#and all the others that i know i am probably missing

[tizeline]

TSAU Season 1 Finale - Part 1

It's about damn time I go over the TSAU's version of the remaining season 1 finale, as well as episode 1 of season 2, so HERE WE ARE! I am too lazy to adapt the entire thing into a proper comic, especially considering several plot points remain rather unchanged from canon, so we're doing whatever this format is instead.

(You should read Cell Talk and Gearing Up before this if you haven't already)

But a quick recap, the Gearing Up comic ended with Draxum in the Dark Armour going up to the surface with Mikey to start with the whole conquering humanity thing. Raph and Leo have offically joined Team Good Guys and they, alongside Donnie, Splinter, April, Shelldon and Mayhem went after Draxum to stop his evil plans.

When they make surface, Draxum and Mikey have already started their rampage and are just kinda wrecking the baseball stadium. The Foot are also at the stadium, clearly still expecting The Shredder to show up or something. Team Good Guys (yes that's their name now) figure it's probably good to try to get whatever info about the Dark Armour they can so April and Mayhem teleport to where The Foot are to try to gather some intel that might help them in the fight against Draxum.

Meanwhile, the others start fighting Draxum and Mikey. Draxum is low-key kinda baffled that Raph just straight up switched teams lmao. Leo is one thing, but Raph has always been so loyal and responsible so it's real suprising that he's completely disobeying orders. None of the Draxum family members are really enthusiastic about fighting each other (except maybe Mikey he's kinda pissed at this point) but they engage in battle anyway. Donnie, Shelldon and Splinter are less hesitant about kicking Draxum's ass and don't really hold their punches lmao. Despite that they're kinda struggling considering both Drax and Mikey are so strong, but that's when April and Mayhem teleport back with that useful intel!

What April learned from her intel-gathering is that The Foot think there is some kind of flaw with the armour, like in canon, you know the deal. What differs from canon is exactly how that flaw occured. Turns out that Donnie when he was younger got a little bit carried away with giving Shelldon cool powerful weapons and Shelldon enced up accidentally shooting up the teapot to smithereens, oopsie! Donnie managed to reassembe it before Splinter saw, but with one of the pieces having gone missing he had to sacrifice his Atomic Lass figurine to plug up the final hole (he's still upset about that to this day btw). BUT POINT IS, like in canon this means that the armour has a obvious weakpoint and if they hit that it might be enough to knock Draxum out of the armour!

You know what happens next, they resume the fighting with this new strategy in mind and eventually they manage to get a lucky hit in and as predicted knocking out the Atomic Lass toy causes Draxum to get knocked out as well. Except YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS and you know it's not quite that easy. Lo and behold, the Atomic Lass figurine was the last thing keeping The Shredder from being resurrected, so now that it's gone? Yeah, the Dark Armour is finally completed, it slurps Draxum's life-force or whatever and then spits him out.

The Shredder is back.

... Except not entirely of course, like in canon he's acting like a wild animal attacking anything that moves, but regardless it's still a new threat they have to deal with. With Draxum being so hurt, Leo makes the decision to portal him back home, and to also send Mikey with him. Both because Draxum probably needs someone to look after him and also Leo doesn't really wanna deal with Mikey's attitude at the moment with everything else going on lmao.

From here on out the battle against Shredder begins. This too goes mostly the same way as in canon, Shredder kinda kicks all of their asses before suddenly teleporting away, and then that song and dance repeats a couple of times before Team Good Guys figure they need a better strategy. Splinter brings up how Big Mama would probably have a way to subdue Shredder, only problem is that it's BIG MAMA and he does NOT wanna go anywhere close to her. In canon Leo brought Splinter with him to BM anyway, but in the AU he kinda respects Splinter, or rather Lou Jitsu, too much to force him to come along. Instead Leo decides he and Raph will go to BM for help, while the others keep Shredder from completely wrecking New York.

The rest of the finale will continue in Part 2! (which is coming soon)

[cerusee]

@amedetoiles’s great tags per usual

Lotta takes that are like "Jiang Cheng didn't change his behaviour at all in 13 years, that proves that he doesn't want to grow as a person" and it's like, sorry but why would he change his behaviour when the information that would recontextualise Wei Wuxian's actions and thus lead him to rethink his own reactions was deliberately kept hidden from him? From his perspective, his brother broke all his promises for no goddamn reason, picked a different family over him, lost control of the evil energy he swore he could control, and in doing so caused such a catastrophe that both of Jin Ling's parents were killed. We know that there's more to that story, but he doesn't, and it would be impossible for him to find out on his own because again, everyone involved was lying to him and hiding the relevant information on purpose.

He's told about the golden core transfer like three hours before the book ends, and frankly processes it faster than most people could reasonably be expected to after 13 years of grief and loneliness! "He had chances to improve his behaviour and didn't" HE LITERALLY DIDN'T HAVE ANY CHANCES BECAUSE WWX LIED TO HIM!! His behaviour was completely justified from his perspective and when his perspective is changed, and he realises that what he did was wrong, he's like, SUPER upset about it!

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][exbf!Rex][semi-public][handjob][cum eating][attempted murder][choking for non-sexual purposes][pining][semi-blowjob][facesitting][oral (f! receiving)][missionary][condom][mating press][cowgirl][nipple sucking][i am probably missing quite a few in my taglist but it's 4am and i lost the note that had all my rex people on so :3 my bad][spitting]

"She's his emergency contact."

"Mark, you can't just call a stranger. How— how'd you even know his password?"

"It's just 8-0-0-8-5. It's not that complicated."

"What even is that?"

"It's 'boobs'."

The whispers hush down into a silence as you step into the GDA hospital room, your shoes are soft thuds on the tiled floors. The hospital smells sterile. A mixture of Life Buoy soap and hand sanitizer that makes your throat and lungs tingle and you stuff your hands into the pocket of your hoodie.

Brows scrunched into a frown as you stand beside Rex's bedside.

Your expression is the image of solemnity.

Eyes soft, lashes drooping and pouty lips tugged down into a little frown, your fingers clutching and picking at the loose threads in your pocket.

And a voice is quiet.

"I'm... Uh.. I know this isn't the time but what lipgloss is that?"

Rae's voice is quiet, bespectacled eyes focused on you and that stupidly magnificent gloss on your lips.

"It's... Uhm... 'Coochie Juice'." You internally cringe. "And I took a lipliner that's just a bit darker than my lipline."

"And how did you—"

"Overline just the Cupid's bow, and the curve of your bottom lip. Blur it out just a little, but don't fill in the corners. And then put on the lipgloss."

"Okay, thank you so much."

You go back to staring down at Rex. You never thought you'd see him like this.

Eyes fluttered shut, his head wrapped with blood soaked bandages and an IV drip feeding him fluids. His heartbeat is steady, vitals linked up to the screen beside him and you feel your expression crumple, your hands moving to cover your face.

Choked sobs slip from you and you hear the quiet 'we'll leave you two alone', before the others slip out of the hospital room.

And you swallow, inhaling sharply.

And by natural instinct, your gaze drifts towards where the plug of the ventilator remained stuffed into a wall socket and your glossy lips purse. And you reach for the head of the plug, fingers grasping snugly and you contemplate.

Is it worth it?

He's a hero.

He cheated on you with Eve.

He's a person.

He cheated on you with Eve.

This counts as murder.

He cheated on you with Eve.

Is this what you really want?

That last question stumps you and your hand slips from the plug, and you instead, plant yourself in the seat at his bedside, your eyes teary and your lashes becoming wet with each blink.

"I wanna kill you so bad." Your voice is tiny, cracking as you bring your hands up to rest on him, fisting at the hospital blankets and your vision becomes even blearier.

"You fucking asshole." You sob. "I hope you die. I hope you see the fucking light at the end of the tunnel, before you're dragged to Hell. Kratos style."

Your heart's clenching and you're resting your head on his belly, feeling the way each breath he takes makes those washboard abs constrict and flex. And somewhere, shame's lost on you and you're lifting his hospital gown.

Staring at his abs and the way his muscular hips form that delicious V shape and you let out a low, unattractive sob.

"Why didn't you get ugly?"

You think you're convincing yourself when you see the way the corners of his lips quirk weakly, dimples making a faint appearance in his chiselled cheeks and Rex takes a breath.

"Because..... I could never be ugh—" Rex is cut off, a sharp gasp ringing from him when your hands wrap around his neck.

That tinge of sadness leaves you, and the sound of his voice irks you in a way that's downright demonic, and Rex gasps. His vitals are spiking, and your eyes are narrowing.

"Die, you cheating bast— oh, ewwww."

You grimace at the tent beneath the blankets, lips tugged into a disgusted frown as you glare at him, and emerald eyes peer at you from beneath long lashes. Long, brag-worthy eyelashes that flutter and curl perfectly.

And Rex grins. Cocky and so fucking full of himself.

"Good to know it still works."

And he grasps at your hand, calloused fingers brushing over the soft flesh of your palm, tracing the lines before he looks at you. And God, you lose all respect for yourself at the way your heart stutters, breath caught in your lungs and he sighs.

Soft and sweet.

"Baby..." He murmurs softly. "What happened?"

"You got shot, I think. I wasn't really paying attention after they said you're hospitalized. I blew up a balloon and it made it difficult to listen. But..." You swallow. "In your head. Like, the back."

Rex lets a little laugh bubble from his cracked lips, before he glances at you.

"Why're so you mad at me? What... What year is it?"

His voice is soft, and your lungs constrict.

Before you remember who it is.

"Don't bullshit me." You huff, tugging your hand out of his grasp. "I know you don't have amnesia."

"Ah... Shit." Rex grunts before shifting, resting against the cushiony pillows. "Almost had you though, huh?"

The grin is charming, glinting even and he raises one of those perfect brows as he waits for your answer. But all that leaves you, is a low, annoyed groan. Before you push yourself up from your seat.

"I'm gonna go tell your friends you're—"

"Wait." Rex reaches for your arm and if you wanted to delude yourself, you'd say that you could see desperation flickering behind those emerald pools.

"I— uh..." He swallows hard, and your gaze moves towards where the monitor is showcasing his racing heart. "When I'm out, can we talk?"

You really wanna say no. But...

"...no."

Rex stares at you, a dead stare on his face like he wasn't expecting that.

"I'll just come over anyway."

Your glossy lips part for an argument but Rex looks pathetic enough right now. Tubed up, bruised and beaten.

"Fine." You grumble. "You dick."

And he grins. Dimples showcased in chiselled cheeks and his tongue runs across his bottom lip in an attempt to soothe the cracks and dryness.

"Speaking of dick..." His gaze flits towards the tent in the sheets.

"No."

"Please." Rex begs. "My team can't see me like this."

"Most of your team has seen you like this."

There's a dead quiet in the room, because you're right. Most of the team has seen Rex's dick, if not taken a ride on it.

"Please." Rex breathes out. "Help me out. It's been a week."

You drop back into your seat, rolling up your sleeve dramatically and you let out an annoyed huff.

"You're giving me a handjob, not cleaning a horse's dick." Rex grunts.

"Basically the same thing." You grunt, your hand slipping underneath the covers as you scooch your chair closer.

"So... What I'm hearing is—"

"You're hearing wrong."

"—that you think I've got a horse cock."

You let out a low, annoyed groan, your hand tucking itself beneath Rex's hospital gown, and your hand wraps around the thick base of him. Your eyes shut tightly, and you begin to tug.

Not even sexy stroking, just tugging.

"Ow— open your eyes— ow, shit. What are you doing?" Rex shifts uncomfortably, brows scrunching with each pinch of pain and he glares at you. Your eyes are still squeezed tightly shut, brows furrowed and glossy lips pressed into a thin line.

"Pretending you're Marlon Brando in A Streetcar named Desire." You grumble out and Rex huffs, swatting away your hand.

"Well, he'd never want you if that's how you give a handjob." Rex grunts, shifting uncomfortably and he palms himself through the scratchy blankets of the GDA hospital, his lips tugged into a frown.

"He's dead." You remind.

"Yeah," he scoffs, "and it's cause you can't give a decent handjob."

You purse your lips because you don't wanna laugh at one of Rex's jokes. You need to internally remind yourself that you don't think he's funny and that you hate him, as you cross your arms over your chest, giving Rex a lazy glance.

Watching as he, very dramatically, gathers his bearings.

"So, can you get off your high horse, and give me a proper tug job?" Rex scoffs and you suck on your teeth.

"I don't owe you anything, Rex."

Your brows furrow into a frown and you watch the way Rex stares at you, bringing a fisted hand up to his mouth and he coughs. He coughs like a toddler forcing a cough.

"But I'm sick." He whines softly and you let out a peeved groan.

"You're not sick, you've been shot."

You're griping, complaining but you're shifting, spitting into your palm and sliding your hand back beneath the sheets and Rex's brows furrow, body going slack against the piled up pillows and he shifts.

"Fuck, just like that." He breathes out, hands moving to shift at the covers, his head tipping back when he feels the way your manicured and soft fingertips trail over that leaky divot, his cock pulsing in your hand. And Rex groans softly.

"Missed your tiny racoon hands." He murmurs, and you snort, pressing your face into the nearest pillow, as your shoulders shake with laughter.

And God, Rex would be lying if he said hearing the sound of your laughter wasn't something so refreshingly familiar.

The cadence of your snorts, wheezes that manage to slip from glossy lips and he watches as you straighten up again, swallowing away all evidence of giggling and Rex raises a hand. Moving it to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing along the apple of your cheek.

Your heart begins to pound, the only sound in the room being the ever increasing beeping of his heart monitor, and your eyes flick towards the screen. The beats increase steadily. And you swallow hard.

"Shit, I really wanna kiss you." Rex breathes out. "Can I?"

"No, you're not putting your community lips on me." You scoff, with a snort of laughter and he groans, head tipping back.

"Fuck, why're you so mean?" He rasps out a laugh, his hips bucking into your fist and his eyes squeeze shut.

"Because you cheated." "Ow. Ow. Ow. Loosen the hand, Juggernaut." Rex breathes out, his hand curling around your wrist and his movements stutter when he presses calloused fingers against the warm flesh of your wrist.

Feeling your pulse thrum just beneath his digits, feeling the heat of your skin against his and his dick twitches in your grasp.

Hazy green eyes watch you, heavy lashes fluttering and you take in the bruising on his face. A swollen eye, a cut on his lips, a broken nose. He looks fucked up.

"You know," you lick your bottom lip, "I always thought that seeing you look like shit would bring me closure. But... Looking at you now..." Your eyes soft, your thumb brushing against his sensitive tip and Rex moans quietly.

"Mhm?" He sighs, chest heaving.

"I realise I need to watch you die."

Your voice is eerily steady but it's not enough to make Rex's cock soften, in fact. Calloused fingers dig into your wrist and he looks at you, full lips parted to let out pants.

You know he's just so... Pliable now that he's under a crazy amount of painkillers, but still enough for him to be coherent.

And he's so pretty too. With his pretty emerald eyes, and gingery strands that poke out from where his head's wrapped in gauze.

"Just suck the tip, please." He whimpers.

"No!" You hiss. "I'm not fucking blowing you."

And he whines, letting out an obnoxiously loud cough.

"But I'm sick."

You grit your teeth, eyes flickering towards the door of his room and you let out a huff, standing up abruptly. Your sneakers make thuds across the tiled floor, and your movements are aggressive as you yank the curtains shut.

"I really fucking hate you, Rex." You grit out, plopping back in your seat and the legs of the chairs scrape against the linoleum as you scooch closer, lifting his hospital blankets and you stare at his cock.

Beads of precum rolling down the length, prominent veins protruding from behind the tanned skin and he twitches under your scrutinizing gaze.

"I know baby, and I'm sorry." He pants, shifting with excitement when he sees the way you lean forward, and your glossy lips wrap around his flushed tip.

"Fuck, m'so sorry for cheating." Rex's hands fist the sheets, his head falling back against his propped up pillows and he feels the way your tongue swirls, tracing the veins and your eyes flick towards him.

And that has him coming undone like a fucking ball of yarn.

The way your lashes flutter, the way your lipgloss leaves the prettiest ring around his cock and the way your eyes soften just a bit when his hand comes to rest on the crown of your head.

All of that, has Rex spilling into your mouth. Sweet cum painting your tongue in velvety ribbons and he groans. Low and breathy, and he frowns when you pull away with a pop, your cheeks puffed and filled.

He watches, his breaths bated as you swallow, licking the corner of your mouth before you lift yourself from your seat, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your hoodie.

"I'm gonna go tell your friends you're awake."

⋆⭒˚.⋆🌿🌿⋆⭒˚.⋆

"What are you doing here, Rex?" You fold your arms across your chest, resting your forearms on the windowsill as you stare down at Rex, booted feet planted firmly on your grass.

"And how the fuck do you even know where I live?"

"I used the GDA resources." He calls back, before reaching into his car window, turning up the volume and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Instead, leaning out of the window, eyes glued on Rex.

He healed up pretty nicely in just a week. The only evidence being a scar that bisects his otherwise perfect eyebrows. Voluminous gingerish strands remain pulled back into a bun, his undercut fresh and his trusty face framing pieces remain doing their job.

"I'll stand here every night for the rest of my fuckin' life to prove that I want you back." Rex calls to you, emerald gaze fixed on your form. On the way your pendant dangles, on the way your lips purse. Before he speaks up again.

"Well... Maybe not every night. I got shit to do. But every night this week?" He scoffs. "I'll do that shit."

You try not to snort at the sound of Seal, biting down on your plump bottom lip, as Rex stands with his arms outstretched. Powder blue Henley snug against his physique.

"BABY! I COMPARE YOU TO A KISS FROM A ROSE ON THE GREY!"

He begins to fumble the words, and you can see the frustration on his features, brows furrowing and you snort.

"You don't know the words." You snort, resting your chin in the palm of your hand and Rex huffs.

"Okay, fine." He folds his arms across his broad chest and it's kind of hard to take him seriously with Seal as his soundtrack.

"Of course I fuckin' don't. I'm not a sixty and my dick still works. But you know the words." Rex licks his bottom lip.

"I'm— okay, I know I'm a piece of shit but I'm a reformed piece of shit. I don't wanna die a cheating dick." And he shifts on his feet. "I'm new and improved."

And you huff.

"Yeah, this time you won't get caught."

And Rex glares at you.

"I won't go to prison if I knock the shit out of you." He seethes.

And he lets out a huff.

"Okay, I'm not entirely changed. But I'll make it up to you. I swear on my life, your life—"

"Bitch, leave my life alone."

"Well, I don't want it to be only on my life. You know that's shit's pretty worthless."

And there's a silence between you.

"I swear on Mark and Eve's collective lives."

And you snicker.

Before chewing on the inside of your cheek, watching as Rex shifts around on your lawn and you let out a breath. Heavy and your cheeks puff out when you do.

"Please." His voice is quiet, gaze lowered. "I know I'm," he huffs, "like.... A dick, or manipulative or a serial cheater and like, self-serving, judgemental and I—"

"You're ruining the moment, Rex."

And he sighs.

"I just," he swallows hard, "I don't wanna fuck up again. Not with you."

There's the softest silence between you, and you watch him. He looks so pathetic. Maybe your closure was needing him to beg, needing him to play Silk Shirt R&B loud enough for your neighbours' porch lights to flicker to life.

"Park your car in my driveway." You speak softly, before shutting the window and you don't need to look to know that shit-eating grin's plastered on his face. Dimples in sunkissed cheeks and you hear the slam of his car door.

⋆⭒˚.⋆🌿⋆⭒˚.⋆

"Yeah, m'sorry." Rex groans, his arms hooked around your thighs, your knees dimpling the pillow beneath his head and your hands clutch at the headboard like your life depends on it.

Rex's tongue drags along your slippery cunt, a mixture of spit and slick making it glossy as his nose bumps against your clit. The friction just enough to make your hips move, wriggling and writhing on his face, your forehead braced on the hand holding the headboard while your other sinks into his hair.

And he groans, lashes fluttering, cock straining against his jeans and he feels the fabric strain even tighter than it usually is.

You're coating his face in your mess, whining when he sucks your folds into his mouth, your hand fisting at his hair.

"Shit, keep doing tha—" Your hips lift just a bit and Rex groans under his breath, forcing you closer and his words are slurred as he speaks.

"Fucking sit." He breathes out. "Lemme show you how sorry I am."

He pushes his tongue past your puffy lips, the intrusion makes you buck, toes curling in your socks and you shiver. It's a sensation that makes your body buzz, electricity crackling just behind your skin and Rex is content.

So, so very content.

The warmth of your plush thighs on either side of his head, you're sitting on his face and riding his nose like it'll earn you a prize. His hands grip your fleshy thighs, and he's trying to touch everything, palming the fatty mounds of your ass when he circles your clit.

The messy and whiny mewls leave your glossy lips, your head lolling and your brows bunching into the cutest little face he's ever seen. Especially with the way your pretty lips part and your thighs shake.

"Fuck, Rex, I'm—"

"Shhh, just give it to me." He tuts you.

And your body convulses, nails scraping along his scalp while your other hand grips for dear life, a whimper slipping from your lips and you nearly shriek when he keeps sucking on your clit, teasing the sensitive bud before lapping at your cunt. Savouring the taste of you before dragging his tongue up, all the way up to your swollen clit.

Rex has you on your back quicker than you can blink, your thighs spread and his calloused thumbs part your plush and glossy lips, watching the way your cunt flutters and he stares at you.

Watching you eagerly.

One hand reaches over his shoulder, grabbing the fabric of his shirt and he pulls it over his head, tossing it aside and he's even more glorious.

Sculpted pecs, razor sharp abs and golden skin. Dog tags hang just below his clavicle, catching the low light of your bedroom.

And his tongue drags over his teeth, his, canine poking into the wet muscle and you watch through half-lidded eyes as his hand unbuckles his belt while the other reaches into his back pocket.

Pulling out a condom and he bites down onto the ribbed foil edge while he discards his jeans and briefs.

"Do you just keep— like, carrying condoms with you?" You question, your chest heaving as you watch him, and your heart clenches at the way his grin widens, as he rips the condom with his teeth.

"Nah." He hums. "Only when I think I'll get lucky."

You watch the way he slides the condom onto his length, pinching the latex at the tip before his hands move to your thighs, calloused thumbs pressing circles into the flesh.

"And you thought you were gonna get lucky?" You cock a brow.

"I knew I was gonna get lucky." He abruptly tugs you closer to him, your thighs strewn lazily across his and he leans forward, veiny hand wrapping around his thick base. Watching the way your belly dips inward when he taps his latex-coated tip against your sloppy folds and he nudges himself at your entrance.

Pressing a kiss against the curve of your jaw as he pushes into you.

"Real fucking lucky."

You feel the way your breath leaves your lungs, your saliva pooling in the back of your throat, gummy walls fluttering around him. Your belly caves, it feels like your stomach touches your spine and he sighs when he feels the way your fingers rake through his hair.

Nails scraping against his scalp before he lifts himself up, hands moving to cradle your hips, palming the fat there with an adoring expression.

Before he swallows.

"Spread that pretty pussy." He coos sweetly, and the huskiness of his voice does something to your self respect.

It makes it disappear.

And your fingers are spreading your pussy, sensitive and glossy tissue exposed to the slight chill in your room and Rex spits onto your clit, his eyes on yours and he makes a sound in the back of his throat when he sees the way your brows twitch. Your cunt clenching just a bit more.

"How many inches are you taking, baby?" He breathes out, hand moving to rest on your waist instead, savouring the softness of your skin beneath his palms.

And you shudder. "Five..."

Rex's expression falls. And his eyes narrow, emerald gaze hardening and you watch the way his tongue pokes at his cheek, the slight bump visible.

"You think you're real fucking funny, huh?" He huffs, grabbing two of your pillows and he wedges them beneath your ass, manhandling you like it's his job.

"Yeah, I'm funn— holy f-f-fuck...—!" The wind's knocked out of you when Rex begins to pummel into that gooey spot that he found with damn near godly ease.

Your hands are pushing at his lower belly, nails leaving streaks down the tawny skin, pulled taut over sculpted abs and you're whining. Writing and trying to get him to slow down.

Because it's just too deep.

Too much.

And your brain fizzles with an idea to at least score yourself a few seconds to gather your pearls.

And you poke him in the belly button.

And Rex pulls out, brows knitted into a glare as he stares at you. Bewildered, hands moving to protect his navel and he just stares.

His brain short-circuiting and you let out a breath.

"What the actual fuck was that?" He can't even laugh as he stares at you.

"It was too much." You breathe out, winded and you lift yourself, resting back on your elbows as you stare at Rex, eyes narrowed and your body far too overheated for just a few thrusts.

And Rex's brows raise.

"Oh... Shit, you haven't been fucking?" And he blows out a breath, resting his palm on your mound and you feel the way your airways constrict when his thumb nestles between your folds. Sweet circles pressing onto your clit and you swallow.

"No, I've been busy." You hiss back, lashes fluttering and your head tips back, lips parting. And Rex coos.

"It's okay, baby." He sighs, carding his free hand through his hair, before gently pushing your thighs further apart.

"You just couldn't find someone to replicate my stroke game."

And you huff when you feel him slowly push his cock into you, guiding your leg onto his shoulder and he kisses the arch of your foot. Sweet and so, so reverent in his actions.

"Mhm." You hum. "I couldn't find someone to disappoint me the way you did."

"Don't make me choke you with this condom." Rex scowls, before pushing into you, brows knitting at the way your cunt squeezes at him, the lewd squelch makes his heart pound, and the annoyance at your biting remarks melts into nothingness when your hand rests on the nape of his neck.

And he swallows, guiding your other leg to his shoulder and Rex has you folded in half.

One veiny hand grasping the headboard, the other keeping your hips anchored to the bed as he slowly pulls out. Inch by inch leaving you until only his tip remains in your spasming cunt, and Rex sighs, pushing back into you.

"S'it good?" He questions you quietly. "No pain?"

"No pain." You nod.

And then he begins fucking you into the mattress.

The backs of your knees remain caught in the crooks of his elbows, warm hands gripping your hips and pressing you into the soft, puffy sheets, his hips smacking against yours in a way that's brutally unforgiving.

You watch through hazy eyes, nails digging into his bulging biceps, gaze flickering between his ecstasy-ridden face and where he's splitting you in half.

"Yeah," Rex groans softly, "keep watching."

He pants out a moan, head lolling and you watch the way his Adam's apple bobs.

"Watch me bust this pretty pussy open."

And he spits down your clit, the warm saliva making your belly clench as the glob trickles down your sloppy folds.

And Rex grins, his jaw clenching and he bites down on his bottom lip, watching with lovey-dovey eyes as your hand finds its way between your thighs, fingers sloppily teasing your clit. And he breathes out a laugh, chest heaving and dog tags bouncing off his toned chest.

"DJ Bean-Flick's in the booth, huh?" He snorts, the sound of his laughter echoes in the quiet of your room, turning into a whine when he feels the rhythmic spasms of your cunt. Milking him while your legs shake, your orgasm ripping through you like some kind of tidal wave.

Pussy gushing around him, glistening in the dim light and he groans, pulling out of you and he manhandles you.

Aggressively, roughly forcing you to sit up and he rests back against your headboard, lounging, and he pulls you onto him, guiding you to straddle him. And he watches the way you sink down onto him, inches disappearing into you and he moans at the sight.

Your hands move to rest on his broad chest, your hips lifting slowly, before you slam back down, and Rex tuts you.

"Lean back, baby." He huffs. "And on your feet."

And you groan, following his instructions with petulance.

"You sound like an expert." You breathe out. "You have a —hah— confession, Rex?"

And he snorts, hands move to grasp the headboard, you watch the way his biceps flex and he snickers.

"Why would you wanna hurt your feelings like that?"

Your face falls and your eyes narrow, arms moving to cross over your chest, lips pressing into a thin line.

"This is your audition back into my life, by the way." You frown at him. "Just in case you didn't know."

And Rex grins, a laugh slipping past his perfect lips and he rocks his hips up into you, the action so abrupt that your hands immediately move to his chest to support yourself.

"That's what you get when you try to start shit with me." Rex brags. "You mess with the bull, you get the horns. You taught me that."

You scoff. "Well, I taught you wrong. It's, 'you mess with the bull, you get covered in bullshit'."

There's a silence between you and Rex stares up at you.

"Please don't shit on me. I know I've got a strong stomach but—"

"I won't shit on you." Your laughter bubbles so easily from you, lips curling and your cheeks flushing deeper. Your dainty hands splay on his chest, your hips rolling against his, face hovering just above his and you let out a wistful sigh.

"I can't do it on command anyway." You add and Rex laughs. Loudly.

Dimples deep in his honeyed cheeks, hands gripping the headboard tighter because your hips keep rolling against him in that was that has him pressing against the plug of your womb, and you have the nerve to make him laugh too.

"There's something fucking wrong with you." He breathes out, before his arms move to wrap around your waist, bringing you closer to his torso and Rex's feet find purchase on your bed, his lips pressing against your pulse.

Before trailing lower and lower, until he finds the neckline of your shirt and he huffs.

"Take this shit off."

There's something so lovely about watching the way the muscles in your arms move as you pull your shirt overhead, and his eyes catch on a pretty pendant.

Not the one you've been wearing so boldly, no, one you've kept hidden so neatly underneath your clothing.

A pretty, cursive 'R' that dangles lower than your other necklace, and Rex's gaze flicks up to yours, his throat tightening and his belly blazing with warmth and a feeling that might make him come faster if he acknowledges it for too long.

"You still wear this?" Rex hums softly, bringing up a hand to brush his thumb over the letter.

And you purse your lips, "Fuck you."

"I didn't even do shit." He snorts before pressing a kiss over your collarbone, nipping at the skin before he hums.

"Grab the headboard."

Rex doesn't wait for you to have a steady grip before he's fucking up into you, bruising your cervix and grinding your swollen clit against his gingery happy trail.

Lips wrapping around one of your pert nipples, hot and wet muscle dragging against the nub and your brain turns to mush.

Coherence and any thought of self-respect leaking out of your mouth in broken moans and a cacophony of mewls as you're kept in place. Unable to do anything but take everything Rex gives you, taking every thrust, every suck and every 'fuck' that's breathed against your skin in a steamy puff.

And Rex swallows hard.

Teeth tugging on your other nipple, and he just loves the way you look.

Fucked out, your tongue lolling and your eyes finding permanent residence staring at your brain with the way they're rolling back and Rex feels his orgasm approaching faster than ever.

The burn just below his navel, the tightening of heavy balls and he whines.

"Fuck, m'gonna nut—"

He pants, like a dog, burying his face in your neck once he's deemed your nipples swollen enough and his teeth sinks into your shoulder. You feel so good.

He can feel every ridge of your gummy walls, he can feel the way your slick cunt milks and spasms around him like it's got a personal vendetta against him.

And Rex ruts into you.

Chasing that elusive dragon of an orgasm, the warmth of your body seems so much more intense than it did at first and Rex's heart pounds.

And when he feels that dam burst, his hands are bracketing your hips and he's lifting you off him, pearly cum spraying across your cunt, a shredded condom around his shaft and you're whining at the warmth.

Hips twitching and your face pressed into the curve of Rex's neck, inhaling that smoky musk, your brain a puddle.

"D—did the condom break...?" You sigh, and he nods, swallowing audibly.

"At least now I know I can't use two year old condoms." Rex sighs, lowering you back down onto his body, his still-hard cock resting in the crease of your ass and it takes you a while to register his words.

Your head raises and your eyes narrow.

"Was that condom expired?"

"Pfft. No." Rex huffs. "It expires next month."

⊹🌷♡taglist♡🌷⊹

@lucky-beheaded ; @jasontoddswhitestreak ; @queen-of-gotham ; @tamaranblaze ; @enchantedstarfish ; @sophsthebest ; @supersecretxreadersideblog ; @feral010 ; @keeeenbeeaan ; @strawbiemilk420 ; @l1zard-l3ague ; @coldvirginbitch ; @allycat4458 ; @couldeatthatgirlforlunch ; @heavenequals ; @blckbarbiedoll ; @custardpuddingprincess

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

wicked game

chapter 9 - lying

synopsis: y/n is sarah’s roommate and the embodiment of sunshine. rafe, on the other hand, is her complete opposite. when the boys place a bet that he can't win her over, rafe takes the challenge without hesitation. after all, he never backs down from a dare. the closer rafe gets to y/n, he finds himself drawn to her warmth in a way he never expected, and for the first time, he wants to be more than just the guy with a bad reputation.

but secrets don’t stay hidden for long, and when y/n finds out the truth, rafe is left to face the consequences. now, he has to prove that somewhere along the way, the bet stopped mattering, because losing her was never part of the plan.

masterlist

cw: language,

the weekend with lucas had been... good. but it hadn't been perfect. it hadn't been what you were hoping for.

your mind hadn't been fully there.

it was back in that messy room, lost up in the memory of rafe’s careful hands looking after you.

the way he wouldn't let you finish the question before assuring you he hadn’t touched you.

the way he looked at you, like he genuinely cared. even just for that moment.

and you hated yourself for even thinking about it now, days after it had happened. you were trying to convince yourself it was the spiking that was making you feel this way, the confusion. you were probably imagining the events wrong.

but even with lucas next to you, you just didn't feel quite right.

the conversations flowed, but something felt… off. you couldn’t tell if it was you or him. maybe both. he was sweet, attentive, even a little clingy at times, but you couldn’t stop the hollow feeling in your chest.

you found yourself zoning out when he talked. smiling too late. wishing you could crawl out of your own skin when he reached for your hand or kissed you on the forehead.

everything felt off.

and the more you tried to force it, the worse it felt.

you were half-listening to him talk about some new project he was excited about when your phone buzzed on the coffee table.

lucas barely paused in his story, but you saw his eyes flicker down at the screen.

then flick back.

"who's rafe?" he asked casually.

"oh nobody. he's just the guy who helped me after that party." you scrambled over your words.

"i thought you said kie helped you and you went back to hers?" his face dropping slightly.

"oh, yes! no i did. rafe just helped me before kie got to me." your face started to flush, and you knew lucas knew you front to back.

"are you lying to me?' his voice more stern.

your stomach twisted painfully, "no," you lied, too fast.

lucas stared at you, his mouth tightening into a hard line. "yes you are."

"lucas, it’s not what you’re thinking." you stepped toward him instinctively, trying to smooth it over, but he shook his head.

"then what am i thinking, y/n?" he asked, voice low and sharp. "because right now it seems like you’re hiding something. why would you lie about something like this?"

you swallowed hard, glancing at the coffee table, hating the way your heart had jumped in your chest when you saw his name light up your screen.

"i’m not... nothing happened," you said quietly, hating how small your voice sounded.

lucas gave a laugh. "nothing happened," he repeated, "but you’re flustered, lying to my face, and you can't even look at me y/n."

"i didn’t cheat on you," you said firmly, meeting his eyes.

"no," he said bitterly. "but you’re thinking about someone else. that’s just as bad."

your throat felt like it was closing up. "it’s not like that."

"then tell me what it is!" lucas demanded, throwing his hands up, defeated. "tell me why you’re hiding shit. tell me why your first instinct was to lie to me."

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. because you didn’t know how to explain it. how do you explain missing someone you shouldn’t even know that well? you felt pathetic.

"i don’t know, okay!," you whispered finally. "he just helped me the other night, when my drink was spiked. that’s it."

lucas stared at you, and the hurt on his face was almost unbearable. "and you went back to his place? not kie's?"

your silence was enough of an answer.

"you don’t have to say it," he muttered. "i get it. you've been different ever since i got here."

"lucas- it's not that."

"then what is it?"

you sighed. you didn't even know what you were feeling. "maybe we’re not supposed to be doing this anymore." you said quietly, voice trembling.

lucas's eyes filled with tears, "maybe we're not.'

tension filled the room, silence stretching between you, heavy and suffocating.

"so what now?" you asked, tears starting to fall.

"i love you y/n, i really do. but you're not the same anymore. you're lying to me, not completely here when i'm talking to you, i don't even think you want to be with me anymore." he said, his voice breaking slightly. "and i deserve more than that."

you wiped at your cheeks quickly, like it would somehow erase the mess this had turned into. "i never wanted to hurt you," you whispered.

"i know," he said, gently now. "but you did."

you nodded, pressing your lips together to keep the sob clawing its way up your throat from escaping. lucas stepped closer, hesitating for a second before pulling you into a hug. you clung to him, even though you knew it was over. it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t easy. but it was true. you didn't want to be with him anymore.

he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lingering like he was trying to memorize it. "goodbye, y/n."

you squeezed your eyes shut.

when he pulled away, the emptiness he left behind was instant. you watched him grab his bag and walk to the door, his shoulders slumping forward like he was carrying the weight of every unspoken word between you.

and then he was gone.

the door shut with a soft click, final and cruel.

a/n: sorry guys i was bored of lucas lol i needed him gone byeee also it's meant to say kappa tau party in the story but i made a typo

sidenote lowkey proud of this chapter and i rarely am

🏷️: @heartzshiftamy @hoefordrewstarkey @luvrclub  @leleee3 @yktayy9669 @miumiuestmoi @anacamofficial @cokewithcameron @bloodofadoll @shorttandsweett @mysticbby2009 @emmiesummers @wintercrows @drewrry @starkeyxcameron @xxbirkindoll2 @stoned-writer @drewstarkeyslover @hannieskzzz @verycherryblossomhideout @letstryagaintomorrow @@jjsbbg7 @mariamadison6-blog @laniirackssss @xeneasworld @countryclubwhore @drewsphswife @mattyskies @moonywhisp3rs @starkeygirls @lmaolmaos @thereallifebambi @emeloyy @vcnillafairy @rafecameronswhoore @st8rkey @angeldiaryy @therealfairybatman @drewsephrry @vanessa-rafesgirl @dreamybabbyy @pogueprincesa @happy-mushrooms @hannaa20002000 @whoismxtti @darlingstarkey @mattssweetheart @wuluhwuhmaster @harringtonsbowgirl @my-name-is-baby @rrosiitas @davinashifts333 @cinnamqnnlatte @fastlovela @stelleduarte @fastlovela

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reacting to their s/o wrongly accusing them

Request: hiii could i request heavy angst where svt argue with their s/o over a misunderstanding but they find out that they were wrong and have to grovel? i love ur writing!!

A/N: Awh, that's so sweet of you 💓 means a lot, THANK YOU for reading my writing!! Anyway, the hardest part here was to think about the scenarios and I don't think I have enough brain power anymore 😭

Seungcheol: You accused him of spending too much time with his female staffer and implied he was being too close. He didn’t defend himself, but just stared at you, hurt in his eyes. Days later, you find out they were planning a surprise anniversary trip for you. You break down in guilt, texting, calling, crying in front of his dorm until he finally opens the door, jaw clenched, saying, “I was just trying to love you better.”

Jeonghan: You find a receipt for a jewelry store and assume he bought something for someone else. You lash out. He’s silent. Then he shows you the necklace meant for your birthday, still in his coat pocket. You go speechless. He turns away, quietly muttering, “You really think so little of me?” You spend a week trying to win him back because he's not all that easy when you questioned his loyalty.

Joshua: You told him he’s too passive, too quiet, like he doesn’t care. He listens, and then, for the first time, he yells; not because he’s angry, but because he’s hurt. That really hurt him. You realize you mistook calmness for indifference. You find him in the studio days later, leaving notes, meals, and finally a tearful voice memo: “I was wrong. Please let me make it right.”

Jun: You walked out mid-argument after accusing him of not prioritizing you. He waited the whole night. Didn’t sleep. Then you find out he missed his filming because he had taken off to surprise you with lunch earlier, but you weren’t home. You sob when you see the untouched food. It takes weeks before he can look at you the same.

Hoshi: You said he was too busy for you, always in the practice room, probably not even thinking about you. He doesn’t say much, but that night you find the letter he was writing for you, tucked in his bag. You feel like the worst person alive. You try everything to reach him. He finally says, “If I matter to you, you’ll wait like I waited.” He just wanted you to trust him :(

Wonwoo: You assumed the worst and thought he was pulling away because he was bored with you. But he was planning to ask your parents for their blessing. You find the messages, the research tabs for rings, and suddenly the silence from him makes sense. You leave sticky notes, long texts, send books with little apologies tucked in. He opens your last message and finally says: “I wanted forever. Did you?”

Woozi: You were upset he didn’t introduce you to his producer friends. You say he’s keeping you a secret. He slams his phone down, angry tears in his eyes, “I’m trying to protect you from this industry.” Turns out he was right; one of those friends was a known leaker. You find yourself knocking at his door late at night, heart in your throat, asking for a second chance.

Dokyeom: You misinterpret his kindness to a fan as romantic interest and blow up at him after an event. His face crumbles. “I thought you knew me better than that.” The silence from him is unbearable. You cry while holding one of his plushies, sending voice messages until he responds with a short: “Are you ready to actually talk now?”

Mingyu: In front of his other idol friends, you accused him of being selfish for spending too much time in the gym instead of with you. The car ride home is silent. Then he whispers, “You know I go there because it’s the only place I feel enough.” You’re destroyed with guilt. You cook for him, apologize profusely, and cry in his arms when he finally hugs you back.

Minghao: You questioned if his affection was performative because he acts distant in public. He freezes, then says, “I thought you understood who I am.” You realize he’s always been more private, and you just hurt him by expecting him to change. You write him a letter in Mandarin. He doesn’t respond for days; then shows up, holding it, eyes glassy.

Seungkwan: You accused him of being dramatic just to get your attention during a breakdown. You didn’t realize how much he was struggling, how sincere he was. You later find his journal where he wrote, “I wish she saw how hard I try.” You cry while hugging his hoodie, trying to call him, telling him, “I was wrong, I’m sorry, I didn’t see it then but I do now.”

Vernon: You found a girl’s earring in his car and accused him before he could explain. Turns out it belonged to his sister, who borrowed his car the day before. He shuts down. “I don’t want to be in a relationship where I constantly have to prove myself.” You spend days sending him playlists, flowers, letters, photos, until he texts: “Come over. Let’s talk.”

Dino: You told him he wasn’t mature enough to be in a relationship with you after a minor fight. You didn’t mean it, but he took it to heart [obviously]. He stops texting, stops showing up. You realize you cut him where it hurt most; his need to be taken seriously. You apologize at the dance studio, murmuring, “I never should’ve said that.” He looks at you and says, “Then prove it.”

[emptymanuscript]

Whaddya mean there are no benefits to being a good person?

Of course there are benefits. There are lots of benefits. There are, on the whole, MORE benefits to being a good person than a bad one.

If you’re good to a specific person, they may (or may not) be happy about that specific interaction. But, more importantly, each interaction shows how you are going to interact.

A good person isn’t made up of one good deed. It’s a global average of activity and interactions from a particular observer’s point of view toward a particular set of criteria.

I might think someone is good while you think they’re a total a*hole. Talking it out might lead to consensus - we each have different observed experiences of the same person. Or it might come out that we judge on completely different criteria. My friends growing up would give people points for religious attendance while I would have given zero points for that in the same period. They could tell me all the church time I missed and it wouldn’t move my needle. On the other hand, how they spend their time there might. I’m going to give a different evaluation to someone who shows up all the time but that’s all they do and someone who only shows up sometimes but makes it a point to help out every time they do. The second, helping out when they show up, counts while showing up wouldn’t.

So it is observer dependent.

That’s some of the real and basic comfort of God. God is an independent observer who sees everything better than anyone else AND saves all reporting until the end. So everyone else has to guess but God knows your true character. So if I think I am a good person, I can always rest on that fact. God will say so. I know because of x, y, and z that I was taught. And that’s how I act. So any other perceptions can be interpreted through that lens. Assuming I believe.

But that principle works even for those of us who aren’t particularly religious or don’t practice a populous faith. We tend to trust that those we know better have a better understanding of our proper moral categorization.

So, when given the choice, who will people associate with?

Right: people will naturally tend to gravitate toward others where you share a mutually high opinion of each other. At which point, what’s the next goal? Keeping that mutual admiration going. Which is why people in groups tend to act similar to each other. It’s recapitulating the positive feedback.

I like you, do you like me?

I do like you, do you still like me?

Well I think blah blah blah.

I like you and you think blah blah blah is good so blah blah blah is probably good and I think I might like to operate as if it is to try it out.

You like blah blah blah, well I knew it was good and I knew you were good so that makes perfect sense.

I do like it and it does make sense because I like you, I am glad you still like me.

Now, I’ve obviously oversimplified this and made it more than a little inane but that’s essentially a huge part of what goes on in overall communication between people. It’s verbal and gestural grooming. We’re in this together. Isn’t that great.

The thing is… it kinda really is.

Grooming is intensely important to social mammals. We talk about the ties that bind, well this is the actual act of tying that bind, that kind of subtle continual recapitulation of the tie. I like us being together, see I’m grooming you, do you like us together? Yes, see, now I am grooming your fur, too. Back and forth. Fairly constantly while everything else is going on.

On the other side is severe detrimental consequences for people who don’t get groomed enough, don’t know how to groom others in a way that gets asked for in order to initiate cycles, and suffer real harm from the isolation.

There’s all sorts of findings around illnesses and lower quality of life associated with that lack of social reciprocity. Lifespans start dropping fast. Someone who loses their main social grooming partners and doesn’t get a new one to take their place has about a two year average before something serious develops. If they’re already not healthy, those two years can be the lifespan.

But remember how people gravitate together. It’s the people who match with mutual admiration in some way.

So, when people are looking for others to add to their social grooming network, who are they going to gravitate toward when there isn’t already an initial pull?

The observed action that matches the seeking observer’s definition of something that they admire.

You like Star Trek? I love Star Trek. If you like Star Trek that probably means that there’s other stuff to like about you. Do you think there’s other stuff to like about me?

That’s the first tug.

But the rub is, until quite recently, things like fandoms were relatively hard to observe. Before 1996, Internet presence, where most of us can find these connections, was rarer than finding someone else who liked Star Trek.

So, what was easy to observe as a connection?

Seeing someone just out and about doing a good deed.

Even better: finding someone who you knew where to find them AND you got the regular experience of seeing them act in a good way. Mutual admiration generally starts with admiration.

One good deed might be meaningless. Everyone has better and worse moments. But regular, reliable patterns of valued behavior? Think about how good it would hear if the person who displayed that, said they liked you. That would really mean something.

Far from having no benefits, that kind of regular goodness - again, defined by the observer - carries the intense potential benefit of attracting people who also define those behaviors as good into your orbit and, from that entry point, into your regular interactions from being good groomers for each other.

This is also why doing good things for the reward is a mixed bag.

If it’s proactive toward the behavior, I want to be like this more because I value this behavior and want more of it in my life. Yeah, fake it till I make it. This is my best behavior but if I keep doing it, it will become my regular behavior and attract people who are like that into my life.

If it’s just putting on the sign because I think the other person will like it but I don’t particularly want to engage in that behavior regularly, then that orbit is going to destabilize fairly quickly as I don’t keep to the behavior I sold myself with. It’s the same issue as borrowing a nicer car for a date. No matter how good that might look at first, in the end, real life has to reengage, and that better car isn’t there anymore. The person I attracted with said car, now not only has to deal with the missing pull of the car but all the push implicated by the act of leading with the car. It’s saying that I value the sign more than the real thing and even the sign holds a different meaning because I was willing to use that sign against the real value of the thing. It means it wasn’t actually good, just a tool to acquire the person by deception. And deception is very rarely perceived as good.

[gazstations]

Affairs of the Heart

ASK REQUEST: find original post here

ᯓᡣ𐭩 SUMMARY

Johnny has liked you for a long time. He doesn’t know how obvious he can get. You never get it. But it turns out you’ve been assuming the wrong thing this whole time.

FANDOM: Call of Duty 

PAIRINGS: John MacTavish x reader

WORD COUNT: 2,103 words

WARNINGS: Good ol’ miscommunication, I’m probably writing Soap’s accent wrong, no extreme warnings

◇ Notes: In everything I write, Johnny always ends up a little bit obsessive and I think that really captures who he is. Am I right? Idk how I feel about this one, but you guys are the judges.

○●○ NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

SOMETIMES JOHNNY WANTED TO WRING YOUR NECK.

He had never met anyone so sweetly oblivious to romantic advancements. If he was another person—a far smarter one—he would cut his losses and bar off the part of him that craved you. Yet, he always had a cruel desire to torture himself, he supposed. A masochist for emotional turmoil.

But all of this? He wanted to bang his head against the wall. Maybe that would rewrite his synapses until he forgot you. No, he never wanted to forget you. You were so frustrating. He wanted to cup your face and kiss you silly.

Knowing you, you would probably still find a way to assume he was just being friendly.

Gaz suggested that his object of affection just wasn’t interested and didn’t know how to let him down easy. Normally, maybe Johnny would agree and forget about you. Plenty of fish in the sea. Only the one fish he wanted was currently taking him on a dreadful tour of the deep waters.

Maybe Gaz was right. If he got scared by the black waters, you wouldn’t have to voice your disdain for his constant pursuing.

However, his ma didn’t raise a quitter.

He was at risk of you actually getting annoyed and taking his heart and crumbling it in your fingers. Was he in love with you? Not yet. But he could see it now. You’d be so easy to love, and he would be good at it.

Today, you were having a bad day. He could smell the acid as soon as he walked into the common room. You were there, nestled at a table alone, a few other soldiers scattered about. He paid them no mind, instead zeroing in on your hunched form. Dread filled his stomach.

Who had hurt his bonnie thing?

“Bad day?” He asked as he casually slid into the seat next to you.

He didn’t miss the way you wiped at your eyes discreetly, pulling a frown to his lips. The sight wasn’t right. He wanted to see happiness blooming on the sweetness of your lips. To see that dewey glow on the apples of your cheeks.

“Bad day…” you repeated with a discontented scoff.

“Ye want a hug?” He offered already opening his arms. Eager mutt.

You relented. Not enthusiastically, but you still allowed him to envelop your form. He was broad and smelled like sweat. He had recently been training. The faint cedar deodorant he used was prevalent as he tucked you into his arm.

“Ye wanna go tae the pub?” He asked when he finally released you from his shackles. He was puffed up now, that little interaction doing more than you realized.

“Now?” you responded. “I mean… I have a couple of things…”

“Nae. Later,” Soap corrected. “Dinnae fash. Ye got time.”

You watched him with an unreadable expression as your eyebrows quirked. It was cute, watching you go through your thought process live. You always thought a lot. Always trapped in that prison. He hoped it wasn’t storming in your brain.

“Don’t you go with Ghost to the pub on Fridays?” You finally asked.

“Ach. He willnae mind. Lad is busy,” Soap dismissed.

He watched you purse your lips. He wanted to pick apart your brain like sweet petals on a sunflower. What would each layer hold? He wanted to explore who you were down to the very prime core. The very stakes that held up the foundation. Were they polished neat? Were they full of grime, dirtied down to the ends as they were shoved into the ground?

“Okay. I can go for a couple drinks,” you finally relented, and Soap could feel a grin pulling at his lips. “But I'm not getting drunk.”

Soap beamed. “Ah will take care of ye.”

♡◇♡

True to his word, Soap didn't let intoxication get out of hand. He didn't want to give you the impression he was some untethered wild animal that frothed at the mouth whenever it came time to quench his thirst on something divine. He was coordinated and calculated when he wanted to be.

He finally got you to relent and chance an outing with him. He wasn't going to waste it.

His fascination was cruelty. It shackled him down onto his knees in your land. He hungered for your attention, no matter how little scraps you gave him. He knew you didn't hate him. You just never connected the dots. That the man was irrevocably caught in your web.

“Been comin’ ‘ere fer 5 years,” Soap spoke against the tense silence.

He had never been so beaten down by anxiety before. He could talk up a pretty bird just fine most days. End up in their sheets just as fast. He was no stranger to instant gratification of sex, and he loved those simple pleasures.

You were his friend, though. At least he wanted to assume. He yapped a lot of nonsense in your presence, and you never barked at him and bared your teeth. He found himself craving that instead of the honeyed flesh between your legs. It became more than what Soap was used to.

“Surprised you didn't get banned yet.” You mused.

You took a sip of your drink, and Soap found himself zeroing in on the way your lips parted and your throat bobbed. Enticing. He was completely hopeless, smitten, and maybe even horny in one. But he didn't want to make his relationship about the latter of the three. He was trying really hard to be a good boy.

“Ah got a wee bit of charm, love,” Soap remarked. If he was a wild animal, he would be a peacock, puffing up his iridescent feathers in hopes you took a bite.

“Mhm. I've seen you blacked out, nothing charming about it,” you said back.

“Aye. How am ah sober?” Soap put his elbow on the bartop and leaned closer to you.

His eyes softened when he looked at you. Were you really that bloody oblivious to the signs he was putting off? Or did you know and just didn't want to let him down easy? Knowing his luck, it was the latter.

“Slightly more charming,” you gestured with your index and thumb, pulling them slightly apart to show how much you thought it qualified.

Soap drank it up like the last droplets in a frozen pipe.

“Slightly? How does a lad do better?” He inquired. He glanced down at your lips again and salivated like a damn mutt. There was still a droplet of your drink beading on your bottom lip.

“Dunno. You have to figure that out.”

Soap liked a challenge. He reveled in it. Maybe that’s why he pursued you time and time again, even if there wasn't a happy ending in sight. Not yet, at least. He wouldn't give up until you pushed back against him and hissed. But you were so sweet, you would never do that.

Although, Soap had a knack for unlocking unexpected reactions.

“What do you and Ghost do for fun?” You asked randomly. Soap raised an eyebrow, confusion forming in his one track mind.

“LT and I?” He scratched at the bit of scruff on his face. “Dinnae think LT has fun.”

“No?” You tilted your head and grew thoughtful.

What were you thinking? He was going to wring himself dry trying to figure that out, he was sure of it. You weren't so straightforward as he was used to. Even Ghost had more outward emotions than you most days.

“So you don't take him on dates?” You asked.

Soap nearly choked on his drink when he heard those words. He flushed and looked like a deer in headlights as he processed those words. Was that what his sweet bonnie thought this whole time? You were going to murder him without lifting a finger one day.

“Dates?” He let out a small, incredulous laugh. It sounded pained more than anything. “Oh, love. Did ye think…?”

He found he liked the way you flustered and bit your lip. He was no better. How in the hell did you assume he and Ghost were… bloody hell? Sure he joked about marrying the Lieutenant so they could always be together, but the older man just rolled his eyes at the Scot's antics. There was never anything going on.

Plus, Ghost was smitten with a little civilian bird who made him a little treat every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning. Bloody bastard was worse than him. Maybe they both had a thing for lasses that looked right at the signs and still read them wrong.

“You're not…? But everyone says…” you shamed yourself in your alcohol and Soap internally cooed.

“Tsk. Only rumors, hen.” Soap brushed off.

He didn't mind really. There were worse people to be bunched together with and rumored to be dating. He would gladly be pinned with Ghost. Though, he definitely wanted to pin you down more.

“Is tha’ why ye're evadin' me?” He asked a moment later.

“Huh?” You lifted your gaze and gave him a quizzical look.

“Oh, hen. We got a lot of catchin' up tae do.”

♡◇♡

Soap loved a good drama. He loved starting it even more. He always sparked little fires here and there, just to keep the natural flow of the world spinning. He couldn't sit still half of the time. He was always a very agitated kid.

Now he was an even more ruthless adult that had the extravagant galore of opportunity at his fingertips.

The next morning, thankfully only a bit tipsy after the pub, he paraded your hesitant form down the hallways. You, always suspicious by default, tried to glue your feet to the ancient carpeting. He could tell you would rather frighten like a little doe rather than find out what he had planned.

He could feel you halfway out the door, muscles coiled tight when he stopped you in front of Ghost. He smiled wide, eyes still gleaming with amusement from your revelation last night.

“Right. LT, the wee lass has assumed quite the funny thing…” Soap started, patting you on the back. He ignored the glare you sent him. He was the equivalent to a dog that brought his owner a gift, as he wagged his tail and preened.

“Is that right?” Ghost looked between the both of you.

“Hen thinks ye and ah are rompin’ in the sheets,” Soap says.

He heard your exhale as you spluttered out an explanation. “Dating! I thought dating. Not what he said.”

Soap watched with blissful delight as he saw the faintest hint of amusement fall over Ghost. He knew his little tells after serving for so long beside him. His left eyebrow always rose and the mask moved as the man smiled. He always tilted his head just the tiniest bit as well.

“You listen to rumors then?” Ghost prompted and you shrunk, as if you expected to be physically struck. Soap would never let that happen. No one would ever be allowed to mark up your flesh.

“Well… I… yes… I suppose I do,” you decided lying wasn’t worth it. You were around two mutts that sniffed out bullshit for a living.

Ghost analyzed you for a long moment, even Soap found himself intimidated. He hovered behind you instinctively, even if he knew Ghost wouldn’t harm you. Maybe he wanted to assure you more than anything. The Lieutenant was amused, not insulted.

“You spent all that time fussing over a rumor to realize the mutt was after you this whole time,” Ghost finally said.

“Aye. He’s right,” Soap nodded his head vigorously, staring at you intently as he waited for your response.

Soap rocked on the balls of his feet eagerly. He was full of humor, but he really was just a simple man desiring companionship. He didn’t often get to that point, but this time it came as swift as a punch to the gut. The attraction really did hit him head on like that.

In their line of work, it was hard to indulge in long term pleasures. Life was always revolving and he didn’t even know if he’d be six feet under in a casket the next day. It was all up in the air and he often felt it was selfish to seek out someone who wanted a deeper connection.

He decided to bite the bullet this time. You were too good of a chance to pass up. He’d be happy and secure with you, he could feel it.

You finally opened your mouth to speak. “And here I thought he was being friendly the whole time.”

Steamin’ Jesus, Soap was going to wring your neck one day.

[yuansie]

ocean memories : that it will not end tragically like the last

synopsis. the little demon from the other night appears once more, and this time he has a goal. you silly girl, you should have turned him away!

pairing. rafayel x fem! non mc! reader

warnings. mentions of (implied) bullying, you can tell yn is lowk ostracized (?) 💔, silly banter between rafayel and yn. if there's anything i'm missing, please let me know!

genres. fluff

rating. sfw

w/c. 1.9 k

a/n. guys editing and formatting shit on the website on your PHONE is not for the weak. my damn fingers hurt 😭 i hope you all enjoy this chapter 😈 (heads up: next two chapters are going to start going downhill LOLLLLLLL #sorry #iloveangstSUEMEEEEIDGAFFFF) also i didnt know how to end the chapter... #notproofread #wedielieshinomiyakikuro'sdad #WHOSAIDTHAT dont read the second hashtag if you watch kn8... its a manga spoiler 😭😭

THE REAL CURSE IS NOT THE COLOR OF YOUR HAIR, it is the boy from the other night.

he comes by unannounced in the middle of the of the night once again; you don't even register he’s there, as you are engrossed in your old book, until your window slides open. at first, there is nothing but the darkness from outside. you stand up to shut it, only to gasp and trip backwards on a random painting you have on the ground. you land with a thud and you wince, pain flaring up your arm.

a tuft of purple hair appears, then a face and a pair of blue and red colored eyes.

“oh,” his eyes widen in surprise. “i didn't mean to startle you. are you okay?” he asks, jumping inside your room.

you gape at him. “what are you doing?” you hiss, sharply exhaling from your nose as you get on your knees. you rub your sore arm with a hand, glaring at the boy. “you’re trespassing right now. leave before i scream.”

“uh, no thank you!” the boy leaps forwards, clamping a hand over your mouth.

“wha—hmph!” your words are muffled by his warm hand.

his eyes, wide with panic, are directed at you. “stat quiet!” he loudly whispers. “you’re going to alert the whole neighborhood!”

you swat his hand away and scoff. “as i rightfully should! there’s a stranger in my room!”

the boy huffs, jutting his lower lip out slightly. “i’m trying to apologize here, and you keep villainizing me. first a demon, and now a stranger? what's next: a cat?”

“what the heck is a cat?” your furrowed brows illicit a dramatic gasp from him.

“you don't know what a cat is?”

you deadpan. “i wouldn't be asking you if i did.”

he clears his throat. “w-well, cats are the real demons.”

“…cats are probably better than you.”

“they are not!”

“they—”

“y/n?”

your mom’s voice rings out from the kitchen. an orange glow filters in through the cracks of the doorframe, and the sound of footsteps nearing grows louder. you hurriedly shove the boy under your bed, shushing him harshly when he whines. the door creaks open, and your mom's head pops in.

“what are you doing?” she quietly asks.

you gesture at the painting by your legs. “i wanted to see if i could paint something better than this.” you almost wince at how naturally the lie falls from your tongue.

why are you even lying for your intruder?

your mom laughs, shaking her head afterwards. “why do you always paint so late?”

with a shrug, you answer, “i tend to be more creative around this time.”

“uh-huh,” your mom hums, laughing quietly afterwards. “well, i think your creativity should sleep for a bit.”

“you're probably right.”

“i am probably right.” your mom leans against the doorframe, “goodnight, my little guppy.”

“mom,” you whine, “i’m not that little anymore.”

she tuts, “you’ll always be my little guppy.”

you look away from her, lips slightly pursed. “goodnight, mom.”

“goodnight, guppy~” she sings, quickly closing the door before you can retort another denial. the room is silent.

“little guppy, huh?” a tuft of purple hair pops out from underneath your bed, bicolored eyes sparkling with amusement staring into your own blue eyes.

“shut up.” you narrow your eyes and lean forwards, pushing his head back. “move. you're on one of paintings.”

he mumbles an apology and rolls away. you carefully pick up the canvas and examine it. purple hair tickles your cheek as the boy leans and rests his head on your shoulder. you glance at him from the corner of your eye.

“that's pretty,” he says. “what's it supposed to be?”

your gaze falls back on the canvas. “i don't know.” and you really don't know what the bright and dark blue swirls are supposed to be, you don't know what the smudges of white are meant to be, neither do you know what the purple at the center is. you remember waking up one night, your heart aching and your head throbbing.

the purple speck—you remember feeling mad when you added it.

you don't mention that.

“…rafayel.”

“well that's a stupid name,” you snort. he gasps and leans away from you, his mouth open in shock.

“what?” he blinks at you, his lips now turned downwards into a frown. “how could you say that? you g—” he exhales slowly. “you… you gremlin! you're so rude…”

“i think i’m allowed to be rude when an intruder is in my room and won't leave.”

his frown deepens. “what can i do?”

“what?” you squint at him.

the boy grows serious, and stares at you with determination in his eyes. “you're clearly not going to call me by my name, so what can i do to get you to do that?”

a devilish thought crosses your mind; you smile widely. “there's something you can do for me.”

“really?” he grabs onto your hands, his skin warm against yours. you grimace and shake his hands off.

“i recently ran out of red paint,” you say, getting up from the ground and heading towards your desk. you grab a canvas you had there and turn around, pointing a finger at the bright and rich crimson on it. “get me some more of this exact shade.”

he furrows his eyebrows. “how am i supposed to do that?”

“figure it out,” you shrug. “now get out.”

you don't see the boy for a week, and you think you never will until he approaches you.

in broad daylight.

the kids of the neighborhood whisper and crowd in front of your home, some even shouting at him to stay away from you because you're cursed. their childish antics sour your mood.

“shut up!” the boy abruptly turns to face the crowd of kids before he reaches you. you can't make out the look on his face, but you assume he must look really angry for the kids to grow pale and run off.

with a huff, he walks up to you and sticks his hand out, a jar of red paint in his grip. “that was really hard,” he says, a pout on his lips. “i had to crush so many seashells…”

the giggle you let out has him snapping his head at you, jaw slack from surprise. “you just laughed!”

you ignore his comment and grab the jar from his hands, tilting it as you inspect it. the red is vibrant, very intense and brilliant in your eyes. “not bad,” you finally say, looking up at the boy. “thank you… rafayel.”

the tips of rafayel’s ears bloom a red much brighter than the paint in the jar, his lips curving upwards into a pretty smile.

rafayel doesn't say anything afterwards, and spends the rest of the day with you. you learn that day he isn't all that bad for being a troublemaker. surely, if you let him in just the tiniest bit, he won't leave after his curiosity is sated... right?

previous | masterlist | next

taglist (open). @bakutual @nadinefromwhere @justmystical @holywaterbucketchallenge @megufushi @bellslovemachine @roobiedoobiedoo @reiofsuns2001 @lucifers-silhouette @dana-nite @xsammijoanneex @killcxm @dekiruxxx @llamabois @nm4565natty @vigtore

OCEAN MEMORIES, yuansie 2025

[reilemon]

Hey-o, Rei's boyfriend here hijacking her page with an updated D&D analysis of lads. Honestly I've probably been thinking about this a bit too much and figured I'd post my final opinion on what each one of them would be, class-wise, in a D&D 5e universe. So for anyone interested in a random guy's opinion on the topic, here goes:

Rafayel - I am keeping my original opinion for a Bard: College of Whispers. I did think about the potential of multiclassing into a Rogue: Assassin for a more stealthy approach, but that may be more suited for his myth card. Straight Whispers Bard seems right to me.

Xavier - Also mostly keeping this one to my original opinion, which is a Paladin: Oath of Devotion. Main reason I like this one is the Channel Divinity it gets, really matching the light-sword vibe. Maybe ignore the first tenet of the oath for this one though ("Don't lie or cheat." - yeah sure...). Alternatively, he could fit as an Oath of the Watchers due to him being a hunter, but sadly no light-sword then.

Zayne - Originally I was sure he is some kind of cleric, with Astra and all. One bit of a problem though - clerics get absolutely no cold-based spells. Now, generally, of the three classic elemental types in 5e (fire, cold, lightning) cold is the forgotten middle child. Fire is the absolute family favorite and found everywhere, while lightning is found less often but still has some features dedicated to it specifically (Storm Sorcerer and Tempest Cleric for example). Cold has basically nothing, so it's not unusual that clerics wouldn't get cold-based spells, but I refuse to make a Zayne build without cold damage in there. Therefore, I think this is a better alternative: Sorcerer: Divine Soul. This changes him from being a follower of a god to having actual divine blood within him, which is more in line with his myth but meh. The main reason for this choice is the ability to get spells from both the Cleric and Sorcerer spell lists, which allows for both healing/support spells (Cleric) and cold-based spells (Sorcerer) to be chosen giving him the same combat feel while keeping the divine aspect.

Sylus - The original idea was a Shadow Monk, but after thinking about it for a bit, I think he is better suited as a Ranger: Gloom Stalker Conclave. Not your usual ranger though, this one we would build as a Strength Ranger with the Unarmed Fighting Style. I think this gives the closest Sylus vibe I can think of in 5e - a beefy unarmed fighter with shadow abilities. What sold me on this idea was the fact that Sylus has a soft spot for animals and nature, and his tracking abilities as well. Not your usual Ranger, but I think the vibe is much better this way than the original Monk idea. Caleb - Now this guy gave me some trouble initially, because firearms are not often found in 5e - or any futuristic stuff really. But then I remembered something about a specific feature, and I was immediately sold, so here goes - Artificer: Armorer. Now, I thought about Artillerist as well due to the drones, but I think Armorer fits him better for one reason alone. The Arcane Armor feature says so: "The armor replaces any missing limbs, functioning identically to a body part it is replacing." which is just perfect. Going the Infiltrator armor model route gives him an energy blast to shoot as well, but Artificers have an optional rule that gives them Firearm Proficiency, which would be in line. As far as I know Caleb is a smart-ass who likes tinkering with stuff, fitting an Artificer very nicely.

Man that took a while to type out... Feel free to comment your own opinions, I love doing things like this - I've been playing D&D and other TTRPGs for like 10 years now. Have a good day y'all!

-Rei's boyfriend

[kikyoupdates]

For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ 𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

You never believed reincarnation was possible, least of all in the fictional world of Jujutsu Kaisen. However, from the moment you meet Gojo Satoru, it’s impossible to deny. Whether it’s a miracle or some kind of curse, you find yourself growing up alongside the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you know what the future holds in store. You know exactly what kind of tragedies await. Perhaps that’s why you were brought into this world. If it means saving people from a gruesome fate, you’ll gladly suffer in their place. You’ll do whatever it takes. All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

previous | story masterlist | next

“I’m leaving the Zen’in Clan.” 

Shortly after the birth of the twins, Toji makes an announcement. Up until now, it was a day just like any other. You were eating some dumplings you made—stuffed with an assortment of things, including flaming hot Cheetos—when all of a sudden, he turned to face you with a stern expression. 

He must have been expecting you to gape at him. He must have expected you to stop eating, frozen from the shock of it all. Perhaps he was even expecting you to ask him to repeat himself, because clearly, he just said something absolutely insane. 

But instead, you merely shrug.

“Cool,” you reply, taking another bite of your dumpling. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. You should totally do that. I support you.” 

Toji knits his brows together, incapable of hiding his confusion. “That’s all you have to say? Aren’t you even going to try to talk me out of it?” 

“Why would I do that? The Zen’in Clan is full of buttholes. Other than Naoya. He’s nice. He could easily have turned out to be a misogynistic douche, but don’t worry, I fixed him.”

“What the hell are you even talking about?” 

Toji shakes his head and lets out a heavy sigh. As always, you’re difficult to make sense of. But then again, he probably should’ve known you wouldn’t react normally. You’ve always been special. Full of surprises. It’s never a dull moment with you around. 

That must be why he likes you so much. 

“I’m really leaving,” Toji repeats. “You might think I’m not being serious, but I am. I’ve had enough of these lowlives. I’m constantly biting back the urge to kill them. Now that those twin girls have been born, I already know the clan is going to test my patience even more. I can’t stand to be around to watch it happen. It pisses me off.” 

You slowly set your dumpling down, then offer him a reassuring smile. “If that’s what you want to do, I think you should do it. You don’t owe them anything. In fact, I’m sure you’ll be much happier without them.” 

It’s not just that you think the Zen’in Clan is full of incorrigible losers. The fact that Toji has made up his mind to leave, at this point in time, clearly indicates that a specific event is set to occur. He has to abandon the Zen’in Clan. That’s one thing you have absolutely zero intention of changing. 

After all, you wouldn’t want to prevent Megumi from being born.

Part of you fears that you’ve already messed up the timeline enough. You’re worried that, with all of the changes you’ve brought on, they’ve triggered some kind of domino effect that will prevent Toji’s meeting with Megumi’s mother from ever taking place. It’s entirely possible that he’s already missed his window of opportunity. You were so determined to save as many lives as possible, that in doing so, you might have completely erased a certain boy’s existence from this world. 

…no. It’s not too late for them to meet. I have hope. I promised I would never give up, no matter what, and this is no different. 

“I want you to be happy,” you beam, and it’s crazy how just by looking at you for a few moments, Toji’s irritation completely subsides, and instead, a smile rises to his lips. 

“Is that so?” he chuckles. 

“Of course. I love you. You’re like my big brother. I want you to have a great life, surrounded by people you care about. Maybe even… a wife and a kid?” 

You bat your eyes at him, making no effort to be subtle. He blinks several times in a row, and at first, you assume it’s because you brought up marriage and kids, but it turns out that’s not what caught his attention.

Toji clears his throat. “What did you just say?” 

“Hm? I was just saying that I want you to be happy, and I think it’d be nice to have a family to call your own. Not like the Zen’in Clan. A real family. One that you actually care about.” 

“That’s not the part I was referring to.” 

You frown, not understanding right away, but eventually, your eyes widen. 

“Oh! Are you talking about how I said I loved you?” you ask, and based on the way Toji awkwardly shifts in place, you must have hit the nail right on the head. 

“That’s not a word you should be using at your age,” he says, although funnily enough, he doesn’t look all that torn up about it. “You’re too young. You’re just throwing it around without knowing any better.” 

“No, I’m not,” you insist. “I love you. And Satoru. And Naoya. All of you are irreplaceable to me. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a liar. When I say something like that, I mean it.” 

“...I see.” 

Toji doesn’t say anything else. You already know that he’s hardly the sentimental type, and perhaps it’s too soon for him to say he loves you back—perhaps he’ll go his entire life without uttering those words—but it’s okay. You don’t need any verbal affirmation. Just by watching him struggle to suppress his smile, the answer is obvious.

He cares about you more than he ever thought was possible. 

“I can’t believe he actually left!”

Well, it’s official. Toji is no longer a member of the Zen’in Clan, and surprise, surprise—Naoya isn’t happy about it.

“He seriously left,” Naoya grumbles, kicking a stray twig on the ground. “Why would he do something like that? I promised him I’d fix the Zen’in Clan. I told him I’d make everything better once I’m in charge. Does he… not believe in me at all?” 

“Of course he believes in you,” you reassure. “It’s just that he was tired of being treated so badly. He’d had enough. I’m sure you’ll become a great leader someday, but for now, the clan is still a difficult environment for Toji to be part of. He deserves the chance to be happy, don’t you think?” 

Naoya’s lips are still twisted into a pout, but your words give him pause, and he turns towards you with a hopeful expression. 

“Really?” he asks. “Does he really think I’ll become a good leader?” 

“Definitely not,” Satoru cuts in, spinning a leaf between his fingers disinterestedly.

Naoya grits his teeth. “Nobody was even talking to you, loser! I only care what [Name] has to say!” 

“Well, I thought you might want to hear the truth. [Name]’s just going to lie to you, like always, because that’s what people do when they want to spare stupid babies’ feelings.” Satoru stares at him, pointedly. “You’re the baby, in case that wasn’t clear.” 

“For the millionth time, I’m only one year younger than you!” 

“Ignore him, Naoya,” you sigh, half rolling your eyes. “I meant what I said. Toji might not show it, but I can tell he’s rooting for you to change the Zen’in Clan once you’re in charge. It’s just that it’ll be a while until then. For now, Toji’s just going to be doing his own thing. And it’s not like you won’t get to see him anymore. He’s still going to be training me.” 

“...I guess.” 

Naoya crosses his arms and relents, just this once. He really does look up to Toji. It’s kind of incredible just how much Toji meant to him in the canon series, because as far as you know, they didn’t really have a relationship. Certainly nothing like the one they have now. 

All thanks to you. 

For the next couple of days, Toji is busy finding a new place to live and getting settled in. You’re not worried that he’s going to go back on his promise to train you. Even if you end up having to be apart for a while, it’ll be fine. You’re confident that he’s changed for the better. He should know that you’ll be very upset with him if he decides to start going around assassinating sorcerers and whatnot. 

It doesn’t actually take all that long for you to see Toji again, and from what you can tell, he’s his usual self. Still, he’s always been good at keeping a poker face. So, to figure things out, you’ll have to put on your detective hat and be a little sneaky. 

“Toji, you haven’t started killing people for money, have you?” 

Satoru and Naoya both turn their heads, jaws dropping in disbelief. Perhaps you could’ve sugar-coated your words a bit more. Also, fine, you were lying about being sneaky. When it comes to Toji, you’ve learned that a blunt, steadfast approach is the most effective one. 

“What are you talking about?” Toji snorts, picking up a piece of offal with his chopsticks. “I’ve only been gone a week. Has your brain already started to rot?” 

“No, I’m still the same genius everyone knows and loves,” you reassure. 

“Well, isn’t that a relief.”

“You’re telling the truth, right?”

“Yes. I really am relieved that your brain hasn’t rotted.” 

“I’m obviously talking about the other thing. How many people have you killed this week, Toji? If the number is anything other than zero, I’m afraid we’re going to have a problem.” 

Naoya leans in to whisper in Satoru’s ear. “What is she talking about? I don’t understand at all. Is this what people call an inside joke?”  

“It better not be an inside joke,” Satoru mutters. “She knows I don’t like to be kept in the dark. Hey, [Name]! Who are we killing, and why?” 

“Nobody’s killing anyone,” you sigh, making a point of frowning towards Toji. He barely even flinches, of course. He’s always been good at keeping his cool (for the most part, at least), so it’s true that his expression doesn’t exactly give you much to work with. Still, you like to think that you know him pretty well by now, and you’re pretty confident that he hasn’t done anything wrong. 

“I’ve been gambling,” Toji suddenly says. He takes another bite of his food, wipes his mouth with a napkin, then leans back with his arms spread out. “Listen up. Other than [Name], you’re all a bunch of spoiled brats who don’t know any better, but adults have to make a living. Now that I’m no longer part of the Zen’in Clan, I have almost no money.” 

You frown. “What about the money you won all those times I snuck into the casino with you?” 

“Ah, I spent that already.” 

“All of it?” 

“Obviously. How do you think I managed to find somewhere to live in the first place? Most of my savings are gone now. I’m trying to take what little I have left and turn it into a fortune,” he says, chuckling to himself and looking awfully smug—as if gambling is something to be proud of. 

Satoru blinks languidly. “I give him less than two months until he ends up homeless.” 

“If you’re looking for a fight, all you have to do is ask,” Toji scowls.  

As much as you would like to rectify Toji’s problematic lifestyle, you figure he’s probably on the right track. He needs to explore the world on his own, and somewhere along the way, he’ll encounter the woman he’s meant to fall in love with. If you fix everything too soon, that meeting might never occur. 

So, you wait. Every time you meet up with Toji, you’re practically holding your breath, waiting to hear the good news. Or—some news, at least. Any kind of news other than the same old nonsense he usually greets you with. 

“[Name], you really need to come with me this time,” Toji urges, pulling on your sleeve like some kind of needy kindergartner. “I just can’t win. I only ever win big when I’m with you. Come on. I’ll buy you a present afterwards.” 

“I’m not going to keep enabling your gambling addiction, Toji,” you sigh. “Plus, we’ve already been blacklisted from pretty much everywhere. They even called the cops last time. I’m a good girl. I want to keep my record clean.” 

“Those kinds of laws hardly apply to jujutsu sorcerers.” 

“I’m just not destined for a life of crime. Sorry. Have you ever considered getting a real job?” 

Toji reels back, visibly offended. “What?” 

“A real job,” you repeat. “You know, like, working construction or something. You’re super-duper strong. I bet you wouldn’t even break a sweat.” 

“I can’t do that,” he refuses. 

“Why not?” 

“Because I don’t want to.” 

“Ah. It seems that once again, laziness is the cause of your misfortune,” you sigh. 

“Shut up.” Toji flicks you on the forehead, and you wince, hands moving to rub the sore spot that’s already forming. He then grumpily rests his chin on the back of his hand. “I’m still getting used to things, that’s all. I’ve been part of the Zen’in Clan all my life. I’m relieved to be done with those bastards. I just don’t know what to do next.” 

That settles it. You’re more certain that ever than he hasn’t yet become the famed Sorcerer Killer in this lifetime. Otherwise he wouldn’t look so confused. So lost. So unsure of what to do with his life. 

Having a new family should give him a sense of purpose. Especially if he’s actually a good dad this time around. 

“Things will look up soon,” you beam, leaning your head against Toji’s shoulder. “I promise.” 

Unfortunately, that turns out to be not-so-true. More time passes, but even now, Toji still hasn’t met Megumi’s mother. You hate to admit it, but you’re starting to panic. You’re terrified that you may have fucked up the story beyond return. 

Satoru must be able to tell that you’ve been rather high-strung lately, because he decides to take you out for a fun day in town. As much as you enjoy sneaking away from the Gojo Clan, admittedly, your attention is elsewhere. You can’t seem to get out of your own head. You can’t stop thinking about how, because of you, Megumi might not even exist. 

“[Name],” Satoru frowns. He grabs onto your wrist and pulls you towards him, gently. “What’s the matter with you? You’re acting weird. You’ve barely even been saying anything, and normally, you don’t know how to shut up.” 

“Oh… sorry.” 

You strain a smile, but he’s not your best friend for nothing. He can tell when there’s something weighing on your mind. He must have been hoping that this little trip would cheer you up. He looks disappointed with himself that it isn’t working. 

“Just be honest with me,” he insists. “Did something happen? You acted like it was no big deal, but are you secretly upset that the old man isn’t part of the Zen’in Clan anymore? Knowing you, I’m sure you’re still not over how badly they treated him.”

“No, not that. I’m just… preoccupied. With something I’ve been trying to fix.” 

“Well, why can’t you tell me what it is?” 

“It’s hard to explain.” 

“I’m not stupid. Whatever it is, I’ll understand.” 

He pulls on your wrist repeatedly, urging you to confide in him, but there are certain burdens in this world that only you can carry. You wish you’d done a better job of hiding how bummed out you are. It wasn’t your intention to worry him—

“Ah, good morning, Fushiguro!”

“...” 

Wait, what did I just hear? 

You turn your head so fast you nearly break your neck in the process. Your gaze wanders aimlessly at first, but eventually, you manage to discern where the voice was coming from—and it’s safe to say that your heart nearly stops. 

There’s a woman waving to the person who just called her name. She has black hair that doesn’t reach much further than below her chin, and a warm, gentle smile. A woman who, despite having only made a very brief appearance in the series, you immediately recognize. 

She is Megumi’s mother. Or at least, she’s supposed to be. 

You watch, lips parted in awe, as she steps inside one of the stores. It’s a restaurant, by the looks of it. Well, not that it really matters what it is. Yet again, the universe has just blessed you with an opportunity, and as always, you have no intention of wasting it. 

“I’m hungry,” you suddenly blurt, grabbing Satoru’s hand to pull him along. “That place looks like they’d have good food. Let’s go in there.” 

“Huh? Wait, you still haven’t even answered my question—” 

Too late. You’re already dragging him into the restaurant, whether he likes it or not, and even though he doesn’t understand what the hell is going on, he just can’t seem to figure out how to say no to you. 

You step inside the restaurant, with the door’s bell jingling behind you as it swings shut. It’s a small place, but it has a nice, comforting feel. You weren’t exactly lying about what you said before. It does look like it’d probably have pretty good food. That’s not what you’re here for, though. 

There are a few other customers inside, people sitting at tables and enjoying their meals, but regretfully, no sign of Fushiguro. You don’t understand how she could’ve possibly disappeared so fast. You watched her walk inside literally a few seconds ago. 

No way. Did I… lose her? Did I miss my chance? 

Your shoulders slump, and you’re once again weighed down by disappointment. This time, you really screwed things up. You’ve been doing so well in this world that you must’ve gotten overconfident. You must've forgotten just how delicate of a matter changing the future actually is. 

“What’s wrong now?” Satoru asks, tilting his head to get a better look at your expression. “Hey. Seriously. You need to talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” 

You part your lips, even though you’re not really sure what to say, but before any sound escapes, you hear footsteps approaching. 

Ah. 

It’s Fushiguro. She looks slightly different than before. She changed into another shirt, and she’s also wearing an apron. Not only that, but she’s holding a pen in her hand, and a little notepad to write on.

Holy shit. She works here? 

“Hi there,” she suddenly says, smiling in your direction. “How can I help you today?” 

“T-Table for two,” you stammer out of pure reflex. After all, there’s no chance in hell you’re leaving now. Not when Lady Luck has so graciously decided to shine down upon you. It turns out that you’ve been worrying for nothing. When it comes to the characters of Jujutsu Kaisen, you’re quite literally a magnet for all of them.

Fushiguro leads you and Satoru to a table, then gets you started with some tea and water while you take the time to read the menu. She leaves to give you a few minutes to decide, and you’re so excited now that you can’t stop swinging your legs underneath the table. You even end up accidentally kicking Satoru in the shin. 

He rubs the tender spot on his leg and frowns. “Man, you’re weird. You looked so upset just a few minutes ago, but now you’re smiling nonstop. Are you ever going to tell me what happened?” 

“It’d be a waste of time to get into it. Just know that I’m amazing. I’m literally built different.” 

He’s not sure what the hell that’s supposed to mean, but at least you’re in a good mood again. Being upset doesn’t suit you. It just feels unnatural. Wrong. 

Satoru chuckles softly. 

As expected, you look best with a smile. 

“I’m telling you, the food’s amazing!” you exclaim. “You have to try it. I’m sure you’ll love it, too.” 

Toji knits his brows together. “I’m not sure I trust your opinion when it comes to food. If you’ve come up with a new way of trying to poison me, I’m not interested.” 

“Don’t worry, the food actually is good,” Satoru reassures. “Otherwise I sure as hell wouldn’t have come back.” 

“Hm. I’m still not convinced. This could easily be a prank.” 

“Well, you’re just going to have to find out, aren’t you?”

Satoru looks up at Toji with a taunting expression, to which the latter responds by glaring even harder, but you could care less about their petty feud right now. You’re practically vibrating as you step inside the restaurant. You’re about to bear witness to a modern love story, and it’s taking all your willpower not to let your inner fangirl explode. 

Fushiguro is working today, of course, and it’s not through sheer coincidence, but rather, by design. Last time she was your server, you shamelessly asked what her schedule was, so that you could visit her again. Perhaps it would be kind of a creepy question coming from an adult, but in everyone’s eyes, you’re just a cute, twelve-year-old kid. She seemed ecstatic that you liked her so much. And now, you’re about to repay her kindness with a gift. 

AKA a super jacked future husband. 

“Welcome,” Fushiguro beams. “There are three of you today! Who’s this you’ve brought along with you?” 

“This is Toji,” you happily introduce. “He’s basically my big brother. He takes care of me and is really nice. He’s handsome, too. Don’t you think so?” 

Toji turns towards you with a bewildered expression, and Satoru clamps a palm over his mouth to keep from laughing. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time you’ve said something out of pocket, and besides, Fushiguro doesn’t seem to mind. 

In fact, her cheeks redden ever-so-slightly, and a giggle spills from her lips.

“Yes,” she responds, timidly averting her gaze. “You’re right. He is quite handsome.” 

Toji straightens up, looking awfully alert all of a sudden, and you suspect that what you just said no longer bothers him. He might even be thankful for it. And he certainly doesn’t look like he wants to leave anymore. 

Now, then. 

It’s time to play Cupid. 

More chapters are available on Quotev and Ao3!

⊱.⋅follow + post notifications on for story update announcements or join the author's discord!⋅.⊰

💫 main masterlist ♡ oneshot masterlist

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #39

#MerMay 2025 Special Part 1

"Would it be okay... if I read them? Here?"

If you were honest with yourself, something felt incredibly off about the Professor not giving you much time to decide. At the same time, you really didn't want to risk missing out on this great opportunity that was being given to you here, and it made you nervous.

Clearing his throat, the Professor sat down again, placing his hand on top of the documents. He inhaled deeply as he stared at the black words written all over them, then his gaze shot up to you, and a shudder ran down your spine as his eyes seemed to drill into you.

"Do you like the ocean?" he asked you, and you must have looked quite taken aback by the question since he continued talking before you could reply.

"I love the ocean. I spent all my life researching, helping, and learning about the ocean and its inhabitants. I did nothing else. Now that I'm old, all I really know is that I love it. If I had another lifetime to spend, I wouldn't do anything else than I already do. And because it's so precious to me, I want to protect it more than anything else, you understand that, right?"

"Yes..." you mumbled. Like anyone else in this field, you thought greatly about the ocean and its lively and still dormant secrets. Yes, you liked it a lot because as mysterious as it was, it was as precious to you as it probably was to the Professor. But on the other hand, without years of experience and practice, you couldn't truly relate to his devotion. You couldn't completely relate without the years of co-existing with it like the Professor had.

"But this is quite a big decision about my future. I am sure you can understand me, too, when I just want to make sure I am deciding right for me."

"Of course!" he finally relented, holding his hands up pacifyingly, and you reached for the documents he had given free.

"Let me walk you to a more comfortable area for your reviewing," he suggested, getting up with an old-man-groan before smiling at you and leading the way. You quickly gathered your things before going after him, feeling very relieved that things had finally taken a turn forward.

The Professor kept talking about the facility on the way to your new destination, and you listened closely to his explanations, this place still a runner-up as your future workplace. One could never tell if everything was as wonderful as the owner would describe it, but it was a special place indeed, even you knew that.

Other researchers and guards greeted you two along the way as you were led further and further into the facility. The walls began to solidify, and fewer and fewer windows and glass panels lined up, a rather industrial look surrounding you. You didn't mind it too much. Of course, the decor was more for the entryway and higher offices—still, you were surprised when the Professor led you to a door sealed with a code, the door slowly opening with heavy, mechanical sounds.

Odd, you thought. Weren't you supposed to go somewhere to review the papers still in your hand? Was a passcode really necessary?

"I want to show you something," the Professor revealed as he waited patiently for the door to open. "I think it's important for you to see before making your decision."

Without hesitation, the Professor walked inside the room, his shoes clinking against the metal grate on the ground. With a mix of awe and discomfort, you stared into the enormous laboratory, a gigantic water tank beneath the grates that served as a walkway. By the time you made a hesitant step forward, the door hissing at your back as it was about to close, urging you inside, the Professor was already on the other side of the room, having crossed the pool underneath without much care.

"This!" he announced, raising his arms celebratory. "Will be yours!"

Turning to face away from you, he flicked on some switches on the wall, lights turning on, and the water began to ripple, creating small waves. Then, he abruptly turned around, walking back to you with a bright smile on his lips.

"You will work, study, learn, and teach here. It will all be yours and comes with your own little helper."

You watched the Professor as he lowered his hand, pointing towards the pool. As if on commando, a shadow formed inside the water, slowly growing larger—gigantic even. You gasped, taking a few steps back when suddenly, a long tentacle pierced through the surface, touching down on the metal grate and winding itself towards the Professor.

"Don't be scared," he said softly, but although you thought he spoke with you, he might as well have said it to the creature. You should have expected something like an octopus to be here at the facility, but this creature was humongous compared to the ones you had learned about. Its tentacle moved forward, lifting to reach for the Professor's outstretched hand until it could finally touch his glove, slowly curling up in his palm.

You watched with bated breath, almost expecting the creature to try and drag the Professor into the water, but it just rested its tentacle there, calm and content. "Amazing," you whispered, knowing just how clever octopi were, but seeing a giant, tamed, or trained one was spectacular.

"This one's yours," the Professor announced, pleased. He patted the tentacle gently before holding it out to you. Nervously, you looked up to him, unsure if you could trust him or, even more so, the cephalopod. Yet, how could you miss this chance?

Holding out your free hand, the Professor lightly flopped the tentacle in his palm, which immediately began moving and migrating right onto yours. It was heavy, yet almost cautious not to weigh you down, the suction cups gently but curiously moving over your skin. It wrapped the tentacle around your wrist once, making you a little more nervous, before settling in your palm, swishing back and forth, exploring and tasting you as these creatures did. It was a strange feeling, but before you knew it, you couldn't help but chuckle at the oddness of it all.

"He seems to really like you," the Professor spoke up, tearing you out of your thoughts and back to reality. "He's a prized possession of this facility, and we are working to ensure he'll live long and happily here."

The tentacle was still playing with your hand, sometimes exploring a little higher up your arms, its tip even doing a little wiggle for you in the air.

"We are in dire need of a caretaker for him. Consider this in your decision. There's a table over there; feel free to use it. I'll be back in an hour to hear your decision."

You looked up at where the Professor was pointing, seeing a workspace on the other side. Distracted, you almost missed the Professor pinching the tentacle, but he chided it gently with a, "And you be good to our new candidate," and the tentacle immediately loosened its hold and slipped off.

The Professor looked back up at you, giving you a heartfelt "I look forward to your decision" before leaving you alone. Even the shadow below seemed to have disappeared while you weren't looking, and although you wished to know more, you took a deep breath and focused. Sitting down at the table, you placed the papers before you, going through everything in the contract, sentence by sentence.

Never noticing in all the time spent in the enclosure that two curious eyes were watching you.

(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)

[docholligay]

Okay, so, first off I want to apologize to everyone reading this liveblog for this post. I know that Roy is like, an asshole, and would be considered a war criminal probably if we had the Geneva Convention and it had been an officially declared war. I also know that Hawkeye would be right behind him committing war crimes because if nothing else she is deeply loyal to nightmare of her choice, and that's Roy. I get not being into any deep dive read of this two.

Unfortunately, I imprinted on them like a baby chick and now you all have to deal with it.

I love that Roy is an idiot. Scar is an objectively very dangerous man, who has a real hateboner for State Alchemists, and is still very correctly angry about Ishbal. He has many not every right, but certainly a lot of rights, to kill Roy. Roy sort of has it coming here. I know I just called Roy and idiot, but he is also not an idiot. He has seen the people who have been killed or laid low by Scar. He has know that he is in danger here.

So why does he put himself on the chopping block? AND PLEASE DON'T TELL ME I HATE HAVING TO BREAK THE FLOW OF THESE POSTS WITH MY PLEAS FOR MERCY BUT I WANT TO NOT BE SPOILED OR HINTED. Is it arrogance? Roy is indeed very, very good, and he is strategic as well as powerful, and very fast. But I don't think it's that. I think Roy is smart enough to know that arrogance, at least of a heady quality a la Ed (though I do think Roy was very arrogant in his younger years) will get you killed but fast. Is it guilt over Ishbal? AHahahahahahahaha no. I don't think Roy carries around the same kind of thing Marcoh does. Maybe Roy feels like it was shitty and disproportionate and he didn't like doing it, but even if he does, he's got it so fully compartmentalized that it barely makes a dent. Is it a sense of honor to his men? Hm. Maybe. That Scar wants something out of the Alchemists specifically. I don't love it but I could take it. Is it bluster? Ahhhh now we're getting to where I land. Roy is a smart man, and as a smart man, he knows that a lot of times, if you act like you are the tougher and more dangerous dog, people will back down. It will put them off. He gets Scar's attention. He does not run. He identifies himself. He acts like he is bad enough to take on Scar, in the hopes Scar will believe it.

BUT LET'S TALK ABOUT HAWKEYE. "Fuck you, Roy" she seems to say, as she catches the gun he throws to her without looking, because he knows where she will be at all times, because he knows he can trust her to catch it. THESE TWO FUCK MY WHOLE LIFE I AM SO FUCKING MAD ABOUT THIS. And she is! She is there in a hot second! He knows where she will be and she can read his motions maybe even before he can.

But she is also two other things: Annoyed and AFRAID. She also knows what a bad bitch Scar is, and in her voice, for the first time in the show, we hear CONCERN. When she says, 'Colonel!' it is not an affirmative, it is a warning. She is expressing to him that this situation is dangerous, that he is possibly biting off more than he can chew, that she does not want to be cleaning his fucking brains off the side of the wall, because can they even be separated? They're like the clematis that has grown around a rotting trellis and at this point its impossible to tell which is holding up the other and they will both go down if one is cut.

WOW EVERYONE SORRY ABOUT THAT I SURE HOPE YOU WANTED 700 WORDS ABOUT FOUR SCREENCAPS.

PLEASE DO NOT COMMENT ANYTHING THAT COULD EVEN REMOTELY LEAD TO ME REALIZING SOMETHING OR KNOWING SOMETHING NEW. Do not confirm, deny, draw attention to something I missed EVEN IF I SHOULD HAVE SEEN IT, contextualize in a cultural or historical way, anything. I hate that I have to be so specific but I am trying to experience this show totally clean. IF YOU SPOIL ME I WILL BLOCK YOU.

QUICK LINK TO THE SPOILER-FILLED FUNTIMES DISCORD HERE. THEY WOULD LOVE TO HEAR THE THINGS YOU KNOW AND YELL ABOUT ME

[moodooivy]

My random opinions on Alastor ships (Not all of these are gonna be positive)

RadioStatic

Will always be my comfort ship. If they don't kiss in season 2, I will be very disappointed in Viv and everyone else working on the show /hj

RadioSilence

You guys probably know my opinion on this ship by now. But in case you missed it I hate it. This ship makes me very uncomfy. (Most because it doesn't even make any God damn sense and people are very hypocritical about it)

SilentStatic

PLEASE BE CANON PLEASE BE CANON PLEASE BE CANON PLEASE BE CANON PLEASE BE CANON PLEASE BE CANON

RadioApple

I am going to cry if this ends up being canon. GUYS PLEASE DON'T LET IT FOR THE LOVE OF SATAN. Please just let them hate each other forever or maybe become simple frenemies.

RadioDust

This ship has always felt a little weird. I don't wanna bash it too much because heaven forbid the shippers have been through enough, but I really don't like it...

RadioRose

Ehhh... I'm pretty neutral to the ship. But the shippers are some of the most rabid people I've ever met.

Charlastor

This was the first ship I liked in the fandom. I remember when I didn't even join yet and this ship was always all over my feed and I was like "Wtf is Hazbin Hotel".

Valastor

A bit of a guilty pleasure for me tbh. It's funny. It's cute. I like it.

RadioMoth

I'll never understand Vaggie x Alastor... That's all I'mma say.

RadioHusk

Please no...

[robertseanleonardthinker]

i see actually neurodivergent trending so i just wanna say shoutout to my fellow learning disability ppl bc disorders other than adhd and autism r often left out when talking abt neurodivergency on the internet. we r all so awesome and cool and hot and smart regardless of our learning disabilities and i am kissing u all on the forehead so gently

[batcavescolony]

I see a lot of people upset about William Kaplan being dead and no one mourning him cus Billy stole his body and I just don't see it that way. The kid in Wanda Vision is Billy Maximoff, The teenager at the Bar Mitzvah is William Kaplan, the Teen that got taken to the hospital after the wreck is neither and both Billy Maximoff and William Kaplan. That Teen went home with the abilities of Billy Maximoff, to the home of William Kaplan, with memories of neither and lived there for three years. He cares about Rebecca and Jeff, he lied to the to protect them from pain, they are his parents. He wants to find Tommy, he has magical powers, he wants to know who he is. All of these things are true. I wouldn't say William Kaplan is dead he just doesn't remember, like Agatha wasn't dead when he was Agnes, she just didn't remember.

[redgoldblue]

so assuming Avery is actually pregnant / doesn't early-trimester miscarry (which is not a given), there's two reasonable ways this can go, right. number one is she gets an abortion, the plotline is used to pull them all back together again, and they all have some collective hurt/comfort about it. number two, the one i would write - don't get me wrong, i'm all for women getting career-driven abortions, but hear me out - is the one where she does have the baby. under the cut bc it got long.

she goes to med school at first while pregnant - Max is right, it can be done, people in my cohort did it - and either gets lucky with the timing of the actual birth being during holidays, or just works her way to getting time off for a few weeks around it. And then... there's a baby. And you know what else there is? There's two dads (because we're 100% Mamma Mia-ing this bitch. they never find out who the bio dad is and they never seriously try. Baby comes out with Avery's exact skin tone so that's no clue.), and an entire cruise ship worth of backup babysitters. So Avery goes back to med school, and leaves the baby with Tristan and Max.

And, yes, raising a baby while also running an infirmary with a rotating cast of temporary substitute nurses filling Avery's role isn't the easiest thing they've ever done, but Robert loves fulfilling grandparent duties any time he's not on duty; Rosie gets one of those strap-on baby carriers and walks her (i don't know why i've decided the baby is a her but i have now) around the engine room pointing out parts and explaining concepts and hey, the baby never complains about her Michigan stories; Corey gets a cart and a bundle of clean sheets and pushes her down the corridors until the smell of laundry powder automatically makes her start laughing.

Max and Tristan make a pact to send Avery at least two photos a day - which ends up getting supplemented by everyone else who's with Baby - and FaceTime her most days, and whenever she gets a few days off she meets them in port. (The most expensive part of baby-raising ends up being her flights to wherever the Odyssey happens to be at the time, at least until Robert finds out and figures out a way to start paying her 'maternity leave', despite her insistence that the whole point of this is that she isn't maternity-leaving and he should probably be paying himself that and anyway, isn't she technically not an employee right now?)

And the thing is, during this time, Max and Tristan start... realising some things. Like how neither of them feel like they've lost their only partner, because they.. haven't. Like how the co-parenting's been working out better than either of them expected, because they fell instantly (minus a few minor bumps) into a shared rhythm. Like how sometimes they look at the other one holding Baby and feel like their heart's about to explode.

Also, they've both started sleeping in Max's bed. Because Baby's spent so much time sleeping in the corner of the infirmary that now if she wakes up at night and can't see both of them, she starts crying inconsolably. And obviously Max's suite is more suited to multiple inhabitants, and they're usually too damn exhausted to even remember the first time they were in this bed together.

(usually. most of the time. and when they're not, they don't make it the other's problem)

So at the end of the first year of this, the last two days of the year's last cruise have been packed with crisis after crisis after demanding patient after crisis, and as soon as they finally wave the last passenger off they hand Baby gratefully over to Robert and go crash out in Max's bed.

Avery was supposed to be meeting them on board tomorrow, but her last exam gets unexpectedly moved up by a day (believe me, med school loves to pull that kind of shit on you), so a couple hours after the passengers have gone, she shows up to surprise them. And finds Robert (a known ody3 shipper) first, who lets her take Baby with minimal captainly sulking about it, and while she rocks and kisses Baby, tells her (as a known ody3 shipper) that the two dads will be on the Pelican deck, but they're probably asleep.

Avery kinda frowns at him, but doesn't question it, and takes Baby up with her to Max's suite to find them. And they are both fast asleep, on either side of Max's bed with a space carefully preserved between them (because it's usually where Baby would be and they're both terrified of accidentally rolling onto her in the middle of the night). She's also exhausted after exams, so she crawls into it, lies on her back with Baby on top of her chest, and goes straight to sleep.

Tristan and Max wake up before her, and when they look across at each other, at Avery and Baby between them, they both simultaneously realise, oh. oh. oh, this - this three, two-and-half, four people, all together - this is it. this is the love, this is the children, this might even be the home - the second, third, fourth bucket list items to happen in this bed.