#I’m going to go through and answer a bunch of old ones I still have tho today!!!!

[meadowfics]

not your concern

the salesman x f!reader

part two to the regular

warnings: mentions of death, I used the actor's name as a placement name for the salesman (who's real name is not known or canon)

one year.  

three hundred and sixty-five days of marriage. when you had agreed to his offer, you never thought life would turn out this way. better than you expected, even. there had not been a single time when you had to think about money.

gong yoo had taken care of everything before you even had the chance to. rent? nonexistent. bills? never crossed your mind. your old habit of checking your bank balance every night before bed? unnecessary.  

your life, once dictated by numbers, debt collectors, and sleepless nights at that rundown café, had transformed into something entirely foreign. no financial stress. no work. only comfort.  

he had only one rule: never ask about his work.  

fine, you thought at the time. you had worked enough in your life, exhausted yourself in ways you never wanted to again. so you stayed out of it. no questions. no curiosity. just… existing in the life he gave you.  

in your free time, you indulged in things you had once pushed aside… painting, skincare, even sightseeing. sometimes, you spent entire afternoons in art galleries, admiring brushstrokes and colors. 

other times, you lost yourself in the quiet ritual of self-care, trying every serum, every mask, every oil you once could never afford.  

it was a strange kind of freedom. one you had to get used to.  

as a husband, he had been nothing short of great. loving, attentive, surprisingly kind. not once had he been cold or dismissive. he touched you like he cherished you, looked at you like he meant it. 

intimacy between you both was never lacking. it was fulfilling, tender, and, above all, real. he wasn’t a sugar daddy figure at all, just an older man that you’ve grown to love, just after getting the ring. 

nothing to complain about. no reason to question anything.  

until one encounter on a late afternoon. 

you remember the scent of fresh herbs and ripe fruit filling the air as you browsed through the produce store, picking out what you needed for dinner. cooking had become something you enjoyed since you no longer had to work long shifts. 

now, you had the time to make meals from scratch, experiment with recipes, and create something warm for whenever your husband returns home. it was a simple pleasure, one you never got to indulge in before. its been turning out great, since gong yoo always compliments your skill in culinary. 

you grabbed a bunch of green onions, then turned to head toward the tomatoes when—  

thud.  

"oh my… sorry! excuse me," you said instinctively, stepping back.  

the man you had bumped into didn’t move right away. he was dressed in all black, a cap pulled low over his face, obscuring most of his features. something about him made you uneasy, but he didn’t seem outright dangerous. 

still, you weren’t in the mood for small talk, so you moved to step around him.  

"wait," his voice stopped you.  

your fingers curled slightly around the plastic bag in your hand. 

"...yes?"  

"i have a question..” 

the man says, determined for an answer that you’ll say.

“go ahead?” you say in confusion. 

you hope it's not a date proposal, you’re already married to the man of your dreams. 

“do you know a man who’s always in suits? plays ddakji with strangers all around seoul? hands out cards with shapes on them afterward?"  

your heart nearly stopped.  

he was describing gong yoo.  

your husband.  

your expression remained unreadable, the years of learning to mask your emotions paying off. you blinked once before shaking your head, feigning confusion. 

"i’m sorry, i haven’t seen anyone like that before."  

you had no reason to trust this man. your loyalty was to your husband, not to some stranger lurking in a grocery store asking odd questions.  

the man hummed, tilting his head slightly, as if studying you. 

"i ask because i’m looking for him," he continued, "he’s partially responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people every year."  

the man's words were absurd. ridiculous, even. you almost wanted to scoff. sure, you didn’t know the details of your husband’s job, but murder? hundreds of people dying because of him?  

yeah, right.  

"i’m sorry, but i have no clue who you’re talking about," you said, shaking your head again, reinforcing the lie.  

the man exhaled through his nose. 

"you’re protecting him," he stated. not an accusation, just a fact.  

this time, your heart did stutter.  

he knew.  

you kept your face neutral, but the blood in your veins felt like ice. 

"you must’ve gotten the wrong person," you said smoothly, forcing out a small, apologetic smile, 

"i’m sorry, but i have to go."  

without waiting for a response, you walked to the register, casually placing your items on the counter. your fingers trembled slightly as you tapped your card, but otherwise, you kept yourself composed.  

as soon as you stepped outside, you checked, subtly, carefully, if the man was following.  

he wasn’t.  

still, the unease didn’t leave you.  

clutching the bag of produce a little tighter, you made your way home, the stranger’s words replaying in your head.

when you returned home to your sky-rise penthouse, the tension in your chest still hadn’t fully dissipated. the city lights casted soft glows along the sleek, expensive interior of your home. it was a lifestyle you had grown accustomed to, one of quiet luxury, security, and ease.  

however, placing the bag of produce on the marble kitchen island, you let out a slow breath. that encounter had shaken you more than you wanted to admit. you weren’t naive. you knew gong yoo’s work wasn’t normal. 

the idea that he was responsible for people’s deaths? that part didn’t fit or make sense.  

before you could spiral too much, the sound of the door unlocking pulled you from your thoughts.  

"y/n, sweetheart, i'm home," his familiar voice filled the space.  

you turned, greeted by the sight of your husband stepping inside. he loosened his tie as he walked toward you, the usual warmth in his expression unchanged. 

as always, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing a soft kiss against your temple before pulling back just enough to look at you.  

"how was your day?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.  

"fine," you replied, but your hesitation must have been obvious. he tilted his head slightly, silently prompting you to continue.  

you sighed, leaning against the counter. 

"something strange happened today. i ran into this man at the store. he asked if i knew someone who plays ddakji in subway stations and hands out cards to strangers."  

gong yoo’s expression didn’t change. not even a flicker of surprise, even though he knew exactly who you were talking about.  

seong gi-hun.

"what did you say?"  

"i told him i didn’t know anyone like that," you admitted, "but then he said he was looking for you because you’re responsible for… the deaths of hundreds of people every year."  

for a moment, there was only silence between you.  

suddenly, gong yoo exhaled lightly, a small, almost amused smile on his lips, "and do you believe him?"  

you hesitated. 

"...i don’t know. i mean, i don’t know much about what you actually do."  

he reached out, gently cupping your chin, his thumb brushing over your jawline. 

"you don’t have to. that’s not your concern."  

he said it so easily. so calmly.  

you searched his eyes for something, anything, but all you found was unwavering certainty and really, what more could you ask for?  

as long as you were comfortable, as long as you weren’t in danger, what reason did you have to dig any deeper? you had agreed to this life a long time ago, and it had given you everything you never thought you’d have.  

so, you nodded. 

"you’re right. it’s not my concern."  

he smiled, pleased with your answer, and pressed another kiss to your forehead. 

"good girl."  

just like that, the subject was closed.  

you turned back to prepping dinner, the encounter at the store already beginning to fade from your mind. 

after all, you had everything you could ever want so why question it?

masterlist

[sweetgummyclusters]

OLD FRIENDS

satoru gojo x mtf reader

18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

A/N There Will Be A Part ii To This. Most Likely Next Week.

tags/cw: besties to friends to lovers trope, drunk sex, blowjob, almost caught (?), nipple play, (SLIGHTEST bit of angst)

word count: 6.7k

December was always cold; It always held too many memories. You hated to be alone during the month, and you weren't the only one. Suguru Geto was a man adored by several, but that group was never one to let themselves grieve so openly. So instead of having those who'd understand you best over at your apartment tonight, a week before the anniversary, you've invited a few people who are fun to drink with. Fun to talk to. Fun distractions.

“That's actually insane. You're insane.” The sound of her laughter brings feeling to the desolation in your chest. You turn to your friend who is giggling through her sentences. The littlest pieces of her brown hair dance from the breeze of the fan she’s hogged. You have to let your head fall back on the couch, as she sits on a cushion and you sit on the floor.

“Are you hearing this?” She asks you, her head tilted down.

“No, sorry. I missed it, I think.” You apologize, smiling sweetly at her. She scoffs and shakes her head. It's an exaggerated show of her taking offense to that, but you know she's too drunk to remember what she even finds offensive.

“This man just said he's stolen a cop car. This man.” She repeats. “A cop car!”

You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head at the liar with a cocky grin on his face. He sits at the other side of the carpet, his hoodie on the floor next to him. “As cool as that sounds, that cannot be true.”

You watch as he sluggishly shakes his head at you, keeping the same proud expression. “Tis true.” He declares.

Your friend of higher ground and your friend of fictional hijinks choose to spend the next five minutes arguing about this. You've chosen to spend it on your phone.

There's a bit of guilt on your mind, inviting half a dozen people over to your apartment only to leave them to their own devices. But you also know that if there was any group to do that to, it would be this one. This bunch is perfect for when you want to be the quiet girl in the back who follows along on everyone else's ridiculous adventures. When the whole idea of a social life is too much to bear, but you still want the comfort of some company.

You had a few people who used to be that for you, not in this way, but in a more comfortable sense. Here, you seemed less like a part of the group and more like an accessory. With them, they made you feel like everything you said or did clicked perfectly. You used to think it was too good to be true, too good to last, if only you knew how right you were.

“Hey, do you have any more chasers somewhere? There’s nothing in the fridge.” You look over to your friend in the kitchen. Jeremy’s hair doesn’t dance at all, but instead, sits blonde, beautiful, and still at the top of his head. He wears a black turtleneck with a beige jacket tied around his waist. He didn’t show up like that, but after a few times of drinking with him, you’ve realized he gets very hot, very quickly when drunk. He saunters over from the kitchen to where you are.

“I’m probably out, then.” Your head falls back against the cushion again, as you have to look up at him when he stands above you. His eyes stay on you as his long, slender arms reach for the table right by the armrest. You hear his keys jingle in his hands as you tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows. “Where you going?”

He stares at you for a moment and doesn’t answer. He can’t help it. The way you look up at him, and the way your whole pretty face is so entirely visible, it makes him smile. Everyone else shares a knowing glance between themselves. Jeremy likes you. He has for a while. And everyone but you knew it. Well, you’ve had your moments. Moments where you felt like he was doing a bit much as a friend, putting in a lot of effort, saying too many right things, but you didn’t want to think too much into it.

“Well, someone’s out of chasers. So I’m gonna go grab some.” He has a playful tone in the way he talks to you. It makes your friends almost wanna gag.

“What? You’re not gonna drive. You drank.” In times like these, the slightest attraction you had for him wavered. He sighs.

“Yeah, okay.” He shoves his keys into his jean pocket and shifts his smile from teasing to somewhat sincere. “You worry too much about me, though.”

He continues as he walks away. “You don’t have to be pretty and sweet.” With that, he walks out the front door and shuts it behind him. Your friends all give their own unique disgusted expressions as a sort of silence befalls you all. You hate it. What were they here for if they weren’t gonna talk so much that they annoy your neighbors? You start praying to anything out there that someone speaks up, someone starts talking again, saying something. Anything.

“He’s likes you so much, it’s gross.”

You raise your head with wide eyes, turning your head and staring at the loud-mouthed woman. Not what you expected, but she certainly gave you what you asked for. Everyone else is instantly turning up the volume again, bickering and arguing over what the brunette said and why it should or should not have been said aloud. You sigh, deciding to bother with this later. You didn’t have the energy to open up that box. Instead, you get up and make your way to the bathroom. You excuse yourself, but nobody noticed anyway. They weren’t always good at that.

The way you look in the mirror captures your attention. It’s like there’s something there, something in front of your face that looks just like an exact replica. This happens sometimes, when you’ve blown past your social battery. You press your fingers against it before placing your palms on the cheeks. You shift your hands to cover the bottom-half of the face, blocking everything from view but the forehead, eyebrows, and eyes. Suguru always liked that part of your face. You assumed it’s because you wore a mask a lot in public so he saw it a lot more than your other features, but he was always good at making you feel proud of it. He made you feel feminine and beautiful, without making things feel weird or awkward at any point. You always appreciated it as one of his many talents. It’s stuff like that that you miss in times like these.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when your phone vibrates. You don’t even remember bringing it with you, and you start to question how many you had to drink out there. You take it out of your back pocket and look at the screen. Your eyes widen slightly at the name before you start to squint at the message underneath.

hey where r u rn?

You blink. It wasn’t unusual for Satoru Gojo to text you. It would be more so strange if he went a week where he didn’t, interrupting your routine to send you a meme that only he finds funny. Especially at an ungodly hour like this. After Suguru, he sort of seemed like he forgot what sleep was. But there's an off feeling in your gut when you read the text.

Tapping on your screen, you open up your chat log with the man. Ultimately, you figure that the odd feeling inside you is just the alcohol in your system. Just as you’re about to write something back, your phone vibrates again for one long second before his name and contact photo shines brightly over your display. Now, this was unusual.

Your heart beats just a little faster, and you hesitate to answer. You bite your lip and look towards the door, the faint voices in your living room make you think twice about taking a call in the bathroom.

Without wasting another second, you quickly open the door and make your way towards your bedroom. When you step inside, you turn the lock and press the green button on your phone, holding it up to your ear. You hear the chatter of loud conversation and abrasive laughter in the background. “Gojo?” You ask, your voice almost as quiet as a whisper.

This contrasts with the way he answers. “Hello?” He shouts over the noise.

“Hey dude, what’s up?”

He doesn’t answer. You hear him sigh, almost groan, as he tries to think of one. “J'st a second.” He tells you. You listen, but your confusion has almost hit its peak. After a minute or two, the sounds of people around him are replaced with the quiet hum of car engines and the occasional wind blowing.

“Gojo?” You call for him again. This time, he responds.

“Hey, yeah. Hi.” The sound of his voice is a little.. weird, you think that maybe it’s just his mic. Or maybe it’s your speaker, knowing him he probably has the best mobile device on the market, being the richest guy you personally know and all.

“Hi, are you okay?” You move over to sit at your desk, the comfort of the back pillow bringing you the smallest bit of relief.

“Yeah.” He laughs. “Yeah, nah, yeah. I’m good. So good. Always, uh.. always good.”

After finally hearing a somewhat full sentence from the blue-eyed man, you figure out the reason for the call as quickly as it arose in your mind. “Are you drunk, Gojo?”

As your question hangs in the air, you feel as if even the world around you struggles to answer back. Suddenly, it feels quiet again. You fucking hate it.

“Gojo?” You ask as if he’s disappeared, but it actually sounds more like a stern repeat of his name. Your irritation is audibly noticeable, and it almost makes him smile.

“Yeah, uhm. I mean, no. I mean, yeah. Fuck, uhm..” He sighs. “I’m not usually a drinker, so my tolerance is pretty low. I didn’t drink a lot tonight, but I prob’ly am.”

You tilt your head in confusion, as if he can see. “Drunk, I mean.” He finishes. This side of your old friend is a peculiar one. He’s usually so cool with his words, everything that flows out of him seems to be so natural. But this? This is almost awkward, somewhat gauche, he sounds.. a little adorable.

“Yeah, I’ve realized that by now.” You laugh slightly. You wonder if you should tell him how drunk you are too, but then it strikes you that he mentioned the fact that he’s not usually a drinker, and that uneasy feeling is back in your stomach.

“What gave it away?” He asks. “I thought I was being slick.”

You shake your head and sigh. “Yeah, no. That was probably the ‘unslickest’ cover-up I’ve ever heard in my life.” You joke. You think to yourself for a moment as you listen to the soft sounds of traffic on the other line before you go on.

“I’ve been drinking too.” You confess. “With some friends.”

Gojo feels a tug at his chest as you clarify. He immediately assumes that that must be why Shoko turned down his invite to the bar that evening. She was with you. His next assumption is that you must’ve actually hated him or something, because you invited her to drink at your apartment but not him. It didn’t make logical sense, and he knew that. Throughout the years, even after the split of the group, you were both always kind to each other. Always warm. Always, at the very least, friends. But Gojo couldn’t find it in himself to be logical, not when he felt so strange. Like there was a spinning rotor in his brain.

“Wow. Could’ve softened that blow.” He comments. He thanks whoever out there in the universe that he still has his sarcasm intact, even when drunk.

“What do you mean?” You ask him.

“Whad’you mean? Is she not the ‘friend’ with you?” He makes a voice at the word friend and scoffs, lifting the bottle he’s been carrying in his other hand this whole time and taking a swig. He cringes at the taste and then again at the burn down his throat. He can’t believe that you’d invite Shoko for a drink and not him. He, in his own head, is much more fun than Shoko is. He knows that you’ve never really seen him drunk before, and he’s hardly really experienced it himself, but geez! It would’ve been nice to experience it together. With you. Shoko at home. The both of you in your apartment. Alone, tipsy, and curious.

“No, she’s not here. I invited some other friends, you wouldn��t know them.”

Oh.

He feels stupid. Stupid and drunk. He thinks to himself that he should just hang up now. He should just apologize for interrupting and tell you to have a good night. That would be smart and sane of him, but then he thinks again, and he throws away any remnant of sense he had in his brain with another swig of the bottle.

“Are you still drinking?” You ask, hearing him gulp. He lets out a soft ‘blegh’ and you deadpan.

“Can you tell them to go home?” He slurs, his tone is low and almost comical. Your eyebrows furrow and you shake your head, thinking to yourself that you must’ve heard him wrong.

“Huh?”

He giggles. “Ah, you sound cute. I said.. Can. You. Tell. Them. To. Go. Home.” You don’t respond. You bring your hand up to your forehead and rest your elbow on your desk. A million questions flood your mind at once, but you can only get one out.

“Are you okay, Gojo?” You pause before asking another. “What’s wrong?”

You realize that you don’t really need him to answer the first one. You know something’s up. And you already sort of know the answer to the second one, but you hope that he’ll respond anyway. You give him about twenty seconds before feeling the irritation rise through you at the sudden silence again.

“Do you want to come over?” It’s a simple question, but the realization that you’ve just said it to Satoru Gojo makes you want to throw your pillow to the wall. Plus the fact that both of you are drunk, and he just called you cute, doesn’t help.

“Yes, I do. But get them to leave, will you?” He doesn’t say please, but he himself feels that he sounds sorta like he’s begging. You roll your eyes.

“I heard you. I will.” You respond. “Do you need the pin?”

He shakes his head slowly, as if you can see. “No. I remember where you live.”

Ah.

You say your goodbyes, although it’s more like see you soons, and hang up. You unlock your bedroom door and head out to the living area, four of the drunks are conversing amongst themselves while one of them is passed out on your couch. The conscious ones turn to look at you and cheer at your arrival. You give them a sorrowful look as you lie, explaining that something’s come up with your siblings and they have to leave. They buy it at first, waking up their sleeping friend and grabbing as much stuff as they can remember. It’s not until much later when they start to question if you’d ever mentioned having siblings before at all. But then at that point, they’re already in their uber on their way to the most sober one’s home.

—-

You sit on your couch, trying to finish the rest of the bottle your friends had left behind. Being lost in your own thoughts, the beverage doesn’t help that. You hadn’t seen Satoru Gojo in a few months, and even then, it was only because the two of you crossed paths at a bar. You think about the tension the both of you had the last time you were drunk. The brave little acts of flirtation, the carefully clumsy words of suggestion. All of that was reciprocated and he wasn’t even drinking. There’s a sudden knock on your door that makes your heart skip a beat. You look over, unsure of whether or not you’re relieved that the virgin of alcohol has arrived. On one hand, you were starting to think that if you sat in another second of this silence, you'd throw your table out the window. On the other hand, you didn’t know if a drunk Satoru Gojo was better or worse for your peace of mind.

Another knock sounds before you get up from your seat. Making your way towards the entrance, you take a couple deep breaths, trying your best to calm your nerves. Your fingers carelessly swipe at the locks and you open the door. The white-haired man stumbles forward a little bit and you slightly brace for his fall. “You, did you even.. check the peephole?” His words drag as his feet do the same, inviting himself inside.

“I knew it was you. You said you were coming, duh.” You explain, shaking your head and giving him a slow up and down glance. His black long sleeve shirt barely holds above his shoulders. His snow white pants make him look a little ridiculous, only in the sense where he kinda looks like he’s trying too hard to not look like he’s trying hard. The glasses don’t help either, but you know how sensitive his eyes are, so you never bother to question it when he puts on a pair that clashes atrociously with his outfit. Besides, he’s the most sensible when it comes to style out of any rich person in the world, you think. They always make weird fashion choices, and you’ve always been glad he’s not like them.

“That’s not safe. What if I was a murder?”

You scoff out a laugh. Gojo smiles slightly without even realizing. “Whatever.” The both of you settle on the sofa.

He takes a minute to look around your apartment, taking in his surroundings. He then looks at you, taking you in. The frame of your body in your outfit was one he missed being able to stare at. He recalls the times the six of you would be out, going to see a movie or taking the unnecessary long way to get to a store, and he would have the same unshakeable stare. You clear your throat, noticing now. You never did back then. You sort of did at the bar, but you just assumed you were imagining things.

“So, what’s up? Whatchu want?”

“Whose jacket is that?” He points to the jacket on the floor by the TV, across from the both of you. He continues, less like he’s talking to you but instead more to himself. “That isn’t yours, right? That’s not your style.”

You grimace. “No, yeah. That’s not my style at all.” You laugh, he stares even more intently.

“It’s my friend’s. He probably forgot it.” Gojo comes up with a theory that upsets him in a way he finds humorous. He’s done that before as well: Left a jacket behind at a pretty girl’s house after a party, coming back to retrieve it after everyone’s gone home and ending up spending the night at her place. His expression falls and he frowns just a little.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Gojo, I invited you over because you sounded worrisome over the phone. Don’t avoid my question.” Your impatience was clear in your voice, your tone. He hadn’t heard you sound so irritated in so long, not since the days before everything went down. It almost warmed his heart. He missed when the two of you had that kind of relationship. One where you could both be as playfully mean as you wanted, as painfully direct as you needed, and you could smile and laugh about it in an instant. Now, you seemed to dance around everything. The both of you did. Conversations that once would’ve been filled with banter and snide comments, now just empty words of politeness.

“Yeah, no. I know.” He admits, running a hand through his hair. He leans back and sighs, manspreading in his seat next to you. His knee touches yours, you think you should move, but you don’t. He notices. “I know. I just.. I don’t know. Can we not talk?”

“What do you wanna do then?”

He shrugs. “Let’s just chill. Where’s your speaker?”

You laugh a bit through your words. “It’s literally two feet away from you. How drunk are you?” You gesture to where the side table is, underneath is your speaker with a couple detachable mics. Once he reaches over, it’s clear to him that your apartment is the resident drinking location for your friends. Either that, or you’re just well-prepared with a karaoke machine in your living room.

“Okay, sec.” He takes his phone out, you glare enviously at how big his pockets are. The face he makes as he tries his hardest to connect his phone is cute, you think. Lips pursed and pushed up, forcing him to make almost a kissy face. His eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes squint at his screen. “Okay, okay. What song you want?”

“I dunno, play anything.” Immediately, Been Away by Brent Faiyaz plays, an odd choice for someone who’s barely had a real conversation with you in a couple of years. Someone who’s now drunk on your couch, staring at you when he’s not staring at his blank phone screen.

“What, no like?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m good with it.” He turns up the volume a bit and sets it by his foot. After a moment passes, you feel a pressure on your arm. Looking over, you find the sluggish man leaning against you comfortably. His glasses are off, but his eyes are closed. “Y’know I didn’t expect you to listen to R&B music. I’ve only ever heard you play like, alt-rock. Or something like that.”

“I’ve traveled the world. I can’t listen to only Asian Kung-Fu Generation for the rest of my life.” He explains. “I heard of Brent Faiyaz when I went to a place called Maryland, in America.”

Your head tilts. “For business?”

He shakes his head, it feels almost as if he’s snuggling closer to you when he does. His eyes are still closed, and you wonder if you should turn off the overhead light.

“I took a girl there and we heard it at a party.” He laughs, thinking about the look on her face when he gave her the ticket, telling her that she could cancel if she wanted to. Either way, it wouldn’t really put a dent in his bank account. “She didn’t believe me when I said I was loaded so I booked us a flight and we spent the weekend.”

You frown a bit and don’t respond. You surely weren’t salty about him booking a weekend getaway with some girl he maybe didn’t know well. That wasn’t it at all, probably. But why didn’t he tell you? When did this happen? That seems crazy. Did he always just do crazy stuff like that now? Was it normal for him at this point in his life? Is that why he never thought to bring it up? He can almost feel the clunks and bangs of turning cogs in your brain. His eyes open. “It was.. I was in a weird spot. She was nice, but it was just that. We were both cool about it.” He clarifies. You think it’s weird how he does. It’s not like you need to know that. You don’t care for that confirmation, to be reassured that it was no big deal. You don’t care.

“Whatevs.”

—-

Time passes with both of you like this. Eventually, you start to have full conversations again. Giggles, laughter, agreements, disagreements as his playlist shuffles through similar sounding tracks. It begins to feel natural, almost like old times. Except, old times wouldn’t have granted you this space for just the two of you. Old times would mean two brunette’s and a blonde on one side, and a long-haired man on the other. Rarely did you ever get opportunities like this with him. Moments where you could get more personal and connected.

At some point, you don’t even think about the hand on your lap or the breath on your neck. You just think of it as bonding, as making up for lost time, or maybe you only think of it that way because you’ve been drinking as the half-hour goes on. You’ve managed to catch up to Gojo, in terms of tipsy buzzes, for better or worse. His face is buried in your neck as you both stifle your laughter, trying not to let a chuckle turn to a cackle and disturb the neighbors.

There’s a heat between you. There’s a heat inside you. There’s so much more space on the couch, you think. The both of you are almost huddled into one spot. Any outsider looking in would think your heater had broken and you ran out of blankets. You don’t even remember how he got here. God, he’s awfully close. Doesn’t he know that?

“You smell so good.” He whispers in your ear, you don’t think it’s intentional but it makes you shiver.

“What?” You laugh, albeit a bit awkwardly. Your shoulder moves just enough where he’s forced to raise his head and look at you. You raise your eyes to meet his own and the short distance between your faces make it difficult to choose your next words carefully. “Gojo?”

His eyes travel down your features until he gets to your lips. “Can you just..” He hesitates, his breathing is deep. Yours is almost in sync.

“Just Satoru, please?”

Your eyebrows knit together. You want to look away, but you can’t. You can feel the littlest bit of reason, just in the back of your brain, and it’s screaming at you to put an end to this. This is dangerous and reckless. The both of you are drunk, being led by temptation. And if there ever was a bad time to be exploring this aspect of your relationship with Satoru Gojo, it’d be today, this week, this month. You could be making the biggest mistake of your life, just for the temporary promise of comfort and pleasure. For distraction.

And though your doubts and concerns are all completely shared sentiments by the temptation himself, it only takes one string of justification for him to close the gap.

This was a long day for you. For both of you. December is always cold; It always holds too many memories. You hate to be alone during the month, and you aren’t the only one.

You kiss back.

Like every moment in your life where it feels like you’ve randomly decided to jump off a cliff into the raging ocean, your nerves shake as your body tingles. Your breathing is quick and your head feels like it’s swirling from a windstorm. The kiss quickly shifts from curious and nerve wracking to desperate and insatiable. Satoru has his arms wrapped around you in an instant when he scoops you up and places you on his lap.

You gasp at the feeling of being manhandled and feel a pull at your stomach when he deepens the kiss, his arms roaming your torso. A sigh escapes your lips when he moves, leaving a rough string of pecks on your neck. He groans and starts grinding his crotch against you, you feel cocky at first until you realize it was you who started moving your hips before he did. The feeling of someone pressed against you like this, especially when it’s him, makes the slight bulge in your shorts twitch. The pressure of his own bulge moving against your ass makes grinding so much harder to stop, but he has to. “Wait, please.” He clumsily asks, holding your waist and resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“Need my pants off. Don’t..” He hesitates. His voice drops before he continues. “Don’t wanna cum in them.”

He almost sounds embarrassed. “Gojo-”

“Satoru.” He reminds you. “Please.”

You pause before just nodding and taking his face in your hands. You force him to look at you, and while you struggle, you successfully hold eye contact with the man. “Satoru.” His name sounds almost beautiful in your voice. Almost the way it did when he said it, when Suguru made it sound sweet. But there was an elegance to your tone, one he hadn’t heard before. It made his heart race.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?”

He breathes in deeply before closing his eyes and rubbing his cheek against your hand. The proximity of your bodies make it easy to inhale your scent with every breath. His hands are still holding onto your waist, but slowly coming to wrap themselves around you. Treating the position almost like a hug. It’s one that he doesn’t realize he needs so desperately until he gets it. That warmth of feeling you in his grasp. “I just need to feel good.” He finally answers.

Suddenly his hands slip under your top, gliding up from your lower back. You feel goosebumps form as his cold hands move on your skin. He continues. “I know you need it too.” He almost mutters. The music in the background and the way he grips onto your body creates an undeniably heated tension in the room. You struggle to answer back, until he moves his lips again. This time, back on your neck as he mumbles into your skin.

“Please, baby.”

You almost whine. Your head drops against him as his fingers stroke softly up and down your spine. You feel your own tug at his shirt; His heart pounds in his chest. He thinks back to the times before where you’d tug on his shirt, his sleeve, his bag, or his jacket. It was your quiet way of getting him to notice you and he adored it every time, getting to look at you with a smile as you slightly matched his own. Happy that you were getting the attention you craved, the eyes you wanted. “You want me?” You ask in response.

He moves his head to look at you, again with a small measure of space between you. He nods. “I do, really bad.” He can’t stop looking at your lips, he grows hungry.

You answer his prayers for him and lean in. Your kiss is soft, gentle. It contrasts with him again, but much more in the sense of nervousness. Almost fear. Fear that you might push too far, might break him. Might hurt yourself. You want to be cautious, but it gets harder and harder as you feel him rock his hips again, grinding against you. Subtle moans and whines escape the desperate man as you feel each one in your mouth, already having his tongue inside and moving against your own. His hands travel to your chest as yours find their way down to his crotch. You get started on unbuttoning his pants as he starts to knead and massage. You sigh in content, the light brushes against your nipples with his long slender fingers makes you want to lay down and let him have you.

After a moment, you get his zipper down. Your fingers push underneath the opening you’ve created and you place your palm over the long bulge in his underwear. He moans. Pulling away from the kiss, he tugs on the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to expose your chest. He leans down a bit to blow on your nipples and they take a more hardened shape at the feeling of the cold air hitting them. The feeling of his gaze locked onto your tits makes you wanna grind against him to interrupt. You choose not to, and instead begin stroking him through the fabric of his underwear. “Fuck, baby..” He moans again as his gaze shoots down to where your hand is. He’s panting as he uses one hand to shove his pants further down his thighs, you’re still on top of him as he lifts his hips up to make the adjustment easier. His other hand moves to grip and settle on the back of your neck. He licks his lips hungrily as you continue to stroke him before he has the idea to latch on to your nipples.

Sucking and lapping at your chest forces you to take a sharp breath through your teeth, a small whine escaping through the sigh you exhale. His tongue glides around your areola before his lips close around them and he starts sucking, still using his tongue as he does. His other hand finds its way to your other nipple, making sure it’s being shown proper attention. He twists and tugs, earning a guttural moan from your throat. Your hips grind more feverishly as you chase the pleasure you're craving for.

You continue to fondle his clothed cock until he can’t bear it anymore. He shoots up from his spot on the couch, bringing you up with him as he holds your ass in his hands. You gasp as your legs instinctively wrap around him. He kisses you again as he pushes you against the wall, right by the front door. You knew he was strong, you always did, but feeling him hold you tight and walk with you as he held you up with ease made your heart pulse between your legs. Eventually he gets back to your neck, before letting your legs drop back down to the floor. Your feet settle as you carry your own weight again. He moves to slip off your shirt and you raise your arms to make it easier for him. He licks, sucks, and kisses down your body until he gets to your belly. His fingers dig into where the hem of your shorts are.

Satoru looks up at you with a burning desire in his eyes, but also a needy sort of plea. The look on his face makes you all the more sure of your reckless behavior as you guide his hands to pull your bottoms down. Just enough to expose your needy, pretty penis. His eyelids droop as he bites his lip. His hands caress your thighs as they push upward, he licks the bite marks left behind on his bottom lip. Impatiently, your hands find their way onto the slutty man beneath you. One in his hair, and one under his chin. Your hand under his chin moves to make a sort of cup form in front of his lips. He eyes your palm before spitting on it, you rub it on yourself, making it easier for a hand to glide over.

As you twist and rub, Satoru leans in closer, his own impatience finally beginning to show. He licks his lips more sloppily, to coat his own mouth in just a bit of saliva, before settling on the tip of your penis. He treats your knob as he’s treated your nipples, sucking and licking. His tongue swirls around until the hand in his hair tugs his head further down your length.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You freeze. Satoru doesn’t, only slowing his work on your body with an angry look at whoever’s taken your attention away from him. You stare at the door, realizing you forgot to lock it. You hope and pray, repeating the words over and over again in your head, ‘do not fucking open it.’ It becomes a little hard to focus though, as a tongue licks at the vein on the underside of your shaft. Your hand shoots over your mouth.

A voice begins to speak behind the closed door. “Hey, uhh just wanted to drop the chasers. I’m.. sorry to hear that something came up and uhh I hope your siblings are okay.” You recognize the voice to be Jeremy, the one you never formally told that tonight was canceled. The one who left and almost got behind the wheel after drinking enough to make his now muffled words slow and deliberate. Slightly slurring through each syllable.

You whimper and whine with the lowest volume you can possibly muster. Satoru bobs his head up and down, the tiniest drops of precum running down his throat. He looks up at you with half-lidded eyes, a mischievous glint in them as he does. It isn’t until your friend knocks on the door for a second time that you notice Satoru is excited by this. Funnily enough, it’s not his somewhat smiling lips that give it away. Not the curved ends or the air being blown from his nose in a more quick, laughing manner than just normal breathing. It’s the way he speeds up, getting sloppy with each passing moment that your friend makes his presence known.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Hey, princess. You okay?” Satoru’s eyebrows furrow. He mouths a muffled ‘princess?’ repeating the pet name from Jeremy outside. The vibration on the skin of your girl cock sends a shiver down your spine and a shaky moan out your lips. “I can hear the music, I know you’re in there.”

Gojo just feels lucky that he decided to turn the music up at some point while you two were making out. Wave after wave of pleasure hits you as the quickly sobering older man brings you in and out of his hot mouth. You struggle to keep your composure, half of the reason you’re still able to stand up is the fact that Satoru has such a tight grip on your thighs. It makes you feel held in place as his thumb rubs circles into the meat of your leg. His large, cold hands send a different kind of sensation throughout your body. One that you’ve felt before, whenever he’d look at you with a certain type of admiration in his eyes while you spoke to him about something you didn’t think others would understand as well as him and Suguru could. Your heart would race.

“Princess?” You hear Jeremy call for you again. At this point, Satoru takes you out of his mouth with a pop. His hands move to stroke you, keeping you stimulated as he continues to look up at you.

“Want you to cum.” He sticks his tongue out to lick all the way down to your balls. He sucks and pulls at you with his lips as his hands stay on your length, using his saliva and your precum as lube. “Can you cum for me, pretty girl?”

You nod, frantically. Like you’ve been holding yourself back until the very moment he told you to release. “Mhm, mm. Haah..”

“You might be asleep.” Jeremy almost sounds like he meant to mutter, but his drunkenness makes his understanding of volume so wrong that he can be heard over the music. “I’m just gonna uhh, I’ll call you later.”

He lightly taps at the door as you hear his slow footsteps begin and then fade. Just when he’s out of earshot, Gojo sinks down onto you again, until his nose pushes against your pubic area. “Ah! Fuck, fuck, fuck. Satoru.. fuck, don’t stop. P-please..” The sudden burst of whines and pleading makes a wet spot on his underwear. He almost joins you in your orgasm when he feels ropes of warm viscous fluid shoot down his throat, that paired with the sound of you crying his name out as you tug on his hair, it’s like heaven for the man. He swallows it all.

Settling down, slowing your breathing, and lightening up on the grip you have on Satoru’s hair, you tear your gaze away from the ceiling and bring it down to the smiling face beneath you. You watch him lick his lips as he leaves a trail of light kisses down your shaft. This only brings up the idea of it being his turn. That alone brings another pull to your stomach, as you feel your dick twitch again.

“Bedroom?” You ask, breathless with a soft expression. He nods fervently, scooping his arms around your legs and back before whisking you away again. Your arms rest on his shoulders. Kisses and sweet whispered nothings fill the noise not already filled by a slow jam as he makes his way to your room, holding you like a princess.

"I missed you."

A/N I've Never Really Written For Trans Women Specifically When It Comes To Reader Fics, So I Apologize If The Words Used Or Chosen Language To Describe Some Body Parts Was Not To Your Liking. Although, I Always Appreciate Criticism And Helpful Tips On What Works Best For Y'all. That Goes For All Of My Fics.

[moonchildstyles]

prosecco h at her graduation!! he would have the biggest bouquet of flowers and take so many pics of her just bringing her around the school so that he can get a pic of her in front of every building and she is all embarrassed when she notices that everyone is staring at how adorable they are because harry has the biggest grin on his face the whole time

no you know he would have HUGGEEEEE flowers and be so excited the whole time just so proud of her and I’m so obsessed w all the pics they’d take and he’s just so clingy and happy w her even if she’s a little embarrassed from how much attention ppl are giving bc he’s being so much😭

[giuliettagaltieri]

Not Her Man

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Childhood friend!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Feathers fall gracefully slow

Warning: Girlrotting

Word Count: 3193

Part 1 • Part 3

You were always scared to do drugs.  

You saw Rafe at his highs, you were with him, keeping him from doing anything stupid like when he was so sure he could backflip from Tanneyhill’s rooftop and land on the grass perfectly. 

But you also wondered how difficult it was for him to get clean.  To suffer from withdrawals.  And as you lie on your fur carpet, staring at the glimmering crystals of your chandelier, with your closet half emptied and scattered all around your room, along with rolling wine bottles on the polished hardwood floor of your bedroom, you think you might have understood just a little.

Blocking him was the hardest thing you have ever done in your life, especially when it was your routine to giggle over whatever interaction you had through text that day.  The itch to open his account for any update made you want to bind your hands together.

Your parents are out of the country, busy overseeing their business, forgetting to oversee their daughter.  Your maids were there for you, at least they try to be.  They bring you food on schedule, even sliding in a few scoops of ice cream every now and then in your room when your sobs start to echo around the halls.

Rafe tried to contact you multiple times.  First, through your phone, but you blocked him.  Next, he tried to throw pebbles at your window, but your seventy-six year old gardener fired a shotgun at him, thinking that he was a burglar.  Next, he tried a different approach, he was sending you gigantic bouquets of your favorite flowers, making the hallway leading to your room look like a wedding set up, the flowers perfumed the entire house too, drawing a concerning amount of bees.  One epipen to your chef’s thigh later, Rafe stops sending them.

He never really does anything right.  All he does is mess up, create more problems for himself.  You almost wanted to give in, but you remind yourself of the things he said.  Anger and hurt quickly replaces pity.

A familiar chime of your phone had you groaning.  Your friends are probably going to have another attempt of making you step out of your room, like inviting you to have your nails done or shop, just to get your mind off of Rafe.

You just let the ringtone end and you go back to staring at the chandelier, wondering if you’ll be quick enough to get out of the way if it somehow falls.  Before you can plan a strategic roll, your phone rings again.

Blindly reaching underneath the scattered pillows, you finally locate the buzzing device.  You answer without looking at the caller ID. 

“Y/N speaking.”  You mumble lazily.

“Hey, girlie.”  There goes the high-pitched voice of your friend.  “Sooo, the girls and I-hush!”  You hear a bunch of girls giggling behind the line and your brows crease together in annoyance.  “We’re going on a party tonight and we’re thinking that maybe you’d liketocomewithus?”

You play with the lace of your dress, eyes just following the patterns when you hear your name being called again over the phone.

“I’m not in the mood for parties.” 

“You are never in the mood for anything anymore.”  She whines behind the line.  Her tone prompts you to sit up to pick up the stale wine you left out in the open for too long.  Taking a sip and ignoring the thin coat of dust it caught after you ransacked your closet for something that made you look confident, only for you to end up squeezing in the dress that Rafe got you as a present for your 13th birthday.  He didn’t pick it out for you, of course, but it still made you all fizzy and bubbly and excited inside.

You put down the wine to scratch at the waistband that is digging on the skin of your under bust, the fabric being stretched beyond its capacity.

“I know.”  You tried to sound apologetic.  “I just can’t, okay?”

She sighs, making you let out a grateful sigh.  There’s still some ceiling viewing you had to get back to.

“I’m picking you up at seven.”  She speaks with finality and before you can answer, she continues.  “Please don’t let that awful man get the satisfaction of knowing that he has this much effect on you.”  You can hear her begging behind the phone.  She and the other girls are just looking out for you.

With an unwilling heart, you decide to get on your feet, your socked foot nearly slipping the moment it touches the wooden floor.  Cursing, you finally crouch on the piled up clothes you threw earlier. 

“Fine, I’ll come.”  You roll your eyes.  “Dresscode?”

You hear an airy chuckle and you can imagine her pinching your cheeks if you were within her reach.  “Party’s open to all, Kooks or Pogues.  In the community beach house.  You dress however you like.  I’ll match your vibe, if you’d like.”

This makes a smile creep on your lips.  She’s definitely on the top 10 list of the most annoying people you know but you thank God everyday for a friend like her.  “You know I love you, right?”

She snorts before bursting out in a fit of laughter.  “Duh.  I love you too.”

“See you later.”  You grin.  “Tell the girls I’m coming too.”

“Sure, see you!” 

You hang up and get started on searching for the right outfit.  Well, there’s the classic white flowy dresses, but everybody wears them.  You could wear a short and a cute top, show some belly?  Blech, you’re not exactly in one of your maneater moods.  But perhaps if you covered it with that oversized white pinstriped polo, it could work?  Yeah, something casual yet put together.  It’s not like you’re dressing to impress anybody, or somebody in particular, you’d prioritize comfort over fashion tonight.

A knock on your bedroom door pulls you from your thoughts.  With a shrug, you throw your chosen clothes on your bed.

“Coming.”  You call while trudging over to open the door.  There stood your maid, she was looking anxious, wringing her wrinkly hands.  “What is it?”

She glances at your odd choice of clothing before she looks away so as to not make you uncomfortable.  “Well, uhm, Sir Cameron is here again, miss.  He’s waiting for you downstairs, in the drawing room.”

You press your lips in a firm line.  “Tell him I’m not here.”

Your maid smiles apologetically.  “He…he saw you in your bedroom window before he came in, miss.”

Huffing, you tap your feet impatiently.  “Just tell him I’m busy.”

“He said you’ll say that.”  She mutters, amusement in her tone.  “And he asked us to tell you that he can wait.”

You close your eyes to keep them from rolling.  “Whatever, he can stay as long as he likes, but I’m not coming down to meet him.”  You push the door a little wider and your maid’s eyes widen at the state of your room.  “I’m sorry, I know you’re busy but can you help me clean up?”

The rest of the afternoon was spent tidying up your room. 

It was dark out, a couple of minutes past seven when your phone buzzed.  Knowing that it’s your girlfriends, you pick your bag, filled with the usual party necessities and head downstairs.  It’s a habit, assigning yourself as the responsible friend who stays sober to look after the others.

You are slipping in the pearl bracelet your grandmother got for you last Christmas when you hear your name being called and in instinct, you turn around.

“Oh, right.”  You say with a tone that is drier than the Sahara desert.  “You’re here.”

Rafe’s standing just outside your drawing room, his hands falling to his side.

“Yeah.”  He spoke awkwardly, his eyes glancing at your outfit, familiarity crossing them before he looked at your eyes again.  “I was waiting for you.”

You exhale softly and he just stood there, waiting for your reaction.

“I know.”  You say simply.  “Gotta go.”  You start walking again to your door.

“Wait, Y/N.” He easily catches up.  “You’re…you’re coming to the party, right?”  He asks hopefully.

“Yes.”  You respond without looking at him.

Rafe smiles but it quickly dissipates when he sees a different car waiting for you.  “Hold on, I can drive you there.”  He says quickly, his hand gripping yours just to get you to listen to him.  “I can drive you to the party.”  He says in an uncharacteristically sheepish way.

For a second, you look at him, really look at him.  His smile grows wide.  He missed having your eyes on him.  You’re his best friend, and he’s used to doing everything with you by his side.  He also liked how dependent you were on him too, always asking for his approval.  You have a bit of an overbearing attitude but he would be lying if he’ll say that he doesn’t miss you doting on him too.  Perhaps you’re not the only one who’s dependent on this odd friendship you both have.

“No, thank you.”  You say before pulling your hand away with a sharp look thrown his way.  He watches you walk away to greet your friends.  He’s still stuck there, staring, even after the car drives away.

He doesn’t understand it.

You’re the emotional one, why are you doing so well without him?  You never go to parties with other people, it was always him that you stick close to.  Clinging on him, pulling him to the dance floor when he’s about to do a line of coke, or accidentally knocking his cup when he’s had too much drinks.

Running a hand through his face, Rafe decides to hop on his car and follow you to the party.  You’ll be in the same space as him in the next few hours.  He’ll get another chance there.  He’s certain of it.

He didn’t get the chance.

With you by his side all the time, you memorized his set of activities at parties and you evaded him perfectly.  Rafe decided that it was best to stand by the punch table.  You’d get thirsty eventually, and he’ll be there waiting if you do.

On the other side of the house, farthest from Rafe, there you sit by the porch swing, admiring the push and pull of the waves.  The party was at its climax and everybody was cramped inside the house, dancing and drinking, or doing unholy activities.  You don’t know how you managed to slip away from your friends but you’re glad you did.  You needed the fresh air.

You’re just starting to get comfortable when a man stumbles out the door.  You watch him struggle to keep himself up.  He looked lost? Or just flat out drunk.  You watch in amusement as he scratches his blonde head, he must be having a whiplash from all the blinding neon lights inside and suddenly his vision switches to the bright light provided by the LEDs. 

His feet twist and he starts to fall to the side, your head tilting to follow his fall.  You wince when you hear the loud thud of his body hitting the floor, followed by his muffled but loud groaning.

“Motherfu-”  He sits on the floor, his legs sprawled out in front of him as he shakes his head like a dog.

“You alright, JJ?”  You chuckle.

He whips his head to you, cursing again when his vision spins.  “Y/N?”  He drawls out while rubbing his eyes.  “You saw everything?”

Still laughing, you get up to crouch next to him.  “I did.”  You smile when he groans out again.  “Are you okay?”

He props up a knee and rests an arm there, he looks buzzed, his eyes are heavily lidded as he stares off into the ocean.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”  He glances at you.  “Well, this is a strange sight.”

“What is?”  You mumble as you look away from him, deciding to play dumb.

He shrugs animatedly, hands gesturing to you and the entire space of the porch.  “Usually, wherever you are, your boyfriend is not that far behind.”  He points a thumb behind him.  “And if I wasn’t imagining it, I’m pretty sure I just saw him brooding over the drinks.”

You chuckle dryly as you bring your knees to your chest.  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

JJ looks at you with an unimpressed face.  “That’s all you heard.”

Playfully punching his shoulder, you sigh.  “We fought.”

He frowns, back straightening immediately.  “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”  It’s kind of sweet how your words seemed to have sobered him really quick.

“No!  No, he didn’t.”  You reply right away.  “Well, at least not physically.”

You watch him grimace.  “Outside physical fights, I have little to no idea how to respond.”

“That’s okay, JJ.  I don’t wanna talk about it, anyway.”

He gives you a boyish grin, as if to reassure you before scratching at his jaw, your eyes mindlessly follow his movements and you see a scratch.

“You’re hurt.”  You tell him, pointing at your own jaw.

“Huh?”  He touches his jaw and winces.  “Ow!  Must’ve scratched myself when I…uhm.”

“When you decided to attack the floor.”  You finish for him and he clears his throat.  “You’ll have to disinfect it.”

“Pfft, it’s fine.”  He shakes his head.  “It’s just a scratch.”

But you are already grabbing your bag by the swing and you return with a small kit.

“I forgot to bring wipes.”  You mumble before crouching down in front of him.  He swallows at your close proximity.  “Come on, JJ.  It’s just antibacterial cream.”

He hesitantly shows you his face and you gently apply the cream, tutting when he dramatically pulls away.

You grab his face and tilt it slightly and JJ squeezes his eyes.

“It fucking stings.”  He nearly whines, making you roll your eyes.

“Don’t be a baby!”  You huff and he stays still for a second, allowing you to smear the cream evenly and he rolls away from you as soon as you’re done.

JJ was muttering about God knows what while you’re busy putting your stuff away.  When you sit next to him again, he’s much calmer, a lazy smile back on his face again.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

You throw him a playful glare.  “You’re welcome.”

He touches the scratch and you almost tell him off but he quickly pulls his hand away. 

“Why didn’t Cameron make you his girl?”

You blow out a big sigh.  “He doesn’t like me.”

“Bullshit.”  He laughs but he clears his throat when you look at him unamused.  “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”  You smile at him genuinely before averting your eyes.  “I wouldn’t blame him.  I mean, you saw how I can be.”  You chuckle this time but there’s no humor on JJ’s face, he’s looking at you rather sadly.  “I care too much and everybody suffocates around me.”

“I don’t.”  He says quickly.  “I was just being dramatic earlier.”  He rubs his nape.  “I’m not used to having people tend to me, I mostly just do it myself.”  He seeks your eyes and you finally look at him. 

You hear a creak behind you but before you can look, JJ cups your face to keep you from breaking your eye contact, making your breath hitch.

“I liked being taken care of like that.”  He whispers and your lips part slightly.

“JJ.”  You say breathlessly and he grins, his face leaning dangerously close to you.  “You’re drunk.”

He gently bites his bottom lip and you have to look away from his blatant flirting.  “I’m sober enough to kiss, I promise.”

This…this isn’t right.  

You gently push him away and his lips immediately form a pout.  “You’re such a kid, JJ.”

He clicks his tongue and angrily stoops as he glares at the ocean.  “You had no idea how long it took me to build the courage to do that.”

“Five minutes?”  You jokingly bump his shoulders, making his act break at the edges, a smile threatening to crack on his lips.  “Seriously, J, I can’t kiss drunk guys.  It’s unethical.”

He mimics you in a childish voice and buries his face on his palms harshly.  He turns to you again, with his hair disheveled and sticking to his forehead and red blotches appearing on some areas of his face.  “I’m not as drunk as you think I am.”  The way he glances at your lips had your throat drying up.  “I really wanted to kiss you.”  Aside from Rafe, you have little to no experience with the male attention and frankly, you don’t know what to do.

You place a hand on his shoulder and stiffly pat it twice.  “You’ll get over it.”

JJ looks at you exasperatedly.  “You’re taking this too lightly, this is my feelings we are talking about.”

You stifle a laughter.  “Oh, so you have feelings for me.”  You raise a brow at him and he nods his head enthusiastically.

“Every guy on this island has a thing for you.”  He says animatedly.  “If it wasn’t for your bodyguard, we would have made our move long ago.”

You are deeply flattered, you can’t resist the girlish smile from tugging on your lips, your cheeks slowly heating up.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He looks deeply offended and places a hand on his chest.

“You’re the ultimate dream girl, stupid!”  He dodges a punch from you.  “You’re like the total package.  You’re sweet, and smart, you’re also very pretty, you can be funny too when you let loose.”  He wiggles his eyebrows at you and this pulls a laughter from you, a real, genuine laughter that had your shoulders shaking.

“When are you gonna get serious, J?”  Wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes, you get up.  “Wait here, I’ll get us a drink.”

He gives you a two finger salute before lying smack down on the floor, with his arms spread out.  You shake your head, chuckling when you open the door.

And your hair stands on end.

There stood the very person you have been avoiding the entire night.

But for once, he isn’t wearing a scowl or a condescending cocky smile.

He was looking at you like a man defeated and broken.

“Rafe.”  You whisper as you reach for him but you stop yourself before your skin can touch.  He looks at your hand and then your eyes.  You don’t know if it’s the trick of light but you could have sworn his eyes are glassy.

“Hey, Y/N, everything alright?”  JJ calls.

Rafe glances at JJ and then back at you, he nods slowly as he takes a step back.  Your heart aches as you watch him take another step away from you but you will yourself not to follow.  He runs a hand on his mouth and he turns away from you.

You stare at his back as he leaves, torn between choosing your own pride or running after him.  For what seemed like hours, you stood there, frozen.  Still lost in the onslaught of emotions that surged through you.

Not Your Girl • His Girl

[lucysarah-c]

"Those are my fries, and those are yours,"

"Come on! Does it really make a difference if I take just one?" You retorted.

"Settled accounts keep old friends," he mumbled, mouth half full of food.

You giggled as he took off the top bun from his burger, piled on a bunch of fries, and took a huge bite. The scene was downright chaotic, and you burst out laughing. Levi, who normally cared about appearances, was wolfing down the McDonald's meal with an intensity that didn’t quite match the polished image he’d shown earlier, even though that suit probably cost a fortune.

Ketchup stuck to the corner of his mouth as he raised an eyebrow, silently questioning what was so funny. Once he'd swallowed, he muttered, "Eat before the fries get cold. They taste horrible like that."

You couldn't help but reflect on how the night had gone. The House of CB dress you'd bought and saved for a special occasion, the hair you had done at the salon, the makeup you practiced to mimic the subtle but lovely glam of the latest Bridgerton season—none of that had been planned for you to end up in your boyfriend's car, surrounded by a ridiculous amount of fast food from a drive-thru at 11 p.m.

The empty parking lot outside, with snow accumulating, could have been eerie if you weren’t sitting next to Levi. Fries slathered in extra cheddar sauce were scattered everywhere, and Levi shoveled them into his mouth without a care. No lights, no music, but it didn't matter—you felt safe with him, though neither of you was keen on tempting fate by keeping the car lights on in the middle of nowhere.

Taking a bite of your own burger, you chuckled again. "I don't think I've ever seen you this hungry."

Levi paused mid-chew to take a swig of his Coke. "Tch, those posh assholes. They dragged me around for hours—hours! Examples of this, representation of that, and handshakes with whoever. From 3 p.m.! They didn’t even let me grab a sandwich at the reception. Finally, they serve dinner at 10—TEN!" he grumbled, the delay clearly having been the final straw. "And what did they serve? One shrimp, a tiny cube of cheese, and some grass they picked from outside and called a gourmet dinner."

"Rich people don’t eat much; that’s why," you teased. "It’s fancy to have tiny portions on huge plates."

"That’s because they’re all on Ozempic, buying up medicine that people actually need. Fuck them," he muttered.

On any other occasion, Levi would’ve cursed you for eating in his car, but tonight he made an exception. "How are my ice creams?"

Levi glanced outside where the ice creams were stored in the cold air to keep from melting. Processing your words, he turned back to you. "My ice creams? You mean ours."

"Oh, Levi, aren’t you going to gift me one? What kind of gentleman are you?" you teased.

"Right now, I’d bite your arm off if it weren’t for the fact that McDonald’s is still open," he replied with a smirk.

You laughed again. It had been the government holiday party, and you’d been so excited to attend, ready to rub elbows with high society. One of the older women had even told you, "You should've asked for a brand to sponsor your dress, coming as Levi’s plus-one!" Erwin had insisted that Levi attend as a representative of the Ackerman family, much to your boyfriend's dismay. Uri had agreed, probably because any option was better than Kenny for a formal event.

"Erwin will kill you when he finds out," you said, remembering how Levi had messaged you to sneak out. You’d never imagined he’d drag you through a bathroom window, across the estate grounds, and into his car for a McDonald’s run. "What about Uri? I ran into him during dinner. He was so nice!"

Levi hummed in approval, acknowledging that the old man had always been a saint in his eyes. The only one capable of dealing with Kenny for so many years.

Suddenly, Levi's phone lit up, its ringtone breaking the quiet. "Fuck!" you panicked.

"Don’t answer. If we do, they’ll know I’m reachable," Levi said, ignoring the calls.

Message after message flooded his phone—texts from Uri, Traute, and Erwin: Where are you? Levi, answer the phone ASAP. Come back here this instant.

The calls came in one after another.

"They won’t stop," you muttered. "Maybe we should just tell them—"

"No. They’d send the national guard to drag me back to that snob-filled hell," Levi spat. Despite not picking up, both of you whispered as if the unanswered calls could somehow hear.

At some point, the whole situation became hilarious. You found yourself resting your head on his shoulder, chuckling as the phone buzzed incessantly. Levi kept refusing to answer, and in the midst of it all, you shared sloppy kisses in the darkened car.

"I’ve got an idea…" you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. Levi looked at you, confused, the noise from the phone distracting from the moment you were building.

Casually, you swiped up on the screen and answered. "Levi? Where are—"

With a fake gasp and an exaggerated tone, you moaned, "Ah, Lev—Yes!"

Levi had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as he realized what you were doing. "Play along," you whispered. And before you knew it, he began thumping the side door, mimicking the sound of… well, thrusts.

"Harder!" you managed between giggles before the call abruptly ended, leaving both of you in hysterics.

"Well, they’re definitely not calling anymore," Levi shook his head, still grinning, knowing full well this prank wouldn’t go unpunished.

"You can always say we were busy working on the Ackerman heir they keep asking for," you teased.

Levi grimaced, entertained by the thought. "I mean…" His hand slid up your thigh, the mood shifting as his touch grew more insistent. "We could actually be doing that."

Your hips began to move slightly over his lap. A quick glance at the clock—the only light inside the car—showed 12:05 a.m. Finally past midnight. "Whatever the birthday boy wants," you purred.

—

"He picked up? What did he say, sir?" Traute asked irritably in the event staff area, where they were waiting to bring out the enormous, decorated cake for the final part of the evening.

Uri chuckled, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "I think he’s already celebrating. Let’s just carry on."

(No idea what this is, the idea just pop up in my mind)

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hannieslovebot @flxrartsstuff @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @searriously @blackdxggr @storiesofsung @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-12345 @galactict3a @lemonsupernova @hyuckwon-my-husbands @heyitsd1yaa @sydneyyuu @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @mandaax @sugacor3 @r0ckst4rjk @vegetasgirl2799 @catiwinky @pinksaiyans @sparklykeylime Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[takumiraine]

Once Upon A Time Chapter 2

<prev> <next>

So Danny? 100% has PTSD. I do have a vague plan for this. And most of the next chap written. The Fentons may or may not be terrible parents. You’ll have to wait and see. I do have plans to break everyone’s hearts at least once. Anyways. This is considered my like…. Audience test before Ao3. Things may change. As a reminder all I know about dc is from fandom and wiki and everything I remember about dp is prob poorly remembered.

—

Once upon a time, there had been a young boy who was happy. Once upon a time, there was a young boy who had dreams and a future. Once upon a time, there was a boy who had been alive in every sense of the word. Once upon a time, everything shattered. Once upon a time, there was a man who was filled with anger. Once upon a time, there was a man just as alive as he was dead. Once upon a time, there was a man who was haunted and hunted.

As the stabbed kid shuffled off, leaving Jason baffled, he grabbed the guy who he had slammed into the wall. His head was bleeding but his breathing was steady and Jason huffed. He knew he definitely cracked the guy’s skull, but he had survived worse.

���O, what do we know on this guy?” He asked the woman in his ear. Oracle’s answer would determine whether he took the guy in to the ER or let him roll the dice of fate.

“Rap sheet about a mile long. Pretty basic stuff. Armed robbery, possession with intent, B&Es, assault and battery, the usual.”

Jason shrugged then and dropped the guy against the wall. Rolling the dice it was. He turned away, looking towards where the kid disappeared around the corner “and what about the guy he was mugging?”

“That’s where it gets weird.” Oracle’s typing was coming through loud and clear. “It’s hard to get a clear picture of him. He has some sort of distortion on the feed. Everything else comes out clear but…. He’s a mess of pixels. Voice too. Scrambled. It’ll take time.”

“Think he’s a meta?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, considering he got knifed and just…. Walked off with it. Wonder what his issue with B is though.”

“Couldn’t tell you. Think it might be time to update my armor if I’m being lumped in with people B and the bird brains have pissed off.” Jason took an evidence kit out of his pocket and swiped at the blood on his chest. Old habits and all. “Got a sample of the kid’s blood though.”

“Good thinking. Wonder if he’s in any databases. I’ve got a cleaned up picture now. Enough that it’s pinging in GU’s database. Dan Nightingale, Mechanical engineering major. It says he’s 19, it’s his freshman year and he’s in like every remedial class he can take, high school transcripts are mediocre at best. No other information about him really. Rogue in the making that one.” Oracle reported. Jason groaned, grapneling up to the rooftops to follow where the kid went off to.

“Someone should keep an eye on him. Ugh. This’ll be a conversation for B and the birds won’t it? Kid won’t like having a bunch of birds following him.” Jason flicked through the different visual modes on his visor, finding…. Cold moving through one of the apartment buildings. It was human shaped, but where he expected to find heat…. “Weird…. You seeing this?”

“Very weird,” Barbara agreed, tapping into his visor’s feed. “And hey, you could just…. Not tell him. You wanted a Lit degree right? Go to class, befriend him. Do some recon.” Jason knew Babs always walked the fine line between what Bruce needed to know about the rest of them and what she had to keep secret to keep helping them. He didn’t envy her position. Jason still wanted Bruce to hurt sometimes. Not as much as he used to, something about the sins of the father and all that. He just wanted Bruce to be aware that everything he had ever hoped for his boy to be was… out of both of their reaches forever.

“That sounds annoying.” He was 23. He didn’t have any interest in taking on a degree on top of his full time crime fighting and criminal empire running jobs.

“Yeah, but what other choice do you have? It’s go back to school, tell B, or wait for him to become a rogue.”

“I hate you sometimes.” He muttered, unsure of what made him suddenly so interested in that angry guy.

“Feeling’s mutual Hood,” She replied with what was definitely a fond tone. He grimaced.

—-

In the apartment, Danny was less than thrilled. That was his favorite shirt! Now not only was it covered in blood, it had a huge hole in it. His core still thrummed with the urge to fight, but he tamped it down. Slowly, as he pulled the knife out, he sealed the wound with a layer of ice, pulling his shirt off and throwing it into the bathroom sink. The knife was dropped into the kitchen sink. His keys and phone in his bedroom on the battered nightstand next to the bed.

He returned to the bathroom and turned the water on cold. He let it spray full blast before working on scrubbing the blood from his shirt. He looked up to eye himself critically in the mirror before noticing the waistband of his jeans were saturated with blood too. Damn it. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his pants off, throwing them into the now overfilled sink. The bathtub would probably be a better choice. Turning off the sink and turning on the tub Danny picked up the sopping clothes and dropped them with a wet thump into the basin of the tub. Carefully he lowered himself onto the floor, wincing at the way pain clawed through him.

He would need to actually eat food to heal from this at any reasonable speed. He thought of the two dollars he had, then the emergency stash of….he racked his brain to remember how much of the emergency cash he was left with once he got to Gotham…right. Twenty bucks…. That was all he had in the wall.

He missed the days when Sam would just throw money at him whenever his parents forgot to do things like pay rent or put food in the fridge.

As if agreeing his stomach rumbled loudly, demanding actual food to sate the expense of energy healing his injury would take. He thought about calling Sam. Seeing if she could arrange a prepaid card for him. He knew she would in a heartbeat.

Even cut off from family money she seemed to be doing better than he was. Wracking his brain, Danny thought she was working in Bludhaven as some sort of personal assistant. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion that came from sustaining a human body on nothing but ecto or if he had been too distracted in the moment to pay proper attention, but he couldn’t remember if that was right. Getting the blood out of his clothes he wiped at the remaining blood on his body, getting most of it off. He grabbed the clothes and turned off the water.

Slowly, Danny pushed himself to his feet. He had survived worse, multiple times. But pain never seemed to stop being painful. It lanced through his side and he almost fell back to his knees with the way it stole his breath and doubled him over. He wished he could go back to the Zone and just… wait it out. But in order to do that without drawing attention he’d need a portal. The only ones he knew of were either destroyed or…. Compromised.

Maybe he should call Vlad. Danny shook that thought away almost immediately as he realized how silly it was. Vlad spent most of his teen years antagonizing him. Besides the GIW had probably gotten to Vlad too. If he wasn’t captured he would likely be compromised. Memories of Amity Park flooded in before Danny could stop them. Of asking for help. Over and over. Of the GIW storming in and locking everything down. Of Danny frantically telling his parents, only for their eyes to dart to the kitchen before they could stop it. Of the sound of energy. The smell of his flesh burning. Of pain.

Danny forced himself to take a breath. He focused on the wet clothes in his hands. On the tiles beneath his feet. Of the too harsh fluorescents in the bathroom that buzzed. The sounds of the people above him arguing over bills and needing better jobs.

Slowly he banished the memories back where they belonged. He’d… figure it out. He had to. Somehow. For now, sleep. Danny hung up the wet clothes over the shower bar, made sure there was a towel on the floor and shuffled into the bedroom. Double checking that his alarm was set, even though his class wasn’t until early afternoon, he didn’t want to miss it, he slid into his bed and pulled the pile of blankets up over him.

Almost instantly, he was out.

—-

“B,” Jason said in lieu of a proper greeting as he stepped into the Batcave, hood tucked under his arm.

“Jason,” Bruce looked up and turned the surprised expression into something more fond. “To what do I owe the visit?”

Jason leaned against the rock. Foot braced against the wall. “I know semester’s already started, but something came up. How hard would it be to start at GU?”

Bruce stared at him for a long moment and Jason knew it was his way of trying to figure out what buttons to press. Then he tilted his head and turned back to the computer screen. “Not too hard. It is early yet. Anything I should know?”

“Babs was lonely.” It was an out and out lie, but it seemed to soften things in Bruce further, reminding him of the two children that failed him within months of each other.

“Hm.” Bruce was silent at his computer for a long moment. Convinced that was the end of the conversation, Jason tightened his grip on the helmet he had tucked under his arm. “Either way. It is a good choice. Literature?”

The comment and question rankled Jason, the thing from the pit scratching at his carefully contained emotions. Pushing for any crack. Bruce was trying he reminded himself. Too little too late, but trying.

“Yeah. Going in in the morning.”

“Should I call ahead?”

“No. I can handle it. If not I have no business being there.”

“You will do fine.” The ‘you are a Wayne’ was left unspoken.

Jason snorted. “Right. Good talk.”

“Are you staying the night?” An olive branch. Jason wanted to burn it. He tempered the impulse to a spark.

“I have my own place.”

“Your room is still yours when you want it.”

“Yeah. The room of the worst Robin in history. Pass.” Jason turned and walked stiffly back up the steps. Hearing the soft growl of Batman behind him. The start of an argument.

He considered it a victory that he didn’t run into any of his siblings or Alfred on the way out.

[revelboo]

Are your shoulders tired from carrying the entire Transformers fandom right now, Rev?

Your fics are also inspiring a bunch of people?!? Nice. Love your fics, dying from the angst, but now I'm writing fluff fics while waiting for you to post hahaaha *dies*

I just started writing TF fics because I couldn’t find what I wanted to read 😆 but I’m loving that more people are starting to write stuff, too! I’ve been trying to pester a writer friend (one of the ones that convinced me to start writing TF smut originally to create a Tumblr and share her stuff, too)

Everything Is Alright Pt 107

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Your palm resting against his own, fingers lined up with his servos drives home how much smaller you are even when he’s mass displaced. How fragile. And yet you can still entrust yourself to him as he curls his other arm around you and tries to explain what he knows of how Cybertronians are sparked. How that spark can become transferred into a waiting protoform. But a hybrid spark? He has no idea if it will still work the same way. You’re so small, will the spark stay your size? Smaller than a true Cybertronian? As defenseless as you are? It’s a struggle to keep his tone calm, to pretend he’s not as scared as you are. As unsure.

• Laying your head against him as he talks, some of your tension eases at the confidence in his rasping voice. Because you really need to believe that one of you has a clue what you’re doing. And there’s still Megatron, who even though he knows you’re no pet, seems determined to force you to keep up the act and play one for his amusement. He’s dangerous. Know that, but speaking to him? You think he’s also lonely and more than a little tired. Hating that he can startle a laugh from you when he wants to, that those big hands are so gentle. That you like those rare smiles and- you like him. Stiffening in Star’s arms, you press your face against his neck, because you can’t possibly like Megatron, public enemy number one and the biggest threat to your life. “What’s wrong?” Starscream asks. What is wrong with you? You have Star and Soundwave. You’re happy with them. You can’t like Megatron, too.

• Wings flaring slightly when you don’t answer him, he takes your shoulders in his hands and pulls you back, not liking when you avoid his optics, face heating. And then hiding your face in your hands as he vents. Another weird human thing? Or something you just don’t want to talk about? Optics narrowing, he rests his helm against your forehead and waits. “It’s nothing. Really,” you murmur, head tipping to brush your mouth against his, trying to kiss away his frown. Wants to trust that, but knows you. Knows you rarely complain or ask for anything. And right now that bothers him. How can he take care of you when you won’t tell him you need something? Resting a palm against your throat before sliding it down to rest over the steady beat of your heart, his optics shutter. Grounding himself in the feel of you. Of home and hope. Won’t push, because he knows he’s terrible at this, too. But he wants to get better. To be better. For you to trust him.

• Megatron can feel Soundwave’s optics on him through the visor. Can also feel the tension in his old friend and he vents softly. “I’m not going to hurt your little human, but you’ll still bring them to me.” But what Soundwave is hinting at, proposing in veiled, cautious words? That he make his own claim upon you just to force Starscream into stopping his attempts to ursurp him is clever, because it’s tempting. And his second in command will despise it. But he knows Soundwave, knows how protective he is of his cassettes and can imagine that protective instinct extends to you as well. If you’re tied to all three of them? Shared between them? You’d be guaranteed safety. “I’ll consider it,” he adds on a growl, annoyed with himself. But when he remembers those angry eyes, the way you’d defended Starscream, arguing with him? You’d challenge him while being no real threat, a little, affectionate mate to sit at his peds while he’s on his throne. Respected and safe because you belong to him. And he remembers the way you’d looked under Soundwave. The sounds you’d made.

• Inclining his head respectfully, some of Soundwave’s tension eases. Betting on Megatron’s own loneliness. That he’ll keep demanding you be brought to him, speak with you and come to know you. Doesn’t really hope that Megatron will love you, only arranging a mating for convenience. To keep you safe whether you want it or not. Telling himself that this is necessary as Megatron strides away, but there’s a shadow of doubt in his spark. Afraid that you’ll hate him for this, won’t understand that he’s doing this all for you. For a future he’s desperate to have.

Previous

Next

[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

I WANT A HEART TATTOO!

I'LL NEVER GET IT REMOVED!

synopsis// suguru gives you your first tattoo.

➚ pairing// tattoo artist!suguru geto x gn!reader

➚ word count// 2k

contents// friends to lovers, tattooed and pierced geto, reader is a chicken, mentions of drinking, maybe like the ittiest bittiest type of suggestive toward the end...? slightly teasing/cocky geto?

notes// this is kinda cringe but i am cringe and free. also this was inspired by heart tattoo by joyce manor (dont play with me rn.) hoping this will help hold yall off till i can finish the smau...

Geto meticulously cleans up his tattoo station, occasionally stopping to take a swig of the beer you so kindly brought him. 

“You’re quiet.” 

You hum as you take a sip of your own beer. 

He stops and turns around to face you, his eyebrow raised. “Why?” 

“I like watching you clean.” 

Geto laughs. Not just a small one either, but the kind that makes his nose crinkle and his cheeks bunch to the point his eyes are forced closed. You ignore the butterflies in your stomach, blaming it on the alcohol (even if this is only your first beer and definitely not enough to have any sort of effect on you, but you digress). 

“What’s so interesting about watching me clean anyway?” 

You huff, ignoring the increasing heat on your face. “I don’t know... Just shut up and finish cleaning, Suguru. I wanna leave.” 

He smiles and turns back around, continuing to clean. “I told you you could go home.” 

“And leave you to fend for yourself?”

“I’m a grown man.” 

“Whatever… Besides, I can’t drink all these beers by myself.” 

Geto doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders shake slightly with a small, silent laugh, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. You love his little quirks. You always have.

maybe a little too much.

Meanwhile, he picks up his tattoo machine and stares at it. There’s nothing particularly interesting about it; it’s just plain black, freshly wrapped in some black medical tape. 

“Hey Y/N?” 

“Something wrong?” 

He shakes his head and turns to face you again, tattoo machine still in hand. “You still don’t have any tattoos, huh?” 

“Um, no,” you respond sheepishly. “I’m not like scared or anything-“ 

“I wasn’t gonna say that.” 

“Oh. then what were you gonna say?” 

“Can I give you a tattoo?” 

You blink at him. It’s not like you don’t trust him. You trust Geto with your life. You trust him more than anyone or anything in the world. Shit, you might trust him even more than you trust yourself. It’s just…

Geto impatiently groans at your lack of answer. “Oh, cmon, you literally promised me when we were younger that you would let me tattoo you!” 

“That was when we were like twelve!” you scoff, in disbelief he’d throw something as old as that in your face… Maybe he’s been hanging around Gojo too much. 

“Give me one good reason why you won’t let me tattoo you.” 

You frown as you look away, and right away you can hear his footsteps as he places himself in your line of vision again. raising his eyebrows as if to ask, “well?” 

You mumble something under your breath that he doesn’t quite catch. “Y/N, you know I can’t hear you when you do that.” 

“I actually am scared!” you finally say loud enough for him to hear, and it comes out more like a single word than a full sentence.

Geto can't help but giggle, quickly slapping his hand over his mouth, but not even that helps.

“Suguru, this isn't funny; I'm being vulnerable here!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says through stifled laughter before finally calming down enough to clear his throat. “You're right, it isn’t funny,“ he pauses for a moment. ”Wanna know something?”

“What?”

“Getting tattooed scares me too.”

“Liar,” you scoff. “You're covered in them.”

Geto shrugs. “Doesn’t mean it’s not unnerving each time.”

“I just don’t want it to hurt,” you explain with a slight pout.

“It’s a needle going in and out of your skin, Y/N.”

“Exactly!”

“Fine,” Suguru says with a sigh, and you think that's it; he's done, but not even a few seconds later does he speak up again: “What if I said I'll be gentle?”

“Haha.” Your brain immediately short circuits, and the butterflies in your stomach are something you can't blame on the alcohol this time. “Huh.”

Geto laughs softly. “With your tattoo?”

You nod blankly, your brain still not working properly and not yet actually computing what he’s still asking you.

“Yes?” he confirms excitedly.

“Yeah…” Finally, it hits you. “Wait, no! I mean, no. and not to mention you’ve been drinking?”

“Like two sips, Y/N,” he says with a slight pout and roll of his eyes. “You know better than anyone; it takes a lot more than that to get me drunk.”

“Okay, well, what about me? Isn't it bad to get tattoed when you’ve been drinking?”

“Oh my god, just say yes or no. You know I won’t be mad if you decide not to.”

You stare deep into Geto’s eyes, and he’s not lying; he won't be mad. disappointed, sure, but not mad. never mad, never when it comes to you. And right then and there, your conviction crumbles into a million tiny pieces, just dust in the wind.

“…fine”

“fine?”

“You can tattoo me. But!" you exclaim, pointing a finger at him as if lecturing him, “it has to be small! and somewhere where it doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay, I can't guarantee that last part, and you know that,” he says blankly.

You sigh in defeat. “Yeah, I know.”

Geto smiles at you softly and coos, “But I will try,” as he gently caresses your cheek before breaking away and turning around to pull back out the stuff he needs.

You stand there wide-eyed, and your jaw dropped. Geto is affectionate, sure, but he’s never been that affectionate. He couldn’t feel the same way, could he? You shake your head, denying that thought, even despite how hot you feel.

He just did that to comfort you.

That’s all.

He was just trying to be reassuring.

That's it.

At least that's what your brain is trying to say, but your heart is saying another with the way it violently beats against your rib cage.

The minute he turns around, you compose yourself, shutting your mouth and hoping to god he doesn’t notice your chest heaving almost uncontrollably.

Geto pats his tattoo chair. “Sit.”

You hesitate, standing there like a deer in headlights.

Geto clicks his tongue dramatically before grabbing your hand and leading you to his chair, mumbling a reassuring, “Trust me.”

You frown, placidly letting him drag you around like a rag doll. “I do trust you.”

“Then sit.”

And when he says it like that, how can you say no? When he’s staring at you so intently that it’s almost as if he can see right through you, how do you say no? You cant. So you don't. The only thing you can do is—petulantly—plop down into his tattoo chair.

“Sit right and lay your arm on the armrest.”

“No, do it like this.” By ‘this’ you mean with you hunched over and your arm resting on your leg rather than the armrest like Geto is telling you to.

He sighs deeply. "Y/N, your arm resting on your leg is not stable enough. like at all.”

“Do it like this or not at all.”

“Fine.” He raises an eyebrow at you in mild disapproval and says, "But if it comes out bad, it’s not my fault.”

You roll your eyes, unamused. Geto would never let anything he puts on your body come out even remotely bad. “Whatever.”

“Why like this anyway?”

“Because it’s comfortable..?”

Not really.

Like at all.

Actually, this is extremely uncomfortable, and you're sure your back will hate you later, but this gives you the best view of Geto, and that's all you care about.

“Okay, fine,” he says, not bothering to put up much more of a fight before getting in position. “Ready?”

“Yeah…” Not even a second later, you blurt out, “Wait!”

Geto’s head shoots up, his concerned eyes scanning your face intently. “What? What is it?”

You don't say a word; instead, you grab onto his shoulder with your free hand, prepared to claw into it if and when need be.

“Is that why you’re sitting like this?” He asks, a smug smile creeping onto his face as it finally hits him. “You just wanted to hold onto me?”

You nod sheepishly.

Geto smiles. “Are you ready now, then?”

You nod again.

but that's not good enough for him. He wants a real reply. “For real this time?”

“For real this time.”

Geto doesn't miss a beat, and you close your eyes as your face scrunches up in anticipation, your nails already sinking into his shoulder. But the minute the tattoo machine actually meets your skin, you peek one eye open because all you really feel is some vibration and the tiniest of scratches. It doesn’t hurt that bad at all, actually; it’s more than tolerable, and with that, your hand relaxes against his shoulder, still resting on it but no longer gripping him like he’s the only thing tying you to this earth.

It’s not long after that the feeling fades into the background of your mind, like a blur. Being tattooed isn’t even a thought in your brain at all right now. Geto could be tattooing a dick on your arm right now, and you wouldn’t even know because the only thing you can focus on is him.

The only thing you can ever focus on is him, if you’re being honest.

But right now, something is different. Seeing him in his element makes your knees go weak, and you’re grateful for the fact that you’re sitting. and suddenly you don’t know why you’ve never let him tattoo you sooner. You’d let him tattoo you a thousand more times if it meant you got to see him like this. He somehow makes the way he focuses look like art—from the way his brows are knitted together in concentration to the way he absentmindedly bites and fiddles with his lip piercings—it’s all art; he makes it look too beautiful. like he’s more modeling and pretending to focus than actually doing it. You involuntarily let out a deep, longing sigh, your eyes fluttering close in the process.

Geto’s gaze flits up to your face. “You're not about to pass out on me, right?”

You open your eyes and meet his gaze with a small, content smile on your face. “No, I'm fine, Suguru.”

“I mean, if you were, that would be fine too, because I'm done,” he replies, turning off his tattoo machine and moving away from you.

“Already?!” you ask, slightly shocked. It didn't feel like it had been that long.

“Yeah,” he says plainly as he stands up and starts quickly cleaning up his workstation once more. "Don't know what you were so scared of, dork.”

You open your mouth, ready to say something sarcastic or explain yourself, but before the words can even leave your mouth, before you can even think of them, Geto is turning back around to face you and cupping your chin in between his index finger and thumb.

Geto leans down at the same time he tilts your head up and places a chaste kiss on the corner of your (still open) mouth, cooing, “You took it so well.”

All you can do is laugh nervously. “What?” You're still giggling; you don't think you could do much else at this point. “What was that- Why did you just-“

Geto starts laughing along with you, except it’s not a defense mechanism for him; he’s just finding this all too amusing. “You didn't think I gave you a heart for no reason, did you?”

You quickly look down at your arm, the action ripping your chin out of Geto’s hold. “You gave me a heart,” you say absentmindedly, and it sounds more like a question than an actual statement.

“Are you just now noticing?” he asks, returning his hand to your chin and gently guiding you to look up at him again. “I thought you were watching the whole time.”

You swallow sharply, becoming acutely aware of how close his face is to yours again. “I was watching something the whole time, but it was not the actual tattoo.”

“Oh? and what was so much more interesting?”

“Mind your business-“

Geto barely even lets you finish your snarky remark before leaning in and kissing you again. except this time for real. except this time you kiss back.

and suddenly tattoos don’t seem so bad anymore, so long as they all end like this.

©TODAYISAWTHEWHXLEWXRLD

[yerimacoustic]

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚 🤍 𝙟𝙤𝙨𝙝𝙪𝙖 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

summary: after attempting to steal from the wrong man, you and joshua are forced to mend your own mistake and find out more about each other on the way.

content warnings: royalty au, fantasy au, joshua x female reader, inspired by tangled, obviously, lost prince!joshua and thief!reader, lots and lots of angst, swearing, kissing eventually, more tags to come!

a/n: this is a TEASER for an upcoming joshua fic that i pinky promise i will actually finish and upload. this is also dedicated to my favorite moot @02shuuu who gave me the idea and is so encouraging thank youuuu🫶🏻

“look.. you’ve got great aim, i’ll give you that. but was throwing that apple really necessary?” you grimaced while your fingers graced over the large bruise forming on your temple.

“you’re lucky i didn’t throw anything else. or call the royal guards, for that matter,” joshua countered, ignoring the guilt that crept through him upon seeing the darkened spot adorning your skin.

you scoffed, unamused, “i’m sure they’ve got bigger issues to worry about than some petty theft. like that missing prince.”

“..what?” joshua raised an eyebrow.

you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. apparently the age old tale of the prince’s disappearance wasn’t common knowledge.. “you mean you don’t-“ you paused, snickering. “have you been living under a rock?”

joshua bowed his head at your words, staring at the dark blue vial in his hand. the stopper was nowhere to be found, the bottle completely empty. a trail of darkened, almost burnt grass beneath his feet signaled where the liquid had spilled in your scuffle.

“well..” you sighed loudly and slapped your knees while rising to your feet. “this has been lovely. one of my most.. notable first meetings. but i really must be going.”

“not so fast,” joshua protested in a gentle tone, keeping an iron grip on your dark cloak. you were rendered motionless. “you’re going to help me fix this.”

“um..” you let your voice trail off, eyes briefly flicking to the dark sky above you as if to feign contemplation. “no can do. i’ve gotta find another way to settle some debts i have, i’ll spare you the details.”

you took another step, only to be halted once again by joshua’s firm grip on your cape. “lemme ask you something: do you have any idea who you just tried to steal from??”

“no, and i don’t really care,” you stated pointedly.

joshua furrowed his eyebrows, taken aback. “regardless.. the potion’s ruined now because of you. someone worked really really hard, traveling night and day across kingdoms, spending night after night with their shoulders hunched over the cauldron to perfectly craft this particular potion. and now it’s wasted. and because of you! do you really want that on your conscience?”

you furrowed your eyebrows, once again unamused by his words. “since you asked.. i’m actually more worried about what’s going to happen to me now that my uh.. client won’t get what they want. so.. no, can’t say i am.”

joshua sighed, clearly exasperated. he rose to his feet, the worn fabric of your cloak still bunched around his fingers and effectively keeping you from moving. “look, we’ve got.. three days to get all of the ingredients back and remake the potion. if you help me, i’ll make sure there’s enough for both of us.”

“and why would i do that? how am i supposed to trust you?” you countered, folding your arms.

“because i know you’re desperate,” joshua told you with a smirk. “and frankly i am too. and i’m not really taking no for an answer.”

you were taken aback by his words and more accurately, the way he still managed to speak with such a charming tone. “and how are you supposed to trust me?”

“well.. i guess all i can do is just hope you won’t let me down.” he paused, letting go of your cloak in favor of grabbing onto your horse’s reins. a shit eating grin tugged at his lips as he looked over his shoulder to see you.. absolutely flabbergasted. he pats the saddle, nodding his head. “ladies first.”

[kyri45]

✨ISAT Sky: Cotl!AU Q&A (22-09)✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the ISAT Sky: Cotl!AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto:Hey your ISAT Sky: COTL crossover comic is what got me to try out sky, it's pretty fun even if players approaching me is a bit intimidating for my socially anxious self. The comic itself is pretty nice too and thank you for getting me into such a cute looking game :3

Thank you so much!!!♥️♥️♥️ sky is wonderful, it became my personal happy place!

@lunarmoff ha chiesto: Hello!! Hi, you probably have a lot of asks in your box but I wanted to thank you for getting me into isat! I first read your Isat sky au when I was in the sky fandom and I loved it even though I didn't know the characters at all! Now that I've gotten into the fandom and gotten to know the characters, I understand your au a lot more now. I love your art style and how you added a bunch of peoples sky kids into your story! I myself would have given you my sky kid but I found your comic a little to late to give them to you. Just know that I love your comic, and I can't wait to see how it ends!!!

AAAAAhhhhh that's awesome!!!So gad that you like ISAT! It's an emotional rollercoaster but it's soooo good!

@a-tired-human-draws-junk ha chiesto: I've been reading ur sky cotl x isat au and its driving me NUTS isat is a newer brainrot for me and sky is an OLD one like I havent played sky properly in over a year and you dragged me back into the game w ur comics DURING THE SEASON OF DUETS and I've been playing daily so I can get stuff AND I CANT BELIEVE AN ISAT AU IS WHAT DRAGGED ME BACK TO CANDLERUNNING HELL /lhj Anyways love the sky cotl x isat comics I see siffrin is still an idiot (Also I cant stop imagine siffrin honking at his family like a goddamn excited moth while running around them goofily as per average sky kid interaction and the mental image is so funny)

ASDFGHJKL YOU CAN'T UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I NEED SIFFRIN TO JUST- ACT LIKE A GOOFY EXCITED AND INNOCENT SKY KID AGAIN. HE'S JUST A LITTLE GUY!!!! HE DESERVE ALL THE HAPPYNESS AND FLUFF IN THE WORLD AND I'M HERE TO GIVE IT TO HIM (after I made him suffer hell of course)

@o-rainknight-o ha chiesto:I just want you to know that I love your art! It's so beautiful!Your LMK AU is amazing. I haven't played Sky in a while and I've never played ISAT but my sister has, so I know a little about it. It's also very pretty the way you draw it.Make sure not to overwork yourself too! We are all strangers here but a lot of us care :)

Ty!!!! I hope you get the chance to play sky as well!

@scarftale-bryan ha chiesto: Why did the lads skip the plains and wasteland?

cause I don't have the time or will to draw all 6 the realms. And also cause geographically, I don't know where the wastelands could be placed in Guadeloupe

Anonimo ha chiesto:

crying wailing throwing up over isat cotl i love it so much

AAAHH TY!!!

@puppetxtheatre ha chiesto: I don't even like sky but your comic was so good it convinced me to play ISAT and now I'm in love with the game thank you

WELCOME TO YOUR NEW HELL/pos

Anonimo ha chiesto: is it bad that i keep tricking myself into believing your isat comics are canon?

omg I myself have to do it otherwise I would just go insane over the fact we will never have comfirmation to what happened to the forgotten island

Anonimo ha chiesto:I don't know anything about children of the sky (is that the name???) but I really like ISAT and I ADORE your comic. I'm so pumped to see all them colors and pretty stuff in your awesome style

Thank you! Me as well omg you have no idea (even though then panels will take double the time to color

@kestrel-bee ha chiesto: Hihi!

I’m loving your Shadowpeach AU, loving the current angst :]

but when going through your profile I saw your ISAT x COTL AU, which reminded me of the fact that I’d been intending to buy ISAT for a long while, so I finally did.

That was yesterday and I am now 6hrs in. Thank you for the new hyperfixation material 🙏

LMAO THAT WAS ME. THE FUCK (I finished the game in 3 days.)

Anonimo ha chiesto:I would just like to say I am in LOVE with the way you draw the sky kids! This is making me inspired to draw my sky kid!!

Thank you!!!

@sunsetcannon ha chiesto: Considering I am both an ISAT fan and a Sky fan I'm going to be permanently rotating this AU in my head like it's a microwave so thank you for that

And I need you to know that unfortunately you'll remain in said microwave for a lot more/pos

@selfdestructivecat ha chiesto: Hello! I have a question about your ISAT: COTL AU comic! So Nesting guide was there! Does that mean that Season of Nesting had already happened in this universe? Presumably Season of Revival will be happening once the dust has settled on this comic and everyone works on restoring Aviary Village, so does that mean that Revival happens after Nesting in this timeline? And will Duets, the most recent season, also have happened before Revival? (I’m just very happy because now my skid, a nesting moth, canonically can exist in this au! XD)

You can find the timeline of the AU here!

[haytan]

GOURMET MESS | G.A

I was stuck on this ask for two weeks. But I finally managed to write again and I'm very proud of myself. I've never written so many words! Yay, I hope you like it! I also used y/s to represent your sister, I didn't want to decide on names.

𓍼 WORD COUNT: 2418

𓍼 SUMMARY: your parents are traveling for work so you have to take care of your siblings

𓍼 WARNINGS: fluff, inappropriate language what a funny thing about them being next to each other

your parents are away on a work trip, and as the older sister that makes you the one responsible for the kids. your sister is spending the weekend at her friends' house, which makes it easier. but your little brother has always been a master at draining your energy.

how do kids have so much energy? even though you’ve been one, you can’t quite come up with an answer, or maybe you just don’t want to admit that you’re getting old.

however, by the grace of the gods, an angel was sent to help you, and she has long hair, a fit body, and a scent that makes you want to grab her and never let go. it’s gracie, your girlfriend, of course. who else would it be?

“thanks for coming, gray,” you begin, leaning on the counter and scrolling through the food app. “you didn’t have to.” your gaze lifts to meet hers, noticing the persistent little smile on the corner of her lips.

gracie leans against you, arms on either side. it takes a certain mental strength of her not to fill you with kisses—one, because of the kids, and two, because she’s a little afraid of doing ‘things’ with you at your parents' house.

“of course i had to. you know i’d never leave you hanging.” her gaze moves to the living room. she brought her younger brother, august to play with yours. they’ve always gotten along well, two video game lovers.

“besides, i missed you. it’s been what, a whole week since we last saw each other? feels like forever.” gracie leans in, pressing a quick peck to your cheek.

you set your phone aside, taking advantage of the boys’ attention on the video game to steal a moment with your girlfriend. “yeah, i missed you too,” your arms wrap around her waist, pulling gracie against you and lightly bunching her loose shirt between your fingers. “and now you're aalll mine.”

“mmm, yes i am. all yours, baby.” she purrs, nuzzling into your neck and giving wet kisses. your skin tingles from the sudden touch, but before you can even respond, the boys interrupt.

“you want a room?” your brother starts, giving the young abrams a chance to speak up.

“we’re hungry.”

gracie smiles against your neck, and you can feel because she always tightens her arms around your waist when she does this.

“i’m ordering food. what do you guys want, huh?”

“we were thinking of something else…” your brother comments, dropping the controller and jumping off the couch—just like your mom told him not to do.

gracie pulls away from your neck, sitting up straight and now looking at them, waiting for their crazy idea.

“how about we cook?” both of them grin.

…

less than half an hour later, the kitchen is already a mess, but an organized mess, if such a thing exists. there are bowls of various colors scattered around, each with something different inside.

the plan is to make pizza. two pizzas. one savory and one sweet. gracie is mixing the ingredients with a spoon, and you can’t help but notice how her arm muscles tense up.

“man, we could open a pizza shop,” august grabs a piece of dough you just shaped into a ball. he presses it out clumsily, adds a handful of flour, and then twirls it on his finger.

“i’m serious, we’d get rich,” your brother joins the dream, tossing the dough into the air. it makes a near-perfect arc but falls straight onto the counter instead of back into his hand.

“yeah, if we could serve food that hasn’t hit the floor,” you joke.

gracie chuckles softly, still focused on her dough. “hey, maybe you guys could open a themed pizzeria? each pizza comes with a ‘show’ of juggling like that.”

“that’s a good idea!” august responds excitedly, ignoring the obvious teasing tone. he grabs more flour, throwing it onto the counter haphazardly.

“if that’s the case, i’m going to practice my routine now,” your brother says, grabbing a piece of cheese and pretending to toss it into the air like part of a trick.

“if you throw that on the ceiling, you’re the one who’s cleaning it up,” you warn, crossing your arms. but before he can respond, august spins the dough on his finger, sending flour flying around the kitchen.

“okay, enough with the juggling,” gracie intervenes, pointing at the two of them with the spoon she was using. “if anything else flies, you’re cleaning the kitchen by yourselves.”

august and your brother glance at each other, clearly torn between continuing the chaos or obeying gracie. in the end, they choose a suspicious silence, returning to their tasks with an obedience you don’t often see.

gracie turns to you, one eyebrow raised. “i think i’m scarier than you.”

“definitely,” you agree, smiling. “that’s why i called you to help me. they don’t challenge you.”

“it’s because i have this mean face,” she pretends to put on a serious expression while mixing the dough. but her charm ruins the act and you laugh.

“you’re not fooling anyone, baby.”

she shrugs with a little smile, tossing a handful of flour onto the counter in front of her. “maybe i’m just mean to you. want to test it?”

“maybe later,” your tone is teasing, something that stays just between the two of you.

meanwhile, the boys start arguing over the toppings. august insists on putting french fries on the savory pizza, and your brother thinks marshmallows will go well with the sweet one. you sigh, already predicting the disaster.

gracie leans in, pressing her hip against yours. “i think the pizzeria would have to put up a sign: eat at your own risk.”

“for sure,” you respond with a muffled laugh, while spreading the tomato sauce on the freshly rolled dough. “we could even offer life insurance with the pizzas.”

a few minutes later, the pizza is in the oven while gracie is busy cleaning the kitchen, placing the bowls in the sink and wiping down the counter to restore order to the space. you, on the other hand, notice that the boys are still in the living room, covered in flour and with their faces dirty from all the mess.

you don't say much, just approach them with a playful smile. "alright, guys, who’s going to be the first to take a shower?" you already know they’re going to complain, but as expected they grumble and drag themselves to the hallway with little enthusiasm.

meanwhile, you take a quick look around the living room and tidy up what’s out of place, putting cushions back on the couch and sweeping up the flour remnants.

less than fifteen minutes later, the boys return, now smelling fresh and dressed in warm clothes, the scent of soap still lingering in the air. they throw themselves on the couch, ready for the next round of gaming as if nothing ever happened.

when gracie looks at them, she can’t help but be surprised. “wow,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around your waist as you approach.

“i'm the one who has to say 'wow',” your eyes drift across the kitchen. “it’s cleaner than before.”

“silly,” she steals a quick kiss from you, then another. “you’re amazing, you know?”

you can’t help the smile that forms on your face. “you are too.” for a moment a silence forms between you, but it's not uncomfortable, but rather full of something unsaid, something hanging in the air like the lingering smell of baking pizza.

“thank you for always handling everything. even when it’s chaotic… especially when it’s chaotic.”

you just smile, feeling your heart warm at her words. “i think we make a good team, huh?”

“no doubt,” she says, but there’s much more meaning behind it than words can capture. it’s something different from anything she’s ever experienced or felt—maybe security, maybe peace, maybe love, or all of it together. “wasn’t that bad, huh?”

“yeah,” you let out a little laugh. “but we still don’t know if we’ll survive their pizza.”

gracie’s eyes wrinkle at the corners, sharing in your laugh. “if we don’t survive, at least i’ll die happy. with you.”

“such a drama queen,” but you can’t hold back your smile. your face tilts slightly, and your lips almost touch hers when a shout echoes from the living room.

“is the pizza ready!?” your brother yells, interrupting the moment.

“jeez, we can’t even get peace at home,” you step away, heading toward the oven.

“i swear.”

with gracie’s help you take the pizzas out of the oven and bring them to the table. despite all the doubts, the pizzas actually turned out pretty good. the savory one is delicious, and the sweet one… well, it’s sweet enough to satisfy the kids.

“gourmet mess, first night of success,” gracie says, lifting a slice of the savory pizza as if to make a toast.

…

the boys are already asleep, and gracie went to take a shower. you’re giving the place a final tidy-up when you hear a sound and turn around quickly. “oh, you scared me, ghost!” you jump and place a hand over your chest.

thankfully, it’s just your emo sister, dressed all in black as always. she doesn’t respond to your teasing and seems… different. her mascara is smudged, but you can’t tell if it’s her new style or tears. “are you crying?”

“crying? me? pfft…” she wipes her eyes with her arm, only making her makeup situation worse. but thanks to her black leather jacket, no stains are left behind.

“hey, hey,” you set down the dish towel you were using to wipe the sink and pull the smaller girl into a hug. “what happened, sweetheart?”

“bab—” gracie stops when she sees you hugging your sister. it’s something she’s never seen before. even though she’s affectionate with her own siblings, they’re not the type to hug often. so logically, she deduces it must be something serious and decides to keep her distance, watching quietly.

“nothing, i just…” your sister pulls back enough to wipe her tears.

“hm?” you know your family too well to expect them to be emotionally open. but that doesn’t mean things have to stay that way. “talk to me.”

“it’s stupid. we were at a par—” she cuts herself off, accidentally revealing the truth. she was supposed to be at a friend’s house, not out and about.

“it’s okay…”

“we were at the party, and you know i’m not the type to show off or pretend to be someone i’m not. so i just stayed in my lane, drank from my cup, and talked to my friends,” she leans back against the counter. her voice is shaky, and she sniffles after speaking for too long.

“but then some stupid jerks came up to me and my friends,” she continues. “they were drunk, and they started trying to pick a fight. i didn’t stay quiet—i mean, i defended myself, you know? but they started to get nasty.”

gracie keeps watching from afar, and you both react similarly to the girl’s… delicate choice of words; eyes wide and but a small smile on the corner of the lips.

“they said things about my style, the way i act… normally, i don’t care, but i don’t know. you know that girl i told you about a few times?”

“the one you never stop talking about?”

your sister blushes slightly but looks away to hide it. “uh, yeah… anyway, she was there. she’s part of their group. and like… what if she thinks the same? what if i really am just a total idiot no one wants to be around?”

your eyebrows furrow, and the little smile you had disappears so quickly it’s as if it was never there. this is far too specific to be coming from someone who only listens to the same ten rock bands. “did they actually say that? you know what, never mind.”

“of course it matters!”

“y/s, of course it doesn’t. you can be a little annoying sometimes,” she rolls her eyes, “but that doesn’t mean you’re anything like what those people…” you catch yourself before swearing and sounding hypocritical, “what they said.”

“you being the way you are is what makes you unique, and definitely special. not everyone has the guts to go out dressed like that,” you continue.

“is this supposed to be a motivational speech?”

“what… what i’m trying to say is that being yourself, just the way you are, is amazing. not everyone has the courage to be their true self in this world. you do it without even realizing it. and you know what? anyone who can’t see that isn’t worth your time. much less your energy.”

your sister lowers her gaze, arms crossed as if she’s still resisting your words, but you catch the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth. she wants to believe you, even if she won’t admit it.

“and about that girl… well, if she can’t see it, maybe she’s not everything you think she is, you know? but…” you shrug, smiling softly. “if she can, she’ll admire you even more. because you’re incredible, y/s. even when you’re stubborn or challenging..”

she finally lets out a short laugh, shaking her head. “you’re so cheesy.”

“maybe… but am i wrong?”

she stays silent for a moment, rubbing her face with her hands to clean up the last traces of smudged makeup. finally, she takes a deep breath and looks at you with a small but genuine smile. “thanks. i needed that.”

“that’s what i’m here for, right?” you open your arms again, and this time she dives into the hug without hesitation.

gracie, still leaning against the doorframe, watches the scene with a small smile on her face. she doesn’t say anything, simply heading upstairs to her room, leaving the two of you in the moment.

her heart swelled with something so strong and warm that she collapsed onto her bed, staring at the ceiling with a lovestruck smile. she’d seen the way you cared for the kids, how you always tried to be there for them, but this time it felt different.

“how did i get myself into this?” she murmured to herself, her lips curving into a smile she couldn’t hide. abrams bit her lip, trying to contain the thoughts screaming inside her head. she was in love. and, for the first time in a long time, it didn’t scare her.

yes, i thought of nat as the sister and lottie as 'the girl'. lottienat lives!!!

thanks for reading <3

masterlist

[lailoken]

Hi! If you don’t have the capacity to answer questions like this thats totally okay but I was wondering if you have any thoughts/resources on house cleansing rituals? My family and I are soon moving into the home my parents will likely live in for the rest of their lives, and I’m feeling drawn to consecrate the space with some cleansing and protection magic but unsure of where to start. We are of Irish and Danish descent living on Coast Salish land, I’m sure there’s some rich folk magic I could draw from but I have no teachers or guides to show me the way! I deeply admire your work and appreciate any advice you might offer :) Thank you!

Hello there, and I'm sorry it's taken me so long to respond! I've got a whole bunch of messages I've been meaning to respond to.

I definitely get that urge to "magically nest" into a new home.

I'll start by addressing the cleansing aspect of your question. When it comes to a new home (or really, any new space or item that you're going to be exposing yourself to energetically over time) there is often an urge to cleanse in some way, which is understandable. However, I encourage you to check in with yourself and your intuition of the space, asking if it feels truly pertinent to cleanse it. I bring this up because, some things—and homes especially, in my opinion—can actually benefit from and be strengthened by the accrual of energy in them. For instance, sometimes you move into a place, and it just feels gross and wrong on a visceral level, as if it was covered in "energetic grime." In a situation like that, cleansing makes total sense, as the goal is to remove that influence so that you can begin to imbue it with energy of your own. However, other times, you move into a place and immediately feel the warmth, love, and care that has been steeped into it, in which case, why would you want to remove such a rich and supportive energetic foundation from which to build upon?

As an example, when my in-law's first moved into the house we later inherited, it was shortly after the house's first tenant had died within it. She was a very kind and funny old woman who really liked my in-laws and helped make it possible for them to buy it following her death. For the first ten years or so of living in the house, they still strongly felt a sense of her caring nature present in the home, which makes sense given how long she lived there. What's more, though, any time my in-laws would argue or struggle with tension, they would begin to smell cigarette smoke and hear distant country music they couldn't find the source of (two things the original homeowner loved and indulged in daily), which would always lead to them laughing and patching things up. The energetic residue left by this woman could theoretically have been cleansed upon moving into the house, but I believe that would have been a sad loss for the house and the family.

With that little rant out of the way, let's say that you do have reason to want to cleanse the home and address that approach. There are many different ways one could use to energetically cleanse a building, but the main ones that seem worth mentioning here include Fumigations, Washes, and Recitations.

Purifying Fumigations involve invoking the excisive virtues present in a given material or mix of materials (such as Rue, Sage, or Vervain) and then burning said materials to release the ritually activated and aligned virtues of excision to aid you in cleansing the space. Practically speaking, this looks like wafting smoke through the home.

A Cleansing Wash involves steeping the excisive virtues of pertinent materials (such as Salt and Chile Pelper) into a solvent base (such as Water, Vinegar, or Oil), invoking and aligning said virtues ritually, and then using the homemade solution to physically cleanse the space (using the different solvents depending on your need—i.e. use oil for polishing wood, use vinegar for cleaning glass, etc.)

Recitations of Banishment involve walking through the house reciting or reading words of power aloud that call for the expulsion of unwanted energies or entities. This method will generally benefit from a close connection to the source material and/or a close working relationship with one's spirit allies.

In many cases, a mixture of two or more of these approaches will be used in conjuctjon to purify a home.

As for domestic protection magic, that's another subject with innumerable approaches. Additionally, most useful domestic protection magic I've encountered seems to focus on particular facets of protection (which is why my home is layered with multiple wards). As such, I struggle a little bit to think of a concise and clear way to discuss this aspect of your question. However, here are some links to previous posts in which I've discussed things like:

Protecting the home from Intruders

Protecting the home from Storms

Protecting the home from Fire

Protecting the home from Malefic Forces

A Generalized Property Ward

Additionally, I believe that developing a close working relationship with the spirirt of one's home—called a Genius Domi in my tradition—is probably one of the best ways to establish magical guardianship of the house.

[carlsangel]

TERRIFIED

carl grimes x reader

(carl comforts you during Terminus.)

tags: hurt to comfort, Terminus and mentions of The Claimers.

masterlist here!

During Terminus, you couldn’t remember a time when you felt more terrified than you were in that moment. You traveled long and far, originally you were from Woodbury. You remember being scared when you were told you’d have to move to the Prison, especially after your parents had left with the Governor one day and never returned.

You never got full answers, you heard they were attacked but not about what attacked them. You wondered about it everyday. But even in that moment, you don’t think we’re as scared as you were in the large crate marked with a big “A.” You hoped this place would be your savior, your new home.

On the walk to Terminus, you were nervous and for valid reason but Carl tried to make you feel better. He held your hand and ran his thumb over the back of it, occasionally squeezing when he noticed you breathing a bit deeper. He talked to you about a bunch of different things, a book he’d read, his old dog from before, he even asked you a ton of questions to distract you.

It worked, even though he probably was the one who needed comforting. Especially after your groups’ ordeal with the Claimers.

Right, the Claimers. The only other time you’ve been genuinely terrified.

You arrived to the wire fence surrounding Terminus. Rick asks Carl if he wanted to stick with him and he said no and he’d continue walking away with Michonne. You knew they would talk, he’s been pretty avoidant towards Michonne since that night with the Claimers. You went to walk in the opposite direction when Rick stopped you. “You’re with me.” He tells you, immediately getting to work on a dirt hole. You stood there awkwardly watching him when you realized you’d finally been alone with Rick, meaning you could gather details.

“What happened to my parents?” You inquired, not even minding the fact that it was a very blunt way to ask. It was your right to know. He looked up at you before continuing to shovel out some dirt. “We told you, they were attacked.” This made you roll your eyes. “You never told me what by. I know what kind of a world we live in, I’m not just gonna assume it was walkers.” You retort, Rick stops for a moment before you continue. “It was the Governor, wasn’t it?”

He remains still for a moment, eventually nodding while still looking at the floor. “He shot a lot of his people that day.” He explains, going back to digging the hole. Eventually the hole is big enough to stuff the duffle bag inside and he does so. He stands up and looks at you intently. “Sorry we didn’t tell you. I didn’t realize you’d be a larger part of our lives here.” He gestures to Carl, insinuating he was the reason your around. Which was entirely true.

“I just…don’t like secrets.” Rick nods and looks down at his hands as he wipes them off. “Well as long as you’re family…we won’t be keepin anythin from you.” He puts his hand on your shoulder like he tends to do to Carl. He smiles at you, and you return one as well. He goes back to the ground to cover up the bag and you walk to find Carl and Michonne. You notice they’re having a moment and you smile a little. You’re called back over as it was time to actually enter Terminus.

You enter the large factory building, noticing a woman repeating the same sentence over and over into a microphone(?) . Eventually you reveal yourselves and you’re lined up to be patted down. You’re led through what you thought would be your new home and you and Carl were both offered some food. You held the plate in your hands, looking at it curiously wondering what kind of meat it was, you wanted to assume it was venison.

Before you could ask, Rick had suddenly had a man in a headlock, causing you to drop the plate and arming yourself with the gun in your holster. You looked around and noticed everything that was familiar, the poncho, the bag, the riot gear. It was all a trap and you all fell for it. Surely you’d make it out alive, right? You always did.

Shots were fired and you started running. There were no thoughts going through your head other than escape. You’d recklessly shot at a man standing on a roof, somehow you’d actually hit him. His leg gave out and you could see him fall off the roof before Rick pulled you in the direction where you needed to run.

It felt like they were hunting you like animals. Upon running you’d see what looked like cages filled with human bones and blood all over the floors. You passed tons of crates with people screaming from the inside and you realized that would soon be you if you didn’t keep running. You were then cornered. Forced to drop your weapons, herded into the crate like, once again, like animals.

You were reunited with the people you saw as family. While that gave you a glimpse of hope, you still were still extremely worried. What would they do to you for shooting that man’s leg? You began to overthink when the group simultaneously decided that you would try to escape. You weren’t sure how to help, someone handed you a chunk of wood they’d cut off of the door with the pocket watch chain to shave down into a blade.

You looked over to Carl and he looked fine. How could he be acting so normal? Usually he had a front when in situations like this; he had one during the fall of the prison. What’s so different?

“What?” He noticed your staring. You shake it of and return to shaving down your wood against the ground. “It’s nothing.” You reply, your voice a tad shaky and he goes back to what he’s doing. You were warned that there were men arriving and you all began to prepare to storm through the large crate door. Then the roof opened.

Before you knew it you were huddled to the floor and you were extremely panicked, worried they’d take you first considering you shot one of their people. You felt someone grab you and you tried to resist. “It’s me, it’s me.” The person grabbing you was Carl, he took you to a corner to so you could catch your breath even with the smoke that flooded the room. He rubbed your back despite the fact that he was also coughing.

The room eventually aired out and you’d calmed down. You were now just sitting in the corner, your eyes still watery. Carl was checking up on everyone and you took a head count. They’d taken Bob, Rick, Daryl, and Glenn. Rick. You just talked to him, he just welcomed you to the family. Now he’s probably gone. Tears begin to form in your eyes, and you begin to sob quietly. Carl notices and he returns back to you, crouching down and placing his hands on your knees.

“Hey we’re gonna make it out.” He reached his hand out to your face and he gently wipes away your tears, brushing your hair behind your ear. You lift your hands up to cover your face while you sobbed and his heart begin to shatter into millions of pieces. “Cmon.” He pulled your wrists from your face and pulls your hands to his lips to place kisses on the both of them. “Just breathe okay?” He says softly, continuously kissing your hands to calm you down.

Your breath slows down and you nod. Your sobs had turned into small sniffles and you looked around to see if anyone was watching and they weren’t, thank god. “But y-your dad-” He immediately starts to shake his head. “Don’t worry about him. He’s gonna handle it. I know it.” He squeezes your hand twice and looks at you intently. “You promise?” You ask, your voice still quivering. “You know I can’t.” He responds. You give him a small okay, understanding he could never really promise anything.

“Cmon.” He smiles and stands back up, sticking his hand out to you. As soon as you go to grab his hand, boom.

Maybe you would make it out.

a/n: everyone thank mama carol for saving everyone’s asses! i hope this was okay, it honestly didn’t take me too long to write so i’m happy about that. i tried to incorporate a new sort of storyline for the reader since i feel like i use the same shit every time LMAO okay bye love u

tag list: @zomb-1-egutzz @evilnight07 @ilikestrawberriesandwomen

[coffeeforday]

I missed you too

Ukai Keishin x Reader

C/W: Minors DNI explicit content, unprotected sex, established relationship

W/C: 1.4K

A/N: I am moving the (2💀) fics I have on my 18+ side blog because I’m done with that 😌 this coffee is now spiked

This was my first smut, tbh I’m hoping this move is going to help me write again

There he is again, watching some old taped matches from another team. He’s so focused on getting ready for the coming match that he doesn’t notice you observing him from the door. You never thought you’d be jealous of a bunch of teenagers, but here you are, desperate to get some attention from your boyfriend.

You make your way to him and whisper his name.

“Keishin.”

You roll your eyes at his grunt, as if it was an acceptable answer. You tap on his arm, so he can uncross them and you settle on his lap when he does. His hands immediately go to your hips, his thumb drawing circles absentmindedly at the junction of your thighs, other than that, nothing shows that he noticed you sitting on his lap. His eyes are still glued to the screen as you lay your head on his shoulder. You play with the pocket of his stupid orange hoodie but his attention doesn’t shift.

So you sit straight, fingers threading in his hair. You know he likes that. As on cue, he releases an appreciative hum and tightens his grip. Happy with the reaction, you shift even closer to him, wiggling on his crotch. All you want is to remind him you deserve some attention too, and you got your work cut out for you since he’s still watching whichever future opponent that’s playing on the screen over your shoulder.

If you were patient, you’d wait for him to be done but you haven’t seen him in forever with how busy he is. He’s always working at the farm, working at the shop, coaching, prepping tournaments and practice matches. You’re forgetting how his cock feels inside you. You miss his hands on you.

You’ve decided that he worked enough. If he doesn’t get the hint now, he’ll never get it. So you stretch your torso and lift to your knees to kiss the top of his head while shoving your breasts in his face. Subtlety doesn’t work with Ukai. You keep his face there while you discard his headband and continue playing with his hair. The blond locks falling on his forehead are inviting and you rake your fingers through them.

“Oi, I’m trying to work here.” His muffled voice reaches your ear.

“Don’t you think you worked enough for today, Keishin?” You purr, using both hands on the back of his neck to make him look at you.

He frowns, “Well, there’s a big match coming up and I have to find a way to stop that fucking setter’s serves…”

You hum, showing you’re listening, but your mouth is busy leaving a trail of kisses from his ear to his collarbone. Now sitting down on his lap to have easy access to his neck, you grind on him. He fails at explaining what he’s trying to do, his sentence constantly broken by his content sighs. His hands move to your back, one creeping under your sweater, splaying his fingers to feel your soft skin, his other follows the curve of your ass, helping with your movements.

That was easy, you almost wished you got to tease him for longer, but you’re happy he finally gave in to your affections.

His fingertips are rough from all the work he does. The contrast is welcomed, it makes you shiver as he runs them up and down your spine. You finally reach his lips and you take a moment to inspect his face. His flushed cheeks and blown out pupils make you stop in your track, as well as the bulge forming under you. Heat pools in your stomach as you grind on it. He’s waiting for the kiss with parted lips before going to get it himself. It’s your turn to release a pleased sigh, you’ve missed him. And by the way his kiss grows deeper, you see he’s missed you too.

You fist his collar to pull him closer. He pulls you in too, the hand on your back pressing so your chest is flushed to his, the other one is sliding in your sleeping shorts, grabbing a handful of your ass roughly moving you over his strained pants. The plan to tease him backfired, you don’t want to drag this any longer— you want to feel him. Heavy breathing fills the room as your movements are fueled by impatience. The kisses grow sloppier, the touches more desperate, and it’s still not enough. Your hands run from his hair to his shoulder trying to feel his large frame before going down between you and fumbling with his pants.

Ukai hisses when his cock springs free and your hand goes immediately around it to give it a few pumps. He pulls back to look at you work, hypnotized by how big he looks in your hand. He takes off his hoodie and hurries to take care of your shirt too. This makes you let go of his cock, but it’s all worth it once he sees your boobs bounce free.

You both take a moment to drink in each other’s appearance. His hair is messy, falling on his face with some strands already sticking on it. His chest is rising and falling quickly, his cheeks are pink and you can see some purple marks blooming on his neck. You smirk at the sight, your hands brushing over them before travelling down his toned stomach and taking his dick again.

What he sees is just as pretty. Your bun is now loose and hanging on the side, flyaways evident after pulling your shirt off so quickly. Your lips are glistening from the sloppy kisses. He brings his gaze down to his lap, where your shorts have run up from the grinding. Your clothed pussy is so close, he can feel the heat coming from you, he feels your thighs squeezing his while you're chasing some kind of relief. It’s his turn to smirk.

“Look at how needy you are right now, baby.”

He grasps at your thighs pushing your loose shorts higher until he can see the edge of your panties and the junction of your thigh.

Your movements falter when he starts toying with your underwear, inching closer and closer to your throbbing clit. He slams his lips to yours when his thumb finally reaches your clit and starts circling it. You moan into his mouth and he smirks into the kiss. His free hand threads in your hair, pulling at it and bringing you even closer, so close that your hands keep bumping into each other as you touch each other.

He sighs in your mouth when you run your thumb over his slit. Impatience takes over after that, his hand leaves your hair to pull you over his dick. The hand that was busy on your clit pushes your bottoms to the side before sinking you on his cock. Breathy moans spill from both of your mouths as he gets deeper and deeper inside you. Your noses are touching, his eyes gaping at you while he holds you still. His lips curl a bit through the heavy breathing.

“Hi.”

You smile back and you sigh “Hi” back.

“Sorry I’ve been so busy lately.” He peppers your face with kisses as he apologizes. It makes you softly giggle and you feel him twitch at the sound.

With a sigh of relief, he releases his grip on your hip. The way he’s looking at you makes your stomach burn. It shows how much he missed you, you missed him too. No sounds reach you as you start moving up and down his length. The video was never paused but, right now, it’s just the two of you in this bubble. You lean your forehead on his and you finally answer him.

“I missed you, too, baby.”

He cranes his neck to kiss you hungrily, his hand on your back presses your chest to his. Each time you sink on his cock, your clit rubs on his stomach. The friction coupled with the way he fills you builds up your release quicker than you’d like. Your breath quickens, your walls squeeze him tight.

He grunts, “I’m gonna cum, too.”

His fingers are digging in the soft skin of your thigh. You come undone with a broken moan. Your movements slow down but he takes over, lifting you up and down his cock. You whimper at his quickening pace until he sits you on his thighs. His cock between you spilling cum on both your bellies.

In the background, the crowd in the video cheers and you can’t help but laugh at the perfect timing. You’re both giddy, kissing while coming down from your orgasms. It’s sticky and messy, your stomachs smudging the cum covering them, but you don’t care. It’s good to have him back.

[milktrician]

Ohoh Can you tell me something about the WIP "Supernova"??

A few months back I read “Mysterious Encounters In My Neighborhood” and I took one look at the male leads and said “god i want to write a jiuyuan dynamic kinda like that” and ended up with a Shen Yuan dream demon au of sorts and also he’s an old man :)

I don’t know if I want it to still be called Supernova or to use that title for another jiuyuan thing I’m working on but it’s based off the song Supernova by Yunosuke and Haruno. By the music video you can assume why I assign it to jiuyuan lol

anyway here’s part of the wip

Snap

“Ugh, does this world even have bolt cutters?” A muffled voice carries through the door.

The chains hit the ground, the sound he’s always wanted to hear. Waited to hear. His legs are bunched against his beating chest, awaiting what this unknown man is going to do to him. Lots of men visited the Qius to do business, but they would never be allowed to touch him in the shed. Who would be allowed to open the shed other than the guards and Qiu Jianluo?

The door creaks as it opens outward, the moonlight outlining the old man in front of him. His form is shaped by several layers of simple robes, rounded glasses placed upon his face. Strands of his white hair frame his head, floating around him as if not affected by gravity. For a second he believes the rest of the old man’s hair is tied behind him, but no, it’s almost a shear cut at the base of his neck.

The metal tool that cut through the chains is thrown to the side, the man dusting his calloused hands.

“Strange, and here I would have thought you would have realized you’re dreaming right now.”

“Excuse me?”

His voice is deeper now, as it should be.

…This man was right. He had been foolish, falling into the same nightmare again. He is no longer some sniveling child submitting to his fate in a dingy shack. He is now a Peak Lord, and he should act like one.

“Not even a hello? Truly you are as they say, I suppose.”

Shen Qingqiu stands, “Who are you? How did you manage to break through the wards?”

“And the thanks I get! C’mon, would you have liked to be stuck in these dreams again?”

His wrinkles exaggerate as his face sours, and all of a sudden he’s sitting within a room with bright walls, windows to a night sky without any stars. There is a large seat not made from wood but plushed with fabric that the old man sits upon, relaxing into it.

The old man looks at him expectantly, “Well? Sit. I made this for your comfort.”

“Answer my questions.”

“Haven’t you already figured that out?”

There’s a smirk on his face that he should wipe off this instant.

“The demonic ways of dream manipulation were wiped out.”

“Ah, but you can’t kill an idea can you? And who says I wasn’t already wiped out long before your time?”

“So you’re a stray spirit.”

“Call it how you’d like it.”

Looking around the room it’s larger than he realizes, housing what looks to be a kitchen, a dining table, and this seating space all in one area. The lights are brighter than any candle and look more similar to the balls of light conjured through using qi. There are holes in the ceiling to house these lights, casting a brightness that is uncomfortable in this artificial night.

The city outside almost fights back the night sky with lights of all colors. What look like carriages carry lights to light up the roads ahead, all clustered against each other to create a strip across the land. Buildings, taller than he’s ever seen, have lights peppered across their floors. Housing from what it looks like.

[courtingchaos]

Unclean

Gator Tillman x Fem Reader

Warnings: Religious themes, menstruation: sex and talk of, fingering, blood in various places, allusions to physical abuse (not reader) it’s period sex!

A/N: Listen, I am an ex-for-almost-20-years-Catholic who grew up around a lot of Southern Baptist, so excuse my (probable) misinterpretation of Leviticus okay? I just think Roy Tillman is a real Old Testament guy. I’ve had this little one shot in the wings for a while and only got the guts to finish it recently. I’m also deeply aware that I am interpreting this character much differently than the fandom at large so like, peace be with you.

18+ NSFW No Minors

Nothing but low lights behind the pulpit and a few along the aisles to let you see the outline of him in the first pew. Leaned forward, still and quiet in the cold dark that seeps into the small wooden church. Outside, the calvary congregates and converses after their Sunday dinner provided by their shepherd and in here, in the small family chapel, it’s just the two of you in the glow of old bulbs. Warm yellow gives the bridge of his nose a highlight and shines off the sun bleached strands in his hair. When your footsteps reach his radius he looks over his shoulder, tense and sharp, but the golden glow reflects off his eyes to give him a softer look than he deserves.

You stop two pews back and he gives you a once over, nervous eyes flitting from your head to your feet and up again before he begins chewing on his bottom lip. “You go home?”

“Yes.”

“Why you still in your dress?”

“It’s still Sunday.”

He laughs through his nose and turns back to the pulpit, thumb rubbing lightly against his reddened lip. “Did you stop at the house?”

You step forward one more length of pew and stop again to watch him fidget with the vape in his hand. “No, Roy wanted to talk to my father so I came back out here.”

Gator hums, a twitch of his lip letting his displeasure show for just a moment. The smack of the metal against his palm is loud in the small space like the yell you know he’d like to let loose would be. Sharp and mean like his demeanor, trying to be like his father but just south of right.

“Did you eat?” You ask while creeping up beside him. The smoke from the pit nearby has snuck in through the gaps in the doorways and mingled with the dry smell of wood and old hay. This chapel has always reminded you of an attic with its exposed beams but the scent of decades old pine makes you the most nostalgic.

“No.”

“Not hungry?”

He looks up at you before he sits back against the bench, takes in your pieces before the whole of you, eyes flitting again from your open coat to the hem of your dress fluttering just below your knee. Vape set aside he reaches out to drag a finger up from your knee and under that hem where you keep some of your secrets. Lines of ink not even your parents have seen, another cut you’ve inflicted like the hundred others while trying to claw your way out of this compound.

Fingers dig into the back of your thigh to hold you in front of him, lets the heat from his palm sink in while he doesn’t answer you.

“What was this morning about?”

He tilts his head in lieu of opening his mouth.

“Roy was on his ‘god honoring woman’ kick again. Did Karen piss him off last night?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t home.” His other hand snakes between your thighs to hold higher up. “She didn’t look upset.” He drops his gaze then to stare at the yellow flowers dotted over the black fabric of your dress, the one your mother bought you as a threat veiled in a peace offering.

“A little too much Leviticus for my taste.”

“Mm.”

Your coat lands on the floor behind you and his fingers inch higher on the inside of your thigh. He seems fixed on the way your dress bunches over his wrist instead of the soft touch behind his ear where you tuck an errant strand of hair finally falling out of its place. Outside there’s a muffled uproar of laughter that makes you cast a sharp look through the foggy windows and Gator takes the opportunity to move his warmth away to pluck at the buttons at the top of your dress.

“Little low cut for church.”

“My mother doesn’t think so.”

“I’ll thank her later.” An actual smile this time as the first button slips through silky cotton, followed by two more before you stop him. The wood creaks under your knee as you shift your weight to it, sliding it up against his hip. Again his hand finds your thigh, up high to find his favorite ink, a simple black line cross that his thumb rubs small circles into.

He hasn’t noticed yet that you tucked your underwear in your coat before you walked all the way out here. Risky since this morning left you with a bloody visit and now you sit unclean under the rafters his family raised. Your dress slides up easily enough, almost up enough to share your secret, and finally he pulls you close. Tugs at you to get you over his lap, your other knee colliding dully with the bench back.

It’s like a switch with him sometimes the way his mood will turn. Sour petulance that makes you roll your eyes will break for roaming hands that map out your body. Sullen quiet suddenly loud with his wants, with his questions, with his panting and moaning. Any place he can have you but more often in places that would bring down his father’s ire if you were found.

Flush against him now he pulls you down to meet the seat of his hips before he pushes your dress up around your waist and pauses mid grope to laugh.

“Does your mother approve of this too?” Fingers move again along the crease of your hip until they reach soft curls. He catches your eye and doesn’t look away as he dips his fingers into your heat, his lip caught between his teeth again, this time with a smirk. He pushes up slow, thick fingers dragging against oversensitive flesh, his palm flat so you can grind against him. Words seem caught in his throat, probably something goading and whispered, something laughed out on a breath. You know he wants to make you blush about how wet you already are and how loud you’re panting but he changes his angle and moves his hand, pulls it back in front of himself and stops to stare at the red staining his fingers.

“Oh.” You don’t pretend to sound surprised. He frowns but doesn’t push you away like you thought he might’ve, instead he seems frozen in place and you don’t miss the blush beginning to trickle down his cheeks. “It’s okay.” You grab his fist hovering between you. “It’s okay.” You repeat and he looks at you then, wide eyes searching for something. Leaned in close you bring his hand up slow, up towards his lips parted around a whispered sound of protest.

“Is-isn’t this breaking a r-rule or something?”

He doesn’t curl his fingers away when you press them to his mouth, a long line of blood from his cupids bow to his chin. With your free hand you fumble with his belt and his pants, keeping his doe eyed gaze glued to yours.

“Your father walks in here without burning.”

Confusion has nestled its way into his features, eyes squinted at you until you wedge your hand in between thick fabric and hot skin. His gaze droops when you pull him free, mouth splitting open with a quiet gasp. You move then, sitting up on your knees to look down on him wanting and blooded, dragging your hands down his long arms along the back the of the pew outstretched to grip the hardwood with white knuckles. Fear, you think at first, from the wild print you’ve left on his face. Anxiousness maybe that he might be found like this, not just compromised but marked now, cut off from the flock finally.

“Gator…” You barely whisper and he’s chasing you upwards. Against the restraints of your hands on his wrists he pulls when your lips don’t descend to meet his.

A choked off whine, “Please.” His hips wiggle between your knees for some kind of friction, anything to get closer. “C’mon, come back.” He pleads through clenched teeth, tacky red turning matte on his full lips. It draws you back in and he smiles when you close the distance with a brush of a kiss, something light that makes him huff before you consume him.

He doesn’t taste like when you bite your cheek or suck on a paper cut. It’s a foreign taste on a familiar tongue, faint passion fruit from his habit and a metallic tinge that makes you groan into him. He feels good. Pinned like a fluttering moth looking for an escape, for a saving grace that he seems to find in your lips and the dip of your tongue. His breath comes in sharp puffs through his nose smushed against your cheek and again you hear him whine when you don’t let him raise his hands.

A shake of his head to break the kiss to get his point across to take a deep breath-

Outside there’s heavy footfalls on the old wooden steps. Both of you freeze like deer, your eyes trained on the heavy door and his boring through your chin, waiting to bolt at the first sign of discovery.

Muffled voices, a click of metal and your heart in your throat when this unsuspecting intruder has a change of pace. A muffled question. A pause. Quiet laughter and parting footsteps.

Your fingers simply drape and Gator takes the opportunity to surge into you. Hands grabbing at your hips to hold you closer, pushing you down on him. He guides himself in with his thumb, a quick brush over that ache of yours amplified through thrill and nature.

You miss him watching your face scrunch up in apprehension. Lips parted like his, pink lipstick smudged with blood, only you hiss out an “easy” that he answers with a shush. Lets his hands run back up under your dress to find his favorite little scar of ink, smearing red along the way. Almost dry now but his fingerprints in your mess between the two of you make him forget his reservations for a few minutes. He forgets the crowd outside and the house ten minutes away. Pushes the expectations away. He instead watches you relax into him, the way your hands unwind from his shirt only to feel them slide up behind his neck to wind back up in his hair. Your tongue rolls over your bottom lip before you bite down on a moan when he bucks his hips up gently.

This wet heat, new to him in this taboo, draws him in when you roll your hips in earnest suddenly. You’ve angled him to find that magic spot he’s usually still searching for by this point, your head rolling back on your shoulders to ride your knees raw against the wood. The deep heat of you almost scorches him, a small voice in the back of his thoughts reminding him of hellfire and naked founts.

“Fuck.” Said out loud in the hopes of chasing away a voice tinged with vitriol and a release of the climbing pleasure up his spine. You writhe in his lap and he gropes at your hips, slides long fingers down and under to grab at your thighs. Slick with sweat you slip in his grasp, heavy breaths blown over his locks when you finally reach behind him to hold onto the bench.

The open top of your dress brushes his face enough times he bites at the buttons, finally catching them between his teeth. Through his lashes he watches your face, glued to the peek of teeth behind your lips. The way you glitter in low light and muggy air. The dip of your collar bones when you roll your body into his and he can feel you tighten all around him, core and arms and air.

A not gentle hand suddenly wrapped around his jaw, fingers prodding into his mouth to hang and pull. Wandering lips messily find his own and then trail off over his cheek to end at his ear, your peak whined against him. Pulsing that makes him hold you closer so he can chase after you to find his own end.

He’s been on the precipice since you threw your coat on the ground and all it takes is a few gentle thrusts before he chokes on a groan and suddenly he feels bottomless. No floor, no bonfires, no congregants too close for comfort. Just your face in his neck and the shared messy warmth pressed between you two.

There’s a swing of headlights over the front of the chapel that breaks whatever tandem calm you two have created. Separated wordlessly with barely a glance at the extra mess, Gator quickly readjusts his pants and you snatch your coat on your way to the small ladies room in the foyer. More muffled voices tonight that intrude on your privacy while you scrub smudged lipstick off your face and rebutton your dress, jumping only a little when there’s a knock at the door.

“You fall in?” Your father jokes on the other side.

“Give me a minute!” You snap while trying to slide your underwear back on. A final look before you walk out to make sure the surface of you is presentable, no visible marks or smudges. Out in the entryway your father gestures at you to follow and Roy gives you too long of a look when he waves. You wonder if he can see it all over your face even though you scrubbed the evidence off. Wonder if he can smell it on you two like a predator sniffing out wounded prey.

Can he see your handprints all over his son? Invisible blood that marks him different now. The tang of sin sits all over your tongue and when you run it behind your teeth to savor you catch Gator staring again. Catch him watching your hands twist in your coat pockets and his eyes flit back up to your mouth. You can feel the faded touch of him worrying at your tattoo even across a courtyard.

“Hey Gator?” You holler at him while climbing into your father’s truck. “Don’t forget dinner.” A simple smile for him before you slam the door, a break in the tension and your phone is vibrating seconds later. You wait to look until your home but it still makes you laugh even when you’re starting your laundry.

Thank your mom for me.