#always had this on the back-burner thinking that maybe it's a bit too much

[agoldenlily]

What she wants is somehow beyond everything. She knows that she shouldn't want so what she does it try and stuff everything down inside of her. Everything that she knows that she shouldn't be doing. There's so much going on at the back of her head, so much that she can't even let herself figure out because figuring it out meant something else entirely, didn't it? It meant facing something that she shouldn't be doing and delving into that was just another jump into things that were far bigger than herself.

And what would he think were he to know the small bits of thoughts that fluttered about in her mind? What would he think about it if she were to tell him that she was doing the kind of thinking that didn't belong to someone like her. Someone who had fought for the Light, someone who had decided that she was going to put any further thoughts like this to rest after the long days of being put at the back burner. After all, Elayne no longer knew the same sort of affection that she had once hoped for. Was that an excuse? She didn't see it as one.

She knew that he was going to turn her away were he to ever find out. He might even never come back. Would she be able to blame him? She didn't think that she could. She knew that it wasn't right and since when did Mat have a stronger moral compass than her? She always thought that, given Nynaeve's declarations, he was mired deep in unsavory things. She knew better now but she also knew that he was one step away from diving into any of that. After all he had been to a Hell! A literal Hell! He had never told her about those experiences, so she held something of a grudge about it.

They were the closest of friends. Especially ever since rebuilding had taken the focus of the world, especially of The Westlands. On numerous occasions they had worked side by side and she had always looked forward to coming to meet him day after day and knowing that someone else was there who just might have her same ideas and ideals. It had proved comforting that he wasn't eager to turn away her ideas and opinion

So, she knew that she had to decide to make sure that all of those thoughts were tucked away somewhere. Somewhere far away where he couldn't find them. Otherwise she might lose him and losing him was really something that she couldn't quite afford, at the moment. He had taken up the quiet of her days and eased the uneasiness of her heart. That was even too much to say to one's friend. Especially when said friend was as prone to running from emotions as Mat seemed to be.

What was she even thinking? These thoughts were driving her crazy and she couldn't understand a single one of them. Nothing had happened between them and allowing that would be something that neither of them could ever come back from. There was no other way but to remain as they were. Friends, bonded by the darkness of the past. Friends, bonded by the relentless hope for the future. There was no reason to go thinking of things differently.

Maybe that was what she was doing? Even sitting here with him now. She was simply blurring lines that ought to remain in tact. Lines that were fragile suddenly. So fragile that she even was beginning to feel nervous. A small jolt in her heart told her that she was getting too close. She was thinking too much. Thinking far too much. She knew that and he probably did to. If he actually got an inkling into the swirling thoughts that were currently wrapping around her. Too much. She did that often. Even Birgitte used to tell her that. She thought too much and she was on her own too often. That was it.

His voice drew her out of her thoughts and she looked down at him where he sat back against the chaise and then looked up at her. Those dark eyes of his that suddenly, somehow, slipped under her skin. A deep feeling that tensed and ached and refused to let her go. She was ridiculous! Bloody ridiculous!

"Why would you want that?" She was trying to make her voice sound normal, at ease, not at all the way that she had spoken earlier with subtext and suggestion and everything else that fell into her voice. Light, he must think her mad. Or maybe, if he ever did bring it up again, maybe she could simply blame all of the wine that they had been drinking. It hadn't really been that much but did that matter? Would he really know or question it?

Yet, even with her circulating thoughts, a smile still rested easily on her lips. Easily and questioning and, dare she say, probing? "We're going to have to find something that you dislike then." she said and then a mistake was made and she lowered her hand. It was just a fraction, a slip of control. her hand rested on her skirts, they rested too near to him and her fingers found his hair. Just the smallest strand of a curl touching against her finger. She shifted her hand and it twirled so easily around her finger. A tightening in her chest happened and she drew in a breath, hoping her voice wasn't tight when it came out. "What sort of things did you have in mind though?" She questioned, her eyes remaining there on that single curl around her finger. "To take me out of my comfort zone?"

he's torn suddenly. a part of him wants to continue this little game. and another part of him wants to ask her what it was that's disappointed her. that comes as a little bit of a surprise, doesn't it? that he wants to hear her talk, wants to know about whatever it is that's let her down. a part of him - light help him, but a part of him even wants to take her small delicate hands in his and tell her that he wouldn't disappoint her. not if he could help it. and that makes a flush rise up to his face, the back of his neck. a ridiculous thought. but it somehow plays out in his mind, doesn't it? so very vivid and real. and he can't seem to shake that thought from his head as much as he tries. her confiding in him, a soft touch to his face, as if he could do something to stop a line of disappointments. she's telling him to now - she's telling him to take care of that, isn't she? and that hopeless twist in his chest aches like something he can't shake.

well, he feels like a terrible idiot just then. and that's the worst feeling in the whole bloody world. he could go on swearing that mat cauthon was never a fool. but he's starting to feel like one as he looks down at her. just looking at her now makes that feeling overtake him entirely. and he's just about to rant and rave about the whole thing, to even dare to take her up by the shoulders and give her a good shake. tell her that this little dance was coming to an end now. he wants her to know that he can't just play a fool because she wants him to. he didn't want to play this endless game now, did he? but she's sitting there like she's waiting for something, waiting on him. light, but he didn't know what it was like to have expectations on him, did he? it's an unfamiliar feeling to be looked at like that, like she expected something from him.

that's the worst thing, isn't it? the worst thing is that she wants something from him, she expects him to be able to do something for her. and it's not something bad that she expects either. her soft eyes seems to play with the pieces of him that he can't reach. such a tender gaze, a teasing laugh, something that swells in his chest so big that he can't seem to swallow down. he just looks at her, a little breathless suddenly as he did. like he can't seem to get his head around any of it. he just looks at her. he could go on looking at her like this and that's the scary thing, if he starts to feel something. if he starts - that's something to shuffle away, to put aside. something that he doesn't want to feel. she's frustrating him, agitating things on purpose. the bloody woman would do anything to cause a stir, he's sure. and she's doing this just to toy with him a little bit.

but he can't seem to get mad about it. when he's looking at her a lightness seems to come over him in a way that he can't get out from under. it's like she's crushing him. but he's not asking for help. bloody madness, he thinks. he must be mad if he's still standing here with her like this. playing into her hands in this effortless sort of way. but then he catches himself. blood and ashes, he catches himself. because he remembers who he's talking about. he remembers who that is sitting there before him. elayne trakand, the bloody daughter-heir, no! the queen of andor, an aes sedai, too. and he can't bring himself to what else she is. she's just her - she's herself. and that should trouble him more than it does now.

playing for something that was her's already. and he feels a tug in his chest. something that won't go away. he just looks at her for what feels like the longest time. and he's overcome by just the act of it. since when had he gotten so stupid? he was no one's fool, he was no one's idiot. he was always two steps ahead in most games, he always knew which step to take. and even when he didn't somehow most of the time it played in his favor. that was the way his luck worked, didn't it? but elayne seemed to have left him a little blindsided. and he was a little in over his head about the whole thing.

he takes down a hard swallow and he makes himself look away from her. but he tells himself that it's only for a moment. a brief one. as if he can't bear to not be looking at her. wasn't that a little pathetic? something that he had never thought that he would think. and about elayne out of all the people? elayne! but he finds that as his eyes drift from her towards the bottle he wants to look at her again. he wants to see her sitting there looking at him. he wants to see those wide blue eyes staring at him with one of the worst things in the whole bloody world gleaming in them. expectation. and worse than that there's an eagerness inside of him that says he wants to live up to it.

he had done a long run of living up to the worst expectations, hadn't he? wasn't that always the easy route. but light, this woman is looking at him like he's going to give her something good. it does a funny thing to his head. sending something like a shiver down his spine. and for the moment in spite of the wanting he can't seem to make himself look at her. there's a weight then, something telling him he's jumping ahead of himself. too far ahead. suddenly elayne looking at him like that might be the worst thing in the whole world. because now there's an anxious feeling threaded through him. it's almost like he wants to impress her.

"don't be arrogant." he says with a laugh. but he shouldn't really find that funny at all. he should wanna tear his hair out over it. blood and ashes, most days he comes here she does do something that makes him want to tear his hair out. but right now, in this moment there's something else to it. there's something else to her tonight. maybe it's the wine or that sweet little shine to her blue eyes? maybe it's a lot of things. but he feels a bit out of himself, but completely himself. entirely. an unfamiliar feeling that nags. nags almost as much as she did! he should be laughing about that! but instead inside of himself he feels something so close to surrender he's not even sure where his head is at.

with a breath he lowers himself down in front of her. his hand skimming the front of her dress. all puffed out around her. she looks a little ridiculous, doesn't she? over the top. like she thinks every little decoration is going to toy with something in him. like she thinks a little flutter of her lashes or a flash of her dimple is going to make him weak in the knees. and he almost reaches for her hands - almost.

but he turns instead. his back against the chaise, the soft silks of her skirts against his arm, the side of his neck, his face. he rests his head back. he can't feel it but he's aware that somewhere in the overwhelming skirts are her legs. close enough to his head. proximity. then suddenly a kick in his chest, the race of his heart. he blindly reaches for the bottle on the table. he takes a long drink. his eyes briefly close. "i meant, i don't think i'd dislike anything you asked of me.' he says with a lazy half smile. and now he feels the sudden flush to his face. heat, coloring. he takes a long drink to ignore the admission, the confession. he had argued but now the surrender was suddenly complete. he holds the bottle up to her. "but i'd rather see you out of your comfort zone."

[lrdvyke]

Vyke, his Maiden, and Shabriri / a relationship study. ❛ Did he make his choice for his maiden, or did some other force lure him with suggestion? ❜

Shabriri came to the Maiden first, but not by design. Vyke caught his eyeless gaze with the win of the first Great Rune, putting him above the other Tarnished that came and went through the Lands Between. Vyke held a certain promise well on his way to earn him a place upon the throne itself, but one that Shabriri desired to break and mold into a vessel to carry the flame of the Lord of Chaos. One that will finally put them all onto the right path, given to them by the Three Fingers. Yet, there was a problem: getting to Vyke proved difficult with the Ancient Dragons supporting his growth. There was no viable way to push the Tarnished Champion down enough to start chipping away at the cracks wrought by simply being in the Lands Between.

No way, that is, until the second Great Rune was won. No way until Vyke and his Maiden entered onto the capital streets, saw the thorns covering the door and the passage barred. Unprepared, unknowing, despite doing all that was meant to be done, the path into the Erdtree has become impassable. No flame hot enough that could burn the roots from the passage. No incantation worthy enough that could break the seal holding it all together. Hope, once a vibrant thing, now shriveling fast before them. Long were their discussions about what it is they needed to do, long did they search for an answer that brought them to the same question that they started with: with two Great Runes in hand, what more needed to be done?

The answer came eventually, in a dawning horror of realization that fast brings about the necessity of sacrifice. There is little to say how it came to be known; be it through the information given and guessed upon as they looked out towards the Mountaintops, to the Forge of the Giants where the Flame of Ruin is contained, or by a whispering agitator that knew more than they led on. But one thing was certain: the Maiden's mind began to shift, to reflect upon her own station and find something amiss. Vyke was blind to this subtle change growing right beside him.

In the Maiden's budding grief and sense of dread for what the future may hold for her, she became a beacon for the caller of the Frenzy: Shabriri. In the guise of another, he was the shoulder for her to lean upon, to speak of her fears that he fed greedily enough with calmer words. He knew of the flame that which could burn the tree and the world surrounding, it is the very one that which the god of Chaos yearned for in the centuries since it was called down into the Lands Between, wanting nothing more than to incinerate all until there is nothing left. To start anew, to begin again.

Shabriri would show her the way, of survival, to convince her Tarnished that it is not right for such a terrible sacrifice to stain his ascension and she accepted readily enough. In the form of a slow knife to the heart, the cover of her mouth as he stared into her eyes, the dulling of her gaze of gold, and the promise of a life evermore, the Finger Maiden of the Tarnished Champion fled from the Lands Between. The first lie told, fire would soon lick her bones as it nestled inside of her. Shabriri took her body for his own and finally found his way to Vyke's ear.

❛ ( You are about to sacrifice something precious. ) Am I not precious to you? ( The life of a fair maiden, ) The life of the Maiden who has done nothing but serve you. ( that you would toss into the fiery forge. Only so that you may be Lord. ) You would toss me into the fiery forge so that you may be Lord, is that it? ( What a horrible thing to ponder. ) What a horrid thing to even conceive. ( Your ascendancy requires her sacrifice, whether she wishes it or not. ) Your ascendancy requires more sacrifice from me than from your own self. ( But how would the Lord, crowned so, be looked upon? ) How would you be looked upon, crowned so in my blood? Is it something you would be proud of? ❜

No, Vyke would say. No, Vyke would repeat. A deep-seeded grief began to seep through the cracks that formed within his time in the Lands Between. Long would he stare at the forge within the misted distance, the voice of his Maiden whispering in his ear that she does not deserve this fate. That to make the sacrifice, to take what he wants righteously, he needed to be the one to throw himself in. He needed to take that which would protect him, deep below the Erdtree, and make a pact with the Three Fingers and inherit the Flame of Frenzy itself. Become a better Lord. Become that which would never falter. Incinerate all that which divides and distinguishes ... is that not what he wanted after all? Yes, Vyke would say. Yes, Vyke would repeat. This would be the true path. None other.

Thus Vyke descended, goaded by the voice of his Maiden down further and further into the depths. Past the church, past the emaciated bodies littering the floor, past even the pile of those just like him who made his landing from the high beams unsteady—he pushed opened the door, and saw the Three Fingers rake across the stone ground trailing with sickly yellow flame. Second thoughts made him turn, to the closing of the door as the fingers took hold of him and melted steel and flesh both until he saw nothing, heard nothing, and felt nothing but that curling fire.

Once he was able to pick himself back up, to drag himself from the depths and out of the capital, his mind scrambled for purchase on a singular thought of getting back to his Maiden. To tell her she is safe, that they may go on to the Mountaintops together. But he returned with her blood upon his shaking hands and her lifeless form sitting so plainly upon a chair. The flames engulfed him for a second time, as his cries were echoed within the village.

Shabriri came back to him eventually, as a whisper inside his head. To begin pushing him away from the village, back towards the forge so that none could be sacrificed in vain. But word already spread of Vyke's crimes. He was hunted, he was brought low, and before he could get to the giant's flame, he was thrown into the Evergaol never to be seen again.

[sluttywonwoo]

thinking about ji coming home from the studio hyped as fuck knowing he made another banger and he wants to celebrate but you’re asleep. good thing you told him he can fuck you in your sleep so he does just that. spooning you from behind while he slowly moves in and out and softly caresses your thighs and shoulders so you don’t wake up. hnnng. -💛

they popped the fancy champagne tonight. it was a bottle they had been saving for a special occasion, a gift from someone with more money than they knew what to do with.

the track they’d been working on was far from perfect but it was finished and that was a huge feat in itself. chan, changbin, and jisung had been wrestling with the song for months. they kept pushing it to the back burner, telling themselves they’d save it for the next comeback, the next album, the next single. they would’ve tossed it had all three of them not been convinced it was good. it had the potential to be a title track if they could just figure out what was missing.

well, tonight jisung did just that and they celebrated like one of them had just won the lottery, drinking the sparkling wine out of paper cups from the water dispenser.

“it’s getting late, you should get home if you want to ride that high,” chris advised, giving jisung a knowing look.

the other two producers were well aware of how jisung liked to work off his adrenaline. you called to tell them as much, cursing them out over the phone for making too many good songs because you were tired of waking up sore.

jisung could feel heat creeping up the back of his neck and blossoming on his cheeks but he didn’t try to deny what his leader was implying because they both knew it was true. changbin even threw in an (un)helpful “go easy on her!” as jisung packed his bag and walked out the door, leaving a couple very confused staff members behind.

he was still buzzed when he made it home. he doesn’t drink often so he’s a bit of a lightweight but he stopped in the kitchen and filled a glass with water from the sink in an effort to rehydrate and prevent any hangover symptoms come morning.

the bedroom is dark. the whole house is dark but jisung had been holding out hope that maybe you had just tucked yourself away for the night and were still awake. maybe you were cozy in bed with a book or scrolling through your phone while you waited for him. he had no such luck.

he curses under his breath when he sees you curled up on your side beneath the covers, sighing quietly to himself. you’re even snoring softly. he should’ve asked his driver to go faster… but he didn’t want to stress the guy out. he doesn’t even know how long you’ve been asleep so it might’ve been in vain anyway.

jisung figures he should get ready for bed too so he takes a quick shower and brushes his teeth before slipping back into your room to grab something to sleep in. light from the bathroom spills into the bedroom, illuminating your side of the bed. he couldn’t tell before, but now that he can see you properly he realizes your shoulders are bare.

he blinks a couple of times just to be sure he isn’t seeing things.

jisung is used to you not wearing pants to bed but you usually wear one of his t-shirts because you get kind of cold during the night.

is it possible you’re… completely naked under there? jisung’s dick twitches at the thought.

he’d taken a cold shower in an effort to resolve his… excitement but it didn’t really help. he’s still half-hard and the idea that you’d been waiting for him like this is enough to make even more blood rush to his cock.

he quietly tiptoes over to his own side of the bed where he pulls back the blankets to reveal your sleeping figure.

his breath catches when his suspicions are confirmed. you had in fact, not worn anything to bed.

it had to be a sign, right? you’d talked about it before— several times, actually. your sex drives are pretty equal, which is kind of surprising considering how horny jisung is. but since he’s always working, you don’t get much time to indulge each other in that way. at least, not as much time as you’d like.

a solution you’d offered was sex while one of you was sleeping. jisung immediately agreed to it. he would let you do anything you wanted to him. but he was more hesitant to be the one to initiate when you were sleeping.

he knew it was a fantasy of yours, he knew it was a fantasy of his, it just felt so wrong to take advantage of you when you were unconscious.

but this feels like the perfect opportunity. he was already full of adrenaline and you’re naked in the bed you shared and his cock is starting to ache with how hard he is…

“fuck it.”

he decides against pajamas for the time being and crawls into bed with you. if you’re already naked he might as well be too.

jisung lets out a sigh of relief when you don’t wake up to the movement of the mattress. you shift a bit in your sleep as he gets settled but that’s it.

your warmth draws your boyfriend in, closer and closer until he’s practically spooning you. he’s hardly breathing because he’s scared of waking you up but in order to continue with his plan he has to move you. he starts with a hand on your hip before bringing it down to your knee so that he can part your thighs, pausing when he finds you’re already wet.

fuck, had you fallen asleep touching yourself?

“were your own fingers not enough, baby?” he whispers, condescension dripping from his voice even though you can’t hear a word he’s saying. “don’t worry, i’ll take care of you.”

jisung still wants to make sure you’re stretched enough for him so he slips one finger inside of you, then two. they’re met with little resistance but jisung keeps them in for a little longer, stroking up on that spot that makes you gush.

he works you up but doesn’t push you over the edge because he knows cumming will definitely wake you up. once he’s satisfied with his efforts, he inches even closer to you until his body is flush with yours.

since you fuck in this position all the time, it’s easy for jisung to line himself up and push into you.

he makes a quiet sound of relief when he bottoms out and has to fight the urge to bite and/or kiss your shoulder like he usually would. you let out a little sound of your own and jisung imagines the way your face must be scrunching up as you adjust to the feeling of being full. his hips stutter forward involuntarily at the thought and he freezes… waiting to see if he’s woken you up.

he doesn’t start moving again until your breathing evens out, caressing your thigh with his calloused palm to soothe you as he builds momentum.

it’s a lot slower than the sex you usually have but it’ll definitely be enough for jisung to cum. just the idea of fucking you in your sleep turns him on so much that he’s having trouble holding back even now when he’s barely started.

“so wet for me, baby. need me all the time, huh? even in your dreams.”

“ji?”

fuck, he’d pushed his luck too much with the talking. his mouth was always getting him in trouble.

you try to turn around but jisung holds you in place. “shhh, baby it’s okay. go back to sleep.”

“when did you get home? did you finish the song? ah- what… what are you doing?”

you know what he’s doing, even in your half-awake state. still, you want to hear him say it.

“i’m um… i, do you want me to stop?”

you shake your head and let your eyes fall shut again.

“don’t stop, feels good.”

“thank god,” your boyfriend groans, wrapping his arms around you in a full embrace, relieved that he can touch you as much as he wants to now.

“we finished the song, baby,” he tells you between kisses to your neck. “rushed home to celebrate with you.”

“i’m s-sorry i fell asleep!” you whine.

“nothing to be sorry for, my love. came home and found you all wet and needy… worked out perfectly, wouldn’t you say?”

“i missed you,” is the only response you offer.

“yeah? were you wishing it was me touching you instead of yourself?”

“yes,” you whimper, “couldn’t… couldn’t cum.”

jisung pouts and lets the expression seep into his voice. “poor thing. i bet you were so frustrated.”

“mhm.”

“what about now though, baby? think you can cum for me?”

you nod, almost head butting your boyfriend.

“‘m so close…”

“already?”

“i woke up with your dick inside me, what do you want from me?”

jisung laughs. “sorry, babe. you’re right. should we cum together? do you think you can hold it a little longer?”

“i’ll try,” you promise.

“that’s my girl.”

[endless-ineffabilities]

the other side of the door (1/2)

Ewan Mitchell x bestfriend!reader

a/n: so there was this, and now you have this. bish bash bosh.

main masterlist

The one wherein your best friend breaks your heart.

The cast has gathered in Tom's apartment for the night, drinks and conversation flowing freely. Ewan brought you with him, as he always does. You've been his constant plus-one — to parties, premieres, and even group holidays.

You've been around them so much, that the cast members already consider you as their good friend.

When they first met you, they had mistakenly thought you were Ewan's girlfriend.

But no, he profusely fended off such allegations, clarifying that you were his "bestfriend, and other half." Doesn't he know that calling you his other half kind of makes it worse?

Because you want them to be right.

You've been in love with him for a while now.

And he doesn't feel the same. Talk about the sob story of your life.

Not too long ago, you and Ewan were a tangle of limbs on your couch, covered in layers of sweaters and duvets to keep warm. A film played on TV. It used to be one of your favourites, but not after that night.

One glass of wine led to another—a kiss on the forehead, a peck on the cheek, brushes of skin against skin.

And suddenly, you were kissing him.

And he was kissing you back with just as much fervour. Just as much love.

Or so you thought.

"Wait, love," he panted, pulling away, his forehead still pressed against yours. His every exhale fanned warmth over your face, and he was all you felt. All you saw, all you smelled. He was all around you.

"What?"

"We can't," he whispered, and you strained to hear him. "We can't do this."

Your chest tightened, and judging by his worried expression, he can see the distress clear on your face.

"Why not?" you asked meekly, your hands still clutching his chest.

He smiled sadly, brushing your hair away from your face. "We're best friends, my darling. I don't want to ruin this. What we have—it's good. Don't we keep saying that it's forever? I mean that."

"I know," you replied, shaking your head slightly, "but we've known each other for years, Ewan. Did you never think... about us? And how we could be... We could be good together."

"We are good together," he insisted. "Which is why we shouldn't change this. We're only going to mess it up."

"But I—"

"And," he cut you off, "I don't think I want to get into something like that right now. My career's just taking off, and I want to pour my entire self into it." He laughed dryly, as if infusing casual humour into the situation and trying to make it seem like it's not a big deal would make it all better. "Hell, I can't even think about dating anyone."

But I'm not just anyone, you wanted to say, but you kept it in. You know Ewan, and once he has his mind set, there is no changing it. Not without great effort and cause anyway.

You did your best to avoid him for an entire week after that, ignoring his calls and his extensive voicemails, but he eventually wore you down, showing up at your door with a bouquet of flowers and a massive tray of your favourite dessert.

A peace offering. You're his best friend and he can't bear to have a rift between the two of you, he said.

He was right.

You want—need—him around. No matter what. Your true feelings can take the back burner.

This is meant to be forever, after all.

The hour is late and you feel exhaustion setting in. You think of heading home, but you can't find Ewan anywhere, and you have been searching for the last ten minutes.

"Hey, girly!" Phia cheerily says as she stumbles upon you in the hallway. "You alright?"

"Yeah, just a bit tired. Have you seen Ewan?"

"Oh, I don't know," she immediately replies. "He's not in the living area, last I checked. Maybe he's in one of the rooms upstairs? Taking a breather?"

"Oh, could he be?" He normally doesn't leave you all alone during these things, so if he's nowhere in sight, he must really need a minute to himself.

Before you can protest, Phia loops her arm around yours. "I'll come with you, love. Let's go and have a look."

Phia chats your ear off and you are grateful for the distraction, but nothing could have prepared you for what comes next.

You hear hushed voices from inside one of the rooms. As you near the one farthest from the staircase, the voices become clearer. The door is open just a crack, but the guest room is tiny enough that even the softest sounds are amplified in it.

There's a man's voice. Ewan's, as distinguishable to you as your favourite melody. Followed by a lilting, high-pitched giggle.

"I'm serious, Lou," Ewan says, raising his voice a tad, "I think I've had enough to drink."

Louise, the twins' cousin, groans playfully. You hear some shuffling. A mattress creaking under weight. "You're such a lightweight, Ewan."

"Hey! I'm not a lightweight," Ewan counters, humour seeping in his tone.

"Oh yeah?" Her voice drops to a sultry drawl. "So you're sober enough to come here and kiss me then?"

Your stomach lurches. You've only had one drink, yet the room tilts, and the walls seem to spin around you. You catch Phia's eye—her expression mirrors your disbelief, wide-eyed and incredulous.

She is about to push the door open, when you catch her wrist and shake your head vehemently. You whisper urgently, "Phi, let's just go."

"What? But he—" She pauses when the first smacking noises resound from the room. Louise moans against Ewan as she kisses him.

As he kisses her.

So much for him claiming he didn't want to date anyone. Maybe he just didn't want to date you. Let alone want you the way he clearly wants her—the way he's having her behind that door.

"What about the girl you came with?" you hear her ask.

"What girl?" He breathes, actually sounding confused. You feel nothing more than an afterthought. Just some girl he can't even remember.

Certainly not his forever. You're not even his 'right now'.

"Fuckin' hell," Phia curses under her breath.

"Oh," Ewan says, as it finally dawns on him, "she's... she's just my friend."

"Phia, let's go please," you repeat, more insistent this time. She hears the desperation in your tone and takes your hand comfortingly, pulling you along downstairs.

Fabien stands near the foot of the staircase, absently nursing his drink while scrolling through his phone. His gaze shifts when he spots the two of you, eyebrows lifting in mild curiosity.

"Whoa there," he says, his eyes scanning your face with concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing—"

But Phia interjects roughly. "We're beating Ewan up later."

"Phia, come on," you mumble, growing embarrassed, "It's not a big deal. He can do whatever he wants."

"But he told me—"

"Wait," Fabien says, catching on, "Ewan's up there doing what with who?"

Before Phia can go on a passionate tirade, you exhale loudly, "Look, you guys. I just want to go home. I'll say bye to everyone and get out of here."

Fabien puts his drink down somewhere. "I'll go with you," he offers, without giving it much thought. "Since Ewan's occupied, and we hate him now apparently—"

Your brows raise, while Phia merely gives a thumbs up.

"—someone needs to see you home safe."

You smile gratefully. "You sure, Fabs? I don't want you to miss out on the rest of the party."

"Ah, don't worry about it," he smirks, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders as you head to the main room. "Knowing Tom, there'll be another one of these things next week."

Ewan stumbles down the stairs, his steps unsteady from the weight of too many drinks. But there's something else, a deeper unease twisting in his gut that he can't quite shake.

He needs you to make it all better, but where are you?

When he finds Phia pouring herself a glass of water in the kitchen, he asks for one too.

But she icily responds, "Pour yourself one."

"What?" He asks, but he doesn't dwell on it. "Do you know where—"

"She left," Phia shrugs, and Ewan wonders why she said that smugly, "not too long ago."

"What do you mean she left?" Ewan straightens, growing alert despite the haze of the alcohol.

"She was tired. Wanted to go home. She came upstairs to get you, but you seemed busy. So Fabien offered to accompany her, the sweetheart that he is."

The flood of information overwhelms him, but it's nothing compared to the hollow ache of your absence.

"I... I wasn't busy..."

"We heard you, Ewan," Phia says, disappointed. She watches the realisation dawn on his face for a full minute. The dread. The self-loathing. "I mean, it's none of my business. But maybe wipe that lipstick off your neck. It's bloody gross."

[nickfowlerrr]

all i want

pairing: andy barber x curvy!reader

words: 1.7k

warnings: 18+ only. cockwarming. little tiny bit of teasing. liiiittle bit of a daddy kink.

notes: shockingly enough, this was meant to be a drabble. it very much is not. enjoy!

inspired by this txt post, this is one of seven characters i’m writing this prompt of sorts for. thank you in advance for reading and as always, reblogs and comments and welcome and so appreciated.

It’s all perfectly innocent to start the night, really it is. Your yearly tradition of watching Miracle on 34th Street after trimming the tree is one that neither of you would want to skip out on. And so far this season, between the trial that has had Andy so stressed and your long shifts at the hospital, there has been quite a bit you’ve ended up skipping.

You paid to have the Christmas lights strung up instead of decorating yourselves, the Christmas tree this year came from the grocery store parking lot Andy passed on his way home yesterday instead of the tree farm you always went to to chop down your own, and your annual Christmas Eve party is a no go this year, too. You’re both too busy, too stressed, too tired.

Andy sits on the couch, getting the movie ready to play, while you’re in the kitchen. You slide the bowl of cookie dough you whipped up into the fridge to chill for an hour or two before baking right as the kettle begins to whistle.

You walk back over to the stove, moving it off the burner before carefully pouring the boiling water into the waiting mugs of coco powder.

“Andy, do you want marshmallows?” you call, knowing your voice will carry into the next room. You stir the powder as you wait for his response, plopping a few mini marshmallows into your mug before your face scrunches up a bit. You turn, ready to peek into the living room to repeat yourself, and jump a bit as you’re met with Andy leaning in the doorway.

His arms are crossed over his chest and you are momentarily distracted by how big his arms look in his sweater. You know it’s soft and you can’t wait to cuddle into him and finally have a chance to relax while you watch the movie.

Your eyes flit to his and then you finally see the look of incredulity on his handsome, bearded face. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but he speaks before you can.

“Did you just call me Andy?” he asked, sounding disgusted and a little distraught.

You gape a moment, thinking back to what it was you said, and almost immediately realize that you indeed did. You flounder for only a second before shaking your head, “No,” you lie, “I dont think so.”

“Yes,” he states, pushing off the doorframe and starting toward you, “you did.”

You back up, bumping into the counter behind you as he stalks closer. You fight your smile as a thrill runs through you when he cages you in, his arms either side of you as he stands right before you. He leaves almost no space between you and you can see in his eyes what you’re sure he can see in yours.

Longing, desire, and maybe just a hint of desperation…

It’s been two weeks since you have had anything close to alone time together. Your shifts have been all over the place and you’re either heading to work as Andy is coming home, or leaving just as he gets up to start getting ready for his day. Even your weekends have been taken over. Andy has been working nonstop, but you both promised each other that this weekend would be just for you two. No work, no parties, no distractions. The closest thing to intimate you’ve gotten in two weeks has been your parting kisses. You’ve only shared the bed a few days this past week and you’ve both been so exhausted that the furthest you’ve gotten has been cuddling.

So right here and now, that look in his eyes, you know you’re both thinking about the same thing.

“I’m sorry,” you offer in your attempt to appease him.

“You’re sorry …,” he prompts, waiting for you to address him.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you press against him, a smile playing on your lips. “Babe…honey…love,” you continue with the pet names, your fingers dancing across his sweater clad chest before you lean in real close, your lips against his ear before you whisper breathily, “Daddy.”

The sharp breath he takes at the title has you biting your lip to stop the smirk threatening to break out.

You let a hand come up, squeezing the back of his neck gently before your fingers find his hair, almost playing with it as you massage his neck a bit. Andy drops his head as his eyes close under your touch, pressing you back against the counter as he leans into you. He lets out a heavy sigh as your other hand comes up to cup his cheek.

“You’re so tense,” you say, leaning in to kiss him softly. He returns the kiss, his arms coming closer and wrapping around you, pulling you flush to him.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs against your lips, your noses brushing.

“I’ve missed you, too,” you kiss him gently once more before letting him go, turning back around to the mugs of coco waiting for you.

Andy doesn’t let you go, just watches as you finish making the cups.

You lean your head back, “marshmallows?” you ask again, earning a smile and a nod from him.

-

The still warm mugs of hot chocolate are on the coffee table before you as you snuggle into Andy.

That tingle you got earlier in the kitchen still hasn’t gone away as you hug Andy, his arm holding you to him in turn.

You don’t want to force anything. You’re both tired, that’s obvious, but god, you miss him. All of him.

You don’t even really want to have sex right now, you just want to be closer. You need him closer.

His eyes are open but you can see the exhaustion in the slightest squint of his eyes as he watches the screen. You lean up, pressing your lips delicately against his exposed throat, once, twice, three times as you work your way up.

“Mmm,” he breathes deeply, holding back a moan under your attention. “Baby,” he warns.

“I know,” you say, a hand rising to stroke his hair as you sit up and move into his lap. “I know, I’m tired, too. We don’t have to do anything,” you let your head rest against his, your noses brushing once more, “I just… I just want to feel you,” you speak so quietly but he can hear the plea in your voice and it squeezes his chest. And he can’t lie and say that the desperation he hears isn’t turning him on a bit, either.

If you want to feel him, he’ll make sure you feel him.

Your hands are lightly in his hair, holding his head as you lean in to kiss him. One kiss, you breathe into him as you pause against each others lips, then another, and another, before your tongue licks into his mouth. He sucks on you lightly before his tongue takes over, his effortless dominance always winning out.

You can feel him growing beneath you and you feel yourself growing slicker in turn.

You pull away from his kiss reluctantly to stand and rid yourself of your pajama pants, while he drags his sweats down. His cock is hard and you inhale sharply at the sight. It’s only been two weeks but you’d almost forgotten just how big he really is.

You hold his shoulder, his hands coming to your chubby waist as you come back to your spot on his lap. You’re on your knees, straddling him as you position yourself above him. One of his hands comes to his cock, the other sliding down your curves as he grips your hip.

He moves his dick up and down your pussy, playing with your wetness as your eyes shut in delight at the feeling, your hands squeezing his shoulders.

He gets himself wet with your slick before he lines the head of his cock up to your entrance. His hand on your hip urges you down, and you slowly sink onto his thick length. You moan in unison as you take him in, a “fuck” leaving Andy’s lips when the first inch of him was finally inside of you.

His hand is holding you, his thumb rubbing the soft, blemished skin of your hip as he urges you to take more of him with his sweet praises.

“You take me so well, baby. Just a little bit more, I know you can do it. Doing so good, sweetheart. Always so fucking good,” he full on moans the last few words as you sit fully on his strong lap with a whimper. He’s seated completely inside of you as you bury your head in his neck.

You feel his lips as he kisses your head, his hand rubbing your back soothingly while the other lightly kneads your thick thigh.

You sigh heavily, relaxing into him as you rest your head against his chest, your velvety walls squeezing his cock of their own volition every so often, earning moans from both of you as he keeps you full of him, the movie still playing as you try to focus on that instead.

But you’re so tired, and so content in Andy’s hold, the pleasure and closeness enough to lull you asleep, you do just that. The cookies can wait until tomorrow.

Andy is smiling to himself as he holds you, he hasn’t been this relaxed since before the start of his current trial. Because with you this close, he’s calm and more than content. This is what he’s been needing. You.

He tenses just a little when your walls squeeze him again, a soft moan slipping past your lips. He moans quietly in turn, still holding you tight.

A moment passes and he has to laugh at the soft snore that leaves you next. He doesn’t want to leave your warmth just yet, he wants to feel you - it’s been too long. So he’ll finish the movie and then he’ll bring you to bed. You’ll cuddle and sleep in each other’s embrace, and all the while he’ll be sure to keep you full of him.

And when you wake up in the middle of the night with his cock still inside of you, your wetness leaking out from around his thick length, he won’t mind one bit about getting woken up by you fucking yourself stupid on his cock. He’s all yours, whenever you want him. And he still owes you for your teasing in the kitchen. He’ll make sure to show you exactly just how much Daddy has missed you.

[mamani-bento]

i'm glad you're back (kento nanami)

nanami x reader, 2.7k, sorcerer!reader, reader is referred to as 'she' once

established relationship, hurt/comfort + fluff + a tiny bit of angst

i love u nanami. please help me get through this week. please.

mamani-bento's masterlist!

there's been a cloud hanging over nanami's head recently. a dark, looming one. pulls his shoulders high, closer to his ears, as he stays on edge, constantly waiting.

he goes through the motions, trying to focus on his missions and mentoring at the high school, but the stubborn cloud lingers.

how can it leave? you haven't come home yet.

it's been five days since they sent you to find and defeat the cursed spirit holed up in the outskirts of the city. five days since they pulled you out of a class you were taking on domains, explained that there's a special grade that's popped up on their radar, that they need a grade one to get rid of it immediately, that you have to locate and destroy it before it finds the entrance to the city's sewage system.

nanami is a reasonable man. he worries, of course he worries and always about you, it's inevitable in your line of work. but he knows you're strong. he understood when you rushed past him in the corridor, whirlwind of energy as you made your way to the locker rooms to pick up some supplies. the quick explanation, the blazing determination in your behaviour, the almost-playful peck you had given him after confirming that you'd see him at home for dinner - none of it indicated that this mission was anything out of the ordinary.

so apart from the unease that's always itching at him every time you're sent out on a mission - the standard unease, the one he knows you feel for him as well - nanami didn't think too much of it. he wrapped up his classes. stopped by the bakery around the corner from the apartment and picked up your favourite croissant for desert. took a shower, washed his hair even, and went about making dinner.

when the clock struck 8, as he switched off the burner and started to set up the table, the itch began to make itself more prominent. he waited. the pasta got cold and the two empty plates stared at him mockingly. he tried distracting himself by folding the laundry, even though it was your turn to do that. he wiped down the counter, just to keep himself busy. he imagined the sound of keys jiggling in the door knob, imagined you walking through the threshold with a proud smile and full of chatter about how easy the cursed spirit was to defeat, maybe with a tiny cut over your cheekbone that he'd bandage and kiss better.

when it crossed 10pm, he decided to call you. just to check. just to find out if you'd like him to heat up the pasta. no answer. he forced himself to stay calm. your phone had died, obviously. so he had called ijichi.

ijichi, good old reliable ijichi, hadn't known where you were either. then he had called the school. you were obviously getting patched up by shoko, maybe for a bruise or at most a bleeding wound. but you weren't with shoko.

'it's a big one, kento,' gojo had said. 'she's dealing with it. she'll be back in the morning.'

you aren't back in the morning. or the next morning. or the next. and nanami cannot breathe, cannot sleep, is only eating when he physically feels his body begging for sustenance, because how can you not be back?

he had gone with gojo to the location the morning after you didn't come back - just to check, he had told himself furiously, but there was no trace of you or the cursed spirit.

'all we can do is wait' yaga said on the third day, annoyingly calm. how was he so calm?

nanami doesn't miss the worried glances thrown his way by students and sorcerers alike. doesn't miss how itadori doesn't fool around during training or how gojo tones down his incessant chatter by 10% around him. but he's unaffected by the changes in the way people are treating him. by the fourth day you've been gone, there's pity in their glances, as well. he doesn't take it seriously. he can't take it seriously. you'll be back. nanami is a reasonable man. you'll be back.

on the fifth morning, nanami wakes up from a troubled sleep, more tired than he was the previous night. he misses the warmth of your body next to his, the way you need five minutes of bleary yawning and blinking in the morning to get your brain to start up, the smell of your strawberry moisturiser on the sheets. the cloud that's taken residence over his head has grown and grown in the last few days, held up with hope and determination and reason, but he's afraid something will pierce it soon. he doesn't know how much strength he has left to carry this firm belief that you'll be back you'll be back you'll be back and he's never felt so wretchedly helpless in his life.

which is why, when he comes back to the empty house in the evening and sits on the couch, staring unblinkingly at the wall, he doesn't think much of gojo's caller id on his phone, blaring in the terrible silence of the apartment.

"she's back."

relief overtakes nanami's every cell with a painful jolt. he thinks he might cry - no, he knows he'll cry the moment this fully sinks in. he gets the car keys, jingling in his grasp as he haphazardly tugs his shoes on, phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear.

"how is she?" he manages to get out, voice mildly wobbling at the end.

for once, gojo is silent.

nanami's movements slow down in growing foreboding.

"gojo. how is she?" he's firm now. no wobble.

"...shoko's looking into it. she's badly hurt, probably in shock."

nanami lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "alright. i'll be there in a few minutes."

"no, don't come. she'll reach home quicker if ijichi drops her. they're leaving now."

and it kills him to put the keys down, to take his shoes off, to let go of the knob on the front door, but nanami is a reasonable man. he recognises the wisdom in gojo's words, that the priority is not to see you but for you to reach the comfort of your home as soon as possible.

so he watches the second hand of the wall clock in the living room move with excruciating slowness. he paces. he sits. he decides to not change out of his work clothes, despite the fact that it's rumpled beyond belief, that the folded sleeves are slipping past his forearms and he's tired of repeatedly pushing them up - what if you reach just when he's changing? he debates keeping the door open but before he can make up his mind, there's a sharp knock - a real one, not from his imagination.

immediately, he takes three long and rapid strides, urgently pulling the door open.

ijichi explains something to nanami. something about your ribs? you aren't really paying attention. you didn't when shoko told you either, just stared unblinkingly at the ceiling as she wrapped a bandage tightly around your mid-section. you stare now, watching the wall from your seat on the armchair as nanami takes ijichi's empty cup to place in the sink. he had offered you one as well. chamomile tea with a hint of lemon, steaming and fragrant, just the way you like it. it sits on the centre table. still steaming, still fragrant, still full.

you manage a 'thank you' as the two men walk towards the door. it's a fragile, brittle thing, and your voice is hoarse from both screaming and disuse, somehow, but you still say it. ijichi wordlessly places a comforting palm on your shoulder. you try to muster a smile, but it's too much work.

nanami's footsteps are soft as he makes his way back into the living room. you want to look at him, really truly look at him after so long - has it only been five days? - of seeing his face swimming in your dizzy vision, of longing for his solid presence next to you. you brace yourself for the effort of moving your neck up, but his hand appears on the arm of your seat, moments before he's squatting in front of your chair.

he searches your face, even as you search his. he looks tired, exhausted. dark circles line his eyes, a weariness that you can swear wasn't there before the mission sits like a weight on his shoulders. you haven't had a chance to see a mirror since you stumbled out of that cave, limping half-delirious in what you had hoped was the direction of the school, closer to the outskirts than your home. even then, with your nerves fried and senses muddled in exhaustion and lingering terror, you had recognised that the pain on your left wasn't normal and that walking shouldn't hurt so much. you can't imagine what you must look like. bloody, probably. shoko had cleaned your bruises, bandaged up your wounds, but your clothes are stiff with darkened red, and you feel it caked on your skin. dirt and grime, as well. you should be more disgusted, but you can't bring yourself to feel much of anything.

whatever nanami sees, it makes him reach out to take both your hands in his. he's fully kneeling in front of you now. the warmth of his palms in yours is grounding, and your heart cracks a bit as he lifts your left arm to place a soft, affectionate kiss on the inside of your wrist. callused palms gently move upward, firm as they brush up your shoulders, as if ensuring your presence, triple-checking that he isn't imagining this. he cups your cheeks, thumb stroking over your cheekbones, unmindful of the dried blood flaking at his touch. he brings his forehead to slowly meet yours.

for the first time in what feels like forever, you let out a deep, shuddering exhale, body slumping in an exhaustion that hits you too hard. you feel nanami relax too, in the way he slightly pulls back to place a tender kiss on your forehead, as if reminding himself that you're really here, that you're really back.

in a massive display of strength, you manage to lift your arms to hold nanami's arms in place before he can pull away, lightly closing over his wrists.

"hi," you whisper, meeting his eyes. a fragile, brittle thing.

he smiles. "hi," he says, tone low and shaky.

it takes you ten more minutes of sitting before you let nanami help you up from the armchair. neither of you say anything in that time. he continues to kneel in front of you, rubbing circles on the backs of your hands that he refuses to let go of. when you do get up, everything aches with a bone-deep weariness that makes you slump against his shoulder, one of his large hands curved around your waist and the other holding your arm. he's mindful of all the injuries that ijichi told him about, even the ones that anesthesia has momentarily made you forget exist.

he guides you to the bedroom, patient even as you have to take breaks every few steps as your ribs groan with at the exertion. as much as you'd like to fall asleep, you make a sound of protest when he guides you to the bed.

"no?" he asks, looking down at you quizzically.

"shower," you say shortly. "i'm filthy." your voice is a bit stronger now.

easily, he course-corrects, moving towards the bathroom. he slowly peels off the grimy fabric on your skin, and when he's done, you're left in just your bandages. you can feel him assessing the damage, the full extent of which is only clear now. the wraps around your mid-section, the one covering the deep gash over your left shoulder. cuts and scrapes litter your skin.

his jaw is tight, but he's gentle as ever as he helps you to the cubicle. he tests the temperature of the water first before letting you stand under the showerhead. your shoulders droop as the water washes over you, blissfully warm. the pool at your feet is deep red for a good few seconds until it's replaced by transparency.

you don't realise nanami had left you alone until he returns. the cubicle door opens with a squeak that you make out over the sound of the water, and you feel the heat of his body behind you. still in his button-up, he detaches the showerhead before retrieving the shampoo bottle.

he sections you hair, deftly working the sticky grime out, long fingers scratching against your scalp as his ministrations lull you closer to sleep.

"would you like to eat something before going to bed?" he softly asks, slight in his movements as he turns off the water.

you probably should, but your body is threatening to shut down. you shake your head.

nanami takes off your soggy bandages, unwrapping with a care that one wouldn't have expected from a man so big. he knows that shoko has already cleaned your wounds, but he does it again anyway, holding your squeezing hand as you wince. he's precise when he re-wraps you, knuckles brushing tenderly across your cheek as he finishes with the one on your shoulder.

the light in the bathroom is a covered bulb on the ceiling, and it throws nanami's gold-spun hair into some sort of halo. like an angel drawn to it, you step closer to him until you're huddled into his frame. strong arms come to carefully circle around your back as you rest your cheek against his chest. again, something leaves as you breathe out, and a security you haven't felt in days begins to re-appear.

you haven't told him what happened, and he hasn't asked. you haven't told anybody. you'll need to give your mission report eventually, and there's a breakdown waiting to happen, hovering at the edges of your psyche until you have the strength to face it, but for now, you let yourself sink into the embrace. a kiss is placed on top of your head, lingering as you feel a puff of air ruffling your hair. his own exhale of relief.

he helps you put your clothes on, dries your hair because he knows you catch colds easy, makes your highly-strung nerves unwind bit by miniscule bit as he does the things that you don't have it in you to do.

as he changes out of his work clothes into soft cotton, you silently watch from your position in the bed. under the covers that he had pulled over you, around the pillows that he had tucked under this arm and that leg so you aren't in pain. a part of you wants to tell him everything. the dim lights cast him in a glow that makes you feel brave enough to relive it all just by being in the same room as him, but you know your voice will give up mid-way.

he switches off the lights and climbs into the bed, turning on his side to face your body. you turn your neck to face him, which is all you can really do. a heavy arm drapes over your frame, avoiding the bandages, fingers curling at your hip.

your eyes adjust to the darkness, and you watch him watching you.

"i'm glad you're back."

"me too."

this time, it's the silence that's a fragile, bitter thing. there's so much under the surface. so much you have to tell him, so much he needs to tell you. about the fight, about the pain, about the agonising wait, about the blind stumbling through sewers, about the cloud that was about to burst.

but for now, all he says is, "wake me up if you need anything."

for now, you nod and place a palm on his forearm that's wrapped around your middle, other hand coming up to cup his face as his eyelids flutter shut. he tilts his head to the side, pressing a doting kiss over the pulse of your wrist.

"i'm glad you're back," he softly repeats as you slip asleep.

[ariaste]

listen i've had a 100 degree fever for four days and i have not been able to string any thoughts together except for gently rotating Devil's Minion in my brain and the bleary conclusion i have come to is this:

we know armand is a control freak

we know armand has spooky psychic powers of imposing his desired reality on top of other people's lived realities

the interview is happening despite armand supposedly claiming that he thinks it's a bad idea

Armand gives in to participating in the interview awfully quick. including a theatrical reveal of his true self at exactly the right moment for maximum Drama.

therefore, stay with me here, I will argue that armand DOES ACTUALLY want the interview to be happening. Who else is going to be pushing for it? Louis??? If Louis pushed for something Armand didn't want, Armand would simply wipe it from Louis' mind and move on with his day. He has that power, and yet he didn't USE IT in this case. So that means that the little tissue paper objections are mostly for show and to camouflage his true intentions (see also, though: the scene in Paris where Louis comes in and is playing maitre and Armand offers just a teeny resistance of "oooh but i'm looking at Sam's new pages", so it's a documented behavior pattern). There is one exception, but we'll come back to that in a sec.

So then the questions are: Why does he want it to be happening now as opposed to any other time? What is his motivation for having it happen again at all? What changed between 1973 and now that caused this?

(the rest under a cut bc this is gonna get long and i don't wanna clutter people's dashes too much)

my wild fever hallucination theory rn is that armand (my canceled wife who i stand with) is manipulative and psychopathic enough that he may have looked at daniel at some point in the 1970s and said to himself "you know what, the one thing that I would change about him is if he was like 40 years older, because i'm kinda into that, and also maybe he hates me a little bit, because i'm kinda into that as well" and then set Daniel on the back burner to basically finish cooking into the Perfect Daddy Boyfriend.

so why is he doing this whole charade again? Because the first time Daniel had the interview, the end result was "omg omg omg make me a vampire PLEAAASE", right? So Armand's insane little brain is like "ok, so we do it again, and replicate the same results :) and this time i will win and get everything i want, just like always :))))"

Going back to the tissue-paper objections i mentioned above, the one exception that strikes true for me is when Armand tells Louis that he's lost control of the interview. What control? What control, babygirl? what are you trying to control about this interview? what is the goal that isn't being achieved rn? Are you worried that Daniel seems Jaded and Cynical and Unimpressed nowadays? Are you worried that Louis does not seem to be selling the Allure Of Being A Vampire as effectively as he did back then and that Daniel is not going to beg for it like he used to? Armand is so used to being around people who NEVER EVER CHANGE in hundreds of years and so maybe he has forgotten that mortals do change actually. Oh no. Science experiment cannot be replicated. Results are going awry. PANIC.

this would also explain why he keeps explaining himself to Daniel, censoring the diaries, and lying about his involvement in things. could it be that he thinks Daniel won't play along with what he's supposed to be doing (ie: being deeply into him) if he knows upfront that Armand is Fucknuts Crazy?

that is where he is wrong tho. Daniel thinks fucknuts crazy is irresistibly hot. Daniel "I want BOTH [to survive AND the book] >:\" Molloy, aka Daniel "YOU BOTH FUCKED LESTAT? :DDD" Molloy aka Daniel "Fascinating Boy" Molloy loves mess. he loves mess. he's an investigative journalist who interviews KGB agents and the most dangerous people in the world because he's an adrenaline junkie who sincerely loves the thrill of hanging out with people who might kill him. He has been chasing that high since 1973 (and I use that phrasing intentionally). Every time Armand tries to control the narrative and woobify himself and act like he's not absolutely insane bc actually he's innocent and blameless, he is shooting himself in the foot re: the pursuit of his endgame goals. And that's extremely funny to me. Bc Daniel's love language is "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU [enraptured, intrigued, captivated, fascinated]"

and in conclusion, that's why they're the ship of all time, ur honor. defense rests.

(will this make coherent sense once i'm not sick anymore? idk.)

[teeth-farie]

Forty Year Old Virgin

Johnathon Ohnn/GN Reader

Notes: virginity, null spot, hole fingering, dry humping, clothed sex, kinda tribadism, spit, alcohol, spot being pathetic, 3.5k

☞. . . Seems like I’m back from my little hiatus!! I actually started writing this fic yesterday and it’s the FASTEST I’ve ever finished one. I blame the spot server I’m in

Johnathon Ohnn is thirty-eight years old. He knows this because he always liked celebrating his birthday, even if they got less eventful over the years. He still enjoyed the candles and the cake, he still enjoyed how his family would come together to sing for him and how his coworkers would sign a group card. 

Johnathon was thirty-seven when the collider exploded. He didn’t realize his birthday had passed until he looked at a calendar. And really, how pitiful was that? No candles, no cake, not even a sloppily signed card. It wasn’t until now that he realized how much he craved normality.

It wasn’t long after that he met you, significantly younger and full of spunk. It made him feel a little youthful again, like he was back in that old dorm room at the shiny age of twenty. Admittedly he didn’t do as many fun things as you did at his age, he mostly studied and contemplated taking Adderall to get through his finals, but he digressed. 

But observing you made him realize just how many things he missed out on during his youth. Sure, he sneaked a couple of his dad's beers as a teen and broke some college lab equipment he wasn’t supposed to be touching, rebellious things like that, but that wasn’t truly living. 

Before, he thought his accomplishments would speak for him; his doctorates and files of studies, his collider. But now, as he watches and listens to the dramatic reenactments of your late teenage hood and early adult life, Johnathon begins to realize maybe science isn’t the end all be all of his life. He realizes that he never went to any parties in college, he never had a quarrel-filled romance his parents disapproved of, he never traveled outside of the country aside from work—and as his eyeless gaze flits downwards, taking in the sight that is you in incredibly short shorts, he realizes another thing. 

He’s never had sex, either. 

It’s not that he didn’t want to have sex, because he really desperately did, it’s more like he never got the chance. Between his academics that shot straight to the workforce and his lack of genuine attraction to anyone around him, it got put on the back burner. 

But now it’s all he can think about. 

He thinks about it when he watches your hands gesture wildly, the way they look so agile yet sturdy. He thinks about it when your shirts are low cut or rising up your midriff. He thinks about it when you stand close to him and all he can smell is you. He thinks about it when your hips shimmy to a song you like. He thinks about it when-

Ahem. 

He thinks. A lot. 

Johnathon has never had a quiet mind, that much is true. He’s never figured out whether or not it was a good thing, but considering how much material his brain has given him for lonely nights, it can’t all be bad. 

Well. That was before the collider blew his dick clean off too. Which was another thing on his long long list of ‘Is living still worth it? I’m not too sure.’ (Except now he finally has a pro on that list, thanks to you.)

He can’t help but feel a tad bit jealous, however, hearing you talk briefly about past flings and relationships. Although he couldn’t exactly distinguish whether or not he felt jealous of your experience, or jealous of the men in your stories. He knows he could be better, even if he had virtually no experience to go off of. Despite it all, he still thinks to himself that he could make himself into someone you wanted, someone good for you. (Though he does also wonder if that’s perhaps his newly inflated ego talking.)

Johnathon sighs and holds his head in his hands. His hand briefly falls through the hole in his face and comes out of his thigh. Regardless of what he thinks could happen and what could be, he knows deep down that you couldn’t possibly be attracted to him. Still, a man is allowed to dream, right?

…

As it turns out, dreams do come true. 

Or at least a drunk, sloppy version of them. 

To be fair, Johnathon didn't think he still could get drunk, so it wasn't his fault that he was a bit heavy-handed with the bottle. It didn’t help that you were so influencing either, all too eager to dump the rest of your bottle down the hole in his face just to see where it’d go. Apparently, liquids dissolved down quickly in his voided body before they could emerge out of another hole. So, he drank. He drank because it was the first time he could feel any kind of normalcy, he could feel like he was human again. Unfortunately for him, he's still just as loose-lipped when drunk as he was before the collider incident. 

You swirl the foamy remnants of beer in your bottle, watching it swirl through the brown glass before swallowing it down with a tip of your head. Johnathon watches the way your throat bobs as you swallow, entranced. You breathe out, satisfied, and set the bottle down on the coffee table amongst all the others. 

“Y’know,” You begin, leaning back against the couch cushions, legs curled up comfortably to your chest. “You’re not as bad looking as you think.” You’re squinting your eyes a little at him, as if you were examining his body. “Lotsa people are into your kinda thing.”

Johnathon’s face hole constricts a little as if he were narrowing his eyes. “My kinda thing? What’s that supposed t’mean?”

“You know! Like…like not human looking.” You’re still looking at him, grinning, fingers picking at the hem of your pajama pants.

He makes a sound like a scoff. “That’s not really a compliment…”

You whine in subtle frustration. “I didn’t mean it like that! I meant like, you have different kinds of qualities. Good qualities.” You poke your finger out at him, jabbing his chest. Your fingertip sinks into one of his inkblot holes and it gives Johnathon a feeling that he knows he’ll be thinking about later tonight when he's all alone. You replace your finger to actually poke his chest now, the smooth, almost rubbery skin of him. He shivers a little nonetheless. 

“What…” he swallows thickly. “What kind of qualities?”

You continue to idly run circles over his chest with your index finger, humming softly to yourself. “I know the regular things, like how much of a good listener and talker you are. You know lots about stuff. And you also are like, super eager to please. That’s gotta be a good quality too.” 

Johnathon looks down at your hand, his black little heart thumping in his chest. It’s almost too intimate for him to bear. 

“Oh! And your holes!”

“My…my holes?”

“Yeah, I bet you can do some crazy things with them.”

“Oh god–” He nearly chokes at the thought running in his head.

“Yeah,” you continue, pulling your hand back to yourself. Johnathon hates how it makes him feel lonely. “I once met a guy who had crazy holes, haha, you could fit a whole fist in ther–”

“OH wow, really?” He quickly cuts you off, his paper-white face flushing a dull blue. He flaps his hands a little, as if it could cool down both his flustering and spiking jealousy. “I don’t think you should k-kiss and tell, right? Isn’t that a thing we’re not supposed to do? Kissing and…telling?” God, he really wants to know what it’s like to kiss you. 

“Oh, c’mon! I know there has to be at least something you’ve done that you just gotta talk about. What is it, huh? Weird partner? Did they have a weird fetish?” You gasp suddenly. “Oh god, a pregnancy scare maybe?…pregnancy fetish?” 

“No, no, none of that!” Johnathon waves his hands out in front of him rapidly, hoping to quell your questioning. “I’ve never uh- never really–”

“What, are you vanilla? Usually, nerds are like, SUPER kinky–”

“I’ve never had sex!” Curse him and his loose lips. 

The air goes still amongst the sudden silence and Johnathon begins to regret ever speaking. Actually, scrap that, he regrets ever being born. Well, it’s actually not like he really had a choice in the matter, but that's beside the point.

Then, you snort a little. “You’ve gotta be joking, right? Aren’t you like, forty?”

His face hole shrinks down nearly to the side of a pinhole in both embarrassment and frustration. “I-I’m not forty! I’m thirty-eight! A-and besides, lots of people don’t have sex until they’re older! Or at all!”

“Oh my god, this is like that one movie, what’s it called, uhh,”

You tap your chin, completely ignoring him.

“I should have never said anything, I’m such an idiot—“

“No, don’t say that!” You poke his chest again, whining when he recoils from your touch. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make fun of you, I’m sorry.”

Johnathon huffs, grabbing one of the half-full bottles and dumping it down his face hole. It scrunches slightly in what you’ve begun to assume is swallowing. You pout and scoot up closer to him. “Johnny…” 

He chokes a little, his gangly body going stiff. “Y-yeah?”

You grab his face, fingers pressing against his pale, rubbery cheeks. “You wanna do it?”

For a moment, Johnathon feels like the world has gone still. Everything is muffled and slow as the realization dawns on him. “Wuh-what?”

“Do you want to have sex with me?” You repeat, squishing his cheeks after each word like you were making him say them too.

“Yes! I-I mean, I would really like to, you’re so pretty, b-but uh, I’m a little, hah, how do you say it, ohmygosh this is harder than I thought it’d be! Uhm!” He flusters and rambles, hands flapping in front of his chest, and you’re just waiting. You’re looking at him with lidded, bedroom eyes, and Johnathon thinks he finally understands the meaning of that word. 

“I don’t have, I don’t have a penis!” 

A beat goes by, and then another, and he begins to feel like he blew his only shot with you.

“Do you have a vagina? It’s not an issue for me, I wanna fuck you either way.”

Jesus Christ, you are going to kill him. 

“I mean, I don’t have anything.” He breathes out, shoulders deflating. “The uh, the whole collider thing got rid of it all.”

“Oh man, that’s awful.” You pat his shoulder, looking at him with sympathetic eyes. “But, y’know, the offer still stands…maybe we can get a little science-y and figure out how to get you off, eh?”

Johnathon lifts his head and finds you grinning at him. “Science-y?” He repeats, his face hole crinkling like a smile. 

“Yeah, dude! Science-y! Hypothesis! Theories! Quantum holes! Your holes!”

He snorts and it leads into a laugh, a deep belly laugh that he hasn’t been able to do in a while. And really, why the hell not?

His laugh dies down when you get closer, straddling his thighs and seating yourself down in his lap—and god, he can feel those short shorts he loves riding up your thighs and wrinkling against his skin. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.” You croon, leaning in and nudging your nose under his chin. If Johnathon still had a dick, that would have sent blood right down to it. 

His inkblot holes quiver amongst his body, undulating and jumping across his skin like microscopic particles, bouncing against each other under a microscope. Your face gets closer to his, lips hovering over the entrance of his face. Gently, curiously, you purse your lips and kiss the voided space. It’s almost as if there’s a thin membrane separating the outside world from the inside of him, cool to the touch and like bubblegum stretched thin. The membrane melds against your lips like it’s kissing you back and when Johnathon shivers, it puckers and purses. 

His hands tremble, hovering above your hips and thighs, as if it’d burn him to touch you properly, despite how much he craves it. 

Your tongue drags over the edge of his face hole and Johnathon practically whimpers. You’re humming softly, one hand idly stroking his arm as the other feels up his chest. He used to be a tad bit insecure about his pudgy torso, but with so many spots, he had other things to outweigh the worry. But now he can’t help but hold his breath, waiting for your approval of his body, the kind he so desperately needs.

“Cute.” You say mostly to yourself, dipping your fingers into a hole in his chest. He sighs out heavily in relief and pleasure, his head thumping back against the edge of the couch. 

“How’s this feel?” You poke and prod into the hole, pressing past the same kind of membrane as his face. Vaguely, you feel your fingertips come back out of another hole, but you don’t focus as much on that part. 

“Good,” Jonathan answers curtly, sucking a breath through his nonexistent teeth. When he exhales, it's shuddery and almost pitiful. “It’s good, it’s like- like there but not,” 

“So you can feel it? What if I do something like this?” Curiously, you curl your fingers in the empty space, and a fuzzy feeling coats your skin as if your fingers were pruning yet stayed completely dry. He yelps loudly, his body lurching and he finally grabs onto you. His fingers dig into your thighs on their own accord and you are absolutely delighted with it.

“Oh god!” He cries, his thighs shifting and squirming under your lap, and you start to feel something poking at your ass. You give a confused hum, lift your hips and look down. Nope, he still doesn't have a dick, but the empty space between his legs has seemingly swollen into a small, adorable bulge. Johnathon breathes out heavily and follows your gaze.

“Wow, that’s so cool…” You reach down between your laps and grind the heel of your palm against the bulge.

He gasps sharply. “Oh, fuck me!”

“Yeah, that’s what I'm trying to do.” You snicker impishly. You observe the way the squishy bulge flushes with color around the surface, almost like a blush. “I bet that feels really good, huh? It’s kinda like you have a really big clit. Sorta” You squish it in your hands and he shudders, shoulders tensing and inkblot shrinking. “Hey, you know what would be fun?”

Johnathon feels a little loopy, his stomach filled with butterflies and his brain thoroughly mush. He considers this endeavor so far to be successful considering the fact he didn't think he still could  feel pleasure. But here you are, proving him wrong once again. 

“Wh-what would?” He finds himself asking, rutting his hips up into your hand like a depraved little thing. 

You don’t answer verbally yet, just sit back down on his lap and rock your hips against his. “If you fucked yourself like this.” Your fingers curl back into one of his holes, running up and down the edge of it. Johnathon melts, blubbering out nearly unintelligible pleas. 

“You can do it, right? I’ll keep fingering you if you hump me like a dirty dog.” 

And oh, that does things to him. He’ll…have to address that new kink later. 

“Yes,” he gasps, grabbing on tightly to your hips and canting his hips up, grinding his bulge against your sex. “Yessss!” He can’t help but cry it out, his smooth head burrowing itself in the crook of your neck from the sheer intensity of it all. The heat of you is almost unbearable on his body, inside his holes. And he really is panting like a dog, he’s humping you like he actually has a dick to work with, like you could grab him and stroke him until he was a weeping mess. 

“That’s it, you don’t wanna be a virgin anymore, right? C’mon, show me what you’re made of, you little nerd.” You’re cooing to him like it’s praise, and with the way you’re stroking the inside of him, pressing your fingers past that membrane and curling until the fuzziness is almost unbearable, you might as well be.

Johnathon moans wetly against your neck, legs widening and hands holding your hips down firmly as he ruts. He grinds his aching core against you, practically delirious and melting with every saccharine whisper in his ear. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you hear him say, muffled against your skin and devious delight spreads through your entire being. You hook your fingers into the hole of his face and he cries out, a debauched “Ah! Ah!” as you lift his head up. His inkblot holes shiver violently, and you hold his face in your hands like he’s your entire world, like he’s the only thing that matters to you.

And then you lean in, holding his face so carefully—

And spit.

The man below you gurgles, your spit falling down the hole in his face as a viscous glob tasting faintly of beer. Johnathon thrusts his hips up once, twice, and he’s cumming. Nothing comes out of him, but you swear you can see the holes of him drooling, dripping liquid dark matter that hurts your eyes a little to stare at too long. Pleasure blooms in you at the sight and feeling of his incessant rutting, your hands petting his head as his first orgasm in so long washes over him.

And finally, he slumps back against the couch, trembling under you, the surface of his face flushed with color. You lift yourself off his lap, your shorts still wet with your own arousal, but you’re not done with him yet.

“It’s no good to leave your partner high and dry, you know?” You tease him, and the realization dawns on his faceless face. 

“O-OH! Oh, I’m so so sorry! I-I didn’t mean- that wasn’t my intention at all! Wh-what should I do? What do you like? Oh god, I’m so sorry—“

You quiet him by lifting his gangly legs up, exposing him even further. “Don't worry about it, it’s your first time! That just means I’ll have to use you.” That evil little grin is back as you brace one foot on the floor and the other on the couch cushions, slotting your hips against his. Poor Johnathon is practically folded in half, one leg hanging over your shoulder and the other dangling uselessly to the side. 

You don’t waste any time either, you get right to it, hips thrusting quick and hard against his over sensitive bulge. And oh, how he squeals. He’s always been a talkative man, but he never could have anticipated being this vocal. 

“Uhgn! Hah! Mmm-mmph! I-I can’t! S’too much, too much!” He babbles on, sights locked on how your hips connect with his, ruthlessly grinding and rutting and it reminds him of some kind of wild animal. 

“You can, huff, take it. Jus’ a lil more,'' your head hangs low between your shoulders, arousal twining together deep in your gut. Johnathon feels it too, and he feels it tenfold. His body feels like it’s on fire, steadily submerged in pleasure until he’s burning alive in it. He can’t take how you look above him either, so goddamn ethereal, the dim overcast of the tv lighting you from behind like a digital halo, as if you were an angel sent to soothe him after such chaos. Johnathon was never a religious man, but for you, he thinks he could be.

It only takes you a little longer, already so wound tight from before. He’s dangling on the precipice of release again, delirious with lust, clinging onto the back of your neck and tugging you in.

You find your face inside of him when you cum, and somehow the deprivation of sensory makes it all the better, colors popping up in your vision like synesthesia. You can feel his thighs tighten around you with his budding climax, but you can’t see, and you already know how you regret that. You suppose you’ll just have to overstimulate him again one day when he can’t hide himself from your view.

Johnathon goes limp and you’re finally able to pull your face from the inside of his, the dark matter sliding free from your skin like an unsticky slime. It’s weird, but oddly refreshing.

Cum stains the inside of your shorts but it’s the last thing on your mind when you take in the visual that is Johnathon. He practically glows with post coital bliss, seeped back into couch cushions without the tension you’re so used to. 

You let his legs fall back down, slumping into the seat next to him. He hums softly in delight, kinda loopy, entirely pleased. 

“So?” You question him, idly stroking his soft chest. It’s sweaty in its own way. “Was that good for your very first time?” You waggle your brows at him and he snorts, albeit a little weakly.

“Incredibly so. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so good in my life.”

You clap happily. “And you’re no longer a forty year old virgin!”

“I told you I’m NOT forty!”

[uchihaharlot]

Hey there! Love your work and if you're still doing requests, I've got one for ya: a hot, sexy threesome between a female reader, Itachi (loooove him) and Shisui. I'm imagining a competition angle where they've both been pining after the same girl for a while and she likes them both too, but can't choose (and I mean, who could, right? Lol). Eventually, someone (probably Shisui based on my own interpretations of his personality) decides that choosing sucks and sharing is caring, leading to super hot sex 🔥

Ooooo deary,

You speak right to my soul. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fantasized being the center of an Uchiha pissing contest. I’ve always felt that love is kind; love is free and love is patient.I’m hikjackjng your request a bit, I’ve had a draft for several months. There is no real competition here, but extremely hot solicited sex and yes. You are correct, Shisui is one hundred percent the purveyor of pleasure.

It will be soo worth it though; there is a second part to this — written by @shisuis-left-nipple, my draft is also beta’d by her as well — thank you my little Shisui harlot. I dream nothing more of being an Uchiha sandwich on a daily basis.

I’ll forefront this by saying there is mentioning of Shiita. Nothing overtly intimate between the two, but it’s undeniably there and at the back burner. Though you are the main focus of this event, I do apologize to the people who haven’t eaten the forbidden fruit.

NSFW; all out Uchiha fuckfest; overstimulation; multiple climaxes; fucked stupid; mild Shiita.

Yea I thought about this for a while. How did you even get in this situation? Probably met at the spring festival and all.

Since, in my au head canon, they foiled the coup. Shisui lives, Itachi rules the coop. Feel free to ask me about exactly what happened — there is so, so much in my one brain cell.

Itachi is now clan leader these days. Shisui is his right-hand man. They've grown out of that phase of just the two of them. I know it's not everyone's cup, but they definitely fucked and now that they're adults and have clan responsibilities, growing out of that phase.… though sometimes they share a girl here or there.

So, here you are at the festival. Looking so gorgeous it's damn near criminal. The spring festival is held in the Uchiha district this year — Shisui called it reclamation day. As part of the planning committee sent by the Godaime, you get to enjoy all the hard work you put into decorating their little corner of the world and Shisui is grateful.

I mean really grateful, his cock thanks you too. Your guys’ budding romance starts out slow.… lol, ya whatever that means in Shisui’s head.

Shisui is the extrovert while Itachi is still a bit shy and reserved. (This might get confusing because Izumi obviously hadn't died, but let's just say well.... I think most of the Uchiha believe in free love. At least the younger progressive ones. It keeps the curse of hatred at bay and sex is free. Love is kind).

Who in their right mind wasn't fucking one another in that gorgeous clan of men?

Everyone was.

This event really turned out, ‘the Uchiha are eternally indebted to you for your hard work' says Shisui. He's the charmer — the concierge of bedroom antics. The proprietor for drawing the women into the sheets.

It doesn't take Shisui long to make fucking shit out of you a habit, upheaving your feels and all. Just casually, no big deal. Starts asking questions after a hot session, of course he came to you during lunch. When he has a craving, the man is insatiable. You mention a few taboo things, maybe binding, nothing too extravagant or out of the ordinary. But he is calculating — ever the entrepreneur, ‘how can I give this girl the most beautiful experience of her life?’ He thinks.

Shisui drops the threesome paper bomb in your lap and you’re like — ‘uhhh….yea, sure. Why not but, with…who?’

‘Well Itachi, of course.’ Just so damn casual like it was a regular Tuesday and he hadn’t spent the last half hour rearranging your guts.

Cue blank screen syndrome, ‘what?’ As if waiting for the room to read itself, ‘is this….something you guys do….regularly?’

‘Yea, sometimes. Just so happened to tell him about this woman who has me in a chokehold. Stealing my soul and that her beauty makes the sun ashamed to shine.’ That sort of Casanova type shit, sick as cancer. Shisui was undoubtedly winning this match.

It serves your desire on a silver kunai. The wet mixture the two of you had created rehydrates and Shisui takes the opportunity to fuck you again, slower — deeper. Asking if you’re interested mid stroke, whispering filth in your ear as you start to come undone. Sexual coercion at its finest. You’re so aroused at the thought of this situation you come hard when he mentions some quip about being a double stuffed bento box.

The good, good Itachi is so prim and proper. He hosts a mini dinner, and you’re sort of sweating, uncertainty beckons you. What the hell is going on here…..it’s mildly unsettling at first, but Itachi refuses to fuck a woman he doesn’t know a little bit about. You all three enjoy Itachi’s over the top meal and the conversation flows. The awkwardness melts away and it isn’t long before Shisui takes off leaving you two alone.

Itachi takes you out to sit on the enagwa for tea. He is such a gentleman to consider you this way. While Shisui preps their sanctum, Itachi’s lips make his first impression, and boy it's hot. Not that Shisui wasn’t the connoisseur of making out himself, but Itachi’s kiss is gentle — light. Soft as petals that feather and cradle yours, making you embarrassingly breathless almost immediately. He wants to make sure you're comfortable with this whole situation and Shisui always finds his chivalry adorable, but you can't talk Itachi out of it. He has to do this. It sets the mood and also lowers any preemptive warnings that you might have, since this is already a new thing for you, there won't be any silly toys. Just pure unadulterated pleasure and free love. Once you spend about a half hour lip locked with Itachi, he's going to lead you around the house. Takes you to a room on the back side that’s dimly lit. Starts kissing you in the room behind closed doors when a small gust of wind comes at your back — Shisui. Always one to make an appearance.

Another set of strong hands are at your back. While one wraps around you from the front, the other from the back. Your senses are already in overdrive, Shisui is the impatient one while Itachi likes to draw things out. Shisui hungrily kisses down your neck and Itachi is just swallowing every soft sigh from your lips. Shisui's hands lift at your shirt, and you thought this through. Some cute lacy see through bra that catches Itachi off guard. Has his sights zeroing in, seemingly devouring you through the material.

Shisui wants the bra off, but Itachi has to remind him who the boss is — using that big ‘fuck you’ energy out of nowhere. Shisui just rolls his eyes, a small glint of the sharingan in an exaggerated attempt to look annoyed but not really — fine, so be it. Itachi can have his portion of you but, either way, a candle can burn from both ends if it's double wicked and there is so much of you to explore, top to bottom.

Shisui kisses down your back as it arches, his hands resting on either hip when he crouches. Itachi is nipping and rolling your nipples through the lacy bra. He absolutely loves the temptation of it and maybe even stole a glance through red spun pearls for later review — yep just know that they are going to be recording this for their own personal collection. (Let's touch on the sharingan for a second, I truly believe that it's emotionally charged. If something feels good, it's out in the open. Big bad and red, like an eye erection or some shit lol. Spinning wildly absorbing collective imagery to database — consider it similar to how pupils dilate when it sees something it likes).

Shisui's already got your pants down. He's so hard, Itachi's exceedingly hard too but he takes forever, so Shisui just starts undressing him too because what are friends for? Everyone needs a little help from their friends. You couldn't be really sure, but you’re positive that Shisui may or may not have kissed the tip of Itachi's cock and licked the excitement off, but all you really could hear was his laugh.

Your pants are shucked and tossed aside, Shisui's got you lifting each leg over his shoulder, he's buzzing and wants to start making you moan. Itachi is just following along for now as long as Shisui doesn’t touch his portion of you. Suddenly, you’re slightly lifted up. Looking down you see Shisui sitting on the ground, his arms holding you up. That shit eating grin filling his face as he peers up at you. Then Shisui’s face at your sex inhaling and exhaling hot and breathy, you sit on his shoulders while he holds you at your lower back. Itachi laughs at the audacity of that man, but he knows how insatiable Shisui is. He wants you dripping down his face, chest and eventually his cock.

Itachi finally removes your bra. The sensations are tantalizing — you got one that's slow and sweet and the other that's too fast for his own good. Shunshin no Shisui never could live life in the slow lane. So just like his namesake you're already one and now a second orgasm deep on his mouth. Your hands, well you didn't know what to do with them. ltachi guided one to his shoulder and the other to rake in Shisui's hair, which instantaneously made Shisui groan on your sopping mound, his nose rubbing in the cleft of your heat and his tongue rolling over that deliriously sensitive patch of nerve within your sweet seam. Prodding you, drinking you in and leaving you full-mouthed whimpering.

Once you've been properly worked in, Shisui stands, leaving you at his mercy high in the air. You yelp and cling to him, so this was the actual strength of a renowned shinobi. He lays you so gentle and sweet like on the bed. And yes this time, you saw what you saw, Itachi languidly strokes Shisui's cock before your eyes and you're like what in tarnation — but it was hot because Shisui bit his lip and looked at you like James Dean with big puppy dog reds. They would tease one another here and there and it would absolutely fan the flame between your legs.

Shisui goes over the many ways this could go down and you're like...

‘I'm just here for the ride. Two against one, does it really matter what I want?’ And they both laugh; how adorable because yea, you're right. They're doing it the way they want and Shisui grabs a few things. Lube, leg spacers etc. but you're like ‘uuhhh leg spacers??’ That's when you end up on top of him turned around, your back to his chest and your legs hung over his knees.

All for your consideration and comfort, he's not one to take liberties, not yet. You’re spread open like the world's finest charcuterie board. Itachi's eyes populate and spin red. 'Gorgeous.’ Cause you are, not a damn thing wrong with you, especially from this perspective.

Shisui's hot breath is at your neck, kissing you all over. Not an inch of skin that his lips could reach is untouched. Neck, ears, shoulders — nipping the space between your shoulder blades. Really a pleasure king for you.

Itachi, this man, may not look like much to the naked eye, but he's that and more. So much more, kneels between your legs and just devours you. Like a fucking goddamn goddess, his lips make praise to your sopping cunt. That damned nose, rubbing it all up in your clit while his tongue is gently teasing your slick. You've never had someone be so attentive to you, and while you're distracted in pre orgasm build up, Shisui is administering a severe amount of lube to Itachi's hand. A grand distraction to addle your mind a bit more.

You've already left your consciousness in the sixth dimension and your soul in the 9th circle to hell. What's something a little deeper? As you climax for maybe the sixth time now this evening, Itachi's slim fingers prod at your uncharted asshole. Oh dear. You've not ever experienced ass play. This is unfortunate but also exciting. You moan treasonously and can *feel* Shisui smirking as he kisses and nips at your back. One of his hands splayed across your stomach. Pressing as you climax hard. Itachi wasn't rough, but he wasn't sincere about knocking on the back door.

‘My apologies' Itachi says when you chirp a little bit over it. Gentlemanly as he is, he's ravenous now. And you can't really be sure, but there is more squelches and a brief motion outside your visual perception.

Shisui says some shit like, ‘breathe for me baby’ through bated breath and next thing you know. Itachi's lubed up Shisui's lovely fat cock and is attempting to breach your second entrance. Oh, mama Kaguya! You were a bit selfish when it came to relinquishing control and Shisui offers you some advice, 'look at me gorgeous.'

It’s in this moment you fully understood what Shisui meant about being a double stuffed bento box, he's only sunk about four inches of his cock in your ass and it's not entirely unpleasant, but new. Your neck is craned in a searing kiss with Shisui, him rocking his hips gently until you're comfortable. Itachi toying with your clit to acquiesce the intrusion. Only when Itachi’s mouth sucks on your bud does it then feel really good.

The intake of air to your lungs as an entirely different type of roaring climax, in a whole new group of muscles, doesn't seem to fill you with enough air to accommodate the salacious inconsolable loud moan that escapes your lips. Shisui gently pioneering slow purposed full-length thrusts into a hole that was once too tight for two fingers.

After that, all he has to do is sit pretty. Itachi takes over after you have a few more orgasms, like what, 9 or 10 now total? If you tried to count, just give up. You're done physically, mentally and emotionally at this point. You've left your soul in their vision for it to never be returned. Completely dominated and owned.

But they're Uchiha. They know the effect they have on people. Itachi puts his hair up a little tighter in a bun. Such a cutie, he slowly strokes himself watching as Shisui has his round. Then the room goes still, all you can hear is Shisui's heavy breathing in your ear, as he’s had to hold back quite a bit. You're so taut around him, he almost busted a nut and unfortunately for him, the second Itachi stretches your weeping and already swelling cunt, Shisui does cum — poor bastard. But his best friend makes sure to angle his slow strokes downwards so that way he gets a little bit of friction and as a double whammy the mere feeling of Shisui pulsating and coming inside of you is like an intermittent vibrator, so you climax, full force. Resting your head on Shisui’s shoulder, he kisses your cheek as your eyes roll shut, and you babble like a cute idiot.

So here you are, hot sweaty and now gagged on Shisui’s fingers as he shoves them in your mouth. Shisui didn't necessarily go soft, the overstimulation of you pulsing and continually on edge keeps a lovely semi at his disposal. Itachi's got your arms wrapped up and set behind Shisui's head, his lips tease at your nipples. He is the slow and steady sensual man. You moan, Shisui moans. Everyone is moaning, it's a cacophony of gasps and sighs. Itachi's is just enjoying being the one in charge of you both, then Shisui starts hitting you with some katon heated dirty talk.

'Such a good girl.’

‘You're choking my cock so well.’

'Another one already?'

Just hot talk and even a bit of teasing. Since he's like buckled down for the ride now, he just gets to experience all the pleasure without much work, but he does make sure to suck at your neck, leaving a few marks on your back too. He's considering that maybe you're the girl for him. With his best friend's approval of course, this is just like a clan initiation at this point. Itachi would let you marry Shisui if he really hard pressed him enough, but Shisui feels deeply, this type of connection only comes once in a life and out of the myriad of females they've shared (which isn't many to be honest) you're this Pandora's box that has so many different things about you he already loves.

Someone is falling hard.

Itachi is of course enthralled with your breasts, they're perky, beautiful and each nipple is gently switched between his lips, pert and sensitive. Though he would turn up the heat and use a little bit of that Uchiha fire to warm them up, only to change the sensation and make you writhe. Slowly pumping himself into you, calls you ‘princess,’ of all things. So old school, Itachi started out quiet but when Shisui is kissing one side of your neck, Itachi is sucking and nipping at the other. All timed of course; right as you orgasm again. Always some sort of over stimulation going on and — hey wait a minute! When did Shisui start playing with your clit? You don't know and don't care because this next orgasm was the most intense yet.

And you squirted all over Itachi's cock, raining down on Shisui's, he couldn't help but start to move his hips a little. The contrasting thrusts sending you even further spiraling.

'Are you ok y/n?' A playful jab at your wavering consciousness by Shisui in a deep raspy whisper. You're catatonic.

An Uchiha flesh-light now. Thank the gods you're on the pill. Just the smell of their musk, power of the gods and that smokey katon heat would one hundred percent have you ending up pregnant and Itachi has big people issues right now, he can't have a kid just yet. You might even just become the wife to both of them. Though Shisui is greedy, possessive with what's his. Itachi has Izumi, but that doesn't mean you couldn’t take part in their secret swingers group.

Here you lie between them, filled up tight to the brim. Shisui has definitely cum at minimum three times, his seed seeping out your little bottom hole. Itachi isn't really that much into multiple, he enjoys perpetually edging the hell out of himself and right when he is about to cum, he slips out. Let's Shisui pound you a few good times and thank gods you have a clean booty hole. Itachi slips him out of his new claimed territory and by gods, there is that lovely Shisui cock filling your warm worn-out cunt. So thick and creamy with his seed, just slips into your tight seam. Slowly thrusting into you, he peppers kisses down your left cheek as Itachi takes a breather. Whispering how much you mean to him, so precious and his. Somewhere down the blurred vision to keep your eyes focused, Shisui is comfortably situated back as your butt plug. Time has escaped you, it all just cascades quickly.

Itachi lifts both your legs under Shisui’s *arms*, oof. Spreading you further, nearly to your ears. Folded like a lawn chair, a personal favorite to both. Shisui locks his hands over your sternum and holy hell this man is strong. You moan when Itachi slips back into your tired cunt. You're still so snug and wet though, the two of them each swing their hips in tandem; you weren't expecting this. All that heavy breathing, encouragement from Shisui and maybe a few a 'good girl’ from Itachi here or there. You're stretched to the limit. Can feel their cocks rubbing against one another through that thin layer of skin that separates your two channels.

Shisui's the first one to bust… again, lucky guy. He's had about five maybe? And Itachi reams his slender hand around your neck. You're so far spent; incapable of an orgasm, beyond belief overstimulated to the point that you're not sure if it's pleasant or not anymore. But it's hot, Shisui biting your shoulder, Itachi's grip tightens a little. He's a bit perturbed you've reached your limit before he could cum, so yea.

Tsukuyomi induced orgasm for you, honey.

Red spun pearls lull and bend your subconscious, all he says in the echo chamber is 'cum.’ Much to your surprise, you do, several times more. All over him as he deposits the hottest load of baby gravy into your cunt, making sure to fuck it in you. Tapping it against your cervix like it was some sort of keg tap. Just knock knock knock genetic coding at your womb. But he apologizes for getting so aggressive once he drops that mild soporific genjutsu and Shisui is trying to not snicker at your disheveled face.

Now honey, you've had a rough night. Let's talk some after care. Lots more kissing, worshipping your amazing body for all the shit it's just been through. Wrapped up like a cocoon and carried off into the main portion of the house.

What do you want? Tea? A movie? A bath?

You can bathe with both of them. Or alone. Whoever you choose. They are definitely going to make sure you are treated with the utmost care and adoration the Uchiha have to offer.

Do you need your leg muscles rubbed? They did go numb at some point. So, you have your bath, Shisui is there while Itachi makes tea. Shisui is such a gentleman though, washing your back. Asking if you want to wash your special areas yourself, he feels like maybe they just violated you, but you laugh out loud at and kiss him softly. 'I got exactly what I asked for.’

And he smiles the full length of his mouth. Such a handsome guy, the bath is rather quick. Itachi's readied the tea, and you can have your own room for the night, but like... ‘what if we all just cuddled and slept in the same bed.' You speak.

‘Hot damn, yes that too,’ Shisui quips. You're like a loaded canon and he is absolutely pulling the trigger finger on that.

Itachi nods and smiles, ‘ok.’

So, you have your tea, maybe even watch a movie but girl you are dead on your ass. You pass out within the first twenty minutes, Shisui finishes your tea and carries you to bed. Gently stationed between them, you just sleep so peacefully and serene.

Yep, and then when the morning comes, it's breakfast time.

[suzukiblu]

Day seventeen of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

“I think it's pretty normal to give someone a phone when you want to talk to them,” Tim lies. Bruce gives the other Bats burners sometimes, though. And also communicators. And Robin’s loaned plenty of allies communicators before, including Superboy. So it's normal in their circles, whether Kon actually knows they're both in said circles or not. 

“. . . I like the green one,” Kon says after a moment, which is a little bit of a surprise. It's a nice sort of deep, leafy color, Tim guesses, but he would've expected Kon to go for black or red or blue; maybe yellow. 

He wonders how green Hawaii is, come to think of it. 

And how much green Kon regularly sees these days, living underground in a lab. 

“Okay,” he says, then gestures towards the phone case display with his smoothie. “Let's get you a screen protector and a case too, just in case.” 

“You don’t have to,” Kon says. “I mean, I am gonna have my TTK on it.” 

“Yeah, but that only works if nobody knocks it off the table or something when you’re not holding it,” Tim says. “Besides, better safe than sorry, right?” 

“Um, okay,” Kon says. Tim leads him over to the phone cases, and Kon glances them over indecisively, clearly paying more attention to the price tags than personal preference. Tim decides distraction is the better part of valor, in this case. 

“I don’t recommend anything superhero-themed, for the record,” he jokes. Kon snorts. 

“That’s called a feint, thank you very much,” he informs him mock-primly. “Nobody’d think a superhero would actually have the balls to go around with a superhero-themed phone case.” 

“They’d think Superboy would,” Tim says in amusement. 

“. . . okay, fair,” Kon allows, making a face at himself. Tim laughs. 

“How about that one?” he suggests, pointing towards the second-most expensive one on the rack–so Kon will know money isn’t a concern, but also so Kon won’t realize he’s specifically doing it to make sure he knows money isn’t a concern. 

“It looks like a tire tread,” Kon says wryly, which is a fair assessment. It’s one of the heavy-duty cases, so it’s pretty bulky as it is, and the pattern on it is a little tire-like. 

“The ones down here have glitter, if that’s more your thing,” Tim replies in amusement, pointing again. 

“Glitter is more my thing,” Kon says, leaning over to peer down at the indicated row. Tim probably should’ve expected that response, considering, except also he would absolutely never have expected Kon to willingly admit to liking glitter. At least not without being concussed first. “Hmmmmm.” 

“That's a nice one,” Tim says. Kon’s looking at a green and blue case with bright gold glitter swirled all over it in abstract designs; it looks a bit like ocean water, if you look at it the right way. It’s definitely not going to be anywhere near as durable as the tire tread one would, but Tim isn’t particularly concerned about that anyway. He was gonna get accident insurance no matter what. Statistically speaking, Kon will probably go through more than a few of these. He hasn't had the same phone for longer than three months since starting up as Robin. Something always seems to happen to them. Usually a supervillain. 

“Too bad they don’t have anything with a cute little goat on it,” Kon jokes as he straightens back up, regrettably letting go of Tim's hand to take the green and blue glitter-case off the wall. “You know, commemorate our first date and all.” 

“That was not our first date,” Tim says, mildly disgruntled but mostly flustered by the idea. “I'd have planned a date a lot better than those morons planned their dumb heist. And bought you something from the gift shop, if nothing else.” 

“Could've just kept the goat, I guess, but Superman would've made me give it back anyway,” Kon muses idly as he looks over the case in his hand and takes another sip of his smoothie. “This is for the right model, right?” 

“Should be,” Tim says, though he double-checks anyway. “Yeah, no, you're good. Lemme go grab a clerk so we can get the plan set up. We'll just go through my name, I can probably set up autopay for the bill easier that way.” 

“Um, sure,” Kon says, biting his lip for a moment and then glancing sidelong at him. “So is this our first date, then?” 

“No,” Tim says, though technically it probably is. But given how Kon’s been acting about the idea that Tim would actually be interested in dedicating actual time and attention to him–“I'll take you somewhere nice for that.” 

“Somewhere nice?” Kon says, hiding a very unsubtle grin behind the phone case. It'd work better if his stupid pretty eyes weren't sparkling for it, Tim thinks in resigned accusation. Kon doesn’t ask what “somewhere nice” means, but Tim is already trying to figure out what restaurants he knows that might appeal to Kon’s palate. If he likes Hawaiian flavors . . . there’s some Asian influence in that, right? He thinks, anyway. Japanese, at least. Maybe Filipino? Polynesian? Any other influences or parallel cuisines he’d have to look up to figure out, though. 

Tim knows absolutely no Filipino or Polynesian restaurants, much less actually authentic Hawaiian ones. He could definitely do Japanese, though. Japanese would be easy. Just going to a restaurant isn’t much of a date, probably, and he can’t take Kon on patrol or anything like he and Steph used to do, but they could maybe go shopping in a nicer boutique or something? Or go to a museum for actual entertainment instead of just business, if Kon would be interested in something like that. Admittedly, it’s hard to picture him being particularly into museums as a concept, but it might be worth a try. 

Maybe he’d like the aquarium or planetarium more than something involving art or history or science, though. Those are a little cooler than just wandering through a bunch of random exhibits, Tim thinks. Or at least, they might appeal more to Kon. The ocean, or stars and planets, or . . . like, whatever, he guesses. 

He’ll have to do some recon, probably. Light interrogation. Figure out what Kon would be the most interested in. 

Or they could just go to the beach. It’d require a little bit of travel on his part, but likely wouldn’t be a big deal for Kon; he could just fly. Though in retrospect Kon’s probably spent about half his life on a beach, so maybe that’s not interesting enough. And the Jersey Shore probably wouldn’t measure up to Hawaii in his eyes, either. 

Hm. Yeah, Tim's definitely going to have to do some recon. 

Tim is possibly putting in too much effort here, considering Kon is going to lose interest in actually flirting with him in about five minutes. Kon never seems to really properly date anyone, as far as Tim's seen; just flirt around a lot. So he should be prioritizing shopping and apartment hunting, really, before Kon gets bored of the flavor of the week and wanders off. 

Tim Drake is not exactly an exciting date, so . . . yeah, Tim’s not expecting Kon to stay interested for long. He’s just got to take advantage of it for as long as it lasts to leverage Kon into letting him buy him that cul-de-sac and go from there, that’s all. Kon seems to stay friendly with the girls he flirts with even after things fizzle out or fail to go anywhere, so he assumes it won’t be any different with Tim Drake. As long as Kon’ll let him keep paying his way, that’s all that’s going to matter. 

Tim is really going to need to frontload that, though. Establish him paying for Kon as the new status quo very quickly and get Kon used to it before he loses interest in him, so he won’t feel awkward about accepting it by then. Or so Tim will already have signed all the paperwork and it’ll be too late for Kon to protest; whichever. 

He’s definitely going to have to frontload it.

[dailycass-cain]

Birds of Prey #12 brings the Cass action to the forefront!

It also gets me something I always wanted to see: Sophie Campbell drawing Cass. But it comes-- with a TWIST!!

We're nearing the end point of this arc, and we get the craziest issue yet of the world hoping. This time the Birds getting "toonnified".

And that is "the twist"

Since I first saw her work on IDW TMNT. I always wanted to see Sophie Campbell draw Cass. Well wish granted this issue. But it's an utterly adorable Cass.

Though, what shall we call this Cass version? Toon Cass? Cass Toon? No wait that one is taken. 🤪

Anyhoot, this toon world feels honestly the most fleshed out of them all. Like it felt there was this underlying unease with each world the Birds visited.

Here this is the first one that feels like a world onto itself. I wonder where this will go with the "final world" teased at the end.

Even though, last issue Cass was put on the back burner, this issue she gets A LOT of focus. So much so I believe this issue she has more dialogue than the prior ELEVEN issues!

Even with all this Cass, all the Birds get a moment this issue. Barda and Vixen get absolute banger moments this issue and their toon designs are just perfection. Likewise so does Sin, and even Babs. Everyone gets something this issue.

And it all starts with Cela walking out, and Cass following. Now I now there was A LOT of shippers jumping onto the two this issue.

So let's dissect the real bonding, and maybe-- it can go to be more?

Writer Kelly Thompson has touched on many dimensions to Cass in the series thus far. Here she digs into the core of Cass: compassion.

A few issues ago, we learned Cela's origins, and last issue put it on the back burner, but this issue we get the forefront as she knows the Birds reunited that time is almost up with her newfound companions and the hope of being free from this prison.

I think Cass can really relate to Cela. That she's stuck in this world, and really is trying to be good despite the world wanting otherwise. Not to mention losing A LOT of sisters?

It sounds FAMILAIR doesn't it?

think Cass relates a lot to Cela and is trying to break that ice with her being there for her. She can see how her body is screaming for someone to vent with.

And well... we get the scene between the two.

Now as to WHY people are jumping on this ship bandwagon so much? Well, when was the last time Cass had an honest to god love interest in the main DCU?

You could say Stephanie Brown (Batgirls 2021-2023). Or... Harper Row (2016).

But if we're going to her honest-to-goodness CONFIRMED she's interested in?

It was Sal from Batgirl Vol. 2 (2009).

It's been THAT long since Cassandra Cain had a CONFIRMED love interest.

I think fan interest in wanting Cass to get SOME loving is WHY we're at this point. The girl deserves it. Though personally I see ANOTHER option (if not Harper), who just happens to show up this issue too.

So I get WHY many shipping vibes are there for Cass/Cela.

But the rest of the issue is Cass coming up with a plan to FINALLY be free while also dealing with Maia problem too.

And here we get our SECOND bit of Cass in the issue.

This and a few other reaction images are so getting memed by us Cass fans. I know it.

But yeah it's a nice "character progression" from someone who told a "bad story" in #1 to now coming up with a good plan in #12.

And the plan even involves a homage to what Sophie Campbell is most famous for. 😁😁😁

You thought I wouldn't notice the streams crossed did ya? BUT I DID!

Birds of Prey #12 is an emotional ride but with a toony twist. It has such a glorious cute edge this issue. And this world with the Birds REALLY clicked. I've gone back to reading this issue more over than the prior bits of this arc.

I feel there's nothing more to say than I'm REALLY curious where this all goes next issue and how this will tie into the Spirit World?

I guess we'll see. Other than, I'm curious what your thoughts are on Cass/Cela?

And are you surprised it's been THAT LONG Cass had a love interest?

*this is me now waiting for comments*

[lawrites]

Just Enough (NSFW)

Jonathan Crane x Plus Size Gender Neutral Reader

You've always fantasized about Jon and his Scarecrow persona...well...what if he felt the same?

CW: dead dove, talk about getting dosed with fear toxin, Jon being creepy and scary, bit of non-con if you look at it but nothing explicit.

-----------------------------

Do you feel a little bit bad that you are attracted to Jonathan while he's in his full scarecrow costume? Well...no...but you probably should, which does make you feel bad.

It's no secret that Jon is a slight man, and his figure, while attractive to you, is not exactly intimidating when dressed in his sweater vests and khakis. But when donning his alter ego? He drapes himself in flowing, dark fabric that hides him, making you see shapes, limbs, even faces where they aren't there. It builds him up, even makes him intimidating.

His fingers are extend into needles which look like claws, to you. It makes you fantasize about how they would feel...tracing along your body...pressing into your skin. And his mask...it's a grim visage with deep, dark buttons for eyes and an eerie smile stitched in blood-colored thread.

All of that together would make most people run, even without the knowledge of who The Scarecrow is. But you? You've found yourself crossing your legs more often than not as he starts getting ready to head out. You usually lounge around, wearing a comfortable set of pajamas and watching him don his terrifying (sexy) garb, trying to babble away about any inane thing so he can't tell how much you want to jump his bones.

Tonight is a bit different. Jonathan doesn't know it, but you have something pretty for him under your usual comfy clothes. He hasn't told you of any plans to go out, so you are hoping that he will return from work, collapse, and let you spoil him for a bit. He does work so hard, and you would love to give him a nice treat. And maybe...you could bring up something you've been wanting to try for a bit.

You return from your daydreaming to your current focus, lazily stirring the chicken stew you have put together and making sure there are no burned bits on the bottom. The slight chill outside is making you feel like you need to take care of the handsome, skinny Professor. He must be freezing.

And with that thought, you hear the jangle of keys being inserted clumsily into the front door. You smile and turn the burner to low heat, giving the stew one last stir and tapping the spoon on the edge before laying it down. You wipe your hands and hurry to the living room just as Jon opens the door.

"Jon! Hi! Welcome back!" You do your best to not immediately run into his arms.

He looks a bit haggard, shaking off the bits of snow from his coat, but he also looks invigorated. His eyes glow with excitement. "Darling!" You blush. "I have had the most wonderful idea for a target for my fear toxin. It must be done tonight but I think-"

You don't catch the rest of his sentence, feeling yourself collapse a bit in defeat. His sentence ends and you manage to get out, "That's great Jon!" Before turning to go back to the kitchen, trying to hide your irrational tears.

It wasn't like he promised to be available tonight, so the only person who let you down tonight is yourself. You shouldn't hype yourself up with plans when you know he has goals that he has to achieve. It's time to start being more realistic, especially with Jon as a partner. He would understand your feelings, but would be more annoyed by them than anything.

As you hear him set down his briefcase and meander around the living room, you let a few tears fall before wiping them away and trying to get yourself in order.

"I-I made chicken stew, Jon! If you want some!! It looked cold out there."

Jon's voice responds, too close and right behind you, "Sounds delicious."

You jump, involuntarily, causing a bit of the hot soup to splash on your hand. A hiss leaves you as the sting registers, reddening the back of your hand.

Jon tuts and turns you around, immediately inspecting your hand gently. He grabs a paper towel and wipes the soup off, holding it up to the light and turning it to and fro. He nods at it, almost to verify that you aren't seriously injured. "I'm sorry, dear, I just wanted to see you a bit afraid." His smile is wolfish. "You know I would never hurt you without your consent first."

He winks, and you can't help the blush that takes over your face. One of his hands comes up to lightly brush your cheek, and it makes you want to swoon a bit. At first, you think maybe he is just trying to comfort you after your injury, but then you realize that he is tracing the tear tracks that must be visible, moving his thumb up and down, his brow furrowing.

"I have to do this, tonight, darling. And I'll be back, don't worry." You can't escape his gaze, and your blush deepens a bit further when you realize that he knows why you are upset in the first place. Of course he does, it's his job to read people.

You nod, still a bit sad that your plans won't work but happy that he at least is acknowledging your feelings. "I understand." His brow stays furrowed, and he opens his mouth like he is about to argue, but you cut him off. "Really! I do. I...I want you to succeed, Jon. Your work is important to you and you are important to me."

He seems to at least be placated by your answer, releasing your cheek and moving to hold both of your hands instead. Silence takes over for a bit, both of you unsure how to change the subject. You start, unsure of what he wants you to do tonight. "Would you like me to stay up? I can wait until you get ba-"

He vehemently shakes his head, cutting you off. "Don't worry, I may be out late. Go to bed at your usual time and get a full night's rest."

He releases your hands from his gentle hold, clapping his own together. "Well! I must have some of this stew and then head out to work. You are right, it was cold out there," he admits with a sheepish grin.

-----------------------------------------

Watching Jonathan get ready to go was even more taxing than usual today, knowing that you had lingerie underneath your clothes the whole time. The temptation to tear them off, showing him what he would miss by leaving you here tonight...maybe timing it so he would be in his full scarecrow costume...

It had you fantasizing and looking off in the distance instead of prattling on as usual. Jonathan may have noticed this, as he reached out with one gloved hand, a needle extending to gently press right into the softness under your chin. Even if you weren't paying attention before, you are now. You try not to breathe too heavily, knowing that even a slight prick could have you seeing visions for hours.

"You'll be good and go to bed on time for me? Hmm?" His voice is deeper, lower, when he's in the mask. It comes out whispered, like he wants you to lean in to hear him and pierce yourself on his needle. Your thighs subtly shift together.

You would nod...but that's probably not the best idea. "O-of course, Jon. I'll go to bed on time, for you."

His needle clad finger retracts, and he reaches over to find his cloak, placing it over his shoulders in a sweeping motion. "Good. I'll be back soon."

And with what seems to be a swish of his cloak, a bathing of your vision in darkness, he's gone.

Thank God.

If you weren't going to get any direct action from him tonight, especially after he seemed to be more loving than usual, then you needed to find relief in other ways before bed. Having his hands on you and knowing that it would lead nowhere tonight was torture.

You hum to yourself, stripping off your clothes and looking at what you had picked out in the mirror. A burnt orange babydoll shift, in his colors. The sheer, silky fabric hits just right at the midpoint of your hips, which allows the tiny panties you had on to peek through. So much discomfort, if you're being honest, was worth at least a bit of enjoyment, even if it's just on your part.

Suddenly a chill moves through you, once you are only in your lingerie. Someone's here, your body is telling you. They're in the window. You glance at the window...and see nothing. Shaking your head and trying to convince yourself not to look, (this is how people die in horror movies!), you walk slowly over to the window to check, pulling back the sheer curtains.

You see nothing there. Chuckling, reminding yourself that you are on the 8th floor and the fire escape is so flimsy you would hear someone breathing on it...you walk away. But the nervousness doesn't fade as it should. It sits, uneasy, in the depths of your body.

It works for you, in an odd way. Maybe Jon had a point about the intersection between fear and pleasure...because your nipples had pebbled in the cold air near the window and the chill you experienced from the fear. It makes them sensitive to the silky fabric encasing your chest.

Finalizing your preparations, you pull back the comforters, set down two massive towels, and turn the lights off, leaving only one lamp on your bedside table.

Settling back against the pillows, you reach for a silky bag you keep in your bedside drawer. The toy encased inside is lovingly maintained, batteries replaced and the outside sanitized after each session.

The bottle of lube is opened by your hands, carefully measuring out a perfect portion and running them up and down the main shaft of the toy. Your mind drifts, already thinking about Jonathan. You imagine it's him you are running your hands over and an involuntary sigh of his name leaves your mouth.

The fire escape creaks.

Ending all prep work as your heart drops to your stomach, you freeze and your muscles stiffen. Carefully placing the toy down, you walk slowly over to the window again, feeling your heart beat in your throat.

Step. Beat.

Step. Beat.

Step. Beat.

Your hands grab the curtain and yank it back, trying to stare into the inky blackness of a Gotham night. And you, again, see nothing. The howling of the wind outside picks up, and your eyes are drawn to a slightly loose panel of the fire escape as it clanks, metal on metal.

You must be on edge tonight, being alone, you tell yourself. There is no reason to think that anyone would be coming for you. Jonathan must just...be in your head. Maybe he did prick you with some fear toxin earlier...or maybe it's just hard for your brain to focus on anything when he's not near.

Tired of standing by the coldness seeping out of the window and hugging yourself to stay warm, you make your way back to your bed. Your eyes fall on your toy...right.

And suddenly, a wave of warmth takes the place of the coldness. You had finished lubing it up before, so all that was left to do was to prepare yourself.

Laying down right in the middle of your towels, you sigh as a hand traces over your chest. You see thin, clever fingers doing the work in your mind's eye.

Jonathan. You sigh again.

The wind howls, the fire escape creaks, and you ignore it. Your thoughts are consumed with your love, instead.

Running your hands down the sheer fabric encasing your body, hearing his gorgeous voice in your mind, "My colors encasing your form...does that make you mine?"

Your hands grip at the softer flesh of your hips like he would, digging your nails in and gasping. "Yes Jonathan!"

Another creak, but you don't even notice it this time.

Desperately, you reach for the toy, surprisingly keyed up tonight and already ready for it. (You try not to think about Jon's theories any more). Pushing aside the fabric covering you, you tease around with the toy and your own fingers for a bit, moaning and wanting to be filled, soon.

You are so, so desperate, that you don't even notice the window opening. Maybe it was the hum of the toy vibrating...maybe it was the expert way that the perpetrator knew the window. But either way, you don't see a shape moving in the dark.

You gently ease the toy in, letting out a groan of Jon's name. "Jon, please!"

The shape gracefully keeps to the shadows, pausing when your groan reaches its ears. It stops, then, watching as you fill yourself slowly, letting out mumbles of nonsense around your pretty sounds.

You get a feeling that something is watching you, somewhere in the back of your mind. But, as you've gotten that feeling all night, you ignore it, favoring the pleasure coursing through your veins as you manage to work the entire length of the toy into you with a gasp.

Deciding that Jonathan would tease you, you let it still for a second, and then your mind imagines him filling you, asking you what you want around your moans.

"What do you want? You are so desperate, I can't understand you. Use your words, darling."

"Jonathan, please, move!"

And just as you begin to pull the toy out of you, the shape pounces out of the dark.

With expertise, the shape finds your mouth quickly, silencing your scream. The feel of its body surrounds you, a cloak and sharp claws are what you feel against your skin as you kick and struggle.

And then, a singular claw finds its way to the soft underside of your chin. Your mind jumps back to only an hour earlier, when your lover pulled the same move...

You pause, for just a moment. "J-Jon?"

A dark chuckle reaches your ears. "Clever mouse."

Expecting him to move the needle away, you are instead surprised to hear his breathing pick up as he traces it down your body, digging into your flesh just enough to not break it. You can't see his actual eyes in his mask, but you notice how his head angles towards where the toy landed on the towels. His mask snaps right back to where that toy was only moments ago. "I noticed, you know." His voice rumbles out.

You are a bit dazed. Pleasure, fear, pleasure, fear, pleasure...it's left your mind floating, especially since Jon is actually here, now. His needle traces over your nipple and it makes you squeak out in response: "W-what?"

Another chuckle, and suddenly you feel the rough texture of his mask against your cheek as he leans in to whisper. "I noticed, all those times you wanted to fuck me in my Scarecrow costume."

He pulls back, and you can't help your reaction to his voice, clenching around nothing and watching his mask angle to take it in. Hoping you didn't somehow make him uncomfortable, after the initial onslaught of warmth from his words, you try to explain yourself, "Oh, Jon, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

He cuts you off by carefully gripping your chin with his gloved hand so his needles don't pierce it, forcing your mouth to meet his. A deep groan emanates from his throat, making him pull apart from you after he ravaged your mouth. "Dear, do not apologize. I am delighted you find me attractive in this form, for you see..."

He rests his chin on your shoulder, hugging you to him tightly and whispering into your ear, "...you are my perfect test subject for a theory about my toxin."

You balk a bit, "T-test subject?" Trying to get out of his hold, he instead keeps you close, chuckling.

"Please, darling, let me explain. For you, at least, I'll need...informed consent." If you could see his face through his mask, you can tell he would be smirking by the tone of his voice. The needle continues tracing your body, moving to your ass and digging slightly into the soft flesh, making Jonathan pause. "God, I've been thinking about piercing you here for ages, now. Testing how the toxin causes reactions when injected in different areas of your... delectable form."

But the needle keeps moving and he continues his explanation, as well. "You have been paying attention to my lectures about fear and lust, haven't you pet?" You nod, unable to use your voice as his needle is tracing up and down your soft side, paying special attention to your hip. "Good." You shiver as his usual baritone deepens, and Jonathan lets out an exhale of air to show his amusement.

"All of my theories are, so far, theories...at least where my toxin is concerned. But seeing you so eager to...what is the term...jump my bones in my cloak and mask made me consider a new experiment." Your whole body is keyed up thanks to the low sound of his voice and his needle tracing the softness at your belly, picking up the silky fabric with it.

"You see, I need to test my theories, and I need a subject that is not only attracted to me, but that I am attracted to as well." His mask nuzzles into your neck, "And you obviously fit the criteria, my pretty crow." His hips press against you from behind, causing you to moan as you feel his cock hardening already.

Another chuckle can be heard from behind his mask, "And you have already given me wonderful notes to start with, haven't you?" He grinds against your ass, making you whimper and causing his hands to dig deeper into your hips, careful to avoid his needles, "Calling my name while so afraid of what was outside your window. Were you really that desperate for me?"

You nod, "J-Johnathan, please! I've been ready for you all night." He groans, and then he suddenly moves your body so you are facing him. When you try to get closer, he once again presses a singular needle into the softness of your chin, keeping you at bay. He pushes up with it, forcing you to look up at him to avoid being pierced.

His voice comes out of the mask, flustered, "W-we'll keep you in the apartment. I don't need anyone else seeing what is mine." The last word comes out in a growl, his needle moving from your chin to the side of your neck. You obediently keep looking up at him.

His voice struggles with the next sentence, seeming to be affected by your gaze. "T-this will give us the best results, and I-I'll start with a low dose." He gathers himself, more sure, "What do you say, pet?"

Your mind struggles, trying to consider what this truly entails. His fear toxin isn't a joke, it has seriously injured people in the past...and even if it is a low dose, you know you'll be out of your mind, not even yourself for a while.

His mask gazes down at you, unfeeling, unreadable, but you can hear his breathing. He's trying to keep it subtle, but he's gasping for air, already desperate for you and this as much as you are for him. And...as much as Jonathan is terrifying...if he truly thinks you are in danger, you have enough trust in him to stop you and possibly administer an antitoxin. It will hurt him, but he will do it. You just have to trust him.

"Jonathan..." You look unsure. He gently traces the needle up and down your neck, making you shiver. "Pretty crow, I need a concrete answer." Convincing yourself, you reach up to grab his hand.

"Yes. I'll do it. Just...treat me gently."

If you could see behind his mask, you would see his face practically split in two by his grin. "Excellent. And don't worry."

You feel the sting of his needle as it pierces your neck. "I'll give you just enough to make you whimper for me."

-------------------

So yeah. uhhhh lemme know what you think lol

[catalinas-cure]

He’s a creep…hes so cute tho 😊😊 (Stalker!Ethan Landry blurb, unfinished!)

A/n: This is unfinished! I’m writing another stalker!Ethan fic that’s a bit different from this one but I decided to just post this one for now

He’s not a creep, at least that’s what he keeps telling himself, he just loves you and wants to protect you. Ethan had been watching you for weeks, he would follow you home every single day to make sure you made it back safe. All of this was out of pure worry for you, all he could think about is what he would with himself if you got hurt. Maybe one day he would work up the confidence to speak to you face to face, but leaving you little notes in your dorm would be enough, for now. He had recently started going into your dorm while you were out, just to make sure you had locked all the windows. Sometimes he’d leave chocolate with the notes he left you, he would watch you through your window when you read them, always happy to see your reaction. The thing he liked about you is that you didn’t seem scared of him or his little gifts, if anything, you seemed to like it. You had suspicions about who your stalker could be but you didn’t think about it too much because you didn’t want to know, the anonymity of the whole situation is what made you like it. You and Ethan had only one class together, Economics. Neither of you paid any attention to the class, you just didn’t understand it and Ethan was too busy watching you. He swore that he would talk to you one of these days, he would wait for a partner project and ask you to do it with him. Fate had other plans. Chad, your mutual friend thought it would be a good idea to introduce Ethan to the group, not knowing about his growing obsession with you. Ethan couldn’t believe his luck, he wasn’t ready yet, he thought that you would know he was the one watching you the second you saw him. There was no way he could get out of this, Chad had already said that you two seemed like you would get along, he decided he would just try to stay away from you. Ethan decided to leave you one last thing before he had to see you on friday night, he left you a necklace with your inital on it, it was test. The necklace was very nice, you could never justify the price for something so simple but Ethan has no problem with spending money on you. He writes his burner phones number on a card that he slips in the bag with your necklace. You’ve always wanted a Tiffany necklace for as long as you can remember, you couldn’t believe it. You opened the turquoise bag, taking out the necklace and Ethan’s card. You thought about it for a moment, was it safe to reach out to someone who had been breaking into your apartment and stalking you for weeks? Well, if they were going to hurt you they would have done it already, you thought. Just before you were about to call the number, Chad calls you.

[parkminijiminie]

This fandom is fucked now. No one comes forward to correct anything about the translations. I do believe that op was lying about the translations now. People told her in comments too that she was changing the subtitles 2 days later and lying but it just irritates me so much that no one comes forward to give the exact correct translation who knows Korean too...lol she wasn't even coming forward by herself to tell those who are saying she is lying to confront them. If she's lying... someone should come forward to tell us that who wants to know and don't understand the language. That op was also a jkkr. There is no one on twitter on any social media who is ot7 and a true person who can give us the correct translation without any manipulation?? It sucks. No one you can believe really. They all are manipulators according to who they ship and it makes you feel like a puppet when you don't know the language.

( i just wanted to know bcz I'm curious otherwise I don't think it's gonna change anything when jk also said...."we wouldn't met either if it's not for this show..." So I don't think a line will change anything when he literally said this next)

I agree on this. I have many asks in my inbox about the translation, but I don't know what to tell you guys. I don't know who to trust, and I am not a Korean speaker.

The official translation was: "When you were busy and I was free, you never called me. When I was busy and you were free, I never called you. " Which means they didn't meet up because both of them didn't put the effort. To which JM replied: "I called you."

Since JM said he did call, that led people to believe it was actually JK who didn't stay in touch, which makes JK's previous statement like he was trying to make it seem like both of them were at fault when in reality it was more him.

Now, if we are to believe people that the translation is wrong, things do change somewhat.

People are saying JK actually said this: "When you were busy and I was free, you didn't call me. When I was busy and you were free, you didn't call me. " It sounds a little bit confusing and like he is repeating himself, but in fact he is trying to point out that whether JM was busy or free didn't matter, in either case Jimin didn't reach out to him.

This translation actually makes a lot more sense in the context of everything else we saw at the time - JM working and hardly mentioning JK. JK alone at night and always mentioning JM.

Both translations mean that they didn't look for each other a lot, but in one case, it was a mutual fault, maybe more on JK (because JM said he called) and in the other case, JM was the one to blame. I am sort of inclined to believe the new translation as it makes more sense with everything else. It would explain JK's body language and attitude in the car. He makes sense for him to be more abrasive if JM had put him on the back burner for months. He seemed a little bitter.

One more thing that sort of proves it to me is the fact that JK said with a serious face that they were supposed to meet up for a drink, to which JM replied with a laugh "staff like this happens". It leads me to believe there was, at some point, an arrangement to meet up, but for whatever reason, JM canceled it, and it never happened. If you look at JK's face at that point in the conversation, he definitely looks peeved. More than once, he sounded accusatory to JM. It seems like JM called from time to time (JM said that he did), but not enough for JK and it didn't lead to anything more.

When JK said, "we wouldn't have met if it wasn't for the show." Everyone took it as confirmation that they didn't want to hang out with each other, or JK didn't at least, but why would JM travel across the world for a little weekend if this was true? Why would JK agree to it this proposal so out of the blue amidst his crazy schedule unless he wanted it (or was forced by someone, but JK is a guy who can't really be forced into things)?

To me, when JK said they wouldn't have met, it sounded more like he meant given the schedule he knew was ahead of him and JM's own ignorance of keeping in contact. I think both of them realized this physical distance wasn't doing them any favours, and since it was JM who was maybe more at fault for it, if we believe the new translation, it was also him who decided to resolve it by taking a chance and going to NY.

When JM said the "this is why I came", I believe he meant exactly this. He knew it was time for him to do something or they would have drifted seriously apart. Especially that by this point in time, JK shedules were just beginning and MS was coming up, and even if they were already thinking about enlisting together at that point, which is debatable, they didn't know for sure. From JM POV at the time JK was getting busier, MS was approaching where they could be separated for 2 years and their relationship was in danger, so the first chance he actually had and was free, he acted.

And it seems this was exactly what JK was waiting for. That's why he responded with "I know. You're here. You're here. You're here. Finally".

[alexiswritingstuff]

Just wanted to let you know that I've been binge reading all of your writings and I love them so much, keep up the good work! :)

I know you might have a lot of Gus requests, so it's okay if you put this one on the back burner for a bit. But I read the "Not So Scary After All" work and I was wondering if you could write a sort of sequel to it?

Maybe Jesse keeps trying to tell GN reader how obvious it is that he likes them. How he's seen him try not to smile when talking to reader, the softer tone of voice, things like that.

Reader obviously doesn't believe him and thinks that Gus is just being nice to his employees, especially the ones that are responsible for the cooks.

Anyways, after a few days of Jesse pestering the reader about it something happens to make them realize he might be right. I was thinking maybe they would make another mistake with the cook and Walter is there to see it. Maybe he gets mad, a little TOO mad, and Gus walks in 🤭 Or anything else works too! I just love the premise of a protective Gus that doesn't like to show how protective he actually is

First of all, thank you for the comment about my writings, I'm glad you have enjoyed them so far! Initially I didn't think about writing a part two, so I hope this does it justice, as well as that I hope it was what you were looking for!

Thank you for sending this in!

Not so scary after all. 2/2

Pairing: Gustavo x gender neutral reader.

Other appearances: Jesse Pinkman, Walter White.

Warnings: arguing, walter being a douche.

also be aware of spelling mistakes, or other errors. I do read these over but I can tend to miss stuff either way!

A/N: my brain has been fixated on other characters recently, so if these guys seem ooc then that may be why. It's hard to write scenes where gustavo is interested in another person because we barely get to see that in either show, so I also hope my portrayal of him just generally feels correct.

I hope you enjoy!

more Gustavo fics.

Taglist- @sukunamybeloved - @viviennemuerte - @miwagila - @marksassybanana

previous part.

It never mattered how many times you had gone through the same routine. Surprisingly, considering your line of work, waking up in the morning was always the most jarring part. 

You could’ve had a great nights sleep, not woken up at any point, had no distractions or noisy neighbours. Yet the second you were in that car to get to the laundromat, it was like you had to force your eyes to stay open. 

Which was apparently the same for Jesse too as there was a series of mumbles and grumbles that would fill the car every few seconds. 

Each time you spared a glance to the passenger seat he would be leant further and further into window, his head bobbing whenever there was a difference in ground level or direction of the wheels. 

It had you amused, but also a little concerned, “Did you wake up too early, or too late?”

Seeking no comfort from the hardness of the glass, and after his temple ended up smacking right into it, Jesse got himself to sit upright in a speed that closely resembled one of those stairlifts. 

He groaned, having to make consistent attempts to keep his body from just slumping all together, “Both?” His hands raised to his head, the sides of his fingers beginning to rub at his eyes as if it would rid them of their tiredness.

In all honesty, outside of the cooking sessions and other shenanigans you found yourself in, you and Jesse never really... hung out. There would be times where you had lunch together, or had to show up to his house if there was something to drop off.

But that was mostly it.

And there wasn’t exactly a reason as to why. You had absolutely nothing against Pinkman, it was like the opposite. The more you spent time with him, the more you felt like some kind of guardian watching over some kid. Even if he also was an adult.

“You had breakfast, though, right?” Your gaze was trained on the lane ahead despite your ongoing conversation.

You had just turned onto a state road, meaning that, regardless of it being early in the morning, people were up and about. Trying to get to their jobs.

It always made it seem busier than it was.

At first, in response to your question, Jesse simply emitted another mumble of something. He was thinking, the intensity in which he rubbed at his eyes increasing for a moment, and then his hands dropped. “Oh,”

“Shit, I don’t... I don’t know.”

You supressed the urge to sigh. It had already happened a few times. Depending on what he did the night before, there would be some mornings where his mind was rattled enough that he would almost forget where he even was, so.

You came prepared. 

“Well, I guess luck is on your side today.” you commented, flexing your fingers against the grips of the steering wheel, “There should be a sandwich or something in the back.”

By now Jesse’s head was leaning into the headrest, definitely having the same problem of trying to keep his eyes open like you did. The heat outside probably wasn’t a helpful factor either. “Seriously?”

You didn’t want to take your attention off of the road. The cars in front were starting to slow, and you needed to keep note of the distance from the ones at the back. “Check.” you told him, adjusting the rear view mirror for better visibility.

Jesse sort of rolled his head to the side after a moment, his chin almost knocking into the bone of his shoulder as his gaze cast onto the few items that were in the back seats.

He lazily blinked for a good few seconds, his eyes trying to adjust to the redirection of a sunlight beam. And then he saw it. Right in the middle.

A brown bag.

“No way.”

The next move he made was so fast that the seatbelt strapped around him had immediately stalled against his body, attempting to keep him in place at the assumption of sudden danger.

But that wasn’t enough to stop him at all. 

He pushed against it once, then twice, and then one more time before simply manoeuvring himself around the belt so that the top half would basically be protecting the car seat instead of him. 

When Jesse leaned himself between your seat and his, it was so much harder to keep your attention on the road. He was reaching out, arm extended as far as it could go and waving almost madly, until eventually, he grabbed the bag.

Jesse practically had to shove himself backwards to sit upright again, but soon he was able to resume his previous position with a big sigh of relief. Your head could only shake. 

Now, there was this sound a rustling paper that filled the entire car as you moved onto the accompanying lane. Something that was definitely not supporting your concentration. “Damn.”

His voice was muffled, the noises coming out of his mouth barely even sounding like a word which in turn made you send him a look.

He had finally gotten to the sandwich. “You make this?”

“Nah, I had too many errands to run.” you informed with a slight sigh, finally beginning to let yourself relax in your seat, “Would’ve done it if I had the time, but I think that is better anyway.”

Jesse didn’t even have to speak for you to know his response. He had taken another bite, nodding his head just slightly in proper approval. If his eyes were closed it would look like he was in pure bliss.

After relentlessly chewing for a hot minute, he attempted to swallow it down, “I didn’t-- I didn’t take you as an early riser.” Yet his voice was still almost unintelligible.

“Well, believe it or not, other people are in fact active in the mornings.” you pointed out, slightly leaning to the side for further emphasis on who the comment was aimed at in a way that had Jesse rolling his eyes. 

You swear you saw a clump of crumbs fly from his mouth when he next spoke, “Yeah, yeah-- You sure your too many errands wasn’t just you making sure that you looked good for a certain Fring?”

Your head snapped in his direction in a way that had looking back to the road immediately after, and probably almost gave you whiplash. But you saw it either way.

That damn grin had taken over his lips.

Again. 

“Please don’t do this right now.”

Jesse had to clear his throat to stop himself from almost choking, “Aw come on, man, it’s-- There’s nothing to be ashamed of if you did.” Your head shook like it had done before, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

It was always so stupid to you how the indirect mention of someone made your body react the way it did. You were only trying to get to work, yet your heart was acting as if you had just gone for a run. 

“But I do.” The look you sent Jesse almost had him wanting to put his hands up if he wasn’t so focused on his sandwich, “What? I do-- Look, I may not have that much experience, or whatever, but there is totally something going on.”

“Definitely on his end at least.” He moved the sandwich around in his hands, trying to locate the best part to bite as he had finally swallowed the last one, “I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve seen him give you the look.”

Your eyebrows furrowed within seconds, “The... The what now?” You tried to turn in his direction for confirmation, but he seemed a bit too busy to notice your movement.

Due to a junction being up ahead, your foot had moved onto the foot break, watching the lights fully change the closer you drew.

“The look.” Jesse finally repeated, his mouth full all over again in a way that needed real concentration to understand the words coming out of it, “Yeah, he gives you the look, like, all the time.”

Soon, the car in front of you had fully stopped, and then so did yours as you put it into first gear, keeping your feet on the first two pedals.

The moment the car had stopped moving, you turned to Jesse within seconds, eyebrows furrowed more than they had ever been. “What is the look?”

Pinkman gave you a simple glance at first, thinking that you were just messing around as he kept munching away... But no matter how much time went by, you didn't move. Still watching him.

His chewing slowed when his head turned back in your direction. He just blinked for a moment. “You don’t know... You don’t know what the look is?”

Your chin lowered, your eyelids slightly doing the same, “Does it sound like I know what it is?”

“Okay, but... how?” Despite Jesse’s previous complete interest in his sandwich, it lowered with his hands to his lap. There was utter confusion written all over his face while he remained smacking away. “How do you not-- How old are you?”

Your attention went to the road ahead all over again, the back of your head sinking into the headrest as a huff left your lips, “Older than you.” you pointed out, trying to sound more authoritative, but that just seemed to spark an already lit flame. 

“Then how do you not see it, huh? I mean, even I can tell that it’s pretty obvious-- And not just because of the look either,” Jesse fully twisted in his seat so that he faced you, “He like... He wants to actually, like, talk to you, and shit-- I’ve seen him smile-- genuinely smile at you, okay?"

“Now, if he was doing it to me? I would... Man, I would be terrified-- But it’s you, it’s... different.” You were trying so hard not to shake your head again, but Jesse’s voice practically being right in your right ear was making it a lot more difficult. “It’s something else--”

“It’s not...” You regripped the steering wheel, “You do realise we’re talking Gustavo Fring, right?” Your head attempted to turn back to Jesse, though your eyes were trying to keep the attention on the road as one of the final vehicles seemed to cross through the junction. 

“Exactly!” Jesse practically threw his arms up, almost losing his grasp on the sandwich in the process, “You should be caring about this more than you do.”

Your head shook as your gaze fully went back to the road, your foot readying to release the clutch while your fingers tapped against the steering wheel in anticipation. 

You were trying to find something to zone in on, something to distract yourself from the kid sitting in your passenger seat as he was still eagerly trying to get you to see the things the way he did. But you weren’t giving it to him. 

“Fine then.” Jesse reached behind him, grabbing the top half of the seatbelt, pulling it until it was in front of him again, before he ducked himself beneath. 

“But I’m telling you, Y/n.” It was back, slinging diagonally across his torso by the time he was seated properly, and also by the time the lights had finally turned green.

“You’ll see.”

~

There was something about this day that was starting to feel a little familiar. 

You and Jesse had arrived ages ago. You had gone down the windy red stairs, did the whole thing of taking off unnecessary clothing so that you wouldn’t completely boil in the obnoxiously yellow protective suit you would put on next. 

And at first, once you were all geared up, the two of you stood in front of the machines. Your heads were raised, eyes cast up to the walkway above as you awaited the arrival of your usual partner at their usual time...

But the door never opened. 

There was no proper estimate for how long the two of you just stayed waiting as you had set your watch to the side, and the clock was on the other side of the room, however, there was one thing you knew for sure. Someone was late. 

Eventually, the two of you were trying to compensate, finding something useful to do while giving the benefit of the doubt that maybe it was just tough traffic or something going on that made them lose track of time.

Though, the ability to sympathise got smaller and smaller the more minutes began to turn into full on hours. 

You found yourself at your usual table with your hand supporting the weight of your head, attempting to occupy your mind by looking over the paperwork from passed cooks. A habit that you only recently developed. 

“Dude,” you heard somewhere to your side before there was an exasperated sigh, and a quick creaking of a chair, “What the hell is taking him so long?”

Earlier, Jesse had taken one of the other wheeled chairs from the table connected to yours and had rolled somewhere, enough so that you could only see him from the corner of your eye.

His body was slumped back, the seat beneath him creaking with every move that he made. And considering that he didn’t have anything to do, that was like every. Single. Second. 

He had tried out the difference created when he would shift his weight, tested what it would feel like to have his legs hanging over the left side of the chair and then the right, he had pushed his feet onto the floor to roll himself backwards and forwards against the smooth tiles.

And now, as apparently none of that had seemed to have settle his mind, Jesse had resorted to zipping and unzipping the protective suit he was so ready to take off by now. Over, and over... And over again. “Okay,”

“That’s it.”

The pencil held in your gasp was cast to the side of the notepad, you were barely looking at this point, before your hands moved to the edge of the table so that you could push against it enough that your chair started to roll.

You stood up, winding round the seat that was still on the move as you began to walk towards one of the pathways between the machines. Jesse fully planted his feet on the ground, “Yo, Y/n, where are you going?” 

Your fingers grasped onto the zip of your suit and you yanked it down as far as you could without having to bend for the rest, beginning to pulling your arms out one after the other moments after. 

You moved round that damn settling tank and soon ended up at the wall where you would keep or hang up your loose items. “I...” you began, your voice becoming strained as you bent down to free your feet of those big welly boots, “am going to find out what the hell is going on.”

The squeak of a chair echoed somewhere to the back of the room. “Well, don’t-- Don’t leave me in here by myself.” 

Finally, after one last tussle, your, once worn, protective suit was now sprawled on the ground beside the clothing rack. You moved to your usual shoes, putting either feet in their respective ware before tying the laces to make sure they wouldn’t fall off. 

Before Jesse could even appear by your side to complete the same process, you were on the move once again, directing towards those windy red stairs that always made you feel like you were going to fall up and/or down them. 

“Y/n, wait, dude, wait-- Just give me a minute.” You could hear the hurried rustling of plastic suit echoing through the steps you took on the metal staircase. 

Eventually, when your movements had allowed you to arrive at the cat walk, you found yourself complying to Jesse’s words... While the man himself was still trying, and failing, to get the suit off. 

It gave you a moment to catch a breath you hadn’t been able to take all day. You were stood high, looking down at the problems below, and not drowning neck deep in it like you usually did. 

A deep breath sucked into your nostrils as you let your eyes fall closed, the air of the lab starting to cool the warmth that had festered across your skin--

A sharp whistle squealed through from your left before it bounced around each wall one after the other. 

Your eyes had snapped open as soon as the sound appeared, but it wasn’t until your head had started to turn that your brain realised what it had come from. 

It was the door.

Your body twisted in the direction of the man who was almost stumbling across the cat walk, a series of huffs and puffs spluttering from his mouth that would have you worrying any other day. 

But as of now, all you did was cross your arms over your chest.

“Yo, Mr. White! What the hell took you so long, dude?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he began through a slight wheeze that ended with him doing this horrendous cough. And once he was about three steps in front of you, he stilled his apparently over exhausted body, using a hand to shift his weight onto the railing, “There was... car trouble, and stuff with the kids, you-- you know kids.”

“You would think, maybe, after the first one that it was going to get easier and then...”

In the midst of Mr. White stabilising himself, his head had turned to the right in at attempt to locate Jesse, which wasn’t hard to do considering the fact that he was still taking off that damn suit, to further emphasis his... guilt?

But instead, after he did a sort of double take, he began to slowly face you once again, “Why aren’t any of the machines on, why... Why aren’t you wearing your suit?”

“We were waiting for you. I was just about to try and find at least someone to tell us where you were.”

“Wait... Wait a minute,” Mr. White started, holding his hands up while he took a step closer. “You didn’t start?” His chin slightly lowered in a way that made his eyes peer at you over his glasses. 

“No?” you stated simply, your eyebrows furrowing at the sudden change to his demeanour, “After last time... We didn’t think you wanted us to do it by ourselves.”

“But that was-- That was last time, Y/n.” With every word that the man spoke, his hands rose higher and higher until they were inches away from touching his face, “Do you have any idea what time it is right now?”

The urge to scoff was stronger than ever, and you had to hold it back more than you ever had in your life, “I think I should be asking you that question.”

The man before you began shaking his head in a way that was almost not visible. “I told you... I was having problems with my car.” For a moment his expression remained the way it was, a visible attempt at holding back what you were guessing was anger. 

But then it failed. 

“I have... a family to take care of...” His hands dropped to his sides. When he next spoke the corners of his mouth slightly downturned like there was utter distaste for the words coming out of his mouth, “They are not going to be put at expense because, again, you weren’t able to do a simple job.”

Regardless of how loud it usually was when someone walked up the windy stairs, right now, as Jesse began to do just that, it was barely audible to your ears. The sound fading more and more the longer you stared at the man before you. “Guys, can we just--”

“I am doing my job just fine, Mr. White.” you started up with this lack of emotion to your voice, trying to make it as clear as possible that you wanted to get this over and done with, “We just didn’t want to do another batch all by ourselves, simply, because you couldn’t be bothered to show up.” Though it seemed your mouth had other plans. 

There was something that almost satisfactory when you saw a side of his face twitch. But soon, it was one that ended with this sort of smile curling at his lips, his eyebrows raising more than you had ever seen in your time working with him. “Oh.”

“So, you want me to apologise for making a singular mistake? Is that it?” He took yet another step towards you, “You know what, how about we count how many times you have made-- No, caused, a mistake, hmm?”

You couldn’t count the amount of voices that were telling you to take a step back, to move away the closer he got to stand directly in front of you, “But that wasn’t only my fault-- There’s a big difference between actually trying and just not showing up.” 

Your feet remained planted on the ground beneath. Your arms were held tighter than ever across your torso as you tried to maintain the blankest expression possible.  

“Dude, both of you just... just chill out, please.” Jesse tried to insist as he walked up the last few steps, but no one paid any attention to his words, “We can-- We can work this out--”

“You allowed a contamination,” Mr. White began, narrowing his eyes as if in disbelief, “How did you-- Did they not teach you to read, or listen, to instructions in school?”

“My education has nothing to do with this.” you insisted without missing a beat. And regardless of your attempts to keep your composure, it was inevitable that something began slipping into your voice.

You had been up early.

You had been running back and forth to make sure that certain things were sorted for certain people, had to drive all the way to downtown to pick up Jesse and then all the way back up to get here. To work.  

And then, while at work, you weren’t even able do your damn job because your other partner, that was supposed to be there at a specific time by contract, just didn’t show up. 

Which then lead you and Jesse to have to stand and do absolute jack shit for hours on end. 

Walter just shook his head again, even raising his hands like he was about to shove you or something, though he might have wanted to simply point a finger, “Well, apparently it does, because if you still aren’t competent enough to follow something so basic, then--”

“What is going on here?”

Within the next second, the man in front of you had twisted round in a way that almost gave you whiplash just from watching. He stepped to the side, and moved backwards until he was practically next to you. “Oh, Gus, I, uh... We were just... Slow start.”

But, of course, he was still a little ahead. 

Your feet, however, hadn’t moved an inch. In fact the only move you made was to let your arms finally fall free to your sides as you stared onwards. 

It was Gustavo. He was stood in the doorframe, one hand pressing against the weighted metal so that he had enough time to take in his surroundings. And then he took the final step inside. 

It was only when the door closed behind him that you realised you hadn’t even heard it open in the first place. 

The lab was back to what it had been minutes ago. Silent. No sound at all filtering throughout the entire room. 

Gustavo stilled himself not far from the door he had walked through, but enough so that you could feel his presence as well as see it. His arms were unmoving by his sides, a trait that would’ve carried out through his entire body if he hadn’t started moving his head. 

Like Walter had done when he arrived, Gustavo looked at the room below. He studied it, looked from one section to the other while noting the quietness that was effecting even him. 

And then he turned back to the people across from him, the expression on his face unwavering, “Why is that? There’s nothing in the machines.”

“You know, ex-- exactly.” the man to your side suddenly spoke up, snapping your attention from the other guy you wanted to look at a little longer. “I had... countless problems with a lot of things this morning, and I wasn’t able to arrive on time.”

Walter sort of took a step forward, but instead of what you would naturally think of when someone carried out such a movement, he didn’t properly face Gustavo. 

He stood side on, his body turned towards the machines so he could look at you or his boss with a simple movement of his head. And as of now, you seemed to be his main target. “Apparently they couldn’t be bothered to start the batch themselves.”

“That’s not true.” You mirrored his stance, faced directly towards him, instead of the man who was just trying to seek answers, as your eyebrows furrowed as much as they could. 

Walter tilted his head, “You sure?” he asked, using the most condescending voice that would of set you off had you already lost the grasp on your, slowly dissipating, self control. 

“Yes, I don’t understand--” Your hand rose to your face, fingers pressing into the skin beneath before dragging down to your chin. And then they dropped. You took in a deep breath. “Look... I admit it, sure, we could have started the cook. But.”

“Me and Jesse both thought it was smarter to wait after the previous mistake,” you began, emphasising your point by gesturing to the dude who was now stood behind, and his eyes sort of widened at the sudden attention. 

This time it was you who took the step forward. “But yet again,” You made sure to hold yourself back from blinking as you stared right at the man who was trying so hard not to cut you off, your fists clenched at your sides. “You. Weren’t. Here.”

Your heart was thudding in your ears, a sound louder than any other thing in the room. The exhaustion was rampant through your body, continuously attacking system, and at this point testing your patience that had already become thin. 

The ability to control anything was about one minute away from collapsing. 

“Why were you late, Mr. White?”

When Gustavo’s voice caught your ears, you hadn’t even bothered to look his way despite the fact that Walter did. In fact, he took the chance to move away from you, which almost made him bump into the other railing. 

“Car troubles, and, uh... family stuff, too, you know... all that.” he informed, his voice and the look of his face switching into one that you could instantly tell was the fakest attempt of trying to get sympathy. 

“And you didn’t inform anyone of these... troubles?”

Your head turned in about a second, your gaze snapping to the man who hadn’t moved a singular inch since the last time you properly saw him. His attention was only on Walter, his eyes now slightly narrowed. 

“What...” Mr. White started, the shock clear within his voice and the expression on his face, “Are you... Are you trying to say that this is my fault?”

“I am not saying anything, Mr. White.” Gustavo’s turned in the mans direction with such slowness that had a look of regret taking over anything else that was threatening to appear on Walters face. And once he stilled, he had even slightly tilted it to the side, “I am simply asking questions to understand why a job hasn’t been completed.”

Walter let out this sort of scoff of a sound as he gestured with his hands like before, “Well, then your asking the wrong person, Gus.” 

He pointed towards you, this time not even bothering to look unless it was to make sure his finger was actually aimed in your direction, “They... They have been here for who knows how long, I... I-- I mean, the batch could’ve finished by now, if they just--”

“You are putting the blame... on them?” Gustavo’s voice was low, deep in pitch that it was almost gravelly and harsh to any ears that heard it. There was no direct tone, or emotion clear within it. But paired with the slow step forward, anyone could tell that it wasn’t good. 

“You are putting the blame on a person who was actively trying to solve a problem that you created... because you weren’t competent enough to make a phone call?”

You were use to his intimidation tactics. In all honesty, usually, it seemed even more affective when he wasn’t using them, like when he wore that smile that never really reached his eyes. 

But this...

This was different. 

When Gustavo wanted to intimidate someone, or remind them of their place in the bigger picture. He had relationships to maintain, an act to keep up so that nothing could expose him and/or his business, so he never risked insulting a person in case it would backfire, create unnecessary problems.

Gustavo Fring wasn’t a man who directly insulted someone unless he was going to gain something from it... Well, apparently, until now. 

For the next few seconds it seemed that Mr. White couldn’t find the exact reaction he had. His lips twitched almost every way that they could, his mouth would open and close again and again like he was mimicking a fish, all the while his head began to shake once again, “I don’t... I don’t know what to say-- I can’t... Gus, I just--”

“I have heard all I needed.” There were no movements that accompanied his words. No change to his voice a part from a mild show of a tested patience. Gustavo just stared at the man before him, unblinking, “You still have plenty time to cook.”

“You can’t be serious--”

“That’s what you came here to do... Is it not?” Gustavo pointed out simply, his head tilting to the side in a way that almost made him look like a puppy. But his face said all that it needed to. 

Walter sort of cowered, avoiding the mans gaze as he took a moment to think, “I... I-- Well... Yes, but--”

In about a second, though there was almost nothing displayed on Gustavo’s face, everything sort of... dropped? His eyelids lowered in a way that wasn’t enough to hide his eyes but it was still visible, his jaw unclenched, his lips almost looked like they were turning down the way. 

But again. Not once did he blink. 

“Then cook.”

For a solid ten seconds, there was just utter silence. Someone could have drop a pin on the other side of the room, and it would still echo like any other sound. No one moved. No one twitched. No one spoke.

Walter took in a deep breath, his shoulders deflating when it made its way back out. And then he turned, beginning to do just as Gustavo said this time without any argument.

But the moment you started to do to the same thing--

“Not you.”

You froze. Your body hadn’t even managed to twist yet, so after sending a look to Jesse who sent one right back, you simply rocked back on your feet, resuming the same position you were in before. 

His eyes were only on yours. The first time he had fully looked at you since he had entered the room. 

“We have... other matters to discuss.”

~

After you left the room, it was practically silent when you began to walk.

There was the usual sounds that occurred from the machines within the laundromat, and the workers who you were still not sure knew about the giant meth lab beneath there feet, but between you and Gustavo there was nothing. 

No exchange of words and barely even the sound of your own footsteps. 

He was a few steps ahead of you, which may have been one of the main reasons, as he lead you across the paths that had big machines towering over you on each side. 

There would be a few moments were you had to duck, or even completely manoeuvre, around certain objects that were hung, either needing to dry or they were connected to a moving system that would bring clothes from one section to another.  

You had no idea where you were going. The second the two of you had officially exited the lab, his lips had became sealed. He just started walking, and of course, you only had one response to that. 

Your gaze pretty much remained on Gustavo’s back no matter how far you went, only fleeting to make sure that you weren’t going to bump into anything, as you followed the man in front of you like a lost duckling... Though, you felt more like a child getting ready to be told off. 

Eventually, after stopping yourself from getting caught up in the thoughts swirling through your mind, you found yourself walking out of the big vertical door. The entrance of the laundromat. 

If your heart wasn’t pounding before it sure was now. And no matter how badly you wanted to just focus on the feeling of fresh air after being stuck in an underground room for what felt like, and probably was, about five hours... Gustavo stopped walking. 

He was stood at the edge of the paved platform, hands moving to clasp behind his back as he resumed that usual straight posture. 

Your steps grew slower the more close you got to standing by his side. You wanted to gage his mood, predict what was about to happen or what he was going to say, which was a bit difficult considering that you could only see the back of his head. 

You cleared your throat when you had arrived to the right of him. Your eyes were slightly narrowed, adjusting to the sudden presence of the sun, while you gently leaned back and forth on your feet. 

“Sir, I... I’m really sorry about this... Again,” you had begun, but almost immediately your speech planned in your head seemed to have fallen apart. 

You turned your head to the side, trying to properly convey your apology through your face more than your words. “I know it doesn’t help the business, but I really, really, don’t know why this keeps happening--”

“Y/n.” 

You had already been looking at Gustavo throughout your words. And maybe it was because you were too caught up in your mind, or because originally the man before you had been gazing into the distance with the usual expression that barely gave you anything to work with. 

But now he was looking right back at you. 

“Yes?” you answered subconsciously in a way that had your mouth snapping shut immediately after realising that you didn’t need to actually do that. 

This time, Gustavo’s chin lowered, “I’m not going to scold you, Y/n.” His gaze was the most gentle you had ever seen it, along with sound of his voice. He may have said the words simply, and matter of factly, but his face told you otherwise. 

You sort of just stood there for a moment, blinking at him. “You... You’re...” And then your eyebrows furrowed all over again, your body turning so that you faced him directly, “You’re not?”

Gustavo kept looking at you, and finally, since thatsituation with Mr. White, you weren’t presented with an expression of judgement. It wasn’t a look that visibly told that they thought whatever they were seeing was utter stupidity. 

He took in a breath, letting his eyes fall back on the busy town ahead for a split second, before they were back on your own, “I want you to go home.” 

His voice was lighter, the expression on his face no longer holding the tension that had clung to his skin. 

Your lips parted, even if no sound initially came out. You stared back at him for a moment, your eyes a little wider than they were before, almost unblinking, “Did I mess up that badly?”

Gustavo’s eyebrows furrowed so quickly that you hadn’t caught onto it until he turned his body in your direction, “Forgive my phrasing.” he started, his hands remaining behind his back no matter the change of position, “This is not a punishment.” 

With his next words, Gustavo made sure that you were looking at him, right into his eyes, just in case his meaning was conveyed through his voice, “You are not in trouble for the wrongdoings of another man.”

... Were you missing something? Why would Gustavo take you out of the lab? 

I mean, sure, you made the deduction that not starting the batch might’ve not been such a great idea, and honestly at some point expected to get a good talking too because of it. Maybe it would be the final straw... 

But here you were. Theman himself, the big boss, stood right in front of you. Directly telling you that you’re not in trouble.

“Then... I’m going to have to say that I don’t understand, Sir.” The muscles beneath your brows were getting a good work out from consistently changing between being normal and then furrowed within, practically, every thirty seconds, “We still have a batch to do, a deadline to follow.”

Influenced yet again by a man stood before you, “And who is that for?” 

Your whole body felt like it wanted to deflate, fall limp and just collapse on the ground. This time it wasn’t in anger, or fear, or annoyance. It was because after everything, you could exhale the nerves that had clung to your insides. There was no use for them now. 

You lightly nodded your head, the fact of not being in trouble officially processing in a way that had your gaze lowering, “... You.”

Gustavo wanted to smile. He wanted to display his pride of finally cracking the code that was your mind, having created even a bit of equal understanding, but he could still see the ghost of the previous expression that held your face hostage. The genuine concern over possible harming his business.

And him. 

“I am not asking you to leave because I think that you are bad at your job, or that you don’t do anything for this business-- Because that would be entirely wrong.” he started up with this new voice that was difficult to ignore, “I am simply saying that you have the day off.”

“It is... normal in a workplace, is it not?”

By the time your eyes met Gustavo’s, your brows had furrowed once again, though now, it was for a very different reason, “I mean... Yes-- But not in this business, just...” 

There was a huff of air that passed through your lips. Theexhaustion from earlier was presenting itself back into your system, making the want to talk become a lot less than before, “Let me-- Let me go back in there, we can work, we can... we can get it done.”

Gustavo’s head began shaking before you had even finished your sentence, “I can’t do that.”

“And why not?” you questioned, leaning back slightly so that you could fully take in his demeaner, analyse any look that took over his face, “I thought you said that I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“You didn’t.” he insisted almost immediately, the expression he wore going blank the way it usually did. But now wasn’t the time. “Then...” You took in yet another breath to cut off your words, trying to suppress the urges to sigh, scoff, or the sudden want to raise your voice, “Why?”

To say this day felt long was truly an understatement. Things just kept happening one after the other and still you were left in the dark. No answer as to why things progressed into the situations they had. 

“Y/n, I am not... risking the loss of more time to arguing.” It was like you could visibly see the words he chose to say. The pure caution, decisions careful enough so that he wouldn’t set off the things he could see getting ready in your eyes, “I know that if you go back in there, Mr. White will not... let go. Not unless I place someone in there to stand and watch at all times.”

“All I am telling you is that you are free to go while I... sort things out.” Gustavo somehow made himself stand taller, trying to prove the confidence in which was already heard in his voice and to also prepare for the possibility of you finally reacting in the way that your body had wanted to for hours. 

But despite what he had envisioned playing out, or tried to predict, it was pretty much the opposite. In fact, the only proper reaction to his words was your shoulders deflating, ridding your muscles of its constant worry. 

And then you crossed your arms over your chest, sniffing as you did so, “And what about Jesse... Mr. White? What-- What about them?” you questioned, waiting for the words to settle before you looked back into those other pair of eyes, only to find that the look from earlier had repossessed his face, “It may not seem like it, but I assure you, Y/n.”

“Mr. Pinkman and Mr. White can handle it themselves.”

For the first time throughout the entire day, you felt the want to smile. “Okay then.” You nodded your head once, your grip tightening on your arms as you took a step backwards, “Thank you, uh... Mr. Fring. It seems you have saved me again.”

“Gus. Call me Gus, and please, there is no need to thank me.” Gustavo started up before you could even try to turn in the direction of your car, “It comes under being an employee.”

Your body stilled after about one more steps backwards, your eyes narrowing at the man before you, playfully, “Then how come I haven’t heard you getting protective when someone else makes a mistake?”

Gustavo mirrored the look on your face, “I wasn’t... I wasn’t being... protective?” In his case, however, he wasn’t doing it in a teasing sort of manner, he was just genuinely confused at the comment. “I simply understood the situation and acted accordingly.”

Your arms loosened in your hold until they lowered to your sides once again, “And yet you defended me.” If you were close enough to Gustavo you would probably have started circling him, “Even though I was in the wrong... both times.”

Gustavo unfurrowed his brows, “You weren’t in the wrong just because some man has an incorrect idea of authority… and a very poor concept of time.” His tone was the flattest you had ever heard it. There was no emotion behind it until the words of... slight insult. 

The urge to smile grew stronger that had you pressing your lips together to stop yourself from letting out a laugh. “Still,” Though, after a moment, you managed to compose yourself, “If you hadn’t arrived when you did...”

Gustavo huffed air through his nose, bowing his head a tad before he let it shake a few times. When he looked back up it was clear that he was trying to hold back whatever was wanting to take over his face, but you could see it in his eyes. 

“Go home.”

There was this feeling of giddiness begging to erupt in your chest. It spread a warmth to every part of your body until it was a collective feeling. It caught you of guard, causing the smile you were trying to hide begin to curl at your lips.

So, after a sharp breath and a nod as a thanks, you sort of ducked away, twisting yourself around so that you could make your way towards your car. 

However, the nearer that you got to the vehicle, it seemed there was a thought pushing itself further and further to the centre of your mind. It may have been more of a feeling, as you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted to go back to your house.

I mean, sure, being able to take a nice long shower, grab a bite to eat, and completely flop on your bed sounded... Well, pretty nice actually. 

But the next session for a batch was now going to be days away. 

Days from your work and a certain Fring. 

You had completely stilled about a step away from your car. There was a quiet breath that huffed through your nose, one that only you could hear, “You know what, actually.”and then you turned on your heel, the concrete practically scuffing under your shoe. “I’ve worked for you for quite some time now, and yet…”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been inside your restaurant.”

The man your eyes managed to focus on seemed to be closer than he was the last time you saw him. A fact that made your brain almost completely miss the words that came out of his mouth. “Well, it’s not an obligation.” 

There was something about the look on his face. Something about the way he pressed his lips together immediately after he finished speaking. He may have assured that the visit wasn’t needed, but... there might have still been a want. 

“What hours is it open?” you asked, the sound of your voice almost echoing through the parking area, even if the noises from the active laundromat were louder. 

Gustavo’s head slightly rose after a moment, one of his brows slightly twitching as he processed your question. And then he cleared his throat, “That would depend on the day.” he informed, readjusting the hands he still held behind his back. 

You hummed in response, letting your gaze fall into the distance as you thought.

Honestly, after the past few hours you could barely remember what part of the week you were in right now. So, instead, you thought back to what a usual week would look like. 

What was the day that was perfectly set between the times you would possibly be able to see Gustavo at work? Right in the middle?

“How about Thursday?” you suggested, now watching as Gustavo began to make his way across the concrete, slightly nodding his head, “Then... Seven to ten, I believe.” 

“All right,” you breathed out, the speed in which your heart beat increased the more the man approached. “One less lunch to plan for the week.” You practically gulped as you reached backwards, fingers patting against the cool metal of the vehicle for a moment until they located the handle. 

Gustavo stilled himself about three steps in front of you, the look on his face signalling that he was thinking about something as he wasn’t making direct eye contact, “Actually... I would suggest to come around dinner time.” 

Just as you were about to tug on the handle, your hand froze, along with pretty much every other part of your body. 

The man was now looking right at you, his voice sort of timid in a way that caught you even more off guard. And apparently himself too. “It’s... more quiet.” He cleared his throat, “Less people around.”

Your arm slowly moved back to your side, releasing the warm handle from any sort of grasp. 

There was a fight going on in your chest. A want to give into the urge of running away like you would’ve done in a situation close to this as a kid. But you weren’t a child anymore, far from it. 

It took a good moment for any sound to be able to roll off of your tongue. And as soon as something eventually had, it was like your lungs remembered how to properly function. “Will you be there?” 

You felt younger. The two of you may have been stood pretty much right in front of the other, yet neither of you could maintain eye contact longer than a few seconds before you collectively had to look away, no matter how confident either one of you tried to seem.

Gustavo cleared his throat, though it sounded like it had barely done anything. “I believe so.” he finally confirmed, and regardless of the fact that his voice was still quiet, there was this tone that took over his words. 

“Well, good...” That giddy feeling returned, even if it had probably never left. “I think I probably would still go if you weren’t there, but... it would be a lot less... fun.”

The man before you let the slightest smile curl at a side of his mouth, “Well, we wouldn’t want that now would we?” He sounded more breathy this time, a natural progression from his already quiet voice. But it wasn’t because of nerves, or a reaction of his lungs, which you had initially thought. It was intentional.  

“Not at all.” Your voice in question was more full than his, however, there was this slight whisper to it, as if Gustavo should be the only person allowed to hear it. 

“Then it’s settled,” he began, slightly lowering his head in away that had your back pressing into your car. His normal tone had seeped back through his words like he was back in boss mode. But not quite Gustavo Fring just yet. “How does... eight o’clock sound? Unless you eat earlier?”

Your head shook practically without a second of hesitance. The ability to move your lips was barely thereso you resorted to moving to the side, finally pulling on the handle of your car door until it swung out far enough that you could stand behind it. 

You could see Gustavo raise his eyebrows just the slightest as the door had created a sort of separation, and it had you biting back a grin. “It’s perfect.” you insisted, trying to sound as neutral as possible despite the, possibly, clear ways you felt at that moment. 

And then you lowered yourself into the car, having to slightly shifted backwards a little bit to properly get into the drivers seat before you swung your legs inside.  

Your hand grasped the inside of your door, your fingers making certain that they had a good grip, before your eyes landed on the figure through the glass of the window that hadn’t moved an inch.

And then you smiled. 

“Gus.”

[raayllum]

"Do you want me to wash your hair?" for rayllum?

The Starscraper, despite its intrigue and mystery, has bathrooms like anywhere else, although Rayla knocks first before entering her and Callum's quarters at all.

They'd been given a room and ensuite to share upon arrival, and while she'd blushed a little leaving her parents to come here, well... She was grown and in love. There wasn't much they could say, even if Runaan glowered.

Besides, however much Callum had said he was okay after the de-coining, she knew he'd been quiet and lightheaded. Which was why, after a few seconds of no reply, she pushed their door open and tentatively poked her head in.

"Callum?"

He was standing by the bed, shirtless (she ignored the heat in her cheeks) and turned to the side, seemingly looking at his reflection in the mirror leaning up against the far wall. Even from this angle, circular scars were evident on his upper chest, one looking more like a bite mark near his abdomen—souvenirs from Finnegrin's ship, and Rayla's stomach churned like the sea at the thought he'd ever been in that much pain.

It took a second, but then Callum noticed her, shifting to face her. His new white shock of hair, threaded into one of the locks that curved over his face, hung over his eyes. Another unpleasant souvenir from the de-coining spell. Callum had said the coins had some residual dark magic tainting, that Star magic was ancient and unpredictable—that the white hair wasn't from actual dark magic itself, but... Rayla didn't know how much she believed him.

Or how much he believes himself, given the look in his eyes.

She crosses the room in three quick strides, her discomfort and distraction on the back burner as she places a hand on his shoulder, lifting his face to hers. "Least we match," she says, brushing back the white. His lips twitch. "Were you getting ready to bathe?"

She can't think of another reason he'd be taking his clothes off. At least not one that makes sense outside of foolish, distracting fantasies—

He nods, blushing a bit himself. "Yeah." He rubs the back of his neck, grimacing. The magic had taken a toll on his body too. "Just got lost in thought."

She thinks of how he'll have to reach up and behind if intends to wash his back, or... "I could join you," she says and then quickly clarifies, "to—outside the tub, I mean. To wash your hair. If you want."

Primals above she was such a—

Callum softens and leans into her. "That'd be nice," he admits, even if the flush doesn't leave either of their faces.

She still turns away as he fully disrobes, waiting till he lets her know he's fully in the water, light steam rising from the tub before she turns back around and settles behind the rim on a spare chair. She focuses on washing his hair while he wipes a rag along his chest, pleased when she can hear him hum happily—maybe even murmuring some more of that sweet, silly, Ocean arcanum poetry under his breath—a sure sign that he's finally relaxing.

She brushes back his hair, running her sudsy fingers through the white streak, and he sits up more along the rim, craning his neck to glance at her.

"There's an Ocean poem, y'know," he says, forcing nonchalantness, his fingers tapping nervously. "Reminded me of some stuff I've read about the Moon arcanum. About how water, or the moon, changes, but..."

"It's still always inherently the same," she says, "no matter its appearance?"

He nods. She rinses out his hair and the leans over to kiss his forehead, and then the white streak for good measure.

"I think that's true," she murmurs, "but I think you'd know better than me, Mister Mage."

Callum smiles and then settles under her hands, sighing. "Thank you, Rayla."

She thinks of how he brought her back from the brink, when he was just the ghost inside her head that she didn't want, persistent and caring as always. How could she think anything else of him? How could she offer anything less in return?

She reaches forward and takes his hand, the nervous tapping quelled. "Always."