand the thought of him being with someone else so when he offered up the idea I said yes.

I figured that if this was a way to prevent him from getting his heart broken by all those sorry excuses of girlfriends he's had in the past then I guess I'll be okay with breaking mine.

He's been acting different lately though. He's been a lot touchier, asking to come over more often, going out of his way to help me with things, offering to feed me all the time and all of it is making me feel like he already knows. 

Does he know? Have I started showing already? I haven't really noticed a difference in my body yet but he looks at me naked a lot more often than I pay attention to myself naked so I mean I guess he could've noticed right? 

Only one way to find out though...

A half an hour later I hear him take out his keys and unlock my door and soon I'm greeted with a smile that tugs at my heartstrings. 

"Hi baby" he says, using that pet name he's become very fond of since this whole ordeal started. The sound of it after finding out I'm pregnant with his baby has made me a little uncomfortable though since I haven't told him yet. 

Don't get me wrong I love it when he calls me that but I can't help but think that if this goes south that he won't ever call me that again. 

Maybe the hormones have started to scramble my brain already because those uncomfortable feelings are quickly thrown away when I take in the sight of him after he shrugs off his rain coat. A simple black baggy hoodie and jeans engulf his form and the comfy sight just makes me want to curl up in bed with him and forget about everything and everyone.

Just him and I, it's always been him and I. I just don't know if this little one is going to change things. 

I place a hand on my stomach for a second as a way to gain some strength from my itty bitty baby before finally working up the courage to greet him.

"Hi" I greet him softly, walking over to where he's stopped to take off his shoes and when he looks back up at me he smiles again and kisses me. I sigh into it, savoring it for just a little bit longer and when it finally breaks he looks down at me with concern now written all over his face. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, sensing that something's off right away from the just the small change in the way I kissed him. I hesitate for a second then simply hold out my hand for him to take and he does, following behind me as I lead him over to my couch. 

Getting this over with sooner rather than later is my best option right now so there's no reason to delay. 

He needs to know, he deserves to know.

We sit there in silence, longer than he would like us to since I can tell how tense his body has gotten in a matter of minutes. "Y/n you're scaring me" he whispers, not wanting to pressure me but relaying his feelings. 

I take a couple more deep breaths before finally starting. "I need you to listen to me and I need you to please not speak until I'm finished" I say while looking down at my lap, not being able to meet his eyes. 

He murmurs a soft 'okay' and waits for me to continue, taking one of my hands and placing it in his lap. He needs some form of physical contact to keep him grounded since he's not too sure what to expect and I let him, knowing I need some reassurance too. 

Even if I don't know what his reaction is gonna be, in this moment I need it more than ever.

"I guess there's really no right way to go about saying this because this wasn't supposed to happen so I'm just gonna come out and say it..." I start off and he squeezes my hand, encouraging me to keep going. 

"I missed my period...over a month ago...and I haven't had it since then" I say and finally look up at him where he has an unsure expression. It's not one that's mad or disappointed with what I've said thus far which is a good thing but more like he's trying hard to hold himself back so he can keep that promise. 

His hold on my hand hasn't loosened, in fact it's gotten even tighter and that gives me hope that we'll work this out so I take another deep breath before continuing. 

"I tried to kid myself into thinking that it was late but when another week passed by I got nervous. I asked Sam to get me a test and it came out positive. I didn't believe it and thought it was a false positive and so to ease my mind she went a bought ten more from a bunch of different brands and...all of them came out positive" I say and he still looks at me with that same expression, waiting for me to give him the okay to speak and so I do. 

"How long have you known?" are the first words out of his mouth and although they're not negative they aren't necessarily positive either. "About a month now" I say and he nods his head, taking another second or two to formulate what he's gonna say next. 

"I'll support you no matter what you decide" he says and I let out a breath I didn't even know I had been holding in. "I wanna keep it" I say and he nods his head and smiles softly at first and then as the seconds go by it gets wider and wider making my heart beat faster. 

"Am I allowed to get excited now?" he whispers and I can't help but chuckle as tears start to prickle my eyes and give him a nod. "You're excited?" I say, my whole being slowly overcome with emotion. 

"How could I not be?" he scoffs playfully but that answer has me confused. "But Jungkook we're not together. I mean we're not in a relationship, we're just friends" I explain and there's a playful glint in his eyes after I say that that's making me even more nervous.

"You wanna know what I thought you were gonna tell me?" he offers up, slightly changing topics but I look at him in a way to urge him to continue. "I thought you were gonna break up with me" he says and I smile, "Jungkook we're not together. How could I break up with you?" I chuckle in disbelief. 

"Correction, I thought you were gonna break up with me before I even got the chance to ask you to be my girlfriend" he says with a grin and my jaw drops, the dots all connecting as to why he's been acting so different lately. "You were gonna ask me to be your girlfriend?" I utter quietly as if we were in a crowed room and I had a secret for just the two of us.

"I had actually planned on asking you tonight" he explains, walking over to where he had placed his backpack on the floor, taking out a bouquet of slightly squished flowers. "Sorry they're all beat up. I forgot and rode my bike over here so I didn't really have any other option but to put them in there" he says almost as if he was nervous, rubbing the back of his neck and it's then that I notice how pink his ears have gotten. 

He is nervous

I take them from him and smile, waiting for him to say it but he simply stands there and admires me and I can't help but laugh. "What so funny? I told you what happened to them" he utters through pouty lips which only makes me laugh more. "No, no it's not the flowers it's just that...don't you have something to say?" I ask, calming down my chuckles and when he looks at me with the same confused expression I have to try my hardest to keep the laughter at bay. 

"Do you have something you would like to ask me Jungkook" I rephrase it and after a second his lips go from a pout to the shape of an 'O' as he's figured it out. "Oh um, yeah, right. Well I um" he starts off, rubbing the back of his neck again while stuttering and trying to find the words and after struggling for a second I decide to poke fun at him again. 

"Jungkook I am literally carrying your child and you're too afraid to ask me to be your girlfriend?" I laugh, giving him a slight reality check which he scoffs at before responding. 

"I was trying to remember what I had rehearsed to say to you but now that you're being a little brat I guess you'll never get to know all the nice things I was gonna say" he retorts, his voice suddenly taking on a darker tone that sends a shiver through my body and he smirks when he sees my reaction to it. 

He cups my face and rubs his thumb along my bottom lip, making them part and he leans in as if he was going to kiss me but stops just shy of my lips. "Will you be my girlfriend?" he whispers, nudging his nose against mine and making me smile. 

"I'll have to think about that" I play coy with him which he chuckles at. "You know if you weren't pregnant right now I would have thrown you over my lap for that smart mouth" he warns and I smile before leaning in and kissing him for just a second before pulling back. 

"Yes I'll be your girlfriend" I say and nudge my nose against his as well and before I can register it my back is on the couch and his lips are pressed against mine, the kiss not rushed but full of so many words that have yet to be said and he gives in, not being able to hold it in anymore.

"I love you" he says, pulling back and looking down at me to see my expression which is completely dumbfounded to say the least. "You what?" I ask and he chuckles, "Is it really that hard to believe?" he points out and I guess now that I think about it it really isn't.

"I guess we've both been in love with each other for a while now huh?" I smile and his eyes light up at my round about confession. "Say it" he says, and I can feel my cheeks heating up. I hadn't planned on actually saying those three words to him even though I've felt them for so long but I don't want to hold them back anymore. 

"I love you" I whisper and he smiles, "Say it again" he repeats, clearly not believing it just yet. "I love you Jungkook" I say and the little switch up with attaching his name to the end darkens his gaze. "I guess there's no chance in me getting you pregnant a second time right now huh?" he asks, sliding his hand up my thigh and I giggle. 

"No I think that's pretty much impossible but the odds are never zero" I say and he rolls his eyes. "I'm trying to tell you that I wanna hit it raw" he states the obvious while rolling his eyes. "I know I know...and the answer is yes Daddy" I tease, testing to see how that word affects him now that he knows.

He tongues his cheek at that making me bite my lip, knowing that's gonna be even more of a trigger word for him from now on. "Daddy huh? Well I guess that title is a little more fitting now isn't it?" 

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[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Multiverse Police (pt. 2)

"You said you're going to ask questions, then can we ask questions?" Superman really tries to be polite here because, first, he was raised by Kents and, second, Jazz and the whole interdimensional police thing looks non-hostile. At least now.

The redhead nods, "Sure, ask away, I'll answer everything I can." Then, she notices Batman reaching to touch the green shield and makes a soft, warning noise, "Ah, sorry, please don't touch it. I can show how it works later, but it's not meant to keep you out. It's to keep everything else in."

Batman reluctantly puts his head down and turns to her.

"Elaborate."

The sci-fi ship in the air makes a loud hissing sound, like compressed air being released, and the bottom part of it slides open. Jazz nods in the direction of the now open ship.

"You know what they say, it's better to see it once than to hear it ten times."

There are three humanoid figures standing in there. All of them are mostly monochrome, black and white clothes, starkling white hair. They look like one adult and two children, but it's one of the kids who raises his hands to his mouth and yells so loud everyone in three miles radius is able to hear him:

"Step away from the shield, please, shit's about to get real!"

None of the heroes move, but Jazz does take a few steps away. Wonder Woman, after a moment of hesitation, follows her example.

A mechanical voice comes from the ship itself, "Countdown to the breach. Five... Four..."

On 'three,' all three of the monochrome figures step out from the ship. But, before any of the heroes have time to worry, they all float in the air, undeterred by gravity, and the ship door closes behind them.

The countdown reaches 'one'. And in the next moment, it looks like the hell breaks loose.

Countless giant vines shoot out from the portal up, reaching for the ship. True to what the red hoverboarder said, they are very much toothy, every vine splitting in two and attempting to bite the ship like some twisted idea of scissors.

None of them reach it.

The oldest of three kids claps his hands, and a wall of raging fire descends on the vines, throwing them off. In the next moment, the trio falls apart, flying through the lovecraftian mess of carnivorous plants with practiced ease, the younger ones using what looks like icicles and little storms.

"Who are they?" Batman asks Jazz, following the youngest one's - the only girl among the three - movements as she creates a strong gust of wind with a wave of her hand. None of the vines or attacks get past the shield, though.

"My siblings," the girl answers, pointing her hand at the oldest one, "That's Dan. He's the most violent. One time, he destroyed our original world, but that timeline doesn't exist anymore." She then points to the girl, "That's Dani, the youngest. She rarely joins the crew lately. And she is actually a clone, but at this point, most of us have been cloned once or twice, so it's not a big deal anymore." She then points her finger to the last one, a boy that flies past them quicker than a lightning, freezing everything he touches, "And this is Danny. He is the most powerful one. Technically, he could have just ended the fight with one Wail, but kids like to have fun. Also, they don't get to show off their elemental powers a lot, so they are mostly being dramatic for you."

She says all this so easily, just like a matter of fact, and it is at this moment that the members of JL realize the sheer power of whoever these people are. When she casually told them she bested Superman, it could have been written as a coincidence, a joke. But this?

Dan growls as one of the vines scratches his shoulder. He bleeds green, but it's only for a second before both the wound and the suit knit themselves back together. This is not just a simple accelerated healing, it almost looks like a miracle.

"Oi, brats, I'm done with show off, get out of the way!" He yells at the other two, and Danny and Dani quickly follow the order, flying closer to him and behind his back.

"Cover your ears," Jazz tells the heroes around her, and puts her helmet back on, as Dan takes a deep breath and screams.

It hurts even those who follow Jazz's advice. Batman feels like his eardrums are about to be shattered for the lack of better word. But the vines like the sonic attack even less - most of them subdue and pull back inside the portal, and the rest is dissipating like they are being burned from the inside out.

And then, just like it began, the scream - the wail - stops. The silence feels deafening after the end of it, but slowly, the sounds return, and the JL watches Danny flying down to the center of the portal. He puts his hands on the surface of it, and for a long moment, nothing happens.

And then the Pit starts closing up.

Or, no, it is Danny who absorbs it, the green flowing up through his hands, his veins that start glowing the same green. His eyes become the same toxic color, with no whites and no irises, just glowing green all over, and his hair shimmers like stars.

A few minutes later, the portal is gone, like it never even existed, and Danny plants his feet on the ground and stretches, like one would do after a good rest.

"Oof, that was nice!" He turns to the other two, who are still up in the air, "Do you want some?"

Dan flips him off before going back to the ship, but Dani floats down to him and extends her hands out.

"Sure. I like getting it from you better than from the portal itself anyway. Gives it a sparkling taste, like Sprite," she chuckles. Danny takes her hands in his, and the green glow slowly makes its way through their joined palms, now flowing through the girl’s body.

"What are they?" Flash whispers, horrified, but Jazz hears it nonetheless and turns her head to him, taking her helmet off once again.

"That is not a very appropriate question," she chastises and smiles at their faces, "But it's okay, I get it. They are ghosts. Or ectoplasmic entities, or halfas, or highly liminal beings. Or, if you want a very simplified version, they are dead kids who are enjoying their afterlife a little too much."

"Dead?" Batman zeros on the word, snapping his eyes at the girl. She smiles, and for the first time, it doesn't look human. Her teeth are too sharp, her grin too wide, and her eyes are suddenly not just teal, but neon bright and glowing, with vertical irises.

"Most of us are dead in one way or another. And I do not mean it in a metaphorical sense."

-------------------

What I'm thinking is they have a whole system going on. Amity Park generally resides in the Realms, but from time to time, they decide they want to go on a vacation, as a whole town, and they pop into existence on one of the Earths. They don't really care for the universe or dimension they end up in, as long as it is more or less peaceful (as in, no active wars going on right where they pop up), has sunlight and nice weather.

The GIW is taking care of legal things - imagine US government reaction when a whole ass town just boom, starts existing in a place where nothing existed before? So GIW does all the paperwork and discussions. Also, they are doing their basic research on the dimension they end up in, for science purposes.

I'm thinking Vlad is still a mayor of Amity. And sometimes, when a particular dimension is rather annoying, he straight up possesses the authorities because he hates official talks and couldn't care less for morals if he tried for a week. The GIW scolds him, but don't really say no. It's not a good solution to the problem, but hey, it works.

Meanwhile, Fentons are doing ectoplasmic research. They scan the dimension for troubles, basically, looking for natural portals and ghosts causing ruckus. Jazz is almost always the one who does the talking to the heroes native to the dimension - she is the one who has the most patience and social skills. Jack is in charge of transportation and Maddie is the head of biological, ecto-biological and other species research. Tucker is the tech specialist, of course - he is the sole reason why Amity has wi-fi wherever they go. Val and her father are, kind of, protectors? Security? But for the whole town, yeah. They do have GIW agents as subordinates.

Dani is not always living in Amity, she travels the Realms most of the time, but she joins when something interesting happens. Dan is, like, on an eternal probation period, GIW and Fentons keep an eye on him, but he is one of the heavy hitters for when shit goes down.

Danny is living his best life, he is mainly the protector spirit of Amity, but he also gets to protect all the dimensions from ghosts! He helps anyone and everyone - one day he is working with Val on defenses for their main ship they use to travel inside dimensions, and the next day he is joining Maddie in her studies of new species found.

Oh, I forgot Sam. She is probably the one responsible for the magic stuff - mostly everyone else focuses on scientific aspects, but she is the one to research on occult things.

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[aakeysmash]

maybes and sunscreen

college!sukuna masterlist

after almost a year of living together, you and college!sukuna are so accustomed to one another that you naturally slip up in the other’s conversations. maybe it's because you're both homebodies, or maybe it's because you've reached the silent agreement to keep the activities you do with yuuji hidden to preserve his innocent childhood (you learned that rumors run a long way inside your campus), or maybe it's because you started to ask sukuna less private questions, since he now seems to want to answer them even before you formulate them.

either way, the two of you always mention the other in conversations, and you don't even seem to notice, but your friends do.

"how about your house, man?" suguru asks sukuna from across the table, sipping his soda. they're sitting outside with satoru for lunch break, slouching on white plastic chairs, waiting for practice to start in less than ten minutes. days are getting longer the more summer break gets nearer, and the breeze flowing through the newly green leaves of the trees is a nice change from the humid stench of the locker rooms.

"dunno. the woman of the house is gonna bake cookies today," he shrugs, scrolling through his phone. he finds himself on a blurry zoomed in photo of a kitten covered in milk, and he smirks, hitting send after having selected your contact. you're going to love it.

"and?" geto asks, confused.

"and i don't know if she wants me to help her or not," sukuna continues, not bothering to look up from his screen, acting like he's not going to pester you until you let him help. and steal some of your cookie batter, too.

"it's the finale, bro, we've been talking about it since december. are you really not going to watch it for some cookies?" his raven haired friend exclaims, baffled. satoru only lowers his glasses on his nose, crossing his arms on his chest.

"oh, i'm going to watch it. got her hooked up on it too," the pink haired man says, a certain tilt to his voice matching the tilt of his head, as if he's saying are you crazy? i'm not missing it. "i don't know if she'd want you there, though."

geto rolls his eyes and satoru snickers, shaking his head. "we just want to watch the game on your tv. are you afraid she's going to feel uncomfortable with us there, my lord captain?" he mocks, sighing. lazily, sukuna glances his way.

"it's not her i'm worried about," he says, raising one of his eyebrows, maroon eyes squinting on a spot behind his friend's back.

"what does that even mean?" mutters geto, even more confused. it’s not like they’ve never seen you or have never been inside your house when you were there, so what’s different this time?

suddenly, sukuna grins like a madman, uncrossing his legs from on top of the table and standing up with his helmet under his arm.

“where are you goi-“ his dark haired friend starts, but satoru puts one of his hands on the other’s shoulder, effectively stopping him, whispering just wait.

sukuna takes a couple of steps, getting out of the gentle shadows of the trees above the table, still grinning.

“hi, baby. did you miss me so much you had to come to see me at practice?” he asks your nearing figure. you’re wearing a dress, the breeze soothingly flowing through your hair, and he takes a second to admire how graceful you look in the middle of the green garden. are the flowers you picked with yuuji the other day still fresh? maybe he should get more. maybe you’d like that. maybe you’d smile. maybe you'd thank him.

“i’m here because i knew you were never going to bring sunscreen with you, dickhead,” you huff, blowing your hair out of your vision, frowning. his grin only grows before he forces it away. typical.

“i don’t need that shit,” he rolls his eyes, turning on his heels and going towards the stadium. he knows you’re going to follow him. and you do.

“put it on! i’m not joking, sukuna,” you whine, trying to fall in step with him. “it’s going to be so good for your skin, come on.”

“it’s sticky and i don’t like feeling like a pussy,” he growls, going faster toward the benches inside the stadium and plopping down on them.

“you like pussy, though,” you shrug, forcing yourself between his parted legs, rummaging through your bag.

“i like you too, baby, but that doesn’t mean you’ll let me stick it in your pussy, does it,” he asks you smugly. you punch him on the shoulder, bewildered.

“you’re so disgusting,” you scoff, opening the little spf tube you brought in your purse just for him. "and don't tell me you like me when you never listen to me in the first place," you playfully add, caressing his face to smooth it out, and he lets you get his unruly hair off of his forehead. maybe he likes how you don't take the things he says to heart. maybe he just says them because he knows he's getting a snarky comment back.

“you didn’t say no, though,” he chuckles, closing his eyes and letting himself bask in your presence. your touch on his features is relaxing. he honestly thinks he could fall asleep if you were in any other setting.

“i’m letting you talk just because i’m in a male dominated field and even if i don’t agree i don’t want to die,” you deadpan. you smear the white cream on his nose, on top of the horizontal tattoo, and massage it into his skin. then you do the same thing with his other markings, making sure they’re protected enough to shimmer in the blazing hot sun.

“i wouldn’t let you die on me anyway,” he mutters. he gets both of his hands on your exposed thighs, keeping you closer, softly rubbing his thumbs in your muscles. "are you fucking finished? i hate this," he bites, frowning. you hum, lazily smiling down at him, rubbing his frown away with your fingertips.

"you're going to be the prettiest girl on the field," you coo. you can feel his mean glare from beneath his eyelids, and you almost shiver. "you're so going to thank me in a couple of years," you add, resting your palms on his cheeks and turning his head up. he opens his eyes slowly, staring into yours intently. his thumb catches on the fluttering hem of you dress while he draws little circles on your legs. he hears his coach screaming for his team to start running, but in this moment, he doesn't care that much. maybe the heat is getting to his head. maybe the soft smile you're looking at him with is making him a little bit weak in the knees.

"wanna make cookies today? we can watch the match together, perhaps ask the brat if he wants to join too," he says, rough voice kept low, almost as if this was a you and him kind of thing. maybe he already planned to ask you to do something with him when he was talking to his friends just a couple of minutes ago. maybe he lied, telling them you were the one who chose to do something, when it's not true. maybe the way satoru is patting suguru on the back with an "i told you so" look on his face isn't casual. maybe the one he was worried about all along was himself.

"wouldn't you prefer to watch it with your friends?" you ask him, tilting your head, positioning your thumbs on the fake tattoos on his cheekbones. almost as if you could cover their pupils and make him see less.

"wouldn't you prefer to watch it with me?" he genuinely responds, a somber look on his features. you think it's the first time he doesn't have a mocking grin on his lips. you ruffle the pink hair just above his left ear.

"maybe."

[archangeldyke-all]

I miss CEO Sevika :(

What about Reader and Sevika going to...idk a dinner party/charity event with multiple companies in attendance. Sevika is one of the speakers for the night and while she's nervous, she knocks it out of the park. Meanwhile Reader is like "wow my wife is such a fucking boss and so hot for doing that on stage, I can't NOT suck her off and get fucked in a random, out of the way bathroom right afterwards."

i was thinking about this ask the entire time she was up there by vander's statue giving her speech. my sweet baby.

men and minors dni

sometimes, you forget just how important sevika's work is. most days you're stuck in your office together, making phone calls and signing documents.

but it's nights like this, when sevika's company has its annual ball, that you're hit with how much sevika does for the community.

the company built on the idea of giving low income communities low interest loans to build businesses and homes. there're several neighborhoods and families that you know personally that have had their lives transformed by sevika's work. but it's not just that.

it's parks built on the company's dime, community centers and pools and basketball courts sponsored by sevika herself. it's the team of social workers and accountants sevika's carefully hired over the years, who make sure that your clients are trained in financial literacy so they don't fall through the cracks. it's underfunded public schools-- the schools you went to as a kid-- being sent busload after busload of books and computers and supplies from your wife. it's medical bills being paid off by a mysterious, 'anonymous' source--the chickenscratch on the checks all matching your wife's.

and nights like this, with each lead team member of all the departments giving presentations of the differences they've made in the community this year, where it really hits you how incredible your wife is.

your poor wife. sevika's currently on the brink of passing out from her nerves, a glass of whiskey shakily clutched in her palms as she waits behind the stage. "baby." you coo, reaching up to cup her face.

sevika winces and pouts in your hold. "i hate public speaking." she whines. you chuckle.

"i know, love." you sigh. you'd give this speech for her if you could-- but it's kinda a requirement that the ceo speak at these big events. "it's just five minutes, talk about the good you've done this year, get some claps, get some laughs, then we can bail." you promise her.

sevika pouts even more, slouching down against you. "you remember the first time we put one of these shitshows on?" she asks.

you giggle and nod.

your second year working for sevika, a few months into dating, and the company had the first of it's now notorious annual balls. of course, back then it wasn't quite as sophisticated as today's is, but it was pretty memorable. after her speech (which she nailed, because despite how much she hates it sevika is good at talking) sevika ran off the stage, high on the applause she'd received, and practically leapt into your arms where you stood backstage. "fuck i can't believe i did that." she whispered against your scalp. "and they liked it!" she laughs.

you giggled and kissed her cheek. "course they liked it, you're very easy to like."

and then sevika said the words you'd been dying to hear her say, the words you were trying desprately to keep inside your throat until she was ready. "i couldn't've done it without you, y'know." she whispered. your smile got softer, and sevika leaned impossibly closer to you. "you kinda scare the shit outta me and... i think i'm in love with you."

you had just grinned and kissed her, mumbling a teasing "you think or you know?" against her lips.

and here you are, nearly ten years later, on the same little patch of floor backstage of your favorite venue, smiling up at your wife.

"course i remember, baby. one of the best moments in my life. right up there with meeting you 'n marrying you. think it'll be in the little montage that flashes before my eyes once i die." you say, giggling.

sevika smiles sweetly and kisses you. "yeah, me too." she whispers.

you hold her for a moment, hoping the touch will help her relax a bit, both of you swaying gently in your dark little corner as you wait for seamus to finish his speech and introduce sevika. "you're gonna do amazing, y'know. you do every year."

"ugh. i know." sevika huffs against you. you giggle.

"so then why are you so worried?" you ask. sevika shrugs against you.

"just. 's a lotta people. and i like when you baby me." she says.

you burst into laughter just as the audience on the other side of the stage bursts into applause. sevika groans, and you give her one last good squeeze and a smooch to her cheek before pushing her toward the stage. "go ahead baby. you got this." you encourage her. sevika smiles shyly at you, and you curse. "shit, sev, wait! i left a kiss mark on your cheek!" you squeak, scrambling to grab her wrist and wipe off the lipstick that must've transferred from her lips to your own, then onto her cheek.

sevika ducks out of her hold, though, her smile only growing. "good. let 'em see it." she says, winking at you before ducking under a curtain and out onto the stage.

the crowd bursts into applause at her appearance, and your heart melts as her words sink in.

she's such a fucking sap. you love her so much you think you might explode.

she nails it, because of course she does. by the time she walks back off stage, there are literally people chanting her name, like she's a rockstar or something.

you intend to tease her about it, but then you see her and her sweet shy smile, your very obvious kiss mark on her cheek, and her hands nervously clutching her note cards, and something ravenous courses through your bloodstream.

you nearly tackle her to the floor as you launch forward to kiss her. sevika gasps, and her notecards go flying as her hands reach up to hold you tight. fuck you love her. she's the most incredible woman you've ever met.

"sev." you whisper between kisses you can't stop pressing to her skin. "sevika."

"y-yeah?" she asks, her voice squeaky and excited.

"can i blow you in the bathroom, please?" you ask. "want you so fuckin' bad."

sevika shivers full bodied and lets out a shudder before she grabs your wrist and starts sprinting toward the bathroom. you cackle the entire way.

your favorite thing about this venue is that they have plenty of single stall bathrooms. you and sevika have used this feature to your convenience many times over the years.

sevika's already rock hard in her trousers by the time you lock the door and pin her to the wall. she's clawing at you, whimpering as she tries to catch your lips in a kiss. you giggle, cupping her jaw and kissing her soundly, shoving your tongue in her mouth to calm her down a bit.

sevika sighs heavily, and you pull away, gasping a breath before dropping to your knees.

"fuck. i'm not gonna last, baby, fuck." sevika whines as you paw at her pants. you giggle.

"you better. want you to cum inside my cunt, love." you say.

sevika makes a pained noise, and her dick jumps in her boxers. you laugh. "you better touch yourself while you're suckin' me then." she says. "want you to cum with me."

it's your turn to shiver. you claw at her boxers, a little growl escaping you when her cock's finally revealed to you. "fuck." you grunt, before leaning forward and just pressing your face against her cock.

sevika sighs dreamily, reaching down to cup your face as you nuzzle her dick. "so pretty on your knees." she whispers. you smile up at her. "lemme see you touch yourself." sevika requests. you shove a hand down your waistband, rubbing your wet clit with your fingers as you rub your face against her length. "that's it, baby. fuck. now put your mouth on me, love."

you're needy for her, so needy that you take a little too much of her at once, gagging loudly on her cock.

sevika moans at the feeling then laughs at the embarrassment on your face when you pull back and catch your breath before trying again.

"don' laugh at me." you pout, spitting on her dick and jerking her while you blink back your tears.

"'s just cute baby. so fuckin' needy for me you choke yourself on it." she sighs.

you shiver a little. you can't really deny that. "you did amazing, by the way." you whisper. "you always do."

sevika's shoulders scrunch up to her ears, and her eyes dart away from yours. you giggle. "shush. you aren't supposed to be talking right now."

you laugh and kiss her wrist, then try again, taking her back in your mouth and slowly working down her cock.

sevika melts against the wall behind her, and her eyes fly back to yours. you hum around her and she groans. "shit, i'm not gonna last, baby, fuck." sevika whines as she starts thrusting into her mouth.

drool is trailing down your chin and into a puddle on the floor, and when sevika's thigh starts shaking you sink two fingers into your cunt, getting ready to take her.

"fuck, i love you." sevika whines. "i love you so much, baby, love your fuckin' mouth, love fuckin' your mouth--" she cuts herself off with a little giggle, and then she groans. "off-- off-- pull off baby, i'm gonnahh!" sevika shudders as you pull away right before her orgasm. she glares down at you, and you giggle, kissing her clothed thigh. "get up here." she growls, tugging you to your feet and roughly shoving you back against the sink.

you grin, shimmying out of your pants with sevika's help, kissing her anywhere you can reach as she hauls you up.

"you ready for me?" she asks, rubbing her cock against your soaked folds. you whine and nod.

"been ready for you since you put that suit on." you tease.

sevika just chuckles and pushes in, both of you groaning at the feeling.

"oh fuck, please tell me you're close." sevika whines, ducking down to bite at your neck as she starts hammering into you.

your hand flies to your clit, rubbing quick little circles against it in time with her thrusts. "s-so close." you whimper.

sevika shivers at your answer, then lifts up to kiss you on the lips. "i love you so much." she whispers.

"p-please cum inside me, sev, wanna make you feel good."

"y-you always do baby, fuck!" she shouts as she fills you up, cumming and shivering against you.

you grin, satisfaction and pleasure filling you equally until you're falling apart around her, laughing and moaning as you pull sevika to your chest.

"you really did do amazing, you know." you sigh after you catch your breath.

sevika smiles against you. "i know. practiced really hard last night, my wife finds it sexy when i give speeches."

"your wife finds it sexy when you do anything, love." you correct her. she grins.

"can we go home now?" she asks.

you giggle and nod. "kinda have to babe. my shirts covered in drool, and i'm sure we got cum somewhere on your pants or something." you say.

sevika cackles.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz @strawberrykidneystone

[dilf-docs]

The Rock N' Roll Got Harder and Softer

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

summary: common sense isn't really your strongest suit. so here you are, riding a stranger's bike on halloween night. hey, he saved you! with one hell of a costume, no doubt. because it has to be one, right?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (do we see the blog name? get used to it), smut, flirty reader! she's got no shame just game ++ also overshares (sorry if this trait is mischaracterizing you, everything will be okay❤️) praise kink, oral f. receiving (have u seen that tongue? ik its abt eddie but venom's tongue plays a part there... he defo going in my hear me out cake), does this count as sub!eddie idk?? the man is touch starved, p. in v. (use protection okay!! don't be like these dumb horny bitches), reader gets harrassed but the lethal protector saves the day!!

word count: 5,008 words

side note: i was re watching venom 1 and watching venom 2 since my friends want to see the third, so i got the tom hardy and his plump princess lips have to be mine virus!! like i wish i was kidding but after watching the movies and the top 100 dilf poll on twitter i felt in the need to use my hands (iykyk) ++ after finding out i have a pattern for lonely fucked up dilfs (first with old man logan now eddie). also, irdgaf halloween just passed; let's pretend ur calendar got stuck on the 31st as u read this. also, this can happen after venom (2018) but the time isn't really important!

This is stupid.

It's a cold october night, the wind blowing in your face, and you're navigating this part of the neighborhood you don't know in nothing but a skimpy red bathing suit, like it's a hot summer day.

Dressing up as Pamela Anderson in Baywatch sounded much better a couple months ago; not now, when all the people passing by ogle your body up and down, whether it be with lust or judgment.

Your night has gone to shit: you feel cold, hungry, tipsy and vulnerable. One thing is wanting to be objectified by the possible candidates you would take home from the party, and other is being eyed by strangers who look at your body like hungry wolves.

You finally spot a mini-market amid the packed street, blue hues of light providing some sense of relief.

After getting something to drink and eat, you'll probably feel better and have the energy to walk home; there's no way you and your very small costume are getting inside an uber at ten o'clock tonight.

The bell chimes in as you enter the store, but the lady behind the counter doesn't even glance your way, focused on the TV behind her.

"Hi" she waves her hand absentmindedly, "Do you have any water?"

She mutters something that sounds like an annoyed of course we do, and points to the freezer in the back, still without looking.

"Alright, thanks" you say, walking to the freezer section and grabbing a bottle you chug until it's almost empty. You're still hungry, but at least your throat doesn't feel like you've eaten sand anymore.

With the bottle in your hand, you take the time to scour around the store, looking for something to eat. You finally decide on some chocolates; heck, it's halloween. Going home and stuffing your face with a bunch of candy for what's left of the night does sound nice.

You finally spot the chocolates on a display, moving towards it. As you're about to grab a bunch and go, another hand interrupts you.

"Oh!" you exclaim out loud, stepping back.

Maybe you're haven't gone trick or treating in years, but you will treat yourself tonight. And not with the chocolates. There's a God out there, definitely, who has blessed you not only with great curves but also with the chance of showing them off in the precise moment.

"Sorry!" your voice chirps a bit too excited for your liking. Control yourself. You clear your throat, suspecting the burn in your cheeks gives you away.

You're supposed to be confident! Flirty and charming! You're young and pretty! But how can you not be nervous when the stranger looks like that?

The eye candy who sports tattoos and a bad boy aroma that makes you drool; the jacket and beat up look just adds the perfect layer to the whole vibe. You're known to have a preference for men who look like he does. Something about the dangerous makes your heart race and skin prickle. Then your eyes travel to the motorcycle helmet in his right hand. Yummy.

The heat in your cheeks returns.

You don't even know his name, yet you've oggled him up and down without shame. It's probably all the pent up energy you had saved for the party. You figure it has to be invested somewhere else. Maybe with him.

Him, who's way older than the other guys you've been with. But that just just makes it even better.

"It's okay" he speaks up, and his voice is not only what you imagined it to be. The rich grave undertone is making your panties wet just with the sound. "You go first"

He points to the stand full of said treats. You motion forward, not without putting some extra sway and effort in your walk. By the reflection of the mirror in the corner, you know you've at least got his attention.

"Done" you say, leaving some space for him to pass. "Would the gentleman give me the honor of knowing his name?"

"I'm Eddie" he extends his hand, "Eddie Brock".

You shouldn't be this excited to shake a hand but when his large palm engulfs yours, you find it hard to let go.

With the closeness, you take another look at his face, getting lost in his warm eyes and the eyebags that adorn them. It's unfair how good they suit him; unlike you after a wild night out.

"Nice to meet you. Very nice, indeed" you purr.

You also make sure to bat your eyelashes in a way your friends tease you but has proven to be effective every time.

It seems to have done its magic, because he also takes a look at you.

But it's different.

You can sense something else is happening when his eyebrows furrow first, then face contorting into a disgusted expression as Venom says: I want to eat her, Eddie. I bet she tastes as sweet as she sounds! It's too tempting!

"Shut up" he mumbles (but loud enough for you to hear), then mutters something like We're just supossed to eat the bad guys! but you're confused and hurt, so you don't really pay attention; your ego really taking a blow tonight.

"I beg your pardon?"

Eddie curses under his breath, "that wasn't for you".

"Right" you chuckle dryly, looking around at the empty store. "Don't see who else that could be for"

"I'm sorry, it's hard to explain" he rushes the apology, looking rather embarrassed. "Now, if you excuse me".

And walks past you like it's nothing. Maybe that weird spark you felt was just on you; the interest isn't mutual.

"Hi Mrs. Chen" you hear him salute the lady behind the counter. Sighing, you grab your chocolates and head to cash out, adding another deception to your already bad night.

The bell chimes again when you make your way to the line, behind Eddie, but this time, you don't bother to look.

"Well, hello" the voice behind you says. It takes you a few seconds to realize they're talking to you.

"Hi" you mutter a bit annoyed, looking at the front. The silence is dense, the beep of each of Eddie's (million) of chocolates being the only silence filling the store.

"Won't even spare a glance, doll?" they continue, despite your clear apathy. "C'mon, lemme see if that face is as pretty as your ass"

Blood rushes to your face, and you're so embarrassed your body stiffs, fully aware the other two people in the store have noticed. You hug your body, because there isn't really anything you can cover yourself with right now, not daring to look back.

Well, fuck me.

If you thought leaving the party was going to solve your problems, it's only proven to cause more.

Eddie finishes, leading to your turn. You give a strained smile to Mrs. Chen, and she just gives you a look of pity.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" they start to get irritated, and you just pray they don't follow you outside once you're done. "Are you deaf, Pamela?" he mocks, making your blood boil and skin sweat.

Mrs. Chen is done, but the stranger isn't taking your silence as an answer. Before you can leave, they grab your hand.

"Already leaving? You haven't even given me your name yet"

It's such a silly thought to have right now, but you realize you hadn't given Eddie your name either.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but she's clearly not interested, buddy" a voice speaks out, and you know it. It's probably the panic but you hadn't realize Eddie's still here. You hold his gaze for a few seconds, and even thought you hate having to depend on a man to be left alone, you need his help; so you plead, boring into his warm chocolate eyes.

"In case you haven't noticed, this is a two people conversation" the stranger snarls.

"Looks more like a one sided conversation to me" he bites back, making the stranger mad. That's the last thing you need. You just want to go home and curl under your warm and soft blankets; you've even lost your appetite.

"It's none of your business. Are you not understanding?"

"Oh, but that's the problem. You're the one that isn't understanding" what appears to be black surrounds his before bare neck, and you feel like you haven't completely sobered up, your mind playing games with you. The black engulfs his whole body, making him taller and more intimidating.

"It is" he threats on a distorted voice. Now, where Eddie's face used to be, another one replaces him: with white instead of two eyes and a big mouth with teeth and a really long tongue.

You hadn't even drink that much. No way this is real.

The stranger gulps, petrified. Oh, so they see it too; it's not you.

"Sorry, idiot. The lifeguard shift is over" and before the stranger replies, his head dissapear inside the mouth, chopping it off.

"Fuck!" you curse out loud, the body falling limp at your side.

A shiver runs through your back. This is a nightmare.

"Well, now that makes us two who know your secret now" Mrs. Chen adds in a rather monotone voice, and you wonder if people have gone insane―you included.

You can't even speak. Less when the black starts dissappearing, and it's Eddie's face and body again.

"Hey, sorry about that" you don't know who Eddie is talking to when saying that. "You okay?"

Okay? Sure, that you are. Fine? Not really.

"It's alright if you're scared" he reaches out to you but you flinch. He looks used to it, apparently, "I know this is weird".

You chuckle, bemused. "Weird? Not even in my wildest acid trip, I could've imagine that"

"It's easy to explain, but hard to understand" he begins, but trails off. "Would you, uh, let me?"

Well, he had saved you. If he wanted to eat you and have you go the same fate your harasser did, he would've done it by now.

Besides, common sense isn't really your strongest suit. Never was. You've had so many problems stem from it, including tonight's events, that you could probably write a column or do a podcast of it.

"Sure" you agree, "as long as you don't eat me".

You regret the (attempt at a) joke as soon as it leaves your mouth, but that is gone when you hear him laugh. A little pride fills your chest, especially at the velvet-like sound.

"I won't" he raises his palms in a playful manner, "but he wants to".

Not anymore, you don't eat the people you save!

"He?" you quirk an eyebrow, "you better rush that explanation, yeah?"

"Sure" he chuckles, "uh?"

"Y/n" you answer, and the honeyed tone is back. God, you need to get a grip. This guy could snap you in, "but just for tonight, Casey Jean Parker. So you better put some good use to it before she leaves, cowboy"

"Will take it into account, blonde" he laughs at your hair.

You hate it because it reminds you of Anne, pussy.

"Hey, it's a good wig!" you playfully slap his shoulder. "You wish you had hair like this".

You flip it, to which he just laughs. Then he bids goodbye to Mrs. Chen and you both head outside, where the wind hits your body cruelly.

A curse leaves your mouth, "Shit"

Eddie notices. Before you can react, he's putting his jacket over your shoulders.

"You got the seasons messed up, baby" he jokes, the pet name rolling off his tongue a bit too easily, "don't even think about taking it off; don't want you to catch a cold".

There's a beat of silence before he asks:

"So, about the costume..."

"I know" you properly put his jacket on. It smells like him: pine, gasoline, sweat and a bit of chocolate. "It sounded better when I came up with it in August"

"No!" he corrects hastily, then coughs "I like it".

Light pink creeps up his cheeks.

"Good to know I still got the charm" you joke, winking.

"Was this" he points with his ringed fingers up and down, "for a contest?"

"No, a party. Jesus, how old do you think I am?" you chastise in a mocking tone. "It's what pretty college girls do, Eddie: party".

Venom likes parties! I like her, Eddie!

"And if that's what you do, pretty girl" two can play the game it seems, "what exactly are you doing out of the water, Ms. Parker?"

You scoff, shocked. "You're supposed to give me your answer first".

Fortunately for Brock, you have a bad habit to overshare; it gets worse, especially with men. God knows you don't know such thing as boundaries.

You lay against the concrete wall, exhaling. Your worries condense in front of you as Eddie waits attentively, examining the way your face falls.

"I was supposed to go to a party today, hence the costume" you motion to your body, "but things went wrong".

"So you went?"

"And left" you add, "which wasn't part of the plan".

He lays next to you, crossing his arms. You try not to get distracted with the closeness.

"Why did you?"

"Leave? Because... well, things happened".

Your skin prickles uncomfortably, like it did back at the house you ran away from―the whole reason you're here, next to Eddie.

"That thing being...?" Brock presses, then realizing you probably don't want to tell, so he shuts up.

"Don't worry" it's like you guess his thoughts, "It's just... sort of embarrassing".

You breathe in some air.

"He wasn't supossed to be there. My ex" you clarify, "yet he went. And guess what? With his new girlfriend! And alright, I'm not a girl who holds grudges, but it hasn't even been two months since we broke up and now he's matching costumes with her?"

Saying it out loud sounds a tad bit childish, but Eddie doesn't seem to be judging, and your pride continues to be bruised, so you carry on with your little rant.

"So I drank a little too much and went up to them. I don't know what took over me, but one second I was dancing and then Pamela Anderson in Baywatch was grabbing Pamela Anderson as Tommy Lee's wife by her hair. Real blonde hair, on top of that... that bitch. I decided to be Pamela Anderson first! Which, by the way, would never do that. She truly is a girl's girl" pause, "by that I mean parading around with the guy I ended things with because of you"

We should eat them.

Instead of what Venom said, Eddie asks:

"Your boyfriend cheated on you?"

"Yeah" embarrassment washes over you, "The owner of the house is friend's with her. So, I decided it was for the best to leave. My not so bright idea that followed was to walk to the nearest store for some junk and head home. And now I ended on this side of town I don't know. Lucky me"

Lucky us that found you.

"Wow" Eddie manages to muster after all your information dump and Venom's little comment, "they're idiots. I'm sorry".

"Thanks, but my night is still ruined" you take a look at your legs, "now I have to walk home, and I suspect, bare―without your jacket".

He doesn't know what takes over him when he says, or maybe it's Venom giving him the boost of courage he needs.

"Need'a ride?" your face morphs into surprise. He adds, "Keep my jacket. That way you can give it back when we're there"

Your eyes trail to the bike parked on the side, which you guess belongs to him. This is hard because the decision is so easy.

Hey, sometimes you gotta do it for the plot!

"We both win" is his way of insisting. "No more stares, and my jacket gets express delivered to me".

You don't need that much insisting, almost instantly caving in, walking over the bike and hoping behind him―like you know he'd never hurt you; full on trusting him.

"I don't have a spare one. Use mine" he apologizes, handing you the helmet he carried before.

"Thanks" you accept, "at this point I'll have to pay you. Do you accept my chocolates? It's all I got with me"

"We'll discuss those arrangements later" his deep voice comments, and well, you might just give him anything he wants!

Before you can regret your life choices, the engine roars, Eddie making his way through the street, all your surroundings reduced to a blur.

"Woah!" you shout, but it gets lost in the wind and speed. Luckily for you, the wig is secured inside the helmet. At this speed, there would be a blonde mop on the street somewhere.

"Liking it?" he asks over the noise. You only can happily humm in response.

Honestly, you've never felt this... free before. It's liberating: your hair dancing in the wind, the crisp trepidation in your fingers, the way you dare yourself to let loose and let the experience consume you. It's the first time you truly feel alive.

All you can think now is on the adrenaline coursing through your system. That and the way you're holding onto Eddie's thick back, your arms caging his form. You can feel his heartbeat too, as steady as yours. You can't help but wonder if it's because of the ride or the passenger he's carrying in the back.

You keep giving him directions whenever he looks back, keeping it like that until you both arrive at your apartment complex.

Once the bike is parked, he whistles. "Nice. Much better than mine"

You give his helmet back, taking the wig off in the process too.

"I'll have to see it to believe it" you tease, and if he heard, Eddie pretends not to.

There's some silence until you understand it's over: the original "stuffing and watching horror movies until I sleep" isn't sounding as good as extending your time with Eddie. For some reason, you can't seem to let go yet, and accept that tonight was a rare occasion that will only be once.

"Well, I guess this is it" you hate the way the obvious disappointment drips in your tone, "thank you, Eddie. Goodnight"

You hop off and take the jacket out of your body. If your skin gets goosebumps, you'll blame the cold.

Guess Pamela Anderson didn't work her magic tonight.

"Wait!"

Or maybe she did.

"Yes?" you turn around, smiling a bit too much.

Eddie doesn't look at you when he says, "we didn't discuss the payment"

Your red lips purse into a smile.

"We can discuss the details inside" and point out your apartment on the third floor, "for the cold, obviously. It's warm up there, you know; I've been told they like my heat"

You finally recognize the feeling from before, at the store. It's mutual. The tension; it still lingers.

"Sure" he says sounding all but that, "show me the way".

Your voice drops as you say, "Follow me, then"

And you lead the way: wet spot in between your legs, growing as your excitement. As you open the door, Eddie can't help but think the inside is so you: sweet and girly―like a strawberry bubblegum.

"Like what you see?" you joke, sitting in the couch. It has double meaning, obviously, but Eddie is so oblivious he just answers:

"It's so... you" mentally slapping himself when he says it, "I mean... you know, pink"

Idiot! She's talking about herself.

You giggle, "And?"

Patting the empty spot next to you, Brock walks over, like in a trance. You can see him gulp―nervous, the adam's apple on his throat bobbing.

Coward! Say something.

"Pretty..." he breathes out.

His hand finds its way to your bare thigh, and the touch is so electric, it takes you a lot not to jump at the contact.

Now kiss her!

"Don't be scared, Eddie" your voice is so low he swears he's dreaming. "I don't bite" there's a pause before you add, "unless you want me to".

Do it!

He would be lying if he said Venom is the reason why he leans forward, wrapping his lips around yours. Why he suddenly feels hungry, starving, eating your mouth out like he hasn't had a meal in days is beyond him.

"That's right" you moan between kisses, "cash your pay out, cowboy".

His hands tug on your hair as he deepens the kiss, a few groans echoing around the apartment.

"I like it" he twirls a strand in between your fingers, "suits you better".

There's a hearty laug emitting from your chest, "you do? Show me then"

It's like something snapped inside of him.

His hand moves to hug you from behind, right at the bare spot the swim suit had.

"You smell so sweet" Eddie's inhaling the vainilla scent off your soft skin, and Venom growls in pleasure, "like a pastry".

You have to laugh again, because this man is clearly touched starved.

Now he's rubbing his nose along the length of your neck, leaving some wet kisses that have you swearing his tongue isn't human. He mumbles incoherences like he's drunk, begging he wants to shove his mouth where it belongs: that being between your legs, to taste what he’s been craving for so long.

"Well, if you want it so bad" you make a play at his earlier words, "eat it".

So with trembling hands, he's pushing the little piece of bathing suit until your clit is exposed. His other hand grips your hip, and it doesn't take that long for him to fall onto his knees, the pink fluffly carpet on the floor providing some ground.

He beggins to toy with it, leaving you to collect a gasp. Alright! He has experience. Not that you ever doubted it, but now that he's here, his fingers inside of you, you can't help but feel the luckiest girl in the world.

"Thought the sweet you wanted was some chocolates" you manage to joke between moans, his thick fingers too busy lubing the needy area.

He gets another moan out of you, "this is better" grabbing a finger out, he licks a bit of your essence left on his fingers, "tastes much better. Look at you, so wet already; good girl"

Now he's doing tight little circles, his thick fingers speeding up the pace―quicker and quicker, until you're writhing in his grip. Your red nail dig into his forearm leaving little crescents. The haze may be too much that you don't know if the way they instantly heal is something you imagined or not.

"P-please, Eddie" you mewl.

Let me try, Eddie.

Without explaining, his tongue begins licking your inner thighs where your liquids dripped. It sends a shiver down your spine, and God, how thankful you are about leaving the party. The consequences of your petty fight and disastrous little adventure didn't end up being so bad.

"Sweet" he exclaims in that distorted voice back from the store. Your eyes go wide, so he rushes an "I'll explain later".

He doesn't give you much time to dwell on it before his tongue finds its way to your core again: the muscle licking the wet folds of your sensitive clit before diving fully. You swear his tongue has gotten longer with the way he explores your warm insides, quickly finding the spot no one but yourself has correctly pleased before.

Soft sobs fall from your lips. "Yes, More! P-please!"

His tongue continues its ministrations, almost lazily against it. Your body tenses up, reacting to him so well, and the familiar warmth pools in your abdomen.

He keeps licking until you’re twitching in over-sensitivity. A groan escapes his drooling lips, "I'm still a gentleman, you know?" the vibration his voice makes in between your legs sends a delicious wave that does nothing but ignite the fire pooling in the low of your stomach. "Ladies first"

You deliciously cum on his awaiting tongue. Even in your haze, you find his eyes, and the previous warm brown looks closer to hungry now, his pupils blown wide.

"Go ahead" you encourage, "be a good boy for me and taste it".

His fingers lick your remains off of them, his tongue making an obscene display.

"Will you let me pay you, now?"

He doesn't even need to wait, his hand eagerly taking his cock out of his pants―taking the sweat pants out in record time, sliding his girth between your legs, rubbing it against your folds that give him a warm welcome, coating it in your wetness.

Eddie slides inside you with ease, his hands resting on your waist as he slams his entire length inside you. The couch creaks, the only other sound in the apartment your hiss, because of the initial stretch. He gives you time to adjust and then he starts moving. 

"Y/n, God. You pretty sweet thing" his hot breathe mumbles against your ear.

Never in your life you would've thought you'd gone home with a complete stranger, but by the way Eddie Brock is deep inside you right now, you may do it more often. Or even better, bring him back. Maybe meet his apartment next time.

Eddie thinks he's gone insane. He's never had sex like this before. Not even on his wildest dreams. Hell, doesn't know if it's the lack of activity before you, your filthy mouth dripping with moans or the way you perfectly wrap around him, or maybe his newfound stamina he could finally put to use, thanks to Venom. Maybe it's all that, but who cares? God, he's loving every second of it.

Eddie uses his hands to grab your ass, holding onto the soft flesh so firm, you'll have bruises tomorrow for sure. He starts pumping you fast and deep like an animal. You muffle your screams against the crook of his neck, fully aware that doesn't stop the paper thin walls from telling your neighbours the good time you're having.

You feel your moves start to get unsteady, your orgasm closer and closer. "I'm c-close" you blurt out and he growls instead of talking. The way your body jolts with each of his poundings is insane. Your friend will never let this go if you tell them. But it just feels so fucking good.

"Fuck!"

Your whole body shakes when the wave of pleasure heats you. His hand is suprinsingly soft, caressing your cheek as you rest your forehead against his to catch your breathe.

"That's the best sex I've ever had" he confesses, his voice sounding drunk. Every drop of alcohol in your system has completely vanished by now, but you feel dizzy too, the overstimulation driving your senses to it's limits.

But it doesn't make you stop.

"How can you rate something that hasn't finished?" you move your body so Eddie stays against the coach. When he realizes what you're trying to do, he half-supresses a moan. "If you want to give your opinion, you better finish the whole plate".

So now you're on top of him, riding his cock like nothing; you must also have a symbiote inside of you, because Eddie can't explain your infinite stamina. So young, so pretty and so goddamn tight; he really won tonight, huh?

The change of position makes his cock slightly change the angle, hitting your g-spot. "Oh my god, right here!" you gasp. Your pussy clenches while you keep bouncing on his dick. If it weren't for the bathing suit, your tits would be bouncing. That doesn't mean he doesn't imagine them, your nipples perking through the fabric making it all too easy.

"You're so perfect" he whispers against your shoulder, "you sweet little thing".

If he keeps calling you like that, you might ask him to stay the night.

You feel like it, so, as a reward, you press your lips against his and he moans at your cunt clenching. He knows you are close again.

"Cum for me, y/n" he demands in his deep voice. Your name in his lips is such an addictive sound, you're sure you've reached heaven.

"Cum with me, Eddie" you manage to say.

So now he sits a little straighter on your poor couch (that's seen and taken only so much) so he can wrap his other arm around your waist. You take him deeper every time, even if now the position makes it a bit uncomfortable, but every shiver of pleasure you get is worth it.

"At least look at me when you do it" his brown orbs bore into yours. You can't hold back any longer, your hips rolling to increase the friction.

Your second orgasm washes over you: toes curling and body shaking. You've never felt more tired and energetic in your life. So you fall in Eddie's strong tattoed arms. He joins you, painting your tight walls with his thick and white shots of cum.

You are both out of breathe but Eddie takes his time and kisses you deeply.

"I think this life guard is out of duty for now" you mumble sleepily against his arms, tracing lazily his tattoos. He chuckles, moving one of his hands to brush strands of your damp hair from your forehead.

"What about the chocolates?" he jokes.

"Fuck them" you yawn, "stay here". He might've heard it wrong.

Stupid Eddie and stupid little human brain. She wants us here!

After some minutes of silence your sleepy voice mumbles, "You didn't explain me anything, cheater. If you want to stay, talk".

He feels you rest your head on his shoulder, sleep taking control of your form. You look so cute, he starts to forget how shitty his life actually is.

Hey! I can hear your thoughts, idiot. Your life isn't shitty anymore, I'm here!

"How about a bed time story? I promise I won't leave any detail out"

You cuddle closer to his warm body, "Promise?"

He intertwines his pinky finger with yours, promising himself this won't be the last time he sees you.

"Promise"

[evie-sturns]

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

summary: you and chris have a major argument, which results in you storming out of you and chris's house. he regrets everything, but it results in him saying 'i love you' for the first time.

warnings: angst, swearing, argument, crying, fluff, happy ending!

-----------------*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*--------------------

me and chris have been dating for two months, we've never fought, i mean we've bickered, but never a real argument. we've done alot together, we have a house together, 2 cats, we've hooked up tens of times, but never said those 3 words.

'i love you'.

i think both of us are just terrified of scaring the other person away.

-

"chris! i'm home!" i say, walking through the front door as i put my purse down.

no response.

chris is sitting on the couch, my phone on his lap.

"why do you have my phone baby?" I say, jumping down next to him.

"i think we both know." his voice is filled with emotion, he clenched the pepsi can in his right hand tighter.

i reach out a hand, placing it gently on his thigh, he grabs my wrist and throws my hand towards me, my shoulder is tweaked slightly.

"don't fucking touch me!" he says, looking at me in disgust, raising his voice as he stands up.

my eyebrows furrow from pure confusion as i follow him, standing up and facing him.

"tell me whats happening christopher." i say sternly, my shoulder pulses from the sudden jolt.

chris knows when i use his full name i mean it, i don't just throw it around because of how formal it is.

chris glares down at me before slamming the pepsi can to the floor.

"all these fucking months, all these hookups, all these deep talks, everything meant nothing to you?!" he yells, my heart sinks, ive never liked people yelling at me.

i've always had an attitude, chris knows how to deal with it.

"look, if you dont open your fucking mouth instead of flaming me for something i don't even know, i'm out of here yeah?" i snap back, folding my arms.

"you're so pathetic." he mutters, pushing my shoulder back.

"stop touching me chris!" i scream. squeezing my eyes shut and clenching my fists like a toddler.

he scoffs.

a silence grows before i flop down on the couch, clutching my shoulder. i pat the spot next to me, signalling for him to sit down, hoping we can talk it out.

he takes a step back before yelling, "go call mark, cause he clearly loves you so much!" his voice cracking.

my eyes widen.

"so fuck you!" he yells, i stand up.

his cheeks are flushed his eyes are glossy, chris's bottom lip is quivering.

my gaze softens, but instantly flicks back to a harsh one as chris starts again.

"im done with you're shit y/n, go home! for once in your life just leave. me. alone." he says, his tone cold.

i've never cried in front of chris, i don't cry often and if i do, im always alone. but the way he was looking at me broke something in me.

several tears fall down my cheek as i look up at chris. the tears increase as i just stare at him, his mouth gapes slightly. his eyebrows tilt up above his nose.

i push past him, grabbing my purse and running out the door, chris is speed-walking after me, before i slam the door shut, i yell out.

"by the way chris. mark is my fucking dad." my voice shakes as the tears don't slow.

an audible gasp escapes from chris's lips right before the door shuts.

-

two days ago i stormed through the door to my best friends house, sobbing as she comforted me.

i haven’t texted chris in those two days, but he’s been spamming my phone nonstop.

I sigh, sitting my head up off my best friend, amelia’s chest. “you okay?” she asks, pausing the movie which is playing on her macbook.

“did you not hear?” i ask, adjusting my sweater

“hear what..?” she asks, her eyebrowints furrowing in confusion

“you’re doorbell just rang, i’ll go get it okay?” i say, giving amelia a warm smile as i run downstairs.

i open the door, my heart sinks.

“chris?” i say, taking a nervous step back

his hand is clutched onto a stuffed animal, and a hand picked flower, which is dropping to the side slightly now. chris’s eyes are swollen, his nose red.

“i- uh.. um.” he stammers looking around

i stay silent, waiting for him to start,

he holds a hand out “can we go sit in my car i uh..” he says, his voice cracking

chris has always said his car is his comfort place, the area he feels safest, so i don’t shut him down yet.

i take his hand “amelia! i’ll be back in a few minutes” i yell as i close the front door behind me.

the walk down the driveway is silent, i can feel chris’s hand growing more sweaty by the second. he opens the door for me, the passenger seat has a blanket on it, with a packet of painkillers resting in the middle.

“what’s the pills for?” i ask, looking over my shoulder at chris.

“your shoulder..” he says, a guilty expression plastered across his face.

i nod understandably, sitting down in the car seat.

chris walks over to the driver side, climbing inside.

he lets out an audible swallow before opening his mouth to speak, nothing comes out.

“shit.. sorry ‘m really nervous..” chris says, holding onto a pepsi can.

“i’m so sorry, for even assuming the worst. i feel like an absolute goof for thinking your dad was another person..” he pauses for a second, quickly rubbing his under eyes

“and i was just hurt, i don’t even know why i thought mark was someone else, i should’ve never touched you i feel like shit about that too, and i’ve never seen you cry, so seeing what i had done to effect you just shattered my heart, i just don’t want to loose you and i.. i” he takes in a deep breath

“i love you.”

the rest of his words don’t get through to me, my heart is fluttering, i look over at him, chris’s cheeks are flushed red as his mouth moves quicker than his brain, i lean over the centre console, shutting him up with a kiss.

after a few seconds i pull away, “i love you too christopher.”

-

i run back inside, thanking amelia and telling her everything chris said, amelia is practically crying tears of joy as she hugs me, “go go! go back to his house i love you y/n!” she says, a smile spread ear to ear on her face.

i run back outside to chris, climbing inside his car.

the rest of the conversations go like this.

“are you sure your shoulders okay?”

“chris you barely touched me.”

“no but i made you cry y/n.”

“yeah, not because of the shoulder sweetheart.”

“well i told matt and nick what happened and then ordered a private doctor to come assess you..”

“chris.”

——————————————————————————

ayeee hope y’all like!!

[thriftedtchotchkes]

old dogs don't change

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: weeks after sleeping together, your no-strings-attached agreement goes up in flames when joel goes on a date with another woman. you make sure that never happens again. (sequel to keep it on the low)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, ex-boyfriend!joel, jackson era, tlou 2 jesse appearance, age gap, hurt, angst, smut, unprotected piv, post-breakup sex, rough sex, public sex, rough oral (m!receiving), exhibitionism, possessive behavior, jealousy, alcohol use, briefly dating other people

word count: 10.6k

You have no idea who she is, but you bet she’s a total bitch. Is that mean? Maybe. Do you give a shit? Nope.

To be fair, you’d probably say that about anyone Joel started dating after you, but that doesn’t mean it can’t still be true. Sure, you've never actually talked to her…or seen her before in your entire life, but that’s beside the point. She’s cute and bubbly, and everything you’re not, and that’s the point. 

It’s honestly a little comical how different the two of you are, and you can’t help but wonder if Tommy did that on purpose. You know he was the one who set them up. Everyone in the dining hall was talking about it this morning. The latest, hottest piece of gossip, bouncing from table to table like a cruel game of telephone. 

He probably thinks he’s protecting his big brother, but you think he needs to mind his own fucking business. It’s not like he knows anything about your relationship, not really. Well. It’s not your relationship anymore, is it? And Tommy, along with everyone else in this town, blames you for that.

Poor Joel, dumped by the biggest bitch in Jackson, who took advantage of his kindness and patience for years, and broke his heart when all he did was love her. Selfish, cold, and uncaring. Nothing like the pretty, perky girl sitting next to him in the booth they’re sharing at Seth’s. 

If only they knew what really happened.

The bar is especially busy, even for a Saturday night, so you figure no one’ll notice you blatantly glaring at them. It’s not like you care, anyway. You’re feeling warm and loose, and maybe a little too tipsy for your own good, but tonight, you get to do whatever the fuck you want. 

Because Joel’s sitting ten feet away with his arm slung around another woman, and it hurts. 

It sucks way worse than him avoiding you since the last time you slept together, after all of the things you did and said on that couch. The things he said. You shoo away the thought with another swig of beer, wishing you were drinking something stronger. It's for the best. 

If you get any drunker, you’ll probably end up doing something stupid, and the last thing you need is to prove everyone right that he’s better off without you. But you can’t seem to shake the anger that’s starting to simmer below the surface. 

With the emotional toll this night has already taken, you kind of don’t want to. So, you surrender to it. Fuck him. He’s a piece of shit for parading his new girl around right in front of you, and for breaking off your agreement without so much as a word. 

If he wanted to see other people, he should’ve opened his mouth and used his big boy words. Then again, he’s always been terrible at that, so why are you surprised? 

Maybe he’ll fuck her tonight. Touch her all of the ways you like because that’s all he knows anymore. She’ll moan for him, soft and sweet, gentle in her affection, just like she’s touching him right now. But it won’t satisfy him, and when he’s panting on top of her, chasing that all-consuming release only you can give him, you know he’ll be pretending she's you. 

Asshole.

You’re still watching them, shooting daggers from your spot at the bar, when your wish from earlier is granted. Two overflowing shot glasses topped with lime are placed in front of you, and you look up to see a very attractive dark-haired, brown-eyed man smirking down at you.

"Looked a little lonely over here," he says in a raspy baritone even lower than Joel's. He clinks the top of your beer bottle with the bottom of his own. "Thought you could use some company, maybe another drink."

Well, he’s right. You could use some company, and you’d love another drink. There’s no harm in having a little fun, right? If Joel’s doing it, then there’s nothing stopping you.

"So, both of these are for me, then?" you smile coyly, reaching for one. He nods, his own smile widening.

"Could be. Can I join ya?" he gestures to the empty stool next to you. 

He has this cocky look on his face like he already knows you'll say yes, and in your inebriated state, you think it's kind of hot. It reminds you of Joel when you first met. How he knew exactly what he wanted and wouldn't give up until it was his. Until you were his.

You consider him for a moment. He’s young, maybe even younger than you, and obviously confident enough to make a move on you. Fleetingly, you think he might end up being that stupid thing you do tonight, but then you down one of the shots and decide you don't actually care. 

What turns out to be tequila burns the entire way down, and you immediately pick up a slice of lime. You’re hyperaware of the way his eyes lock onto your mouth as you suck on the sour fruit, lingering when a droplet of juice dribbles down your chin. 

It’s not a total surprise when he reaches up to thumb it away, but you are taken off guard by how strange it makes you feel. The pad of his finger is disappointingly smooth, no weathering or even a hint of a callus. You're not sure why that matters to you, but you can take a decent guess.

You chance a glance over at Joel's table and, of course, you have his full attention now. His entire body looks tense, from his hand clenched on the table to the prominent vein bulging angrily in his neck. 

Good. Now he knows how it feels.

Looking back up at your mystery guy, you run your tongue along your bottom lip, catching any remaining lime before you finally give him an answer. 

"Sure. Pop a squat, cowboy," you giggle. It doesn't even sound like you and feels wrong the second it passes your lips, but as long as Joel heard it, that's all that matters. "You got a name?"

He replies, but you're too busy keeping an eye on Joel in your peripheral to catch what he says. In the back of your mind, you think that’s probably a good thing. You'd rather not know, especially if you do end up taking him home. 

Mystery guy laughs at your noncommittal hum and you realize you’ve been caught. But he doesn’t seem upset. It’s clear he’s amused by your obvious interest elsewhere and that piques your curiosity. 

Any other guy here would’ve been pissed by your apathy, especially if they’d bothered to buy you a drink that you accepted, but apparently not this one.

He sits down on the stool next to you, pulling it close enough that his knee presses against yours. You unconsciously lean into him, your skin erupting in goosebumps despite your growing unease.

He's...baffling. A total enigma. You can’t figure out what his deal is or why he’s choosing to keep pursuing you when your eyes have been glued to another man all night. 

The thought of letting this continue long enough to find out is a little thrilling. Might as well see where this goes. If it escalates, you’re more than confident in your ability to care of yourself.

But it happens sooner than you expect. His hand finds the back of your stool and, then, his lips are suddenly right next to your cheek. You can feel the warmth of them as he tilts his head to whisper in your ear.

“Look, not try'na to overstep, but…,” his eyes dart to where Joel’s sitting, unreservedly ignoring his date. The poor thing barely notices, chattering away about something not nearly as important to him as watching you. His gaze returns to you, and you can feel him smirking. “You wanna make that guy you've been staring at all night jealous?"

That’s—wow. You didn’t see that one coming. He’s got a lot of audacity to assume that’s something you’d want, let alone offer…what? His services? 

But, then again, he isn’t wrong. Joel’s been the only thing on your mind since you walked into Seth’s tonight and saw him with her. He’s always on your mind if you’re being totally honest with yourself. It’s plain to see, obvious to every single person in this bar including the man himself.

You eye your mystery guy curiously for a second before nodding, your lips quirking into a small smirk. Maybe it’s time to prove to Joel and everyone else in this judgmental town that you’ve moved on, too. That you’re not the sad, bitter shrew that deserves to be alone.

"Yeah, actually, I do," you reply cautiously. But there's still one lingering question that has yet to be answered. "I just…why? I don’t get why you’re helping me. What are you getting out of this?”

He shrugs, and somehow you can just tell by the look in his eyes that there’s no hidden agenda. You’re not sure how you’re just noticing, but he has kind eyes. This whole time, he’s been nothing but patient and attentive, like Joel always was—...is? 

Was.

You almost wish you could fall for someone like this man instead of pathetically clinging to your past. Maybe you’ll at least get a friend out of this crazy night, if nothing else. But then you remember one, tiny problem with that idea.

“Can you tell me your name again? I promise you have my full attention this time,” you smile sheepishly. He chuckles good-naturedly and, again, doesn’t seem to hold it against you.

“It’s Jesse,” he says with a deep, southern drawl you should probably be more attracted to. “And let’s just say I know how it feels to want someone ya can’t have.”

You nod slowly, understanding perfectly. Except—you didn't realize up until this moment that that's exactly what you want. Someone you can't ever have. 

And it took seeing Joel with someone else, his body pressed up against a woman that isn't you, to realize it. Well, that fucking sucks.

You decide not to ask about Jesse's situation. It's not your business and, anyway, you're both trying to feel better about your circumstances, not worse. 

There’s a silent sense of camaraderie between you that tells you to throw caution to the wind. Tossing back the second shot, you turn your stool to face his, literally and figuratively turning your back on Joel. 

“It’s really nice to meet you, Jesse,” you murmur, and you genuinely mean it. He grins, leaning in slowly, still giving you time to back out if you want to, but you don't. 

Eat your heart out, Joel Miller. This one's for you.

"S'nice to meet you, too," he replies softly. 

Then, his lips are on yours. The kiss is wet and open-mouthed, and yet he handles you so delicately. He cradles your face in his hands as his tongue brushes against yours, and you moan softly into his mouth, letting your body get lost in the way he feels. And he feels so—

Much different than Joel. 

All you can think about is how much you miss Joel's rough touch, the way he'd thread his fingers through your hair and tug you into his mouth, nearly devouring you whole. Joel kissed you like every time might be the last, right up until it actually was. 

Fucking hell, why can't you just enjoy this without him ruining it for you?

You try to forget about it, about him, licking into Jesse's mouth a little more aggressively, and he groans, his body eager and responsive. It's probably more than you should be doing in public, sitting at a bar surrounded by people but, hell, you want them to see. 

They can say whatever they want about you. You're done giving a shit.

And, boy, will they have a lot to talk about after tonight. Joel makes sure of that. It happens so fast, you barely register that Jesse’s lips aren’t on yours anymore like they should be.

One moment, Jesse's hands are trailing down your sides to your waist, and the next, he's being forcibly dragged off you. Between you stands a broad, imposing figure ensuring you stay separated.

Your mind goes blank, and all you can do is watch in shock and disbelief as Joel lets loose on him, his words possessive and almost nonsensical. 

"The fuck you think you're doin' touchin' her like that? Y'need to learn how to keep your hands to yourself, kid, before ya get yourself in trouble," he grits out angrily. 

To his credit, Jesse stays cool and collected, but it’s not enough. There’s already a few pairs of eyes on you, drawn by the physical altercation, and it won’t be long before the rest of the bar notices the impending fight.

"Respectfully, sir, s'long as the lady consents, I'll put my hands wherever she wants," Jesse replies, standing his ground. He tries to move around him to return to your side, but Joel fixes him with a look that sends a shiver down your spine.

"S'that really a good idea?" Joel sounds menacing and looks even more so the longer the conversation continues. 

You’re still numb to everything unfolding in front of you and it’s not until Jesse’s next to you again, snaking an arm around your waist, that you finally come to. The reality of your situation hits you like a ton of bricks and now you’re mad. You open your mouth to retaliate, but Jesse cuts you off before you can get a word in.

“There a reason it wouldn’t be?” he turns the question back on Joel and you tense, anticipating a less-than-friendly answer. Jesse squeezes your hip in reassurance, but it does nothing to soothe your unease. He doesn’t know Joel like you do.

“Kid, do I look like I’m fuckin’ around? Take your hands off her and walk away. M'not gonna tell you again,” he all but growls, taking a threatening step forward. 

Neither of you back down. Jesse’s arm stays firm around you as your nails bite into your palm. It's taking everything you've got not to make a bigger scene than you already have.

You knew it. Since the breakup, you’ve been trying to reconcile this increasingly unfamiliar man with the Joel you gave your entire heart to all those years ago. With each passing month, the differences between the two become more and more obvious.

He's angrier now and has so much less patience. It's not that he's unkind. You know that no matter what his circumstances are, Joel will continue to be a good man. But he has a hair trigger, especially when it comes to you. 

And he wants. God, he always wants you. It’s not that you didn’t have an active sex life before everything fell apart. He just...fucks you differently now. Possessively and without restraint, like he needs to be sure you're satisfied enough to never need anyone else. The agreement to keep sleeping together was actually his idea. And it worked for a while—until it suddenly didn't. 

Now, you're forced to come face-to-face with that reality. Sitting at this bar, you spent the entirety of the night believing he'd decided he didn't want you anymore, that he was ready to find happiness in something simpler than sneaking around with his ex.

Except, it's starting to feel like maybe that's not as true as he made it seem. Like he never should've gone on this date in the first place.

"What the fuck, Joel?" you hiss, fighting to keep your volume under control. Not that it matters. The entire bar is staring at you, their eyes ping-ponging back and forth like they're watching a tennis match. "Back the fuck off. Now. This is none of your business."

"The hell it ain't my business. Some kid's runnin' his hands all over another man's girl and y'think that ain't my business?" 

His trembling hands clench into fists at his sides and, while you’re betting the rest of the bar thinks he’s preparing for a fight, that isn’t Joel. It might be you, though, if he keeps this up.

"Excuse me? And whose girl am I—yours? Because I'm pretty sure your girl is sitting over there in that booth. Or did you forget about your date?"

For a moment, he actually has the nerve to look ashamed, like he feels bad about leaving her all alone at their table and for humiliating her in front of all these people. He avoids her crestfallen gaze, likely not ready to face the hurt he’s caused. 

But it only lasts for a second before his eyes darken again, focused solely on you. As if Jesse, his pretty date, and everyone else in this bar disappeared, and it's just you and him. This conversation doesn't include them anymore. It's a private matter now.

"We're leavin'," he says with finality, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

He should know better. That's not how things work with you. You’re a fighter, a trait he’s always loved about you, even if your ire was directed at him. Back then, it rarely was.

"You're out of your mind if you think I'm leaving with you," you scoff bitterly. "Go back to your date, I'll go back to mine, and we can forget about this. All of it. We're done, Joel."

He shakes his head, mouth tipping down into a frown like he's thinking something over. Then, he huffs out a laugh. Like, an actual laugh, and you start to think maybe he really has lost his mind.

"Y'know, I really don't think we are, darlin'," he drawls dangerously. 

He's on you in an instant, his hand wrapped tightly around your arm as he drags you out of the bar. You briefly consider resisting, but he's moving too quickly. All of those shots you downed combined with the beer you drank earlier go straight to your head, and you're suddenly overwhelmingly distracted by the feeling of his skin on yours.

Fuck, it feels like it's been so long. In reality, you know it's only been a few weeks but, god, you missed it. His hands on your body, anywhere at all on your body. You'd hate how quickly you forget about Jesse if you could think about anything else but those familiar, rough fingertips.

The way they dig into you, reminiscent of how he'd squeeze your thighs or clutch your waist when he was making love to you.

...Wait, what? No...no, fuck. Why is he making this so difficult? Why—Christ...why can't you just leave each other alone? If he never planned on letting you go, he shouldn't have broken up with you. And if he still wanted you this badly...all he had to do was ask. You would've said yes in a heartbeat.

So, you let him steal you away, out into the brisk, wintry air that does little to cool your fury or the heat beginning to coil in your belly. The door shuts noisily behind you, and you immediately wrench your arm out of his grasp before he can say a word. It's your turn to talk now.

"What is wrong with you? You can't just...fuck, you can't do shit like this!" You're seething, practically shaking in your rage, and his expression doesn't look much different. 

"And you can? I dunno what the hell you were thinkin' gettin’ cozy with some goddamn kid, lettin’ him touch ya like that in front of the whole town," he reiterates harshly. He's starting to sound like a broken record. It's the only leverage he's got, and you both know it's flimsy at best.

"Some kid? Jesse's a fucking adult, clearly more mature than you," you bite back. "And it’s a bar, Joel. That's what people do at bars."

Joel scoffs, and you can tell he hates the way Jesse's name falls from your lips. Especially when those lips were on yours not even ten minutes ago. 

"And who are you to decide who can and can't touch me? You broke up with me," you continue resentfully. "You don't get a say anymore."

At that, his face becomes unreadable. He didn't need the reminder, and you know that, but it needed to be said for both of your sakes. Sometimes you think maybe he actually forgets it was his choice to give you up. That he didn't realize his decision would hurt you as much as it hurt him.

"So, what? You gonna take him home then, let him fuck ya?" He leans in close, so close you can feel his soft, graying curls against your temple and the coarse drag of his beard across your cheek. 

"Kiss ya here—," a finger trails delicately down the side of your neck to his spot above your collarbone, then continues down to where you've been aching for him for weeks, "—taste ya here." 

You slap his hand away before he can get any further, but your reaction only spurs him on. How could you forget? He likes that.

"Y'know he can't make ya feel as good as I do. Fuck you just how y'like it, make ya cum as hard as I do," he drawls confidently, almost smugly, in your ear. "Don't ya?"

It's less a question than a statement, because you both know he's right. Joel knows your body better than anyone ever has, maybe even better than you know it yourself. Just as much as you know his. And it's sort of funny. You were thinking the exact same thing about him with his date earlier.

"Sure, Joel. Just like you were gonna take that girl home, right?" You raise an eyebrow, turning your head so your lips graze his skin. "Pretty little thing like her, I bet she likes it slow and romantic. She’ll probably even stick around for a snuggle and some pillow talk. You'd love that.”

Even as you mock him, the sneer marring your face doesn’t quite meet your eyes, and the spiteful nature of your words tastes acrid as they pass your lips. He’s so good at that. Always able to bring out the worst in you to prove his point—that he’s no good for you.

But you stand firm, your chest pressed flush against his in a show of determination. You're still in control here, unlike Joel, whose fingers are twitching noticeably at his sides like he's just itching to get his hands on you again. 

"Maybe I would. Liked it with you, didn't I?" he murmurs wistfully, and that catches you completely off guard.

His words are almost too gentle to belong in this argument, and it doesn’t feel fair. What's worse, he looks like he means them. You’d prefer the fight, the aggression of the man who dragged you out of the bar. Not this. Not these traces of your Joel. 

You can already feel your resolve slipping, and the rapid thrum of your heartbeat tells you to let it. When his hands finally take their rightful place on your waist, he’s in control again.

The cool evening air is suddenly stifling, and you’re starting to feel like you’re suffocating, your thoughts a jumbled, heated haze of anger and fear and want. He squeezes hard enough to pull your hips into his and you unintentionally buck, allowing his hands to travel up your shirt. 

There's an intensity to his gaze, tinged with an unexpected tenderness. He almost looks...sated. Fulfilled, now that you're back in his arms. But not completely, not yet.

"You still haven't answered my question," he mutters. His hands splay across your ribcage, high enough for his thumbs to tease the undersides of your breasts.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, sliding your hands up his chest to push him away so you can catch your breath, but your body won't cooperate. It's been well-trained to crave his touch. Exhaling sharply through your nose, you fist his shirt and instead pull him impossibly closer.

"You asked a lot of questions tonight. You're gonna have to be a little more specific,” you pant heavily.

It's getting more difficult to think, now, with the warmth of his body against you, his thumbs shifting higher to stroke your stiffening nipples. He urges your hips forward again to meet his, and you can already feel him straining in his jeans.

You whimper helplessly, unable to curb the way your body's reacting to him, and the soft sound causes something in him to snap. He suddenly backs you up against the hard brick of the bar's exterior and begins to grind languidly into your stomach. 

"Y'really believe that boy can take care of a woman like you? Hm?" He interrogates you, his voice gravelly and uneven in your ear. "Tell me I'm the only one who can give you what ya need. Wanna hear ya say it."

Fuck, you can't lie to him. As much as you want to, it's just one more thing your body won't allow you to do. Not when he's working you up like this. 

"You're the only one," you moan around your admission. He's still crowding you into the wall, his hands greedily roaming your soft curves.

His eyes meet yours, darting quickly to your mouth before he leans in to kiss you passionately like he’s rewarding you. It only lasts for a second, one deliciously fleeting second, before he pulls away. You’re not sure why you let him. Or why you kissed back.

"Who's the only man who can make ya scream?" he demands a little more urgently.

"You, Joel,” you murmur obediently, your lips already parted and ready for your prize.

And he acquiesces—another insistent kiss that doesn’t last nearly long enough. This time, you chase him, but he jerks his head back. He still has one last question for you. Except, this time, he looks afraid of the answer. 

"Whose girl are ya?"

He whispers it so softly, you barely catch it over the whistling, nighttime breeze. As he brushes a few ruffled strands of hair behind your ear, you answer without hesitation. 

"Yours, Joel."

His entire body relaxes. Now, he's complete.

"Damn right, you are—"

Then, the front door bursts open next to you, and he's abruptly cut off. Joel is quick to tug you around the corner into the alleyway before anyone can spot you, but he's not fast enough to keep you from seeing who just left the bar.

Jesse.

And there it is. A shock to the system, enough to clear some of that smoky, nostalgic haze and bring you back to the present. But as everything hurtles back for the second time tonight, this time around, you can’t be mad because he’s right.

Of course, you're not Jesse's girl. As pathetic as it sounds, you'll always be Joel's because he’s the only one who can take care of you and give you what need. The only man who can make you scream. But that goes both ways.

Even though he’s been picking fights all night, he hasn’t raised his voice once. It's not the way he wins his battles. So, maybe it's time to remind Joel Miller that there is someone who can make him scream. But he isn't allowed to unless you say so.

It all feels eerily familiar—his fingers digging into your waist and your lips crashing into his hard enough to bruise. You lead him deeper into the alley, back to where the glow of the string lights above the bar can't reach you, before you separate from him. 

Neither of you wants to be the one to say it, but it needs to be heard. Here, in the dark, you can be his completely, but once you part ways and return to your empty beds, that's it. Just like last time. The reasons for your breakup are still very real, and that means your relationship can't be.

"Only here. Right, Joel?"   

He stays silent for a moment, his gaze filled with deep longing and sadness. It almost makes you want to take it back. Take him back. So, when he shakes his head and cups your cheeks, kissing you like this might be his last chance, you're not surprised in the slightest.

And after this whole night—this whole confusing, fucked-up night—you let him. Right now, he needs this. Maybe you do, too.

His lips taste like whiskey and relief, and you return his kiss with all of the passion and fervor he’s pouring into you. You’re both a little frantic in the way you touch each other, but as much as you don’t want it to, it makes perfect sense. 

Those few weeks without each other felt like years, and now that his hands are back on your body and his voice, deep and dulcet, is in your ear telling you how badly he wants you, you don’t want to let him go again.

You grind the heel of your hand into the front of his jeans and his responding groan pleases you more than it probably should. This. This is yours—his pleasure, his attention, him. They belong to you and you alone. Not his pretty, perky fucking date. 

The sudden possessiveness stuns you for a moment, but it's not enough to stop the feeling from consuming you. This must be how it feels for Joel. It's potent and feels so, so…right. You're starting to think you've felt this way for a while.

"I needed you, and you made me wait so fucking long," you gasp against his lips, and the fingers cradling your face tense. You’re still fisting his shirt, nearly hard enough to tear, and you wrench it up from where it’s tucked into his pants. 

"M'sorry, darlin', I know. I know I did,” he rasps back, following your lead and dropping his hands from your cheeks so he can unbuckle his jeans. “M'gonna make it up to ya. Tell me what you want, I’ll give it to ya.”

You want everything. Everything he has to give, you want it all. After everything you've been through, the hurt he caused you, you deserve it. And right now, what you want is for him to feel so good, he'll never go on a date with someone who isn't you ever again.

Sharp gravel bites into your bare skin as you drop to your knees in front of him. He's already so hard under all that heavy fabric and looks desperate above you. Just as desperate as you are for him to replace the flavor of Jesse's tequila and lime on your tongue with something saltier and headier, and undeniably Joel.

You hastily unbutton and unzip his jeans, not wasting any more of the precious time you have left together, before tugging them down just enough to free his cock and balls. He looks...fucking mouth-watering—flushed and red and leaking, and so goddamn thick. You wrap your hand around him and he sighs gratefully, dribbling precum onto your fingers.

"This is what I want," you finally reply, keeping your eyes locked on his as you lean forward to lick a broad line up his cock. He hisses in a breath through his teeth, his thighs already beginning to tremble, and you brace your hand on one. "But you're gonna be quiet, okay? I'm gonna suck your cock and you're not gonna make a single sound."

His expression darkens, but he agrees to your terms, nonetheless.

"Sure, darlin'. Whatever you say," he nods, gazing down at you with furrowed brows. He cradles your face in his hand and brushes his thumb along your cheekbone.

The affectionate gesture isn't lost on you, but this time you accept it. Instinctively leaning into his touch, you revel in it for a brief moment before his cock pulsing a frantic rhythm against your palm becomes an unignorable distraction. But a welcome one.

"That's my boy," you mumble against the tip. Just as a pained noise escapes his parted lips, you swallow him down as far as you can take him, purposely gagging yourself on him before you can dwell on the words that accidentally just tumbled out.

Your boy. Your boy. It echoes in your mind, ricocheting wildly and painfully like a bullet. Before you can take it back, maybe even to keep you from taking it back, he buries his fingers in your hair and holds you in place. You choke around him, trying your best to breathe through your nose, but in doing so, you take in a lungful of the heady musk at his base.

The familiarity of it all sends you reeling. He only gives you a second to adjust before he's fucking into your mouth and biting back a litany of needy sounds that rival your own wet, audible gagging. Your grip on his thigh tightens as your throat relaxes, allowing you to take him deeper, and you can feel yourself clenching around nothing every time he grazes the back of your throat. 

Tears stream down your cheeks and he wipes them away with a much too tender swipe of his thumb, even as he continues to force you up and down his cock. But you're too lost in your pleasure to notice anymore. So fucking good, you feel so, so good. But you need more, and you're not willing to pull off of him just yet.

Tugging down the front of your shirt, you roll a sensitive nipple between your fingers, and, god, that helps. You imagine they're Joel's and it amplifies the sensation, though your fingertips are still too smooth and delicate. Then, they're replaced by exactly what you've been yearning for all night. 

“You don’t even know how beautiful y'look like this,” he grits out, his fingers running through your hair with one hand and roughly cupping your breast with the other. His hips stutter, and you moan around him. “Fuckin’ perfect. How are ya so fuckin’ perfect?”

Beautiful. More beautiful than her? Well, you must be, because you’re the one here on your knees, choking on his cock, and she’s still sitting in the bar wondering if her date will ever come back. 

He won’t.

You preen without meaning to, your eyes blearily finding his while you drool around him, dripping saliva down his balls and onto your bare breasts. It's as if the visual alone has him thrusting into your mouth faster, pushing your limits only as much as he knows you can take. You must look like a wet dream right now, his wet dream, with your watery eyes and swollen, split-slick lips wrapped tightly around him.

Yet, he's remained so, so quiet this entire time, just like you told him to. Joel likes his sex loud, regardless of where you are and who might hear, so if he’s following your rules, that means something. 

It means he'll do whatever it takes to have you. The realization crashes over you like a bucket of ice water, and then you're pulling off of him. 

“You’ll give me anything, right? Anything I want?” your voice cracks around the question, wrecked from the effort of taking him. His hips chase your hand as you continue to pump him, matching his previous, unforgiving pace. 

“That ain’t a question, y’know I will,” he replies breathily and without hesitation. 

You gaze up at him, praying your eyes convey all of the need and anguish and hope you've felt since the last time you slept together. Since the last time you were his.

“Fuck me," and you won't accept anything less than his all. Not that half-assed shit he would've given her. "Fuck me."

He understands. His heart rate kicks up, thrumming wildly against the palm of your hand, and you know he does.

The growl that rumbles through his chest is nearly soundless but powerful. An entire night's worth of tension culminating in a single exhaled breath, just before he drags you up and spins you around, bending you over against the wall. 

Bracing yourself on the harsh brick, you rush to give him better access, arching your back as he tugs your pants and underwear down to your knees. A callused hand runs upward, following the notches of your spine, while his other spreads across your waist, pulling your hips back onto his so you can feel him, heavy and leaking against your bare ass.

God, he’s so close to where you need him now. His knuckles graze your skin as he grips the base, pumping himself before the blunt head of his cock nudges your entrance.

But then, for some godforsaken reason, you feel a wave of panic. Time suddenly feels like it's running out, worsening with every subtle movement he makes. The ticking clock of your and Joel's relationship, perpetually stuck at two minutes to midnight, has sprung to life and that terrifies you.

You don't want him to stop—fuck, you don't want him to stop, but you know neither of you will last long once he's inside you. The build-up was too intense and this entire night has you both wound up so tight, you could snap at any moment. 

You need to savor this. The way you failed to on your couch all those weeks ago, and might not get to ever again.

“Slow,” you tell him over your shoulder, and it's equal parts a command and a plea. If this is the last time, then you want to feel it. Every thick inch of him, while he still belongs to you. “Just…go slow.”

He nods, shifting forward almost imperceptibly so he can watch your lashes flutter as you brace for the stretch.

"Don't need’ta tell me. I know how ya like it," he replies gruffly.

He does. For now, you won’t overthink it or let yourself get lost in the nostalgia of his cock nestled inside you. You’ll just enjoy it. Sex with Joel has always been mind-blowing, and here, in a dirty alleyway, pressed up against the exterior of a bar, you bet it’ll be life-changing.

It stings like it always does when he breaches your entrance, no matter how wet you are for him. Together, you hiss in a sharp breath, mutually adjusting to the overwhelming stretch that quickly ebbs into something addictive.

"Tight as all goddamn hell," he mutters to himself, rocking into you languidly. He takes his time, relishing your walls enveloping him, mesmerized by the way you suck him in until he's buried to the hilt. 

"Would'ja look at that," he continues in awe, tracing where his cock is forcing you to yield to him. "Greedy fuckin' pussy, ain't she? M'not goin' anywhere, don't'chu worry. Gonna take care of ya...make ya feel so fuckin' good..."

He's starting to babble. Not good. Not good at all. 

Broad hands grip your ass, pulling your cheeks apart so he can see how tightly you’re gripping him, and it's too much. His hips buck, startling a pained whine out of you as he rams into that spot. The one deep inside you he can only reach when he’s fucking you from behind. Your cunt clenches, fighting to keep him there, and he growls low in his throat, hungry and territorial like a wild animal.

"There it is," he nudges it again, purposefully this time. You barely manage to bite back a sob as you gush messily around him. "Christ, honey, y'sure ya still want it slow? 'Cus it sure don't sound like it."

He's patronizing you. He knows exactly what he's doing—that's his spot. He also knows it makes you loud as fuck. But he wouldn’t. There’s no way he’d go back on his word, not after he promised he’d be discreet.

"Joel. Don't," you warn him shakily, but you're already too far gone to be intimidating. 

He pulls out until just the tip is still inside you, huffing out a distinctly calculated breath.

"Don't what? Don't make ya cum nice and loud on my cock? 'Fraid I can't do that, darlin'."

That's all the warning you get before he slams in hard. Your jaw drops, and you're positive you couldn't have stopped the wail punched out of your chest even if you'd tried.

Wrong. You’re wrong again, and you should’ve known better. It’s not the first time he’s gone back on his word, remember? Joel’s shitty lack of communication is why you’re here in the first place. Sure, he agreed to be quiet, but he never said anything about you.

He establishes a brutal pace that has you scrabbling against the wall for purchase and slapping a hand over your mouth in a futile attempt to muffle the desperate cries being forced from your body.

Please, don’t be outside. Please, please, Jesse. Don’t still be outside. 

But your luck's officially run out. 

Heavy mahogany crashes into solid brick, echoing down the alleyway, and a raucous group of people spills out onto the street, barely 30 feet from where your ass and tits are out for anyone to see. Then, the deep baritone of Jesse's voice cuts through the rest, and your blood immediately turns to ice. 

You're fucked. You're about to get caught and expose your secret to the entire town, except...Joel isn't stopping. Fuck, he's—

Yanking your entire body up and ripping your hand away from your mouth, rutting into you like he was just waiting for an audience. He snakes a hand up your stomach to palm at your chest, squeezing firmly to anchor himself as he fucks up into you with all the force he can muster.

And it turns you on so much, you finally stop caring. Fuck it. Fuck this town. Fuck everyone in that bar who made you feel like a goddamn pariah for months, crucifying you for the unforgivable sin of getting your heart broken. 

You hope his date's standing out there, too, so she can hear everything she'll never get to have. So they can all see that Joel Miller isn't the crushed, cruelly dumped old man they all thought he was.

Your moans ring out, loud and high-pitched, all but drowning out the messy slap of his hips into the drenched curve of your ass.

"That's it, darlin', let it all out," he chuckles darkly against the shell of your ear. Your next moan tapers into a drawn-out keen that he mimics, his thrusts getting shallow and sloppy. "S'for me, right? Let 'em know you're makin' all those pretty noises just for me."

Christ, you're close. And he's as close as you are, you can feel it. You turn your head, nodding jerkily into his shoulder.

"S'for you, Joel—mmph, just for you. Only for you," your words slur as he continues to bounce you on his cock. 

"Tell 'em you're mine, darlin’. Not just here," he pants raggedly, desperation coating his words. "Everywhere. You're mine everywhere."

The voices are getting closer, about to pass the mouth of the alley, and the ice in your veins quickly thaws, turning to molten lava. They'll definitely be able to able to hear you, but can they see you? For the umpteenth time tonight, you decide you really don't give a shit. You've got none left. You and Joel, that's all that matters now. 

His hand drops between your legs, thick fingers swirling tight, slick circles into your clit while he waits for you to confirm what he already knows. You've said it again and again—weeks ago, wrapped up in his arms, and earlier tonight, after the worst argument you've had since the breakup. 

And you’ll tell him again in this alley as you cum blindingly hard around his cock. Third time's the charm.

"Y-yours, Joel. I'm always yours."

His hips completely lose their rhythm, and he barely has time to breathe out his contentment before the violent convulsing of your cunt and contrasting serenity of your words send him hurtling over the edge.

"That's my girl."

He crashes his lips into yours, swallowing every noise you make as the group finally comes into view. Their drunken chattering and roughhousing aren't enough to draw your attention away from each other, but the depraved sounds of Joel continuing to fuck you through your release captures theirs almost immediately.

A few of them stop to squint into the darkness, trying their best to pinpoint what everyone already knows is happening further down the alley. As they inch closer, they can just barely make out two connected figures, and the wind carrying muffled gasps and labored breathing with it into the street all but confirms it.

"Y'all seein' this?" they whisper amongst themselves, but in the inebriated state they're in, they might as well be yelling.

And that's what pulls you and Joel back to reality. Shit. Shit. So, this is it, then. You tense in Joel's arms, waiting to get called out as the slutty girl who seduced her ex away from his date. Hell, they're not even wrong. You can feel his cum dribbling out of you, and can't help but think maybe you'd deserve it.

From where you're standing, you recognize each and every one of their faces under the string lights, and you know damn well that none of them can keep their mouths shut. Except...wait a second. They're still glancing back and forth between you and Joel in the shadows and each other. 

Oh. The fucking shadows. None of them can see shit. They have no clue who the hell they're looking at. Joel must've caught on around the same time you did, because now he's backing up, putting more distance between you and the looming crowd. Before they can get any closer, one of the younger guys cuts in front to block their path.

“C’mon, it's probably a couple’a teenagers. Just let ‘em be," he drawls, glancing back at you. Your eyes lock, and you're suddenly so grateful, you could cry. It's Jesse. He shoots you a wink before turning back to the group, shaking his head in mock admonishment. "Don't act like y'all weren't doin' the same damn thing at their age."

By some miracle, it fucking works. They all laugh in agreement, appeased by Jesse's quick thinking. One by one, they follow each other out of the alley and back onto the road to continue their original path home. Jesse lingers. 

"Glad y'all figured things out," he calls out over his shoulder, giving you privacy to tug your shirt back up. He clears his throat awkwardly before continuing, "Look, I, uh...distracted as many people as I could from comin' over here, but if y'all were gonna be that loud, maybe you should'a figured things out at home."

Jesse shakes his head again, chuckling to himself as he shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Anyway, y'all have a good night, now. Get home safe."

As he jogs away to catch up with the rest of the group, you start to laugh, too. You can’t help it. It feels cathartic, relieving some of the tension of this overly eventful night.

Joel’s body begins to shake behind you, his chest rumbling with what you realize is deep-bellied laughter. It gradually increases in volume as it melds seamlessly with yours; transitory, white clouds of condensation that intertwine, then dissipate.

You feel him slip out as he starts to soften, and then he turns you to face him, carefully crowding you into the wall. He kisses you again, this time slow and deliberate like you asked him to earlier. His tongue meets yours, gasps exchanged and treasured like you have all the time in the world. 

When he parts from you, it feels reluctant, but he stays close, whispering his next words against your lips.

“M’gonna get ya cleaned up, alright?” he mumbles, dropping his arm from around your waist to run his fingers up the cum leaking down your thighs. You shiver as they continue up, slipping his release back inside you. “Don’t…,” he continues, squeezing his eyes shut as his forehead drops to yours, “…just—don’t go anywhere. Please. I’ll be right back.”

Maybe he’s trying to protect himself from the response he anticipates you’ll give him, but that seems silly after everything you’ve been through tonight. You cup his cheek and thumb the coarse, trimmed hairs of his beard, willing him to open his eyes. He does, hesitantly, one then the other, and you offer him a soft smile.

“I’m not going anywhere, Joel.”

An intoxicating breath fans across your face, and the taut muscles in his neck and shoulders loosen. His lips match the soft quirk of your own and, then, brush fleetingly against your cheekbone as he backs away and disappears through a metal side door you didn't notice before. The moment it clicks shut, you slump against the wall. 

Christ. Your mind is simultaneously blank and racing a mile a minute. Taking a deep breath, you let your head thunk into solid, grounding brick while you wait for even a single coherent thought to take root. What now? What happens next? 

There's no coming back from tonight. You both made choices you'll have to answer for, but, for some reason, that doesn't seem so scary anymore. The clock is ticking, but there's time. Plenty of it.

You're still lost in your reverie when Joel gets back with a thick wad of damp paper towels. You snort at the idea of him suddenly appearing in Seth's kitchen and having to explain himself, but maybe the racket you kicked up right outside his door was explanation enough.

"Seth didn't give you any shit for stealing his stuff?" you ask as Joel drops to his knees and coaxes one of your legs over his shoulder.

The cold air has already started to leach the warmth from the paper towels, and they feel cool as he slides them along your soiled skin. He huffs out a laugh.

"Nah, the kitchen was empty. Think they're startin' to close up for the night." 

When he finishes your first thigh, he surprises you by leaning in to press a soft kiss against your freshly cleaned skin. He nips at you teasingly before starting on the next one.

You hum in response, threading your fingers through his hair and watching fondly as he pays careful attention to his task. He continues to wipe away his drying release, trailing his lips down your thigh as he goes, until he finishes at your knee.

He gazes up at you with a charmingly crooked grin, and that’s when it finally slips out. The single coherent thought you’ve been waiting for.

“I love you, Joel,” you murmur, brushing your fingertips across his cheek. 

His smile falters. Then, it drops completely and your heart shatters. You don’t understand. But that—no. No, it doesn’t make any fucking sense. After everything that’s happened, how could you have been wrong again?

Joel sighs, grimacing as he slowly gets back up. He braces himself on one knee, clearly aching more than he's letting on, but when you reach down to offer him a hand, he refuses your help.

“S’fine, I got it. Just…,” he gestures to your jeans, still hanging loosely around your knees. You pull them up, fighting not to feel humiliated as he rises to his full height. 

You search his eyes for…something. Anything. Any indication of what he’s feeling right now, but they’re blank. Cold and distant, just like they were the night he left you. 

No. He doesn’t get to do this to you again. Not after everything you’ve been through. Not without an explanation. Not if he doesn’t want to lose you forever.

“Tell me why you broke up with me."

For a long time, you genuinely believed you could live without knowing the truth, but somewhere along the line, it began to eat away at you. Now, you want the real reason. He owes you that, at the very least.

You wait while he either works himself up to it or tries to figure out what bullshit to tell you this time. Once his hands settle on his hips, you know with absolute certainty it's the latter.

“Darlin’…,” he starts wearily, but you shoot him a look that stops him in his tracks. He doesn't get to call you that right now, and he knows it. Pausing, he nods grimly before beginning again. "We already talked about this. I’m no good for ya. It was only a matter of time before ya woke up one day and realized it for yourself.”

There it is. That same bullshit reason. You scoff bitterly, not surprised in the slightest.

“What the fuck does that even mean, Joel? We were together for years. If that was gonna happen, don’t you think it would’ve already?" you counter angrily. 

You're trying not to get emotional. This can't be a repeat of what happened last time, but it's dragging up too many painful memories. It's always the same fight. You can't do this anymore.

"You know what? Fuck you," you seethe as your self-control slips completely. "Fuck you for making that decision for me. You had no right."

At your words, his face crumples and he has the nerve to look ashamed. Maybe even a little hurt. His pained expression makes your heart ache, yet a nastier part of you believes it's only fair that he feels this way, too. He sighs, his eyes dropping wistfully to his feet.

“I did what I thought was best," he mumbles quietly as if he doesn't want to be heard. It's hard for him to say this out loud, and you realize it's because he's finally telling you the truth. "I just…I thought you’d be happier with someone else, someone who could give ya a family. Kids. I gave you up so you could have the life ya always wanted."

You eye him incredulously. The life you always wanted? Sure, you and Joel had toyed with the idea of having a family once upon a time, but that was never a dealbreaker. He should've known that. He should've brought it up before deciding to destroy your life together over an idealized fantasy.

“Oh, here we go. Joel, the fucking savior. Mr. Fix-It, swooping in to save everyone and solve every problem," you hurl back venomously. But it was a cruel thing to say, and you immediately hate yourself for it.

Rationally, you know his intentions were kind. He probably even thought he was being selfless. But he hurt you, and, through your tunnel vision, that's all you can see. You push yourself off the wall, stalking closer to where he stands, still refusing to look at you.

"So what, you thought you’d dump me and I’d immediately shack up with some other asshole? Is that really what you think of me?”

His eyes shoot up to yours and his fingers begin to tap restlessly at his sides. Now, you've pissed him off. 

“Don't go puttin’ words in my mouth. That ain’t true and you fuckin’ know it," he all but growls, his body shaking with a turbulent combination of frustration and adrenaline.

You're starting to feel it, too. This conversation is overwhelming both of you, but he still hasn't told you everything. There's a piece missing, keeping all of his disjointed reasonings from adding up. He's holding back and it's time for him to stop.

“Then what is, Joel?" you plead with him to give you a definitive answer. One that finally explains why you had to lose everything. Ellie, your home. The love of your life. "What’s the truth?"

Then, everything he's kept bottled up inside and allowed to poison his happiness claws its way out as a single, unwavering statement. 

“I’m too fuckin’ old for you!”

The silence that follows his admission is deafening. You watch in shock as he runs a hand through his hair in frustration. He's never yelled like that before or looked so defeated. By something as innocuous as his age. 

It isn't something you'd ever considered, not before your relationship and never once during. But he did. His bottom lip starts to tremble as he turns and takes a few steps away from you.

“Every day, I’d watch ya…offerin’ to take more shifts, spendin’ time at the school with Ellie and the kids," he says softly, shaking his head as he works through his next words. "And every day, I’d feel it. My body givin’ out on me, more and more. My blood pressure’s up, my goddamn knees are creakin’. Couldn’t even fuckin’ stand up on my own just now." 

When he turns back to you, his eyes are wet with unshed tears. He feels too far, but you know you can't go to him, yet. He's not finished.

"You can do better than that. You deserve better than that," his voice cracks and your whole world blurs into a wash of colors. “You’re gonna outlive me by a mile. I’m an old man, darlin’. It wasn’t fair for me to keep ya.”

For a while, you just watch each other. Tears overflow and continuously spill down his cheeks and yours, but neither of you moves to wipe them away. 

None of this is fair. You're both miserable and heartbroken, perpetually yearning for a love you've told yourselves you can't have. Months ago, Joel made a choice for both of you. You won't make the same mistake he did.

"I didn't want fair, Joel. I wanted you. A life with you...," your face screws up as you fight back a sob, "...the rest of my life with you, however long that is."

Joel takes a tentative step forward, carefully reaching out to touch you, but stops himself before he can get too close. He looks afraid...of you. Scared of the consequences of allowing you back into his heart. 

A sob escapes your chest, then, and you wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly bitterly cold and wanting nothing more than for Joel to hold you. To tell you for the first time since the breakup that he loves you and, regardless of time, won't ever stop.

So, you cross the alleyway and cup his wet cheeks in your hands, wiping away his sadness and, hopefully, his fears. He melts into the poignant familiarity of your touch and it makes you brave. This time, you'll be brave enough for both of you.

"Don't I deserve that?" you whisper, close enough to share his next breath. He watches your lips, hanging onto your every word. "Don't you?" 

His eyes meet yours, and it finally happens. The moment Joel gives in and decides to let himself be happy. He nods slowly in your grasp, reaching up to cradle your hand on his cheek. 

"Dunno what I deserve, darlin'. Not after the things I've done and the hurt I put ya through. But if I'm...if this is really what ya want...," he hesitates, his voice thick with tears and, yet, still that full-bodied, twang that sounds like home. "I'm yours. 'Til my last breath, I'm yours."

He kisses you before either of you can start crying again, and it's all there. The love he kept under lock and key to protect you, released from the prison of his own making.

His kiss feels different again. There's no hunger or rush, and the possessiveness—the need to devour everything you have to give so there's nothing left for anyone else—is gone. He's sure, now, that there's no one else you'd rather give yourself to.

His arms circle your waist and he pulls you closer, crushing you into time-worn chambray and sullied denim as you continue to explore each other like a pair of horny teenagers. Two lovers learning to give and take for the first time. Time passes slowly in this space you've carved out for yourselves, even as the moon continues to rise in the night sky and floods the corridor with light. 

Then, noisily and as if right on cue, the last-call crowd stumbles from the bar and immediately catches what the previous group missed. You and Joel separate, dazed but unhurried, to find that it's them. 

It has to be fucking kismet that, of everyone in Jackson, the first to witness your reconciliation would be the biggest blabbermouths in the entire town. The same women who talked shit about you every day for months and constantly vied for Joel's attention, standing there with wide eyes and slack jaws.

Their varied expressions almost make you want to laugh, and you can't help but snort unattractively into Joel's shoulder. Half of them are glaring at you, and the rest look either devastated or genuinely surprised. Guess you were better at hiding your arrangement than you thought, not that it matters anymore. It's a relationship again, and everyone's about to know all about it. Joel clears his throat, drawing their attention back to him.

"Evenin', ladies. S'there somethin' we can help ya with?" he drawls, breaking out the Southern charm that endeared every single one of them to him in the first place.

They all shake their heads, looking a little too pleased with themselves once the initial shock wears off and they realize you've just given them the gossip of the century. After a few fake, high-pitched pleasantries, they slink away as quickly as they came, already chatting to themselves about some shit you'll definitely hear tomorrow at breakfast. You watch them go, feeling oddly liberated.

"Guess the cat's outta the bag, huh?" You wrap your arms loosely around his neck, still chuckling softly to yourself. Joel huffs out a laugh, too, bending down to kiss the crown of your head before nodding in agreement.

"'Fraid so," he muses, amusement and a hint of something lighter glinting in his eyes. 

You haven't seen him this relaxed in a long time. As he holds you in his arms, he leans a fraction of his weight on you to ease the night's strain on his back and knees, and it makes you feel needed. Relied on. That's new, Joel depending on you like this. Things are going to be different this time around, you can tell. They already are. 

You hum, ruminating on what awaits you after your first night back in your own bed, in your own home. What everyone will think and say—to your face and behind your back—when they find out you're back together. Though, the only opinions you give a shit about are Ellie, Tommy, and Maria's, anyway.

So, yeah, you're a lot of things right now: exhausted, yet relieved and so full of hope. But you're not afraid, the cat and the bag be damned.

"I'm not," you tell him honestly as you pull away. You let your hands trail from his shoulders, down his arms, until his hands are in yours. 

Tugging gently, you walk him backward out of the alley, away from the bar and plummeting winter chill, and any lingering, prying eyes. Even the moon and stars have no stake in what comes next. This moment, right here and now, belongs to you and Joel, alone.

"Take me home, Joel."

The light in his eyes burns brighter, amusement giving way to adoration and contentment. He's been waiting for this, to be given the privilege of keeping you safe and taking care of you the way he needs to—it's how he shows love. 

He slots his fingers between yours and leads you down the empty streets of Jackson. 

"Darlin', nothin' would make me happier."

thanks for reading!

[pirateprincessblog]

2 batteries away

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: if he can choose to spend time with someone else rather than you, daryl would do it. not because he hates you. he simply doesn't have any type of connection with you. and you are so young. but when rick demands that you join him on a scavenge hunt, he doesn't have much of a saying into it, and chooses to act unbothered. he also chooses to ignore the way you tease him the whole trip, your hips swaying just a bit more when walking than usual. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: daryl dixon x female reader 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: alexandria, pre-negan 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: big age gap, reader is half daryl's age 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: voyeurism, masturbation, breath-play, subtle ddlg, toys, subtle dacryphilia

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i am on season ten of twd (my first time watching) and it feels like this man's clothes keep getting tighter and tighter each episode and i am so here for it. also the way his arms magically always glisten in the sun as he subtly flexes when the camera is on him? give me a break I BEG

Also I miss Rick very much 🥺

*

"i have a special request. if i'm allowed to do that." a playful voice calls behind you.

you turn around, squinting. the sun is high up in the sky, and right in your eyes. you make out carol's short hair, and nod at her as a sign to keep speaking.

"i'm gonna need something i can make cookies or cakes with. hazelnut, chocolate, almonds,... you know. cake stuff." the woman smiles.

"i'm going out for ibuprofen and possibly viagra, not chocolate."

"viagra? for who?"

you chuckle under the cap rosita has given you, and try to subtly glance over at the man loading the car with weapons. he grunts, glaring at you and instantly shutting down the bullying party you wanted to start.

"i don't need no damn viagra." he slams the trunk door shut, and walks past you, intentionally pushing his shoulder into yours.

you fall a step back, holding in a laugh. carol has her hands on her hips, but her laugh isn't hidden. she knows daryl can't say anything to her.

"oh, come on. i know that you like to stay quiet and mysterious, but a little joking in hard times never hurt anybody." the woman defends you, scrunching her eyebrows at daryl.

"it's hurting me." he yells from the car, slamming the door shut.

"how am i supposed to survive this trip with him, ricky?" you complain, shoulders hanging with rising irritation with the situation.

"you survived a walker flooded prison with nothing but an axe before you found us on the other side, and you're telling me you can't survive a grumpy old man for a few hours?"

"thing is, i killed walkers. i cannot kill him. boo-hoo, the precious tracker. i also, when i see a footprint on the floor facing a certain way, know that someone is headed there. wild, right?"

rick pats your head, messing up the cap in the process just to tease you.

"bring me some shirts on the way back, i'm getting sick of these flannels. and get yourself something nice."

one would think that he gave you his credit card to buy him those shirts at the nearby mall. telling you to get yourself something nice, that idiot. the less fun truth is that you are headed towards a landfill two hours away from alexandria, in hopes of finding anything. glenn and morgan haven't had any luck for a few days now, so rick decided to change the route and the team. daryl and you, apparently, make a great one. that pain in the ass of a man.

"i'm leavin'. you stay and talk 'bout me all you wan'. i'm the one actually doin' something for this place."

"stuck up much? see," you open the car door, sitting inside annoyed, "with the viagra, you'd be a much more pleasant person to be around."

"enough with the damn viagra. fuck's the matter with you?"

"god, just start driving and drop me off somewhere in the middle of the road and i'll find my own shit from a different place. rick doesn't need to know."

"no," he simply responds, not sparing you a glance.

rick waves at you with a smile on his face, knowing damn well what he did putting the two of you together for such a long quest. he's so going to hear from you tonight. if you make it out alive while trying to kill daryl.

"so, what are you hoping to find? booze, peanut butter, new clothes? i'm starting to think you stapled those clothes to your body."

he says nothing, eyes focused on the road. you sigh. maybe you're the problem. you're poking him too much, knowing he has zero patience and doesn't very much like your company. you decide to keep quiet for the rest of the drive, only occasionally glancing over at him out of boredom.

you can't lie, he is an attractive man. you don't know why you're mean to him. he is gorgeous to you, your taste in older rugged men not failing you. you're surprised rick isn't the one you fell for. but next to daryl, he looks too... neat. daryl is just perfect. most of the time his deep raspy voice has you subconsciously rubbing and squeezing your thighs, led by a tingling sensation in your lower stomach. his clothes have recently gotten very tight on him, the buttons of his black shirt threatening to pop and give you a view of your lifetime. he has been working out a lot, you've seen him. fuck, not only have you seen him, you also stayed there, secretly snapping pictures with your polaroid your father had left you before disaster struck. you only had a few films left, yet no self control. something about seeing daryl all sweaty as he did push ups, grunting and almost moaning, thinking that nobody can see him, did things to you.

"wha'?" he asks, sensing your intense gaze.

you turn your head away, flushed. "nothin'."

"mmh."

he keeps it short and stern, and if your panties weren't drenched as your brain replayed the memory of his glistening arm muscles, you'd probably make a sassy remark. he raises an eyebrow, probably also wondering why you aren't being mean for so long now.

"shoes." he says after some time.

"what?" you ask, absent-mindedly staring into the tall trees and the walkers hidden among them.

"i'm hoping to find some shoes. it's gettin' hard to walk in these. i also hope i find sum more arrows."

you nod, surprised that he has actually graced you with an answer. you thought he'd say something like cigarettes or alcohol. you hated people who smoke. but daryl is an exception. he looks damn hot doing it.

"you?" he asks.

"well, new underwear would be nice. i ripped all my good panties, and let me tell you, these thongs are not apocalypse friendly."

"shit, girl, oversharing much?"

"what, you disgusted by female underwear?" you poke back, playfully.

"not female underwear. your underwear."

you're offended. you squint at him, and have to fight the urge to smack the back of his head.

"for your information, you don't look or smell all flowery and fresh yourself. i could use your hair to grease up carol's tray for her cakes. and your fingernails? they have their own ecosystem at this point."

and back to the bickering it is. he grunts again, furrowing his eyebrows. he secretly glances at his fingernails. indeed, they had a layer of dirt under them, but daryl thinks that he has bigger issues than some dirt that will get washed off anyway.

"oh, i also wish to find-"

"yeah, lost interest." the man interrupts. "also, for future conversations, you do not mention your... thongs... to people that are ol' enough to be your father."

ew.

ew.

ew.

he did not.

"what, is that how you see me? you could be my father?"

how utterly disappointing. there you were, sitting next to him, imagining him going feral between your legs, all while he is viewing you as his child. there goes your masturbating material for tonight.

"well the age fits the description."

"fuck you. seriously." you sigh, turning your body towards the window so you can fully ignore him.

arriving at the gates, you immediately notice a few things that you will be taking home. how foolish of you to not take a truck instead of the crusty old car.

"watch it." just as he says it, an arrow passes by your head, followed with a loud thud.

you don't have to look back to know that a walker had managed to sneak behind you, while you were foolish enough to stay swooning over his arms glistening in the sun with sweat.

"damn it, girl, i don' know what it is with you, but you gotta snap outta it. i can't keep saving ya ass."

"yes, dad." you reply, annoyed.

"hey." he calls, hand reaching to cup your jaw and turn your head towards him. "shut it before i make ya."

if it weren't for the feeling of his rough hand on your face and his raspy voice sending you a warning turning you on, you would've slapped him and told him not to touch you. but oh, you were going crazy inside. you found a new way to push his buttons, and you're going to have so much fun with it.

you walk behind him into the landfill, the smell of junk pinching your nose. daryl is also bothered by it, seeing his scrunched expression as he scanned the first piles of garbage.

"there." he points his crossbow a certain way.

you follow the invisible line, your eyes landing on what seemed to be several taped boxes. they could have three things inside: food, weapons, or traps. weird how nobody has discovered this place yet. or maybe they have, and they took all valuables already.

daryl doesn't wait for you. he makes his way towards the boxes, keeping his crossbow ready if something goes wrong. you, on the other hand, have tucked your knife safely and are walking around like there isn't walkers scratching at the fence, waiting to sink their teeth into your skull.

"dammit."

you hear rattling. you turn around, only to find the man kicking the boxes angrily. the can he has just thrown on the floor rolls up to your feet, and you crouch down to examine it. it is food, but expired. eating it would be like playing russian roulette.

"i mean, we can still... ya'know, take it with us. what happens happens."

"dixon, if i'm gonna die, i'm gonna die from a bullet or a bite. not from a rotten macaroni."

he raises an eyebrow at you, amused with your laid back attitude. he doesn't give you much attention, just silently walks next to you while scanning his side of the landfill.

"ah, sweet!" you cheer, running towards a pile.

"wha'?"

you almost trip over the broken wooden chairs, trying to get to a certain little box in the pile.

"the hell are ya doin'? we're losin' time!"

your eyes instinctively roll at his voice. you know he has nothing smart to say. finally reaching the box, you jump back on the floor, eagerly opening it. seeing that the item still has the foil sealed on it, you victoriously raise it in the air, cheering.

"you have made it a goal for yourself to die today, didn't ya?"

"nah, not anymore. i found something that will keep me occupied and will fuel my will to live a little longer."

you continue your way forward, leaving daryl to stare at the box you have discarded, trying to figure out what it is. but he has decided he has no time for your immaturity. he needs to ask rick to not ever put him with you on a hunt again. he's lost a lot of time already, and hasn't found a single thing to bring back.

"clothes." you point, the pile of fabric sitting on top of a garbage hill.

"you gonna go get 'em?"

"why would i go? you go."

"you wanted your... thongs... so, you go get that."

you scoff, setting the newly acquired item on the ground and slowly climbing up the hill.

"what is this, anyway?" his curiosity wins.

you sit on top of the pile, examining the clothes and discarding the ones with holes in them.your eyes dart to the man below you, and you chuckle when you see him crouch and take the item in his hand.

"it's a wand."

"wand?"

"yes."

"for?" he keeps pressing, his eyes never leaving the pink gadget.

"masturbating."

thud.

you look down, mortified. he better not break it.

"careful with that, what's the matter with you?!"

"you're fuckin' crazy, girl."

you silently mock him, sticking your tongue out at him and repeating his words with exaggerated face expressions. he really gets on your nerves. you gather the clothes you have found into a bed sheet, tying it up and putting it over your shoulder, then pick up the gadget from the floor. it seems alive, it didn't break. you only hope it works. you're young, inexperienced, surrounded by people that are either too young or too old for you. though, the old part never was a problem for you, it was for them.

feeling bored, you decide to keep poking him. he is just so grumpy, and silent. and inviting to irritate.

"so, dixon, you've never heard about one of these?" you wave the gadget in front of his face.

he spares you a glare, and continues walking.

"come on, we're talking. nobody's around. tell me, since all of this started, how many times have you even approached a girl? do you even mastu-"

"'m not in the mood to be picked on right now."

"i'm not picking on you. i promise. just trying to converse."

"you want to be useful? hold this. it's in my way." he throws his vest at you, now only wearing a tight black t-shirt.

you scowl at him, shoving his vest into your backpack.

"you're so fun to be around. i get why rick put us together."

he grunts, leaving you behind. rolling your eyes, you go down a different path, hoping to find something useful to all of alexandria and not just you. turning a few lefts, you find yourself standing in front of a little shed like structure. you bang on the door with your foot, and when hearing no growls, you bravely enter. it is dusty and dark, with a singular armchair and a few cupboards.

you open each one of them, happily shoving all the food you managed to find into your backpack, opening a protein bar along the way and chewing on the oats and dried fruits. you missed having those with yogurt for breakfast.

not only will carol be happy with the amount of nuts and flour you have found, rick will be proud of you. you might even ask for a reward when he sees the amount of canned tuna and jam you have found. you forgot what pancakes taste like.

after clearing the room, you peek out the window. daryl is in the distance, going through piles and kicking stuff out of his way, as if playing. you've collected way more than him, and the sun is at it's highest point. the shaded room seems like a perfect place to take a nap, or just rest your feet and ears from him.

you plop on the armchair like a star washed up on the shore. it feels so lonely lately. rick has michonne, carl has enid, rosita has her boytoys, even gabriel might be having more fun than you. as wrong as it was, you stay up listening to the noises coming across the street. they're loud, there's no way you could ignore them even if you wanted to. even rick had to step in and ask them to be quieter. but what is a problem to someone else is a solution for you. is it wrong to touch yourself while listening to someone else fucking? yes. but is it the only way that works for you? also yes.

you eye up the toy that peeks from the backpack, then glance out the window. daryl is busy with his crossbow, having found something that he could use on it.

fuck it.

you unbuckle your pants, not bothering to take off the panties. your fingers are quick to pop the batteries that come with the package in the gadget, and when the lid clicks, you admire it for a second. there it is, in all its glory. waiting to be abused every day by you, until you find a replacement. hopefully a softer and live one.

taking off the thin protective foil from the head, you position yourself on the armchair. you glance at the window again, carefully monitoring daryl. now, if you thought that eavesdropping and touching yourself was bad, what was this? watching daryl's fingers work on his crossbow, arms glistening in the sun, all while the pink toy softly vibrates on your pulsating clit.

you sigh at the newfound pleasure, rubbing the toy up and down your slit, while your eyes stay focused on the man unaware of your situation. he probably even forgot about you. or is thankful that you have left him alone. even better for you. you get to be a pervert without him ever knowing.

you arch your back, throwing your head on the backrest as you focus on chasing the release. it's been awhile, it won't take you long. your eyes open again, just enough to see if the man is still in his spot. your fingers change the vibration strength on the gadget, and instantly, you gasp. it is so intense, and so much, but you don't want it to stop. this thing is your new best friend, you better get used to it.

something else peeks out of the backpack, the leather catching your attention and giving you an idea. like an animal in heat, you grab the vest, burying your nose into it and spreading your legs further. daryl's scent takes over your senses, making you lose control and become a moaning mess. you are getting wetter by the second, the toy now slipping up and down your slit with ease and giving you maximum pleasure.

"fuck- daryl-" you can't help but gasp, enveloped in his manly scent and fabric.

your hips hopelessly rub against the toy, chasing and chasing after something that isn't quite getting closer, even though it feels like it.

"the hell?"

your eyes widen at the interruption. you drop the vest in your lap, hiding the crime scene from him. the man stands at the door, expression unreadable. yours is one of horrified mixed with desire, the way he stares down at you angrily sending arrows to your core.

"daryl- i- did you, uh, find anything?" you try to play it off, foolishly.

"yeah. i found an animal in heat it seems. couldn't wait for alexandria to do that shit?"

"I-"

"is that my vest?"

he slams the door shut, leaving you two in darkness. you gulp, moving the gadget from your core and letting your panties fall back in place.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry-" you stutter, failing to put a sentence together while he intensely glares at you.

"ya ain't sorry." he grunts. "ya know why i despise being around your ass? you're inappropriate."

"no, look," you try, but he points a finger at your face, making you close your mouth.

your eyes burn, tears announcing their arrival.

"it's not like that-"

"shut up, dammit! i'm talkin' now! do you have any idea in how many uncomfortable situations you've  put me? all those snarky dirty comments, all that flirting, now this? do you understand what that does to me?!"

he's yelling, frustrated and angry with you. but why are you getting wetter? why can't you think rationally? he is scolding you for being inappropriate, and you continue to be even more inappropriate by sexualising simple yelling. not your fault he looks damn hot while he does it, though.

"you're- you're half my age. i can't allow myself to play your games, no matter how tempting."

what?

"what will alexandria think? they already have no good opinion on me. engaging with someone half my age the way you want me to engage is- it is a horrible idea. i'll be out faster than i was in."

silence swallows the room. you still lay on the armchair, half naked with his vest covering you. he paces around the room, fingers running through his hair as he tries to gather his thoughts. you think whether it's time to finally say something, but you wait another moment. you need to gather your thoughts too.

tempting, he said. so he thought about it too. he saw past your jokes, and has been controlling himself so well. if only you knew what it would take to shatter that control, even for just a moment.

"since when do you care what other people think?" you start.

"since rick chose to trust me."

you hum, understanding.

"listen-"

"so you've been thinking about it." you're the one to interrupt now.

his head snaps up, looking at you with his eyebrow raised, as if asking you where you're going with that statement.

"there's nothing wrong with it. it's not like we're getting married or something."

"i'm older than you. way older than you."

"so?"

"i could be your father."

"if you say that word to me one more time i swear i will turn this landfill upside down to find another sex toy to shove up your asshole."

"why do you get so triggered by it?"

you roll your eyes, looking anywhere but at him. you press your thighs together, missing the warmth and buzzing from earlier. fun killer.

"because."

"why?"

"doesn't matter."

"tell me," he presses further.

you finally look at him, frustrated. "because i have fucking daddy issues and the thought of you being so much older than me turns me on. there."

you get up from the armchair, putting his vest on so that you can cover yourself. it almost reaches your knees, hiding your body from his gaze. he says nothing, and does nothing for a few moments. you have your back turned to him, hands resting on the counter of the half chipped kitchen cabinet. your head hangs low with embarrassment from the confession that just left your mouth.

tears stream down your cheeks, luckily hidden by your hair. but daryl doesn't miss the little sniff that comes your way. he sighs, then paces around the place a little more. when you don't hear him anymore, and finally face the fact that nothing will be the same with him anymore, you dare turn around. you almost gasp when you come face to face with him, his chest pressing against yours.

"wha- what are you-"

"shh..." he hushes you, eyes roaming your face.

you aren't sure what to do, or what he wants to do. if he tries to comfort you by giving you a hug, you will break down. and you will never face him again. you thought it was only sexual, but the way he looks at you and hushes you as you cry is awakening new emotions inside of you. ones that you will push down for now, because it is not the time.

"daryl, i'm sorry." you hiccup, genuinely feeling sorry for ruining whatever you had with him.

you feel his hands on the back of your thighs, and before you can react, he picks you up and places you on the counter. you instinctively spread your legs, letting him in closer.

"don't be. or else i might regret this."

you look at him doe eyed as he places his hand on your neck, gently holding you just beneath your jaw and softly pressing into the sides of it. he brings his head close to you, eyes half closed as he stares at your lips.

"daryl." you whisper, not sure of this anymore.

"just hush."

and with that, he presses his lips into yours, softly moving them with rhythm only known to the two of you. his other hand caresses your thigh, then creeps to your bottom and pulls you to the edge of the counter, enough to have your crotch press against his.

you can taste your tears while you kiss him, and he probably can too. he doesn't say anything, hell, you even feel him twitch between your legs. you grind on him, unable to control yourself. it is different than the wand. it's warm, and it responds back. it's better.

"hey," you call, slowly pulling away. "i don't want you to do this because you feel sorry for me or something like that. are you doing it because of that?"

"nah."

before you can continue bombarding him with questions and overthinking, he places his lips back on yours, this time a little rougher than before. you open your mouth, tongue eager to taste him properly. and fuck, he tastes good. you hated cigarettes and alcohol, but from his mouth, you adore it. you finally give in, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him impossibly close. finally.

it doesn't take long for him to have you whining and grinding on him, wanting more than just kissing and thigh grabbing and occasional choking. you beg into his mouth, quietly at first, but with each kiss he gives you, you become louder and more demanding.

"touch me, please, please, please," you're desperate.

he smiles, for the first time in a while, and snakes his hands under your top. you hurriedly take off the vest and the top, to make it easier for him, but he pulls his vest back on your body. you are now wearing nothing but panties and the leather vest, making daryl incredibly impatient.

"ya just needed some attention, didn't ya?" he kisses your neck, his hand cupping your breast and thumb playing with the hard nub. "some sense fucked into ya to shut that mouth."

for someone that almost never talks, he is quite the talker now. and you can't complain, when his words have you clenching around nothing down there.

"needed someone older to take care of ya."

you moan at his words, spreading your legs further and raising your hips into his crotch. his hand reaches down to your panties, landing a light slap on your clothed clit as a warning. there's growling outside of the shed, but not enough to make you care. you'll get what you want, and no amount of walkers will stop you, even if it'll be your last.

daryl moves your panties aside, pulling away from you to see you. he hums, thumb coming to contact with your clit and circling it a few times. you shake under his touch, throwing your head back. it isn't something you haven't done before, but the touch is foreign, and different. his fingers are rough and big, an opposite of the soft flesh of your clit. he rubs your slit up and down, enough to smear your arousal so he can touch you better.

"fuck..." you trail, grabbing the edges of the counter and digging your nails into the hard surface.

"didn't find a boy your age to open you up?"

you shake your head. he hums again, fingers now circling your tight entrance.

"that's a shame, then. i'm gonna have to take my time with you."

"what? why?" you ask, disappointed.

"i'd split you in half, little one."

every word in that sentence sent arrows to your core. fuck, just how big is he?

"then, what are we doing?"

he turns around, leaving you yearning for his touch while he grabs your discarded toy from the armchair.

"you share toys?"

"sometimes."

"good."

he pulls himself out from his pants, and you are left with your jaw dropped. it fuels his confidence, the way you're staring at him as he rubs himself up and down. he isn't big. he's huge.

"daryl, how will that fit in me?" you ask, actually concerned.

"it'll take a little time. i'll train ya, and you'll take it like a good girl, the way i teach ya. but ya have to start listening to me and stop pissing me off."

nodding eagerly, you push your hips towards his hands, searching for his touch again.

he turns the gadget on, pressing it against your clit. you moan out loud, grinding on the buzzing toy and sliding with ease. you hear him grunt, and even a quiet moan. your eyes drop to the situation between your legs, and when you see him pressing his cock to the gadget, you swear you could squirt all over him. he rocks his hips with yours, pushing you up against the wall and grunting in your mouth, just like you moan into his. he doesn't break eye contact with you, instead getting off on it.

"i'm gonna cum, daryl." you whine, hands reaching into his hair to pull.

"give me a second."

you'd give him two if he wanted. you try your hardest to focus on not yet cumming, but the way he sweats and grunts for you doesn't make it easy.

"daryl-" you warn, moans becoming high pitched and inviting the walkers around the shed.

he sticks two fingers in your mouth, keeping you silent and helping himself get closer. you only needed to swirl your tongue around him a few time and take him all the way to his knuckles to have him moaning and cumming all over your stomach, rubbing the toy up and down in a sloppy pace.

you follow, pleasure washing over your body along with a thin layer of sweat, the sight of his seed on you making it more intense. you are dehydrated, hot and filthy. and you love it, because he is the same. you'd be like that every day, if it meant getting him the way you just had him.

"you didn't have to..." you say as he helps you dress up, wiping his seed from you with his bandana and discarding it.

"i wanted to. before, today, too."

"you sure?"

"yes."

you nod. he sees that you are not convinced, and he sighs. he pulls you in for a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head.

"i rarely regret my actions. trust me."

"yeah, well, i hope i'll get more of these actions you speak of."

he chuckles, planting a kiss on your forehead.

"you know, for someone who just came all over me, it's weird to see you so sentimental and comforting."

you don't even finish the sentence, he already playfully throws the bandana at you, rushing outside to hide his smile and to hide from your attempt at attacking.

"oh, you- you- you asshole!"

"right back at ya."

***

yippie! my first twd oneshot, idk how to feel about it lol. had this in the drafts for a while now. feel free to send feedback, doesn’t matter if it is good or bad 🩷