#and it's just nice to see a hand moving a lever

[swan2swan]

Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous

Running Gag: Yaz Crashes the Car

It's a scientific fact that if you put Yaz in control of a wheeled vehicle, eventually, you will no longer have a vehicle. It may be deliberate, it may be the fault of the vehicle, she may not even be in the driver's seat, but if any insurance company were to find out, her premiums will be through the roof.

[sugugasm]

☆ CLICK TO PLAY ! ➜ 450 DEGREES

YOUR LEVEL IS STARTING SOON . . .

level quest : pov ur neighbor is a firefighter, and you love a man in uniform . . just as much as he loves your chocolate chip cookies.

☆ — a message from the developer : hiii i missed uguys sm, i’m so glad to be back for realsies this time :p don’t mind any mistakes or errors & before you read — nsfw content up ahead so pretty please read these warnings !!! strangers to lovers !!! age gap alert ➜ toji is 35 and reader is 25, mentions of sexual themes such as oral, vaginal penetration, pet names such as : sweetheart, angel, baby ofc, princess, honey, etc. usage of sexual terms and usage of terms describing female anatomy, uses she/her pronouns. firefighter! toji x baker! blk fem! reader 333 — word count : 8.0K or 9.0K, i lost track LOL

“fuck . .”

toji cut the engine of his ford pickup and sat for a moment, eyes closed, letting the silence wash over him. every muscle ached with exhaustion, the double shift of 48 hours catching up to him. he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in an actual bed instead of snatching a few hours on the lumpy firehouse couch in between calls.

sighing, he grabs his duffel from the passenger seat and levers himself out of the truck. as he turns toward the house, a flash of color across the street quickly catches his attention. his new neighbor — you, out puttering in your postage stamp front yard, wearing a tank top the same vivid coral as the geraniums you were watering and cut-off jean shorts that barely qualified as clothing to any old, bitter bastard.

he’d seen you before. many times. whether it was while leaving for an early session at the gym as you walked your puppy, or his moving day . . where he could barely order around gojo and geto, struggling to tell them where they should place certain boxes due to hearing your alluring giggle coming from the house next door, your curls flowing in the breeze as you gossiped over iced lemonade with mrs. johnson on her porch.

his thoughts are interrupted when you glance toward him, face lighting up with a friendly smile as you spotted him. “hi there! nice to finally see you in the flesh instead of just passin’ headlights at odd hours of the night.”

“sorry about that.” toji hoped his answering smile passed for normal and not serial-killer exhausted. “i’m toji, toji fushiguro. i jus’ moved in last month.”

“well m’ yn. welcome to the neighborhood!” you propped a hand on one cocked hip, thoughtlessly drawing his eye to the thickness of your legs that almost looked golden in the sun lighting.

jesus.

realizing he was staring, he jerks his gaze back to your face, feeling his neck heat up at the idea of you catching on. “thanks. s’ a nice area. quiet.”

“i like to think we're a pretty welcomin’ bunch. in fact . . .” you bite your lip, looking almost shy for a second. “i was plannin’ to do some baking later, as a housewarming gift for all the newbies. any requests? cookies, muffins, scones? i make a mean cinnamon roll too.”

an unexpected warmth kindled in toji’s chest at the kindness of the offer. even as his stomach rumbled in anticipation, he couldn't remember the last time someone had gone out of their way to do something nice for him. sadly, baked goods didn't really tend to hold up well on 24-hour shifts.

“that’s really sweet of you, thanks. i love a good chocolate chip cookie, but i’ll happily be your guinea pig for anything.”

“sounds like a plan.” you graced him with another one of those classic, southern hospitality miles. “i’ll surprise you. they’ll be over before you know it!”

“looking forward to it. i better let you get back to . .” he waves a hand vaguely at the riot of flowers on your lawn, colors and smells galore.

“oh, right. see you soon then. welcome home!” with a small wave, you bend to retrieve the watering can, giving him an unobstructed view of her perky ass in those obscenely small shorts.

strangling a groan, toji spun on his heel and double-timed it into the house before you caught him ogling you like a creep. so much for a quiet neighborhood, he thought ruefully as the door shut behind him. you were gonna’ be one hell of a distraction, though some traitorous part of him looked forward to the temptation. it’d been way too long since he'd been around a pretty girl. maybe that's what all this edginess was - his libido waking up and taking notice after a long dry spell.

well, he'd just have to keep any wayward urges in check. no matter how mouthwatering you looked in tiny cutoffs, you were practically a decade younger and a neighbor, at that. off limits. he’d accept your baked goods, enjoy a little innocent flirting, but anything more was out of the question.

resolved, he headed for the shower, already counting the minutes until he could taste whatever delights you were whipping up for him.

the next morning, toji was on his second cup of coffee, basking in the rare luxury of an empty day ahead with no responsibilities, when the doorbell chimed. he opened it to find you, juggling a huge wicker basket with an equally enormous smile. the sweet scent of sugar, vanilla and chocolate wafted out to tease his nostrils so blissfully, just like how your sheer presence teased . . . other parts of him.

“g’mornin’,” you chirped. “i come bearing gifts from the sugar fairy.”

“so i smell . .” his mouth waters as he relieves you of the basket and ushers you inside, noting how your flowered sundress set off your peaches-and-cream personality. no shorts today, but the dress was nearly as enticing as it grasped on to your curves. he wondered if your skin would taste as good as you smelled, then mentally slapped himself.

down boy.

“i hope you don't mind me just droppin’ by like this. i wanted to catch you before you got busy.” your smile faltered slightly as you glanced around the spartan space with its generic bachelor furniture and decided lack of personal touches. “if s’ not a good time . .”

toji set the basket on the coffee table and turned to her, hands raised in mock surrender. “you came to my house bearin’ gifts of dessert. trust me, it's never gonna’ be a bad time. i may actually make some sort of sugar delivery beacon to summon you in the future.”

your laugh sounded a little relieved. “aww cute, sounds like my kind of bat signal. i’ll have to get you a spotlight shaped like a cupcake.”

“make it a cookie and you've got yourself a deal.” he grinned at you. “can i interest you in some coffee to go with whatever magic you've got in there? smells incredible.”

“coffee would be great, thank you.”

he led the way into the kitchen, noting how you took in details like the depressing lack of clutter and decoration. the only personal items were a handful of framed photos stuck to the fridge - him and his siblings as kids, his parents' wedding portrait, shots of fishing trips with his buddies — one with snow-white hair and the other with black. it struck him how sterile the space was, more like a way station than a home.

you didn't comment on it, instead you just leaned a hip on the counter and watched him pour a darkened substance into a ‘worlds worst morning person’ mug. there’s a comforting silence as he catches a whiff of your light perfume over the powerful espresso aroma - something floral and citrusy. it suited you.

“i wasn't sure what kind of treats you'd like, so i made a sampler of my greatest hits,” you say brightly. at his gesture, you unpack the basket, setting containers and various utensils on the table. “okay so . . we’ve got triple chocolate chip cookies, blueberry muffins, apple cinnamon scones, and my famous brown butter cinnamon rolls.”

“good lord,” toji shook his head in awe. “you made all this yesterday? after we spoke? do you even sleep?”

you laugh and accept the steaming mug he offered. “who needs sleep when there's sugar? besides, baking relaxes me. i love seeing people enjoy my creations.”

as if on cue, his stomach rumbles loudly, and you bit your lip against a smile. “sounds like someone's ready for a taste test. don’t be shy . . dig in.”

toji didn't need to be told twice. he selected a cinnamon roll, still warm from the oven, and bit in with a moan that would've been beyond embarrassing if his mouth wasn't full of heaven. “shit . . think i jus’ found my religion.”

you giggled that giggle that’d been stuck in his head since the day he heard it. “the cinnamon rolls tend to inspire a cult-like devotion. you haven't even tried em’ with the cream cheese frosting yet.”

he halted with the pastry halfway to his mouth for another rapturous bite. “there’s frosting too?”

in answer, you pulled a container from the basket with a flourish. “i figured you could handle adding your own so it didn't get soggy.”

“you’re an angel.” he slathered a generous amount of fluffy white frosting on the roll, not even caring that he probably looked like an overexcited kid.

watching him take another blissful bite, you cradled your coffee mug in both hands. “soo . . what d’you do that keeps you gettin’ home at such odd hours? i promise m’ not stalking you, but it's a quiet street. hard not to notice the comings and goings.”

toji washed down the sticky-sweet mouthful with a swig of coffee. “i’m a firefighter. we work 24-hour shifts, so my schedule can be pretty unpredictable."

interest sparked in your eyes. “really? that’s so cool! i bet you have some amazing stories.”

“eh. a few,” he allowed. truthfully he tried not to dwell on some of the things he'd seen, the memories that still occasionally jolted him awake in a cold sweat during the night. “it’s rewarding work, but not exactly a picnic for the social life.”

you give him a sympathetic look over the rim of her mug. “i can imagine. is that why you moved? needed a fresh start?”

“somethin’ like that. the job costed me my marriage a couple years back. got tired of walkin’ around the old place alone, so i thought a change of scenery might do me good.”

change of scenery in deed. toji even went as far as to relocate to a different state after his divorce with his wife. even the landscaping around the city had become too much of a heartache. what was once a happy, sensual marriage quickly turned sour the moment toji began working more. the position as chief hadn’t sounded that horrible in his head, but if he knew he’d come home one night - the clock reading exactly 3:17 am, to an unrecognizable man fast asleep in his bed, naked next to his wife, that that position could’ve waited. could’ve been passed on.

there’s a silent second between you two, your face still, “i-im so sorry,” you say softly, and toji feels relief when he sees that your eyes were warm with understanding, free of the pity he'd come to dread whenever his divorce came up in any other conversation he’d have with someone who didn’t know him.

he shrugged. “it is what it is. we married too young, grew apart. my hours didn't help. no hard feelings though.” he mustered up a wry smile. “what about you? you’re a little young to be living the retired grandma life, baking up a storm in the 'burbs.”

you grin, allowing him to lighten the mood. “hey, hey, hey, this grandma can party with the best of em’! fyi, i stayed up past 10 last saturday watching bad girls club.”

toji clutches his chest in feigned shock. “damn, so scandalous! what was the special occasion?”

“all have you know . . i was trying to perfect a new macaron recipe. passionfruit with dark chocolate ganache. they’re a fickle mistress though - one minute too long in the oven and they're as dry as bones.”

“sounds like bakin’ is more than jus’ a hobby for you,” he observed.

you toy with your mug. “it’s my whole life, really. i’m in my second year of culinary school, specializing in pastry arts. when i graduate, i’m hoping to open my own bakery. somewhere people feel welcome and cared for. a safe space, i suppose.” he stares, and you duck your head with an embarrassed laugh. “sorry for the tangent . . it probably sounds so silly.”

“not at all.” toji found himself impressed by the passion and dedication evident in your voice. you had a dream and you were going after it. he remembered that feeling. before the reality of adulthood had started chipping away at his own youthful idealism.

he wanted to say something to encourage you, to protect that light shining in your eyes for as long as possible. “for what it's worth, i think you're gonna’ be amazing,” he told you seriously, holding your gaze. “if this morning’s haul is any indication, you'll have lines around the block.”

you shield your smiling face sweetly. “that’s kind of you to say. i appreciate the vote of confidence. speaking of . .” you hesitate, then forge ahead. “m’ actually working on developing an original signature recipe for my final. multiple components, flavors, textures. the works.”

“sounds ambitious,” he said, eyebrows raised. “what’d you have in mind?”

your eyes sparkle with enthusiasm at the question, the thought of genuine curiosity making your heart flutter. “deconstructed black forest cake. dark chocolate cake, kirsch-soaked cherries, vanilla bean whipped cream. i wanna’ play with it, update it. maybe turn it into a trifle or a parfait of some sort.”

toji was no culinary expert. hell - he didn’t even know what half of those things were, but even he could tell you were on to something special. “that’s incredible, yn. lemme’ guess - you need a guinea pig?”

you bite your lip nervously, smile turning impish. “i didn't wanna’ impose, but since you offered the other day . . how would you like to be my official taste-tester? i can't really pay you, but you'll get free rein to sample every variation.”

“where do i sign up?” he was only half joking. even if your creations turned out to be awful, which he highly doubted, any excuse to spend more time with you sounded like a win.

you laugh. “i think i can waive the usual application process on account of the fact that you're doing me a huge favor. plus, it means you won't be able to avoid me constantly showing up at your door to force-feed you desserts.”

“oh no. however will i cope.” he feigned a put-upon sigh.

you shot him a look of amused reproof as she packed up the empty containers. “try to contain your disappointment. i promise to space out surprise sugar bombings. wouldn’t wanna’ make you sick of me or my baking."

“i don’t really think i ever could . . to be honest,” he declared firmly. on impulse, he reaches out to still your fluttering hands with his own. your skin was so soft and warm, sending a tingle zipping up his arm. your breath pauses at the contact and your eyes flew to his, startled.

“i mean it,” he said, voice gone low and intent as he tries to infuse sincerity into every word. “i can't imagine ever getting tired of you. or your company.”

for a suspended moment you just stare at each other in silence. then you swallow, sounding a little breathless as you replied, “likewise. m’ really glad you moved in, toji.”

“me too,” he said roughly. and though he knew he shouldn't, that he was venturing into dangerous territory, he allowed himself to stroke the delicate bones of your wrist with his thumb. just once, to feel your shiver lightly in response. then he released you and stepped back, moving to hold the door open for you in unspoken signal.

“i’ll get out of your hair now,” you murmured as you gathered the empty basket with hands that trembled just slightly. “but i’ll see you soon? for taste testing purposes, of course.”

“absolutely,” he confirmed. “anytime. y’know where to find me.”

with a final nod and smile, you slipped out the door. he watched you go, admiring the sway of your hips, the bounce of your hair, already counting the minutes until he'd see you again.

you were gonna’ end him, so so sweetly too., he realized with a trace of fatalism.

but what a way to go, huh? death by cinnamon rolls.

the day of the first official tasting arrived, and toji found himself unaccountably nervous as he approached your door. he felt a like an awkward kid picking up his prom date, palms sweaty and heart knocking around his ribs. which was ridiculous. this wasn't a date. just two neighbors getting together to sample some sweets. totally casual.

never mind that he'd changed his shirt three times, vacillating between wanting to look nice for you and not wanting to seem like he was trying too hard. he’d finally settled on a plain black tee and his least disreputable pair of jeans, adding a hint of cologne as an afterthought.

now, standing on your stoop, he wished he'd brought something. flowers maybe — lillie’s like the ones in your garden, or perhaps wine. did people bring wine to taste testing sessions? probably not. you’d most likely think he was a presumptuous idiot.

shaking his head at his own weird bout of nerves, he raised his hand to knock. before his knuckles could connect, the door swung open to reveal you, looking adorably pretty and flustered. you were wearing a frilly pink apron over a gauzy white sundress scattered with tiny red cherries. your hair was bundled on top of your head in a haphazard knot, loose curls escaping to dance around your swelled cheeks. a dusting of cocoa powder streaked one of them.

“toji - oh, you’re right on time! m’ runnin’ a bit behind, so sorry. come on in.” you stepped back to let him enter and he caught a blend of tantalizing scents - rich chocolate, sweet cherries, warm vanilla, and underneath, the subtle floral musk that was purely you. it made his head swim and his stomach clench with a hunger that had absolutely nothing to do with the promise of dessert.

he followed you into the kitchen, blinking a bit as he took in the transformation. when he'd helped you carry in groceries a few days ago, the room had been tidy and quaint, with cheerful yellow walls and kitschy retro appliances. now every surface was strewn with baking detritus - bowls, whisks, spatulas, piping bags. the air was hazy with a fine mist of flour and powdered sugar, swirling in the slanting sunlight.

incongruously delicate paper doilies serving as placemats were scattered with miniature cakes, puddles of sauce, and billows of snowy cream. it looked like a fancy bakery had exploded all over the place.

“as you can see, i’ve been experimenting with a few different iterations of the concept,” you said with a small smile, waving a hand at the sugary chaos. “couldn’t settle on just one. i thought i’d get your input n’ then we could narrow it down together.”

“i’m at your service,” he told you gallantly, skating his gaze over the counter. “i’ll warn you though, my palate isn't exactly refined. you might end up with the bland 'it all tastes good' as feedback.”

you giggled. “i’ll take it. okay, let's start basic.” you gestured for him to take a seat at the flour-dusted table and set a plate in front of him. on it perched a generous slice of cake, glossy with ganache, accompanied by a scarlet swoosh of what he assumed was the cherry compote. a dollop of whipped cream, flecked with black speckles, completing the overall masterpiece look.

toji quickly picked up the fork and took a bite, closing his eyes to focus on the flavors. the cake was intensely chocolate, the ganache dark and silky. tart-sweet cherries burst on his tongue, balanced by the subtle fragrance of the vanilla-specked cream.

“damn,” he mumbled around the mouthful. “fuckin’ fantastic, yn.”

you beam, looking relieved. “yeah? the cake recipe took a while to get right. i wanted something more . . . complex than a standard chocolate cake, so i used black cocoa powder to really amp up the flavor. n’ i even added a little coffee to enhance the chocolate.”

“s’ a winner,” he assured you. “i dunno’ how you could improve on it, honestly.”

“oh i have a few ideas,” your smile turned mysterious. “you haven't seen anything yet.”

over the next hour, you walked him through several variations. chocolate cake layered with cherry compote and kirsch-soaked chocolate cake crumbs, topped with cocoa whipped cream. dark chocolate and cherry bread pudding drizzled with cherry coulis. chocolate panna cotta with drunken cherries and cherry gelée . . . and toji sampled them all, humming with pleasure while you watched him anxiously. your initial nerves seemed to melt away as you lost yourself in describing the ins and outs of each dish - the technical challenges, the way certain flavors complemented or contrasted, ideas for garnishes and plating.

he found himself captivated by your intensity, the way your whole being lit up when you talked about your craft. it was more than just a job or a hobby for you . . . it was a calling. he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that kind of soul-deep passion for anything. couldn’t take his eyes off the way your slender hands sketched shapes in the air, punctuating your words. delicate, clever hands that created so much beauty.

“earth to toji,” teased, waving one of those mesmerizing hands in front of his face. “did i lose you? too much of a sugar crash?”

toji blinked and refocused on your amused expression, realizing he'd been caught woolgathering like an idiot. “sorry, just slipped into a brief dessert coma. what were you saying?”

“i was asking what you think of this last one. it’s the more . . . wildcard of the bunch.” you pushed a small glass toward him. it looked like a miniature trifle, with layers of cake and cream, a vivid cherry layer in the middle, and a fan of shaved chocolate on top.

he dug in and had to suppress an absolutely obscene moan. the combination was incredible - velvety smooth, creamy, rich, and fruity, with a kick from what had to be a generous glug of kirsch. sweet but not cloying, a sophisticated twist on a classic.

“i think we have a winner,” he managed, not even caring that his voice came out husky. “if you're going for adding a 'wow' factor, this is it.”

you stand on your tippy-toes, looking hopeful. “you think? i couldn't decide if it was too out there. verrines aren't exactly traditional black forrest cake material.”

“doesn’t matter. it’s a showstopper. interesting to look at, fun to eat, n’ the flavor is phenomenal.” he scraped the glass clean with his spoon, not wanting to waste a drop.

your smile could've lit up the city block. “thank you, toji. you don't know how much it means to me, you bein’ here. lettin’ me talk your ear off and stuff you with treats. it really . . helps a lot."

“believe me, it's my pleasure,” he said, returning her smile with one of his own. “i haven't had this much fun in . . i can't even remember how long. i like seein’ you in your element.”

you both just grin goofily at each other for a moment, the air feeling thicker. then you hopped up and began clearing the table, stacking dishes and bustling around the small space.

“y’know i feel bad, you feedin’ me all these goodies without me contributing anything,” toji said, rising to help. “at least lemme’ take you out for a meal that isn't 90% butter and sugar. you must be sick of cookin’, day in and day out.”

you slanted him a glance, tucking a stray curl behind one ear. “m’ not, actually. it never feels like a chore. but i . . wouldn't say no to dinner out. if you're sure you don't mind.”

mind? he’d been trying to come up with an excuse to spend more time with you, and here you were gift wrapping one for him. “i’d love to,” he said firmly. “s’ the least i can do. and i’d like to hear more about this final project of yours. when do you present it?”

“next month,” a shadow crossed your expressive face, there and gone in a blink. “m’ tryin’ not to think too much about it yet. one step at a time, y’know?”

he recognized that look. the flickering uncertainty, the hint of stage fright. he’d worn it himself, back before his first real fire. wanting so badly to prove himself, to show what he was made of, terrified of choking.

impulsively, he reached for your hand, halting her flitting movements. your fingers curled reflexively around his, warm and strong. “look at me . . . you got this. you’re a star, you're gonna’ impress the hell outta’ your professors.”

you swallowed hard, eyes searching his. looking for the belief you couldn't quite muster on your own. “i hope so. i want it so much, toji. this . . all of it. it’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

“then don't let fear hold you back,” he told you gently. “don’t doubt yourself. you have a gift, mama. i know m’ a dumb scrub who can barely tell a macaron from a macaroon, but even i can see that you were born for this shit.”

your hand squeezed his, almost painfully tight. from both the nickname rolling off his tongue so elegantly and the encouragement that you sometimes failed to receive from your closest peers. “thank you, seriously,” you whispered. “for believin’ in me, i guess. it means a lot to me . . .”

he squeezes back, thumb sweeping over your knuckles. he had a sudden, wild urge to haul your into his arms. to soothe the worry from your brow with his lips, to show you with his hands and body and breath how special you were. how much he'd come to care for you in such a short time.

but he couldn't. however strong the pull, however much he wanted to cross that line, he knew it would be a mistake. you weren’t for him, this shining woman with stardust in her eyes. and he was in no position to offer you anything real. he needed to remember that.

so he contented himself with a soft “anytime,” and released your hand, stepping back to a safer distance. “now, about that dinner. friday work for you?”

you blinked, then hitched your smile back into place. it wobbled a bit at the edges, but he pretended not to notice. “friday’s great. s’ a . . . plan.”

even through the awkwardness, the unspoken words clogging the air between you, a little thrill went through him. it’s a date, you’d almost said. and god help him, he wished it was — that’s why you settled on making plans to try the new, cozy italian restaurant that had opened downtown, the one you’d mentioned wanting to visit after a neighborhood watch meeting one night. it was intimate . . . romantic. toji walked home with a lightness in his step, an unfamiliar flutter in his gut. he was in trouble, he knew he was. you were trouble in ways he hadn't encountered before. you made him feel too much.

more than he ever had.

but he was in too deep to back out now. all he could do was try to keep a clear head, keep things casual and platonic. be your friend and supporter, nothing more. his life, his job . . there was no room for complications.

even if he was beginning to suspect it was already far too late.

the days leading up to friday passed in a blur of anticipation and nerves, though toji did his best to ignore both. ‘it isn’t a date. she’s not into you. this isnt a fuckin’ date . . .’ he reminded himself sternly, no matter how much his idiot heart wanted to pretend otherwise. just dinner between neighbors. a thank you for your tireless taste testing efforts. nothing to get all hot n’ bothered about.

so then why the fuck had he changed outfits half a dozen times before settling on the nicest button-down he owned and a new pair of dark wash jeans? why had he agonized over whether to bring flowers or wine or both . . again? this was so embarrassing. he was so embarrassing. he’d think being married once would've meant he had at least a little bit of game . . but nope - he had nothing.

taking a deep breath, he knocked on your door at precisely 7pm. when it swung open to reveal you, his lungs almost stopped in their tracks. you looked no less than stunning in a ruffled dress, in the pretty shade of baby-pink, your hair tumbling over your bare shoulders - half up, half down and bumped at the ends. a slim gold chain nestled in the hollow of your throat, shamefully drawing his eyes down to the swells of your titties.

“fuck . .” he said inanely, tongue suddenly clumsy in his mouth. “m’ so sorry. forgive me, i mean, you look . . absolutely amazing.”

a shy smile curved your lips, brightening your whole face up. “thanks . . so do you, toji.” your eyes skimmed over him appreciatively and he fought the urge to preen.

“o-oh, these are for you.” he thrusts the slightly wilted grocery store bouquet at you, wincing inwardly at his own awkwardness.

but you just smile, cradling the limp blooms like they were something so precious. “how sweet of you! i love daisies. lemme’ jus’ put these in some water and we can go.” you disappeared into the kitchen, leaving him to marvel at how such a simple gesture could delight you so thoroughly. damn, you were so lovely. inside and out.

the drive to the restaurant was filled with easy conversation interspersed with comfortable silences. toji let you be in control of the radio, secretly charmed by your off-key humming to the cheesy pop songs in rotation on your playlist. he could imagine countless nights like this, aimless drives with no destination in mind, just content to be in your company with no one to bother.

and dinner was a laughter-filled affair, trading bites of pasta and garlicky bread, arguing playfully over the merits of various desserts. you entertained him with customer service horror stories from your barista days, confessing your penchant for ‘accidentally’ giving rude patrons decaf.

in turn, toji found himself sharing more than he usually did - funny anecdotes about his buddies at the firehouse, his worries about his little sister starting college in the fall, even a bit about his dad. the words came without effort, drawn out by your natural warmth and empathy.

he couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed anyone's company so effortlessly.

when the check came, he wouldn't let you even reach for it. you rolled your eyes but allowed him to pay, primly informing him you were getting the next one. his stomach flipped at the unthinking promise of a next time.

you then lingered over coffee and dessert - the restaurant's version didn't even hold a candle to your black forest verrines, but you were too polite to say so - neither wanting the evening to end. toji watched you lick chocolate from your spoon, entranced by the tiny pink flash of your tongue. wishing he could lean in and taste the sweetness of your mouth. a pleasant shiver chased over his skin, heat simmering low in his belly. he’d never wanted anyone the way he wanted you - this maddening mix of tender and carnal, the urge to both protect and possess.

“mmm,” you purred appreciatively, pulling the spoon from your mouth with an obscene pop. “whoever said that chocolate isn’t better than sex clearly hadn't tasted chocolate like this.”

toji swallowed hard, adam's apple bobbing convulsively in his throat. “playin’ with fire are we?” he manages to rasp, fingers clenching around his mug.

you placed the spoon delicately on your empty plate, fingers lingering just long enough to draw his attention to their graceful dance. “who says i’m playin’, handsome?” you quip.

he was so fucked. so. totally. fucked.

afterwards, he walked you to your door, hands shoved deeply n’ awkwardly into his pockets to keep from doing something stupid like reaching for your hand. you then hovered on the stoop, the sultry summer night pressing in close.

“i had fun tonight,” you softly. in the light spilling from your living room window, your eyes were luminous. hopeful. “we should really do it again sometime.”

“we should,” he agreed, mouth dry. he couldn't look away from your face, tracing the delicate arch of your brows, the dark feathering of your lashes. you swayed closer, tipping your face up to his, and his heartbeat kicked into overdrive. god, you were killing him.

it took every ounce of willpower to step back, to force a chuckle past the ache in his chest. “well i should let you get your beauty sleep. early start tomorrow, right?” your smile faltered, a brief tightening around your eyes hinting at disappointment. he almost caved right then, almost said to hell with his reservations and dragged you into his arms the way he'd been dying to do all night.

but he couldn't. not when he had nothing more to offer you than heartache.

“right,” you murmured. “beauty sleep. so important for . . . baking.” you fumbled for your keys, not quite meeting his gaze. “i’ll see you round’ then.” he could only watch you retreat into the house, torn between relief at the bullet dodged and an overwhelming sense of loss.

wearily, he turned to go back to his own quiet home. he’d done the right thing. the smart thing. so why did it feel so damnably hollow?

avoidance was the order of the day after that near-miss. though it pained him, toji forced himself to keep some distance, to not make up flimsy excuses to show up on your doorstep at all hours of the night. no more dessert development sessions, no matter how much he craved the sight of you gushing and twirling over your latest creations. no more cute, little dinners with furtive hand holding under the table.

he threw himself into work with even more zeal than usual, pulling extra shifts and helping out with the neverending station chores. if the guys ribbed him about his sudden devotion to alphabetizing the equipment room or polishing the engine to a blinding shine, he shrugged it off. it was loads better than going home to an empty house haunted by what-ifs.

he ached to see you though. sometimes he'd catch a glimpse of you catering to your garden or heading off to the market, and his fingers would itch with the urge to go to you, to close the seemingly unbridgeable gap between you both with long strides and strong arms. more than once he'd picked up his phone to call you, thumb hesitating over your smiling face in his contacts until he cursed and tossed the phone aside.

it was for the best, he told himself firmly. you had your whole life ahead of you - school and internships, building your dream from the ground up. he’d only get in the way, bog you down with his everlasting issues and cynicism. he wouldn't, couldn't be the dead weight holding you back.

even if letting you go felt like tearing himself in half.

he should've known you wouldn't let him slink away so easily. that for all your sweetness, you were just as stubborn as he was. you’d never been one to give up on the things - or people - you wanted.

which bring us to now . . you ambushing him on his way home from a grueling 48-hour shift, looking unfairly pretty and indignant as you marched across the street to plant yourself in front of his truck. he barely bit back a groan, exhaustion and longing a potent cocktail in his bloodstream.

“hey, stranger,” you said archly, fine brows drawn together in a scowl. “long time no annoy.”

he cut the engine and climbed out, suddenly self-conscious about his unwashed, smoke-saturated state. “hi, yn. how’s it going?”

“ah, y’know. jus’ workin’ myself to the bone, trying to perfect this dessert that's only the culmination of my entire academic career thus far. while also attempting to figure out how i mysteriously pissed off my friend to the point of complete radio silence.” your arms crossed over your chest, a hint of hurt flickering in your eyes, “so yeah . . the usual.”

guilt lodged under his breastbone, sharp and corroding. he’d never meant to upset you, to make you think any of this was at all your fault. “shit, yn. i’m sorry . . i didn’t mean to ignore you, i’ve just been so -”

“busy . .” you finished for him, mouth flattening. “mhm, i’ve noticed. so busy you ignored all my calls n’ texts - missed our dinner the other night too. you’ve been practically living at the station lately.”

he grimaced, one hand scrubbing over his stubbled jaw. he’d never been any good with words, with making excuses. especially when faced with eyes that seemed to see right through his every defense, “you’re right. i’ve been avoiding you. but not because of anything you did. i jus’ . . needed some space to clear my head.”

your arms tightened, gaze dropping to the oil-stained pavement. “i thought we were having fun,” you said quietly. “gettin’ to know each other. but if i misread things, if i made you uncomfortable in any way i really am so sorr . . .”

“no.” he interrupted fiercely, taking an involuntary step closer. close enough to smell the light, citrusy scent of you, to see the faint mascara smudges of sleeplessness under your eyes. “you didn't misread anything, yn. these past weeks, spendin’ time with you . . . s’ been amazing. the most fun i’ve had in years, if i’m being honest.”

confusion clouded your expression. “then why?”

“because m’ a goddamn mess,” he bit out, the truth clawing its way up his throat. “because you’re brilliant, and you’re goin’ places . . n’ i wouldn’t be able to give you my time in the way that i know you more than deserve. i wanna smell muffins in the mornin’ . . not the smell of musty men and water hoses.”

he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before sitting his stuff on the hood of his car, “i jus’,” he started, “i’ve done the dating thing, alright? the marriage thing too, y’know that. i jus’ . . i cant afford to lose another person in my life that i care about — not when i’ve come this far to prevent it n’ when they’re as sweet and pretty, and as kind as you.” you stand in silence, letting him vent, “i’m not perfect. m’ terrible at cooking, i sing in the shower, n’ on top of all that i fuckin’ snore like a grizzly bear. ya’ still want me now?”

you took a step forward, hand coming up to fist in the front of his t-shirt. he inhaled sharply at the sudden press of your soft curves against his hard planes, the way your gaze dropped to his mouth.

“yeah, you grumpy old fuck . . i still want you,” you whispered fiercely. “mess, snores and all.”

he softened as you pressed a kiss onto his cheek, gentle and warm with truce, “i have my own damn baggage. y’think thats stoppin’ me from goin’ after what i want? no. so jus’ stop bein’ such an asshole n’ kiss me alread - mmph!” — that was it. that was the straw that’d broken the camel’s back. with a muttered curse, his control had finally snapped. he hauled you flush against him, one arm banding around your waist as the other hand sank into your hair, cradling the back of your head. you made a soft, needy sound and surged up on tiptoe, sealing your mouth to his.

the first touch of your lips was electric, a livewire straight to his core. they were exactly as soft and sweet as he'd imagined, moving over his with an urgency that matched his own. he angled his head to slant his mouth more firmly over your, licking at the seam of your lips as you licked on the scar on his.

he swept his tongue into your mouth, stroking over yours, swallowing the low moan that vibrated in her throat. you tasted like peppermint and the vaguest hint of sugar, an addictive flavor he already knew he'd never get enough of. your arms twined around his neck, blunt nails scraping deliciously at his nape as you pressed impossibly closer.

dimly, he registered the whoops and catcalls of a passing group of neighbors, but he couldn't bring himself to care. let em’ gawk. the whole damn neighborhood could come out to watch and he still wouldn't be able to tear himself away from your sweetness.

he was a man possessed.

the kiss deepened, turning hot and hungry. toji backed you up against his front door, hands roaming greedily over your curves as he pressed the hard length of his body into your soft warmth. you made yet another sound into his mouth, lifting one leg to wrap around his hip, opening yourself up to him.

he tore his lips from yours only to trail open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, tasting the salt on your skin from the sweat of the hot summer sun. “fuck . . i want you,” he growled against your pulse point. “wanna’ touch you, taste you, feel you. if you’ll let me . . of course.”

“wow, such a gentlemen,” you gasped, hands scrabbling at his shoulders. “please fuckin’ do, toji.” patience fraying, he fumbled for his keys and somehow managed to get the door open without releasing you. you stumbled over the threshold, shedding clothes haphazardly between searing kisses - your flimsy blouse fluttering to the floor, followed by smoke stained his t-shirt.

toji walked you backwards down the hall to his bedroom, kicking the door shut before tossing you onto the bed. he followed you down, covering your entire frame with his own, reveling in the feel of all your bare skin finally against him. you were a vision in the spill of afternoon light, curls fanned across his pillow, pink lace bra and panties a tantalizing contrast to your brown skin.

he took a moment just to admire you, committing every detail to memory. the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips parted on shallow breaths. heavy-lidded eyes hazy with want and something deeper, more tender.

“been dreamin’ about you, princess. shit - you’re so gorgeous.” he rasped, nipping at your earlobe with each word, “so pretty, so beautiful, so smart.”

you shivered, fingernails raking over his shoulders, “nngh - c’mon stoppit, toji . .” growling low in his throat, he captured your lips in a nasty kiss, all teeth and tongue. large hands cupping your full titties, calloused thumbs rubbing your nipples into stiff peaks. and you arched into his touch with a moan, shameless in your pleasure.

“someone’s eager, hm?”

breaking the kiss, he began to work his way down your body, mapping every dip and curve with lips and teeth and tongue. he paid thorough attention to your titties, laving at the dark-brown nipples until you were panting and squirming beneath him.

“b-baby, please . .” you whimpered, fingers sinking into his hair to urge him lower.

he only chuckled darkly against your flesh. “patience, sweetheart. m’ not goin’ anywhere. let me love you.”

true to his word, he set about exploring you - kissing a meandering path down your ribs and belly, dipping his tongue into your navel just to hear you gasp. strong hands gripped your thighs, pushing them further and further apart so he could settle more comfortably between them.

hooking his fingers in your lacy panties, he dragged the scrap of fabric down your legs. “fuck yeah, look at you. so wet for me already. look at this pussy . .”

you mewled as he licked a broad stripe up your slit, circling your puffy clit with the tip of his tongue. he sealed his lips around the sensitive nub and sucked, fingers delving into your soaked entrance, curling to find that special spot inside you.

“o-ooh my god — yes!” your back bowed off the bed, a vibration spreading down your chest as he worked you higher. he paid close attention to your most tender skin, alternating between broad, flat licks and quick, targeted flicks. crooking his fingers just so, he rubbed and rubbed until he found — “ah f-fuck!” your g-spot, feeling your thighs start to tremble around his head.

“thas’ it, bunny - cum on my tongue. i wanna’ see it all, mama. c’mon, i know you can do it,” the filthy words combined with the relentless stimulation quite literally pushed you over the edge . . and you came with a sharp cry, gushing your juices all over his lips and chin. he groaned at the taste of you, lapping up every last drop, addicted already.

while you were still quivering and coming down from your high, toji fumbled blindly for the nightstand drawer. he managed to retrieve a condom without taking his eyes off of you. ripping open the packet with his teeth, he sat back on his knees to quickly sheath himself.

you took the opportunity to admire his body, running appreciative hands over his muscular chest and abdomen. he was all tanned skin and chiseled muscle, a sparse trail of dark hair pointing the way to his impressive erection. it jutted from a thatch of coarse curls, thick and flushed nearly purple, the bulbous head glistening with excitement.

wrapping your fingers around his rigid length, you stroked him base to tip, twisting your wrist on the upstroke so that the condom slips right back off. toji grunted, hips bucking into your touch as you rubbed your thumb over the leaking slit. you pause, your mouth watering as you begin to lower your head down. you press the side of your face against his thigh, peering up at him with batting lashes and a poked lip. your ass is arched - high in the air and wiggling as if you just wanted him to smack it.

that’s when you began slapping his heavy dick against your cheek, repeatedly, “so big, baby,” you whisper, now positioning your face to where his cock could sit right on top of it - “can i put it in m’mouth? please . .?”

“yn you don’t have to -”

“i want to.”

toji looked down at you once more, the look of want in your eyes . . . how could he resist?

he gently grabs the side of your neck, firm but not firm enough to cause pain, his other hand curling around the base of his cock as he whispered, “open wide. tongue out,” biting his lip as he braces himself for the sensation of your mouth wrapped around him.

that’s when your wet tongue dances out tentatively, tracing the ridge of his head before retreating back to safety inside your mouth. it was clear that you were just as lust filled as him. toji could feel himself pulsing with need as you took him in deeper and deeper, a low groan escaping him, “shit, doll - got it all to fit . . good girl.” your hands gripped his hips tightly, nails digging into his skin as you bobbed your head up and down. toji swore he could fall in love with the simple, yet beautifully disgusting sound of your throat — gawk, gulp, gawk! ugh, they were such disgusting noises - some gagging here, some moaning there, but he couldn’t have asked for anything better. you were slobbing, spitting, and choking on his dick and the only thing getting in your way from taking him whole was the fact that his size was still fairly new to you.

“sss’ ooh fuck - b-baby . . yn -” he hisses, both your eyes and his rolling to the back of your heads as you continue to gulp him down, spit trickling down to your tits as they jiggled to the rhythm of your mouth. each and every glide against your tongue was starting to overpower him, and before he knew it, if you didn’t stop he was bout’ to —

“cum . . m’gonna cum! m’fuckin’ cumming - asshhit . .” he groaned, eyes tightly closing as you continued to deepthroat him the best you could, “don’t stop, keep suck - y-yes . .” it was a hassle - a big one, but the taste of him warm cum painting your throat felt like a sweet reward.

almost sweeter than your baked goods.

whining and still aching to suck on him some more, toji pulls you off in fear of shaking more than he already was — and the sight of you with his cum dripping out of your mouth only did the complete opposite.

“uh, well then . . how’d i do?” you say shyly, as if you hadn’t just completely slutted out your mouth for your next door neighbor.

a surprised bark of laughter escaped him even as his cock jerked at you eagerly. “don’t exile me, but that mouth . . shit, might be better than your cookies. not gonna’ lie, sweetheart . .” toji growled, and you pout as he’s prowling back over you. you then watch him slowly, his fingers unexpectedly plunging back into your pussy as he scoops some of your wetness onto the pad of them before pulling them back out. he fists the base and tip of himself, smothering his cock in your juices as lubricant as he teases your entrance with a few pats n’ nudges. fuckin’ tease. he kept on until you were angrily swatting his chest to put the damn thing in already.

who could blame your lust? after all . . you’d been dreaming about it for weeks now.

yet again, he snags another rubber, strokes a little, and once he’s in, “oh s-shit that pussy's tight, baby . .” he’s in. you moaned in tandem, dick snuggling into your tight walls inch by excruciating inch. you were warm and wet and perfect around him, gripping him like a silken vise. it was magical, just like you - but the look on your face . . oh that look, almost seemed like you wanted to be broken. with your arms above your head, your titties swaying against your chest and your whines now hoarse n' pleading — he kinda wanted to break you too.

toji started with slow, deep strokes, mindful of your tightness and his considerable girth. he didn't want to hurt you, wanted to savor every clench and flutter around his aching cock. wanted this to last, to burn this moment into his brain forever.

“f-feel so fuckin' good wrapped around me,” he gritted out, hips rolling in a lazy figure eight that had you keening. “y’so wet, honey . . dick feel that good?”

“toji,” you whimpered brokenly, fingernails scoring down his flexing back. “more, please . . need it harder . .”

and how could he deny you anything when you begged so sweetly? bracing his weight on his forearms, he obliged, snapping his hips forward with more force. the headboard started to thump against the wall, the mattress creaking beneath your writhing bodies.

“like that, baby? hm?” he panted against your throat, sweat beading at his temples as he drove into you again and again, his cock damn near slipping out of you from the slippery speed. “this what you need? me splittin' this pretty pussy open?”

“yes d-daddy . . ” you wailed, back arching like a drawn bow. your cunt was fluttering around him, a telltale sign of your impending orgasm. “aah - don't stop, don’t stop, m'so close!”

“shh, i got you,” he promised, shifting the angle of his hips to grind against your clit with every thrust. “gonna’ make this pussy sing for me, gonna’ wring the cum outta’ you 'til you're shakin' on me. you want that?” his filthy words seemed to be your undoing because suddenly you were clenching down on him like a vice, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as you thrashed beneath him. your release gushed hot and slick around his pistoning length, drenching his groin and thighs with sweetness.

“f-fuck yeah,” toji choked out, his own rhythm faltering as your rippling walls threatened to milk him dry. “good girl, sweetheart, cream on this dick, lemme’ feel you.” he managed a handful more erratic thrusts before his own orgasm crashed into him like a freight train. he buried himself to the hilt and stilled, a hoarse shout muffled into your sweat damped shoulder as he spilled himself into the condom. his cock jerked and twitched with every pulse, vision nearly whiting out with the force of it.

for long moments, you both just shook and gasped, clinging to each other as aftershocks rolled through your bodies. toji's heart was thundering so hard he was sure you could feel it through his sweat-slick chest. he'd never come so hard in his life, never felt so utterly shattered and remade.

you made a soft, satisfied sound as he carefully withdrew from your heat, rolling to the side to dispose of the condom with a quick knot. then he was gathering you close again, palm smoothing up your spine as you burrowed into him with a sigh.

“shit,” you eventually mumbled into the heated skin of his throat. “that was . . .”

“ . . fuckin' heavenly,” he finished roughly, a laugh rumbling in his chest as he felt your answering huff of amusement. “m’ sorry i uh . . came so fast. i don’t usually -”

“did you just apologize to me because my pussy is good?” you teased, dragging your nose along the edge of his stubbled jaw. he could feel the curve of your smile, the unabashed joy, and it settled something deep within him. soothed the ragged pieces he'd thought long broken.

“damn straight,” he agreed, arms tightening around you possessively. “i can die a happy man now.”

“well, you're not allowed to die on me now, toji. you're stuck with me. escape if you can.”

“mm, is that right,” he nuzzled into your hair, breathing in the scent of you - all warm woman and satisfaction.

“mhmm. you're not getting rid of me easily. i still have so many desserts to force on you, so many early morning baking sessions to drag you into . .”

he laughed outright at that, at the sheer exuberance in your voice. “promises, promises.”

“oh i always keep my promises, mister. which reminds me . .” you pushed up on an elbow, eyes sparkling with mischief and something deeper. something that snatched the breath from his lungs. “i seem to remember you saying something about round two . .”

“did i? care to refresh my memory?” he growled, even as he was already rolling you beneath him again, mouth seeking yours. you then feel his palm colliding with your ass in a gentle spank. “what am i gonna’ do with you?”

“everything.” you breathed against his lips, a vow. “anything. i want you, toji. want everything with you.” and fuck, what could he say to that? what could he do but kiss you like a promise, a prayer, and proceed to show you just how much he wanted that too? wanted to give you everything, anything, all he had to offer?

he'd never been a man of many words. but this - loving you with hands and mouth and body, breaking you apart and putting you back together again and again until you were both sweat-soaked and shaking . . this he could do. this he would do for the rest of his life if you'd let him.

“you’ve got me.”

and from the joyous half-sob of his name as he sank back into your pussy, the way your body opened for him like a flower to the sun, he had a feeling you just might too.

there would be time for more words later - time for confessions and plans and mapping out a future he'd never even let himself dream of before. time to make good on promises whispered into heated skin, to build something real and lasting brick by brick. but for now, in the honeyed afternoon light with your legs wrapped around his waist and your heart in his hands . . let himself get lost. let himself drown in sensation and emotion, in this miraculous woman he didn't deserve but who'd chosen him anyway.

from lost to found, in the space of a heartbeat. and all because an angel in a garden had smiled at him across a sunny street and offered up a little piece of heaven. he'd never know what he'd done to deserve you, or this second chance. but he'd spend the rest of his days earning this gift, cherishing it.

cherishing you.

that was a promise. and like his beautiful girl . . toji fushiguro always kept his promises.

©️ SATORUBI - please do not copy, translate, or modify my work without my approval ! thank you for playing . . the challenge has only just begun.

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Forsaking All Others II

Part 12 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series!

Warnings: Kidnapping, TW: claustrophobia, restraints, gunfire, offscreen violence, blood, murder, smut, biting, a little bit of rough play.

A/N: woof

It takes a moment for your mind to catch up to what’s going on. 

You’d just been tossed into the trunk of a car, the darkness almost too suffocating.

Your brain spins slowly, reaching down, you fight your dress to tug off your heels, placing them beside you to use as weapons the next time the trunk opens.

The small dark space starts getting to you, and you’re forced to close your eyes and imagine that you’re in an open area, when you’re really not.

You know that you have to act quickly, tugging at the lining of the trunk, searching for the spot behind the brake light so that you can signal for help, but in the stifling dark, it's hard to see anything and you have no idea what you're looking for.

You pause, wondering if this car had a lever to release the door from the inside, and you begin searching for that instead, fingers skittering blindly for something you weren't familiar with.

You keep trying to imagine you're anywhere else but where you are, that you're just under the covers, or you're in your living room and the lights have just gone out, that you're under your sheets, waiting for Billy to come find you.

All of it helps keep you calm, stops the mindless panic from setting in, you know if you think too much about where you are, you'd hyperventilate, pass out, and who knows how long you'd be out for.

Another comfort you had, was that Billy was obsessed with you, he'd find you-

-Unless they'd killed him.

Your fingers paused their search. 

No, that intrusive thought was false, if they'd killed him, they wouldn't have been so worried about him.

What if he'd been hurt? The last time you'd seen him was when he'd stepped away to get you something to drink.

Actually, you'd chased him away, you wanted alone time from him and this was the consequence. What would have happened if you hadn't made him leave? You would probably be safe in his arms right now.

You choke on your breath, fingers slipping from their search to rest beside your head.

You let a few tears slip free, and more follow. You wanted your husband.

The car comes to a stop and you lift your head, you hear the doors slam shut, and you wonder what's coming next.

Oh god, what if they leave you in here?

Just as your stomach twists, the trunk lever clicks, and you squint as light hits your eyes.

The masked man extends his hand to you, and you take it, guessing that this must be the nice-ish one from earlier.

You struggle to get your feet out of the car, and everything hurts when you move.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers as you stand on the cold floor before him, “We were just supposed to take someone as leverage. It shouldn't have been you.”

You sigh, looking around the room, realising that you're in a garage with an automatic door, big enough to hold two vehicles.

It sort of feels like someone's house, maybe the suburbs, you spot a bike hanging on the wall.

“I'm the worst person to have kidnapped. My husband won't stop until he finds me.”

“I know.” Is all the man responds with.

You reach into the trunk to grab your green velvet heels, too in love with them to leave them behind.

He takes you into the house, you stiffen in fear as you realise you're trapped in here with a bunch of strange men.

“Please let me go.” You say calmly, trying to be the voice of reason, “You don't want the trouble of keeping me here.” 

You want to add that Billy was trained in hostage retrieval, that he was basically an expert in infiltration, but you didn't want to scare them. Scared men were dangerous men.

The men stand in the living room of the small house and begin speaking in hushed tones to each other. You can't make out exactly what's being said but it seems like one of the men is sympathetic to you, but the other two are not.

“Take her upstairs and tie her up in one of the bedrooms.”

You feel your heart jump in your chest. You turn to the man behind you, who'd released you from the trunk, in hopes that he challenges the order.

He wraps his hand around your arm.

“You heard the man.” He says in acceptance.

There's no winning here, you're overpowered and you know it. You don't want to give them any excuse to hurt you further than they already have. 

You move quietly up the wooden staircase and you wait for the man to pick a bedroom.

“I'm not… trying to scare you,” you say softly, hoping to reduce the amount your voice carries in this small house.

“But my husband… he won't take kindly to this, he'll do whatever it takes to get me back.”

“I don't doubt it,” the man responds, tugging you into a room with a large window overlooking the street at the front of the house, “I'm sure he probably has a location device installed in that ring we took from you. He probably always knows where you are.”

You blink, scrunching your eyebrows at his tone.

“What are you trying to say?”

He grabs the metal chair at the vanity and points to it for you to sit.

“Not trying to say anything. Powerful men don't trust their wives. That's all.”

You swallow, looking up at this stranger, unable to form a response.

“He tracks me because he loves me- in case something like this happens.” You finally manage to say.

His shoulders shake as he laughs.

“You're more delusional than I expected.” He pulls a pair of handcuffs out of his back pocket and uses it to secure your wrists, “You think he'll kill us because he loves you? Or maybe he just likes killing?”

You feel your heart sink.

“You'll get what you deserve.” You whisper bitterly.

“Yeah? And what will you get?” He shoots back.

You clench your jaw, turning your head away, indicating to him that this conversation was finished. 

He humphs in satisfaction, walking out of the room, closing the door and locking it.

Leaving you here, in mostly darkness, to think about what he said.

The words hurt in a familiar way, that perhaps Billy's obsession with you was not because it was you, but because he’d been craving something to be obsessed with.

What if… you weren't the first woman that he'd done this to? What if there was someone else out there, living, or perhaps dead, that he'd found a way to trap as well?

Why were you thinking this way? Billy wasn't some evil mastermind, he was just a lonely boy that wanted someone to love.

Was he?

You shake your head, gritting your teeth. 

Now more than ever, you needed to find the good in him, you needed to remind yourself of seeing that lonely, scared boy when you looked into his eyes.

It was proof that he wasn't what everyone else said he was. He wasn't some monster, he was human, and he just needed support.

You sigh, heart yearning for him, to be held, to be kissed. 

Sure, you clearly had some issues and doubts, but you could fix that on your own time, after he saved you from this situation.

You close your eyes. There was a high chance he'd kill the men who'd kidnapped you. It was an eventuality you had to be prepared for.

Would he kill for you because he liked killing? Did it matter? Was that the stockholm syndrome talking?

You frown, tipping your head back, trying to relax in the uncomfortable chair.

Did you love him?

You wanted to so badly, but was it real?

How far would he go to keep you by his side?

How far did you want him to go?

It was frustrating. You really needed to find a way to bring this up with him. It would destroy any relationship you had if you kept bottling this.

You sigh, opening your eyes. You can’t believe you’re actually thinking about solving your relationship issues while handcuffed to a chair after being kidnapped. You might be just as insane as him.

In the darkness of the room, with only the outside street lamp illuminating the bed, the flash of red catches your eye easily.

You blink in surprise, studying it, the single red dot of a laser, watching as it glides over the walls and moves behind you. 

When it appears on your thigh, you drop your head to keep looking at it.

A laser? Was someone just shining a laser pointer at you?

The laser moves up, over your stomach, and you swallow, realising that this might very well be a gun being pointed at you.

You angle your head to keep your eyes on it, the red dot stops in the center of your chest for a moment, before it moves to the spot just above your left breast.

Were you gonna get shot?

The glowing dot makes a circle, and then works its way over your left shoulder, and toward your elbow before stopping and retracing its path, stopping at your chest once more.

Billy.

It was him, telling you he was here by tracing his tattoo on your skin.

You sigh in relief, tears threatening to fall, you try to blink fast to chase them away.

Your husband was here, and he was going to punish the people that would dare hurt you.

It brings a little smile to your face, and then you watch the laser move, circling on the lamp sitting on the bedside table, an indication that he needs something from you.

You study it for a moment, and you figure he must want you to find a way to drop it, the crash would probably make a small distraction.

Looking out the window, you nod, unsure if he can see you or not, but the laser disappears soon after.

The house is mostly quiet, you can hear the muffled sounds of the men below talking, and you wonder how well a diversion like this would work.

Like in the movies, you lean forward, and try to stand up with your wrists trapped behind the chair.

It was one of those light metal chairs with a simple curling design on the back. The masked man had handcuffed you between the woven design so that anywhere you went, the chair went.

The movies definitely made it look easier, and you almost want to laugh at how ridiculous you felt, hunched over, your wrists hurting where you have to drag the chair along behind you.

You make it though, and you sit on the chair, carefully lifting a leg, impeded by your dress a little, and you tug the lamp off the nightstand with your foot.

It crashes spectacularly, and you hear the voices pause, before absolutely nothing.

They're moving quietly, you guess, but no one makes it to the door before a loud bang goes off below you.

It's almost deafening, even from where you are, your ears ring, your heart races as you hear the gunfire start, but you don't hear any answering rounds.

The house goes dead silent, and you can't hear anything over the ringing in your ears, it's a few moments before it subsides, just in time for the door to open.

It's slow, and in the darkness your breath stops in your chest before you catch sight of his familiar face.

Billy.

Your heart accelerates, elation fills your chest as he spots you after scanning the room for threats.

“Took you long enough.” You say impulsively as he approaches, sheathing his gun into the waistband of his fancy suit, wearing leather gloves and a bulletproof vest over his gala attire.

By the gods, you didn’t think he could look hotter, but the mix of combat gear and fine clothing has you clenching around nothing.

His mouth curves up into a small smile at your words, hair falling into his eyes as he fishes keys out of his pocket to unlock your cuffs.

He seems a little off, still tense, he moves behind you to set you free.

You stand as soon as you’re released, turning, you fling yourself into his arms as fast as you possibly could.

He returns the vigour just as swiftly, his arms coming tightly around your body, squeezing you.

It’s relief like no other, the knowledge that you were going to be okay, that he was, however bruised you both were, you were both okay now.

You feel him press his face to the top of your head, you eagerly breathe in his scent, mixed in with gunpowder, blood and sweat, your stomach twisting in pleasure.

There’s still so much darkness in his eyes when you draw away from each other, and you’re not too sure why, but maybe it’s something you can deal with later.

You open your mouth to ask him something, but he grips your jaw gently, dropping his head to press his lips to yours.

Every thought flies right out of your head. Your fingers curl against his bulletproof vest, pulling him closer, sparks going off in your head as you rise up onto your toes to keep kissing him.

You sigh into his mouth, and he hums in response, need curling inside of you, his hand moving slowly to cup the back of your neck.

So many things are said in those few moments when no words are spoken. I’m glad you’re okay, I was so worried about you, I love you, I just realised I can’t live without you.

He pulls back a little, nose brushing yours, forehead to forehead and you swear you can feel him like he’s just an extension of yourself. 

“Let’s go.” He finally whispers, and you nod, reaching to grab your shoes once more, that you’d placed on the floor next to the spot the masked man had originally restrained you.

The house is smoky, you cough, frowning as you follow him down the steps, waving your hand to fan the irritant away.

He stops at the bottom, and turns to you, picking you up with ease, and continues moving. The floor is covered in glass and wooden splinters that crunch under his shoes as he walks.

You finally spot the four men, on their knees with their hands behind their heads. Their masks have been pulled off, finally revealing their faces to you.

You feel a little bad for them at first, the hopelessness in their eyes turns you nauseous. You wonder if he’s going to kill them.

“Sweetheart.” Billy murmurs into your ear, catching your attention. You turn to look at him.

“Show me the man that hit you.”

How would you know? You definitely couldn’t identify them by their looks. You swallow, trying to figure out how you knew earlier.

The eyes, you realise. Aside from the mannerisms and their voice, the man that had hit you, had so much anger, and so little soul.

You glance at the men, finding him easily, he stares back at you evenly, furiously, and you know it’s him without a doubt.

“Him.” You whisper, looking back at Billy.

He nods, moving to the garage before placing you down gently.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Something’s still off in his eyes. There’s an anger he’s trying to shield you from, and you realise without a doubt, that he’s going to kill someone.

He closes the door between the house and the garage. It doesn’t stop you from stepping up close to the door in an attempt to hear what was going on.

You try the door- locked. 

Behind you, someone clears their throat.

You spin in surprise, breath halting, but quickly restarting when you realise it’s Frank.

He’s dressed in full tactical gear, looking at you with an eyebrow raised.

“Trust me. You don’t want to see what he’s about to do.” Frank says gruffly.

You turn back to the door.

“He’s really going to kill them?” You ask.

“Eventually. First he needs to get a message across.” 

You gasp, when on cue, you hear a scream from inside.

Stepping back in shock, your eyes widen.

“Is he doing this for me, Frank? I didn’t ask for this.”

“You don’t have to ask.”

You turn to Frank, mouth open to protest.

“This- I know he’s killed before- but, I don’t think I want him killing for me.”

Frank lets out a slow breath, crossing his arms.

“You have to understand, men like Billy and me- family life doesn’t come easily to us, we have to fight hard to keep it. And if someone comes along and thinks they can take it away, we show them, exactly why we have the reputations we do.”

You swallow, turning back to the door when you hear another shout. You wonder if his words are related to the scar on Maria’s face.

“They think you make him weak, they think they can come after him now because he has someone he’ll bend for. You don’t make him weak. You make him deadly.”

Your heart warms at the thought, you turn to look at Frank helplessly.

“What can I do?” You whisper.

“Remind him that he’s not the monster everyone sees him as. He’s going to need that from you.” Frank answers.

You let out a slow sigh, nodding in acceptance.

“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d take this so well. I thought you’d run screaming for the hills when you finally saw the real him.”

You smile sadly. He’d never really hid himself from you in the first place. 

If only Frank knew that- you wonder if his words would be different.

“I guess… maybe there’s something wrong with me too.”

“It’s a good thing,” You look up in surprise at his words, “Means you understand each other.”

You hum, deep in thought about his words, worried about the cataclysmic fallout that could happen if Billy ever found out about those divorce papers you have hidden.

After a few more minutes of muffled screaming, the door finally opens.

Billy, blood splashed beautifully against his face, steps through, a paper towel in his clean hands.

“You okay with cleanup, Frankie?” He says, barely looking at you.

“Yeah,” Frank answers, “Get your girl home. I’ve got it from here.”

“Thanks.” He finally turns to you, pulling something out of his pocket and holding it up for you. The silver glints in the light.

Your ring.

You extend your hand bashfully letting him slide it on, heart pounding in your chest. He’d done all of this for you.

Your fingers link with his right after, following as he moves to open the large garage door. It slides open to reveal a matte black car waiting just outside.

It’s an audi, you recognise by the four rings, but it’s not one of his you’d seen before.

He wraps a hand around your body, lifting you easily and carrying you the short distance to the car, helping you in, before making his way around.

You tug your seatbelt on, watching in surprise as he reaches under the steering wheel, manipulating something before the car purrs to life.

Good lord, he stole this car? You want to verify your thoughts but you decide against it, instead, you watch him put the car into gear, and begin reversing.

It’s peaceful to watch him drive, you want to smooth the lines between his eyebrows, you want to reach over and take his hand, but you’re worried for some reason.

This isn’t the man you’re used to. The darkness in his eyes make you concerned about setting him off- not that he’d take any anger out on you- but that he might grow tired of your pestering.

So instead, like the usual coward you are, you simply look at him as he drives.

“I didn’t see you during the robbery. Where did you go?” You ask softly.

He takes a deep breath, glancing over at you.

“I had some guys there as backup. They found some of the Phoenix guys knocked out in the basement. I went down to check it out. They locked us in. When I got out, you were gone.” 

You nod, the pieces fitting into place.

“I never should have left your side.” He finally says, squeezing the steering wheel tighter.

You reach for him, placing your hand on his thigh.

“It’s not your fault.” You soothe.

He lets out another breath, shaking his head.

“I… didn’t realise what losing you would feel like. For a moment, I didn’t know where you were, if you were alive- I would have torn everything down to find you.”

“I’m right here.” You answer, and you watch him take another pained breath.

.

He’s distant in the elevator, and you think you understand now. He doesn’t know how to process this- almost losing you- you don’t think he’s ever felt this way before. He’s angry that this happened maybe, and that darkness is slowly festering inside of him.

When you finally see yourself in the bathroom mirror, you realise that your appearance had only been adding to his distress. You look properly thrown about, your hair sticks up and your face and arms are bruised from the mishandling.

You hear a knock on the bathroom door, finding him there, staring at you.

Splashed in blood, his gloves and bulletproof vest gone, he looks at you with concerned eyes.

“Need any help?” he asks.

“Yes,” You say almost instantly, turning your back to him so that he can get the zipper of your dress down.

You don’t hear him approach, but you feel a tug on the back of your dress, and you pull the garment off your shoulders.

You’d been wearing boob tape, and you raise your hands to cover it, a little shy about him seeing you in something like this.

“Don’t.” He murmurs, taking the little bottle of oil from your hands just as you reach for it.

“Show me what to do.”

You swallow, guiding him into carefully using the oil to remove the tape. Even though his hands are on your almost bare form, there’s nothing sexual about this, all there is, is care and attention to taking care of you.

His thumb massages the oil into your skin, and when all the tape is removed, he hesitates for a moment before withdrawing his hands.

Your hip and knee is bruised too, you discover, as he gets the dress down your legs. You’re no doubt going to be in a lot of pain tomorrow.

“Shower with me.” You say, ready to beg if he says no.

He doesn’t, he smiles, nods, reaches for the buttons on his shirt.

You step into the shower, finding the right temperature, reaching up to begin unravelling your hair.

You feel his hands take over, tugging out the bobby pins, the way he did on your wedding night, letting your hair fall freely under the warm water. 

You turn to look at him, blood washing from his skin in pink rivulets, you watch each other, amazed at the beauty of him in every state. You glance at the tattoo on his shoulder, the snake, with its fangs bared, ready to strike.

You touch it gently, he drops his head to watch your fingers roam his skin.

There isn’t anything that needs to be said, even after all this carnage, you know you still want him.

Or so you think.

You withdraw at that thought, but he doesn’t let you, he grasps your wrist, pulling your palm back to his chest. When you can’t meet his eyes, he holds your jaw with his other hand and forces you to look at him.

“Don’t pull away from me.” He grits out.

You sigh.

“Or what?” You challenge.

He leans in, pressing his mouth to yours harshly, you moan, eyes fluttering shut, your nails curling into his chest.

He hisses, biting on your bottom lip in response, you smile into his mouth, your other hand moving behind his neck to tug harshly on his hair.

He grunts, presses you back until you bump the wall of the shower, you look up at him, with pleading eyes, begging him to fix all the things going wrong in your head.

He pins your wrists beside your head, the darkness in his eyes shifting from internalised anger and fear, into something sweeter.

“Do you want this?” he asks lowly, releasing your wrist for a moment to push his hair back, out of his face before finding your hand again.

“Yes.” You answer confidently, wriggling a little so that he holds you tighter.

His mouth meets your neck, kissing softly, tongue darting wetly across your skin before bites down on your shoulder.

The moan you let out comes from a primal place deep inside of you, angling your neck to give him space to continue tormenting your skin. 

Though his moves are firm, and his bites are rough, he’s especially gentle when handling you. When he trails his hands down to touch your clit, he softly traces over your bruises along the way.

You gasp when his fingers meet your clit, gliding softly at first, before he traps your swollen bud between his index and middle fingers and squeezes gently.

You stutter out a moan, reaching out to grip his shoulder, pressing your nails in to show him just how wicked it feels.

He chuckles, a lone finger slipping into your cunt as his other hand cups your cheek, thumb hooking into your mouth and settling between your teeth.

You bite down a little as he begins pumping his long finger into you, pressing against just the right spots, making your shudder eagerly in response.

“You think you can leave me?” He asks calmly, “You think you can get this feeling anywhere else?”

You shake your head, knowing the answer without a doubt.

He lets out a groaning breath, the sound coming from a place deep in his chest.

Your eyes roll back in your head when he curls his finger, pressing that delectable spot deep inside of you, rubbing it harshly for a moment before withdrawing his fingers.

He grabs some shampoo, kissing you softly while he works it into your hair, smoothing it away before using conditioner. He makes sure to clean you both, before he turns the water off, picking you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steps out.

He holds you firmly to his wet body, grabbing a towel for you and your hair, before picking you up once more and placing you gently on your bed.

He doesn’t give you a chance to speak, or think, kissing his way over your body, before spreading your thighs open for his mouth.

He groans into your cunt as he licks it slowly, encouraging you to reach down and tug on his hair.

Your nails dig into his shoulder, his tongue working magic on your swollen clit, licking eagerly at your bundle of nerves until your toes are curling and your back arches.

“Billy- oh god-” You moan, your orgasm hitting you swiftly in the moments right after. It’s so powerful, you can’t stop the noises that leave you with each wave of bliss that hits.

He kisses your thighs when he’s done, straightening his body, hovering over you, guiding your thighs around his hips.

His cock brushes your entrance. You gasp, the sensation making you shiver needily.

“That’s it, little wife. Say my fucking name.” He grunts, rubbing the head of his cock over your entrance teasingly.

Your nails claw at his biceps, trying to get your desperation for him under control.

“Please, Billy.” You say, almost in tears at how badly you need him.

One of his hands grip your jaw as he leans in to kiss you harshly, pressing his cock in at the same time.

You claw at his back, pulling him in, reaching down to grip his hip, to pull him in deeper.

He groans into your mouth, he moves to press his mouth in close to your ear.

You hear his breathing stutter, a small keen as he fills you to the brim.

“I love you.” He gasps out, shuddering as he draws back a little to press into you again.

His cock fills you just right like it always does, and you feel your walls clench around him the more you hear how hard it is for him to breathe when he’s inside of you. 

The power you have over him doesn’t go unnoticed, he groans loudly the next time you tilt your hips upward.

He takes it slow, easing himself in, before withdrawing. You don’t like that, wrapping your legs tighter around him to keep him where he is.

“Fuck, sweetheart, fuck. You feel-” He groans, “You feel so fucking good I’m not gonna last long.”

You know the sentiment, even with his hips rocking slowly, you already feel like you’re on edge, mind hazy, your body ready to reach that peak at any moment.

He kisses you more, moaning into your mouth, slowly beginning to rock his hips more, his thrusts growing more forceful as time goes on.

“So good for me baby.” He murmurs, biting down on your shoulder again.

You gasp, tears slipping down your cheeks as you feel your body burn, the heat you feel for him growing more and more intense until you can’t take it any more, cunt squeezing his cock tightly as you come, trembling uncontrollably.

He groans above you, and you feel him come too, emptying himself into you, filling you up just the way you need.

He kisses any part of you he can reach, waiting for you to calm down, stroking over your damp hair, making sure you feel every ounce of love he holds for you. 

When you’re calm, and your eyes are half-lidded with exhaustion, he kisses you on the forehead and tells you he’ll be right back, grabbing a warm damp cloth to clean you up with, before tucking you into bed.

You can feel the exhaustion in him as well, the way his body sags in relief when he finally settles into the space beside you, your hand smoothing gently over his back and neck, and delving into his hair.

There’s nothing you want more than this moment, nothing you crave more than the feeling of being beside him.

You tell him you love him too, just before you fall asleep. You know your body will hurt lots in the morning, but at least for right now, you’re safe.

.

.

.

[forest-hashira]

Surprise, Baby

ok i've decided to stop being so In My Head bout this and just post it. it was entirely self indulgent so it's just fluff, & i apologize if anyone seems ooc but i really like this one ok?

pairing: gojo/reader, geto/reader, also technically satosugu

word count: 3.3k

read it on ao3

warnings: pregnancy, gn pronouns used for reader but implied afab reader (it is a pregnancy fic after all), reader is referred to as "mom", other than that it's pure fluff

It wasn’t like you’d planned for this to happen. 

Raising four children when you were still practically kids yourself had been rewarding, but it had also been difficult. Even with three of you to juggle everything – getting the kids to school, running errands, keeping up with appointments and practices and rehearsals – it still got overwhelming sometimes. 

Despite all that, though, all three of you were incredibly proud of the people the kids had grown into. They were all strong, kind, and considerate, even as they became moody teenagers; yours and Suguru’s endless patience over the years had ensured that, as had Satoru’s eager and constant encouragement in everything they did. Raising those kids was one of the most rewarding things you’d ever done in your life. 

So why were you so terrified of the thought of doing it again with a baby of your own flesh and blood?

“Are you feeling alright, love?” Suguru asked, his brows furrowed with concern as he took you in. “You look a bit pale.”

You offered him a weak smile from your spot in bed, propped up by a few pillows, trying to stave off the waves of nausea as subtly as you could. “‘M fine,” you assured him quietly. “Just not feeling very good right now.” 

Your words only seemed to worry him more, and he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching out and resting the back of his hand against your forehead, checking to see if you had a fever. “You’re a little clammy,” he said quietly, “but you don’t feel warm. Can I get you anything?”

You hesitated for a moment at his words, not wanting to inconvenience him at all when you knew he needed to head off with Satoru to start their students’ lessons, but before you could brush off his offer, your stomach decided to make an ungodly noise. “…some toast would be nice,” you admitted, unable to do anything but blush as he smiled at you.

“Whatever you want, love,” your dark haired partner agreed, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead before he stood and left the room. 

Satoru was already in the kitchen when he stepped into the room, pouring a truly obscene amount of flavored creamer into his coffee. The sight caused Suguru to wrinkle his nose slightly, but he said nothing, too focused on making the toast you'd asked for to tease his lover for his sugar addiction. 

“Everything alright?” the white haired man asked, tilting his head slightly as he watched the other move through the kitchen; his shoulders were tense, a clear sign that something was bothering him. 

“They’re not feeling well,” Suguru answered simply, still focused on his task. 

“Again?” Satoru asked, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. “That’s what, four days in a row now?”

“Five days total this week,” Suguru confirmed with a sigh, dropping two slices of bread into the toaster and pressing down the lever, after making sure the settings were to your preference. 

The blue eyed man said nothing in response, a concerned hum escaping him as he set his coffee aside. Drink now abandoned, he turned and made his way back to the bedroom, his only thought being checking on you. 

“Sweetheart?” he called softly, stepping into the room. “Sugu said you’re feeling sick again.”

You smiled apologetically at him. “Nothing to worry about,” you promised, but he was clearly unconvinced. In just a few steps, he crossed the room, easily crawling up the bed to snuggle up beside you. 

“D’y’want us to stay with you today?” he asked, shuffling as close as he could get as he rested his cheek against your chest near your shoulder. 

You shook your head slightly at his question, one hand coming up to play with his snowy locks. “The students need you.”

“They’d understand,” Satoru insisted. “Megs and Yuji asked about you yesterday. Nobara won’t admit it but I think she’s worried, too. They miss you.” 

“The twins haven’t said anything?” you asked, fake pouting, hoping to lighten his mood a bit. 

“Sugu spent over half his time yesterday keeping them from sneaking off to check on you.” 

Not having expected such a heartfelt answer, you suddenly felt as if you were going to cry. You blinked quickly, biting your lip as you fought away the tears; the last thing you wanted was to worry your partners even more. 

No such luck. Satoru immediately noticed the shift in your mood, and he felt his heart stop for a moment. “Oh, honey, don’t cry, please? I’m sorry, I didn’t think that would upset you.” His words held an edge of panic as he lifted his head, brows pinched harshly in worry. 

“‘M not upset,” you promised, shaking your head and reaching out for him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to worry you.”

He easily took your hand in his own as you reached out for him, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Don’t apologize, sweetie,” he soothed. “Just don’t like it when you don’t feel good.”

“Neither of us do,” Suguru chimed in, stepping into the room with the toast you’d requested from him. “Love, what’s wrong?” His voice was impossibly gentle as he approached, and for some reason, that was the last straw for your fragile emotional state. 

Tears began to pour down your cheeks as you burst into sobs. You covered your face with your hands, apologizing over and over again on hiccuping breaths between your sobs. 

This alarmed your partners a great deal, and Suguru raced forward, hurriedly closing the remaining distance between the two of you. He set the plate on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed, taking one of your hands and carefully pulling it away from your face; Satoru did the same on your other side, with your other hand. “What are you sorry for, love?” he asked softly.

“For everything!” you burst out, then seemed to get embarrassed by your own outburst. “For crying,” you continued, voice lowering as you sniffled. “For worrying you, and the kids. Didn’t mean to, I just…just didn’t wanna make a fuss for no reason.”

“Let us fuss over you,” Suguru murmured, offering you a gentle smile.

“We worry when you don’t let us fuss over you,” Satoru added, a hint of teasing in his gentle words. When it succeeded in drawing a hint of a smile from you, he felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest. “Now, can you please tell us what you didn’t want to cause a fuss over?”

You hesitated again, looking between the two men beside you, the love and tenderness practically beaming off of them making you feel foolish for keeping this to yourself for so long, worried about what they might say. Before you spoke, you carefully guided their hands to your stomach, releasing them and allowing their long fingers to splay over the area, the warmth of their hands still easy to feel even through the fabric of your shirt. 

Two sets of brows furrowed in slight confusion at the gesture, but they waited patiently for you to elaborate. No matter how curious they were, they would never push you to speak before you were ready. 

You wracked your brain for a clever way to break the news, but eventually you gave up, not wanting to keep them waiting any longer. “I’m pregnant,” you said, and for some reason you found yourself blushing.

Two sets of eyes widened in shock. The men sat in silence for a moment, before Suguru’s soft voice broke it. “You’re having a baby?” he asked, wonder all over his face. 

“We’re having a baby,” you corrected softly, heart swelling with love as you took in his lovestruck expression. “All three of us.”

“We’re having a baby!” Satoru exclaimed from your other side, hauling you into his lap and burying his face in your neck. 

The movement knocked the air from your lungs for a second, but his excitement was so palpable you couldn’t even be upset with him. A small laugh bubbled out of you as you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in his hair for a moment. 

“Careful, Toru,” Suguru scolded his partner, though there was no heat behind his words. “Don’t break them.”

Satoru’s half-hearted “sorry” was muffled against your skin, the tickling sensation of his lips causing you to giggle softly. 

Another thought occurred to you after a moment, and you deflated a bit. This did not go unnoticed by either of your partners. 

“Nooo, no sad thoughts!” Satoru pouted, lifting his head from your neck as he spoke. “This is good news!”

“Toru’s right, love,” Suguru agreed, tilting his head slightly; you couldn’t help but admire the way his bangs drifted across his face at the movement. “What’s got you down?”

“Do you think the kids will be upset?” Your voice was small as you asked the question, and you bit your lip immediately afterwards. 

“Why would they be upset?” The question was gentle, holding no judgment whatsoever, just like your partner’s brown eyes. 

“I dunno, I just…don’t want them to feel like they’re being replaced, or something.” You shrugged slightly, avoiding his gaze as you spoke; you realized how foolish it sounded, but you still couldn’t help but worry. 

“You’re their mom,” Satoru said, as if that answered the question, as if it was the obvious cure to your worries. “They would never think you were replacing them.”

His words made you burst into tears again, which earned him a harsh pinch on his thigh from your other partner. 

“Stop making them cry, babe. It’s rude.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose!”

“S’okay,” you cut in, not wanting them to bicker, even if it was lighthearted. “Happy tears. Just love you both so much.” You sniffled softly, rubbing at your eyes with one hand and reaching for your dark haired partner with the other. “Too far away, Sugu,” you pouted. 

“They’re right, sugar,” Satoru agreed, a cheeky grin on his lips. “Cuddles aren’t as effective or as satisfying without you.”

Suguru rolled his eyes at his lover’s words, but he couldn’t help but grin back at him. He didn’t waste another moment before climbing up the bed to properly join the two of you, settling comfortably against Satoru’s side and your back, one hand wrapping around your front and resting lightly on your stomach again. “Better?” he asked, the word murmured sweetly into the back of your shoulder. 

“Much,” you agreed, turning your head to press a kiss to his temple. 

As the two of you got comfortable together, the white haired sorcerer adjusted slightly, shifting just enough to pull his phone from his pocket. He kept one arm wrapped around you, his free hand pulling up his messaging app. 

“Whatcha doin’?” you asked, face still toward Suguru’s, so you could only sort of make out what he was doing on his phone. 

“Texting the kids,” he said. The text he sent to the four of them was short, to the point: class canceled. family meeting. He tucked his phone away again after that, unable to resist the urge to bury his face in your neck again. 

All you did was hum in response to his words, too wrapped up in the warmth and adoration from your boyfriends to worry too much about what he might have told them. 

The three of you spent the next few minutes snuggled up together, exchanging little kisses and soft touches, just happy to be with each other and revel in the warmth of your good news. 

The moment was cut short by a knock at the door, though, and your nose scrunched in confusion. 

“I’ll get it,” Satoru said right away, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before transferring you into Suguru’s lap. Once you were settled, he hopped up from the bed and left the room. 

You pouted as he left, but allowed yourself to be appeased as your other partner held you close, pressing kisses along your hairline. 

Just a few seconds later, you heard several sets of footsteps enter the apartment, accompanied by a familiar voice. 

“Where’s mom?” Megumi asked, hurrying past his sisters and his father figure, his eyes scanning the main room of the apartment. 

“In here, Gumi!” you called out to your son, frowning when he hurried into the room, worry etched into his features. “What’s wrong?”

Megumi returned your frown as he looked you over, not able to see anything noticeably wrong. “Gojo canceled classes and called a family meeting, and you’ve been out most of the week. I thought there was bad news.”

The girls filed into the room after their brother, peering at you with worried expressions of their own, though Megumi seemed to be the most frantic of the group. Satoru followed the girls into the room, and you scowled at him. “You called a family meeting?” you asked, crossing your arms as you turned to face him a bit more. Suguru easily accommodated you as you shifted, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. 

“What? It was the quickest way to get them all here,” Satoru said, somewhat defensively, crossing his own arms in a mirror of your stance. 

“You should have asked us first.”

“Or at least told them there was nothing to worry about,” Suguru added, hooking his chin gently over your shoulder after he spoke. Satoru said nothing, just let out a huff, though he did have the decency to look a little sheepish. 

“There’s nothing to worry about,” you assured the kids, offering them an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry Toru worried you. I promise I’m fine. C’mere.” You extended a hand towards the kids, beckoning them closer, encouraging them to join you and Suguru on the bed. 

As stoic as he usually was, Megumi was the first to join you, settling on the edge of the bed, as close to your side as he could get. The girls followed soon after, all of them perching on the mattress and looking between you, Satoru, and Suguru expectantly. “So…what’s the reason for the family meeting?” Tsumiki asked after a moment, tilting her head slightly as she looked up at Satoru. 

The white haired sorcerer’s eyes flashed at the question, and he smiled, tilting his head in your direction. “Ask your mom.”

Four sets of eyes turned to you, all varying levels of confused and curious, and you felt yourself grow a bit flustered at the attention. 

“I can tell them, if you’d prefer,” Suguru offered quietly, immediately picking up on the shift in your mood. 

“No, Sugu, it’s okay,” you answered, though you did lean your cheek slightly against his before you spoke again. “Your dads and I are having a baby,” you told the kids. As all four sets of eyes widened at your words, you felt the heat return to your cheeks, but you smiled brightly at the excitement that was so obvious in their expressions; even Megumi was smiling. 

“A baby?!” the twins chorused, followed by a cheer when you felt Suguru nod against your shoulder. The sound drew a giggle from you, and you settled further back into your dark haired partner’s chest. 

“That’s really great to hear,” Tsumiki agreed, her eyes sparkling as brightly as her smile, and you smiled right back at her. “We’re happy for you guys.” 

You nodded in response, then turned your attention to your son, who had yet to say anything about the news. “Whaddya say, Gumi? Would you rather have a brother, or another sister?” You nudged his ribs lightly with your elbow as you teased him, and your expression softened slightly as a chuckle escaped the boy. 

“I just hope it doesn’t look like Gojo,” he replied, a playful twinkle in his eye as he spoke. You could feel Suguru’s chuckle rumble through his chest and into your back, and your own giggle turned into a full-out belly laugh as Satoru let out a cry of indignation. 

“Megs, you wound me! I happen to be very good looking, and I have two romantic partners that would wholeheartedly agree,” Satoru insisted, flopping dramatically down on the bed beside you. 

“Subjecting a kid to those genes seems a little unfair, that’s all I’m saying.” 

You did your best to stifle your laughter at your son’s response, but given that all of your daughters and your other partner were all laughing, too, it was difficult not to join them. 

“You’re a traitor,” Satoru pouted, looking up at you and Suguru from where his head rested on your thighs. “Both of you are, siding with the kid over me like that.”

“You’re just whiny because he’s right,” Suguru replied, smirking down at his partner. 

“Sorry, Toru,” you soothed, reaching down with one hand to run your fingers through his hair. “I think you’re very pretty with your white hair and blue eyes.”

He seemed to brighten a bit at that. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “Pretty like a cat.”

Satoru’s brows furrowed at the words. “…I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not,” he said after a beat. “But I’m going to take it as one.”

The exchange drew a fresh wave of giggles from the twins, which in turn made you, Tsumiki, and Suguru laugh; Satoru and Megumi watched with silent smiles. The moment was warm, and happy, and lovely. You couldn’t have asked for anything more. 

“Good morning Sensei!” Yuji greeted enthusiastically, a bright grin on his face as he waved. “Fushiguro says you’re feeling better?”

“Yes, Yuji, I’m feeling much better.” You smiled at the boy as you answered him. “I’m sorry if I worried you at all.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” the pink haired boy said easily. “You’re not sick very often, we weren’t sure what was going on. Even Kugisaki was worried.”

Your eyes darted over to the girl as Yuji said her name, and you couldn’t help but smile as she turned away, saying nothing but letting out a soft grunt; not agreeing with her classmate’s words, but also not denying them. 

“Well, there’s nothing to worry about,” you promised. “And I wasn’t sick. Not really.”

Yuji’s face scrunched together in confusion. “But Gojo-sensei and Geto-sensei both said you weren’t feeling well?”

“Because I wasn’t.”

The boy’s expression grew impossibly more confused at your words, drawing a soft chuckle from your partners. 

“Just tell him, love,” Suguru said, fingers trailing lightly down your back as he spoke.

“Please do,” Nobara agreed. “Itadori’s brain isn’t built to think this hard.”

“His head’ll probably explode if he tries to figure it out on his own,” Megumi agreed, the twitch in the corner of his lips only noticeable to you and your partners. 

“Hey!” Yuji said indignantly, though he gave no specific arguments; he had no clue what could’ve kept you feeling unwell but not actually sick for so long, and he really wanted to know. 

“Fine,” you said, sighing melodramatically and suppressing your own smile. “It was morning sickness, Yuji.”

“Morning sickness?”

“Itadori you, dumbass!” Nobara exclaimed, her eyes wide as she looked at you. “They’re having a baby!”

“A baby?” Yuji asked, tilting his head slightly, before the words seemed to fully click in his mind. “Oh! A baby! That’s amazing!” He turned his beaming smile back on you full force for a moment, then glanced over at Megumi. “Aren’t you excited, Fushiguro?”

“Nope!” Satoru cut in, trying – and failing miserably – to hide his playful grin. “Megs is a party pooper who never gets excited about anything.”

“Satoru,” you and Suguru scolded in unison, causing the white haired sorcerer to hold up his hands in surrender. Even with his blindfold on, you knew his eyes were flashing with love and mischief. 

“We told Gumi and the girls yesterday,” you explained. “No surprises for him today.”

“…is that why Gojo-sensei canceled classes yesterday?!”

i hope you guys enjoyed! like i said this is purely self indulgent fluff lol. i have a couple other lil ideas for things floating around in my brain/that i've started working on but idk if/when any of them will be finished 🙈

dividers by @/benkeibear

[cuubism]

my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder

Dreamling 80s AU, Musician Dream x Stockbroker Hob, Part 2

Hob wakes to find his face planted on a warm thigh. Mmm. That’s nice. His head is throbbing, but he slides his hand up the person’s thigh anyway, strokes his thumb over their hip. Even if it’s just a one night stand, it’s always nice when they at least stay ’til morning.

“I would have thought you would want breakfast first,” says a low, rumbling voice from above him, and Hob opens his eyes.

Shit. Fuck. It wasn’t just a one night stand last night. It wasn’t even a stand at all. He lifts his head, meets Morpheus’s eyes. Morpheus is sitting up in bed, leaning back against the headboard. His hand was in Hob’s hair, but it gets dislodged as Hob moves. He seems to have been awake for a while—he’s reading a book Hob had left on the night stand. He actually exists. Hob had half-thought it was all a dream. And more than that, he’s still here.

In the light of day, it seems incredibly improbable. That he would stay. That he would be here in the first place. In the clarity of morning, it feels insane that he didn’t just slip out the moment he woke up and remembered where he was. What will someone like Morpheus want with Hob anyway, or with Hob’s life?

It’s not that Hob doesn’t like his life. But Morpheus is… an artist. And Hob’s career is somewhere between gambling and grift—he knows it well enough, it’s part of what makes it fun, he told Morpheus so himself last night. But playing markets and stacking cash must be boring to Morpheus at best, and repulsive at worst, when not under the influence of drugs. And the rest of Hob’s life besides… what could there possibly be for Morpheus here? Hell, they didn’t even fuck.

“You’re still here,” he says dumbly. “You didn’t leave.”

“No,” Morpheus agrees, raising an eyebrow. “Did you wish I had?”

“No!” Hob pushes himself up on his elbows, dislodging the sheets. Morpheus sets his book down. “No, it was just— it felt like such a dreamlike sort of night, I guess I half expected it would be a dream.”

“That was the ketamine,” Morpheus says, lips tipping up in a half-smile. Hob can see the full glory of him now, in the light, his pale blue eyes and stark hair, those pouty lips, his features clean and delicate with the makeup wiped away. He looks pretty and soft like that, his hair flattened on one side and sticking up in all directions from lingering hairspray. His jewelry is still on the nightstand. Like he’s meant to be there. God.

“You’re so pretty,” Hob says. Apparently being sober makes his filter worse not better.

“Thank you,” says Morpheus. Cheeky thing. But the barest of blushes graces his cheeks. Hob wants to kiss him. Get his hands in his hair again. Put bruises on that pretty throat. He should probably at least brush his teeth before doing any of that.

“We can do breakfast, if you want,” he says. “I probably have…” fuck, God only knows his kitchen is probably empty, it’s not like he ever cooks. “Something. Coffee, at least.”

“Coffee,” Morpheus agrees.

Hob levers himself up. He’s loath to leave his very privileged position lying on top of Morpheus’s thigh, but he’s hopeful that it will only be a temporary removal. Being upright makes his headache instantly worse, and as soon as he’s in the bathroom he downs two painkillers. Jesus. He’s probably getting too old to be taking random drugs from strangers, if there’s ever an age where that sort of thing is okay in the first place.

“I did not throw up, in the end,” Morpheus tells him through the bathroom door, as Hob is brushing his teeth. “Though I did find myself regretting that drink, and raided your medicine cabinet halfway through the night.”

Explains why he seems less like he got run over by a train than Hob does. Hob spits, rinses his mouth. “Good.”

When he finishes his ablutions and comes back out, Morpheus has slipped out of bed, and is stretching, arms above his head, the hem of Hob’s oversized t-shirt riding up to expose his belly.

Hob swallows hard, shakes himself. “I’ll go start the coffee. I’ve probably got a spare toothbrush in there if you want it.”

Morpheus nods, and Hob, with reluctance, leaves him to head to the kitchen.

He’s just got the coffee brewing, and is scavenging the kitchen to see what scraps of food he might possibly have, when Morpheus wanders in, still only wearing Hob’s t-shirt over his boxers. He hops up onto the counter, the pristine, expensive countertop that never actually gets used for any cooking, and sits there, long legs dangling, watching Hob finish up with the coffee. His toenails are painted black, Hob realizes now, just like his fingernails.

He sits there, loose and messy and languid, and he makes the room look worthless. Every gleaming, perfect appliance in Hob’s massive, expensive flat is nothing in comparison to him; all this, all that Hob has, none of it feels real anymore, not next to Morpheus, and Hob’s filled with a mad arsonist impulse to take his hand and run and leave everything smoking behind them.

Instead of fleeing his apartment, he pours Morpheus a cup of coffee. Adds some cream, sugar. Presses the mug into his hands, their fingers brushing. Morpheus smiles, and it’s brighter than the sun streaming in through the tall glass windows.

Hob fetches his own coffee, and steps closer so he’s between Morpheus’s knees, Morpheus looking just slightly down at him from his perch on the counter. Morpheus traces his fingertips along Hob’s cheek. He didn’t shave this morning, so there’s a bit of stubble growing in, and it prickles under Morpheus’s fingers.

“I suppose I must thank you for sparing me from going home with a boring stockbroker last night,” Morpheus says.

“You did go home with a stockbroker last night,” Hob points out.

“Ah, but not a boring one.” His fingertips dance over Hob’s lips. “You did not fuck me, though, which is disappointing. And yet, endearing at the same time.”

“There’s always right now,” Hob says. There is, he thinks, only right now. Right now is a spell, a little bubble in time. Once Morpheus leaves, goes back to his music and his regular life, so different from Hob’s, he won’t come back. No matter how much they joked about running away together. “Or I could suck your cock and improve on that terrible blowjob that lead you to that party.”

“It was not terrible so much as unremarkable,” Morpheus says, tilting his head and looking at him from under his lashes. “Forgettable. Will you be forgettable, Hob?”

The day Hob gives a forgettable blowjob to someone as stunning as Morpheus is the day he really does vanish into the woods, but this time out of unconquerable shame. “I’ll tell you what,” he says, and leans in close to speak into Morpheus’s ear. “I’ll suck you off. And if we hit remarkable you have to stay for dinner, too.”

They slept in, and it’s already two in the afternoon, so dinner isn’t so far away. Not that Hob has any food in the house, but he can order whatever Morpheus wants. Hob can easily afford to take him to the most expensive restaurant in New York. Or just get pizza again. Whatever Morpheus wants. Might as well make all his money good for something.

“If I stay for dinner, you have to come to my show tonight,” says Morpheus.

“You have another show tonight?”

Morpheus nods.

“Baby, I’d have come either way,” Hob says, and feels, more than sees Morpheus’s lips tip up in a smile, with how close he’s still standing.

“You are easy, Hob, do you know that?” he says. His hand comes up to wrap around the back of Hob’s neck, fingers playing with his hair.

Hob is very easy, generally speaking, it’s true. All he usually wants is to have a good time, wherever he can get it. But Morpheus is special. Hob felt it from the moment he slumped down beside him at the party. He makes Hob even easier. If Morpheus will keep looking at him like he’s interesting, will keep touching him, he’s pretty sure he’ll do anything.

“Apparently,” he agrees. Then he takes Morpheus’s mostly-empty coffee cup and sets it aside. Leans back far enough to look at him. “Can I get those kisses I paid for now?”

“Buying sex is illegal in New York,” Morpheus tells him seriously.

“So’s ketamine.”

That makes Morpheus giggle, and so Hob kisses him. Morpheus leans into it, fingers clutching Hob’s shirt, tilting his head to better the angle. He kisses so sweetly, opening his mouth to Hob’s tongue. Hob holds him by the waist where he sits on the counter, slipping his hands under his t-shirt to sweep over his sharp hipbones, and Morpheus’s breath hitches.

Hob peels his boxers off, Morpheus wiggling on the counter to free them. Hob slides his hands up his slim thighs, and Morpheus parts them to let him closer, leaning back on his hands. He’s half-hard already, his pretty pink cock plumping up under the hem of his borrowed t-shirt. He tips his head back as Hob drags his thumbs over the creases of his thighs, letting out a long sigh. He’s so fucking gorgeous. He’s the most perfect thing Hob’s ever seen.

“Christ, I want to get my mouth on you so bad,” he sighs, and Morpheus swallows, eyelids fluttering. “This angle isn’t going to work, though. Go on.” And he pushes on Morpheus’s chest until he gets the hint and lies back on the counter with a hitching breath. Hob shoves his way between his thighs, pushes him up across the marble until he can bend over him without breaking his back, and draws one of Morpheus’s legs over his shoulder.

“Am I your breakfast now?” Morpheus asks, voice gratifyingly tight. “As you seem to have no other food.”

Hob swats his thigh. “Quiet, you. Don’t be a brat.”

“I will if I want to,” Morpheus declares. Then lets out a squeak as Hob licks a stripe up his cock, takes the head in his mouth and sucks. Morpheus mewls, but Hob doesn’t let up on him, swirls his tongue over the tip, bobs his head, basking in the way Morpheus’s thighs twitch, hands scrabbling on the counter before finally finding their way to Hob’s hair. He’s fully hard now, and Hob loves the weight of him in his mouth.

He pulls off to breathe, kisses his way down Morpheus’s shaft, rolls his balls lightly in one hand while he pins him by the hips with the other. Hob’s own cock is heavy in his boxers now, the heat and wanting pleasant as he takes Morpheus in his mouth again, deeper this time, bumping the back of his throat.

“Hob.” Morpheus’s voice is a punched out breath, and he tries to thrust up into Hob’s mouth, but Hob keeps him pinned down for now. Wants him to really want it. Morpheus writhes on the counter, one hand going up to tug on his own hair.

Hob pulls off and goes to his sensitive inner thigh instead, biting a mark and soothing it with his tongue, then another. Morpheus shivers, skin twitching. “Cruel,” he whines. “Cruel, cruel.”

“Want you marked up tomorrow,” Hob says, lips brushing his skin. “Memorable, right?”

Morpheus whines again, long and wanting. Hob takes him in his mouth, all the way this time, down to the opening of his throat, and swallows.

Morpheus keens, hips again trying to thrust upward, and this time Hob lets him, lets him fuck into the back of his throat, grip tight in Hob’s hair. God, but he loves it, having his mouth fucked. Especially when it’s such a pretty thing as Morpheus writhing from the hot, wet pleasure of it.

He tugs Morpheus far enough off the counter that he can slip a finger between his cheeks, drag it over his hole, and Morpheus makes a choked sound and comes down his throat. Hob swallows around him, eyes shut, reveling in the taste of him, then lets him gently slip from his mouth.

Morpheus is shivering, breathing hard, and Hob leans up his body to kiss him. Morpheus’s grip in his hair loosens, and he pets Hob’s head as he relaxes into the kiss, savoring it. Languid now, on the hard countertop. Hob nips at the corner of his mouth, then down his throat, sucks a mark into one sharp collarbone, and Morpheus sighs.

“Your mouth…” he murmurs, still playing with Hob’s hair, and Hob grins.

“Remarkable enough?”

“Cheeky,” Morpheus chastises him, then hums. “Mmm. It was good. I suppose I will keep you.”

“Was already going to tag along to your show,” Hob tells him.

Morpheus looks down at him, considering. But doesn’t voice whatever he’s thinking. “I should shower before attempting to go outside again,” he says instead, and pushes himself up so he’s sitting on the counter instead of sprawling. He leans in close, expression playful, and palms Hob’s erection through his underwear. “If you come with me, I will take care of that for you.”

“An offer I couldn’t possibly refuse,” Hob says.

He helps Morpheus hop down from the counter, then follows cheerfully as Morpheus drags him back into his own bathroom, his fingers tangled with Hob’s. And he tries to enjoy this little dream while he has it, and not think about how long he might possibly get to keep it.

-

Time passes far too quickly after that. Dreamlike, but without the addition of drugs this time. Hob finally orders some Chinese, and they sit on the couch eating whatever unholy breakfast-lunch-dinner combo eating your first meal at 5pm makes for. And they just… talk. And it’s so easy.

Not that it’s normally difficult for Hob to talk to people, but with Morpheus there’s no pretense. He won’t be impressed by any of the things Hob might normally use to impress strangers, so Hob finds himself just simply not trying. And he’s too genuinely curious about Morpheus, anyway, to make a show of anything.

He asks Morpheus about his music, but Morpheus evades the question and says Hob should just ‘see it for himself.’ Hob doesn’t bother telling him anything about his own work, because it’s the sort of thing that’s only interesting if you’re in the game, so to speak.

Instead, Morpheus manages to get him talking about university, something that feels like it was much longer ago than Hob’s realizing it actually was. Morpheus is surprised to learn that Hob studied history, but nods sagely when Hob explains that most of his work and interest was in economic history, specifically.

“All of that knowledge, and still you have chosen to involve yourself in this profession,” he says. But it’s not truly judgmental, more a tease. Like he finds Hob’s self-centered tendencies and general greed amusing.

“Well, I never claimed the moral high ground. Just the historically informed one,” Hob says, which actually makes Morpheus laugh. He pokes Hob in the thigh with his toes from where they’re sitting across from each other on the couch, then lets his legs linger there, still touching.

“What I find curious about you,” he muses, a dumpling still held absently between his chopsticks, “is that your life revolves around money and yet I do not think you are shallow.”

“Well, thanks.”

“I am serious,” Morpheus insists, pouting. “My parents were the same, and yet they could not seem to see value in anything beyond wealth and appearance and status, in general.”

“Guessing they’re not taken with this whole…” Hob gestures to Morpheus’s general existence, “situation.”

“‘This situation,’” Morpheus echoes.

“For the record I find the situation quite appealing.”

Morpheus’s lips tip up in a half-smile. Then, “No. You could say not. They would surely have preferred it if I applied my expensive Juilliard education to joining the London Philharmonic. Not, mind you, because they so value classical music, but because it sounds better at parties than admitting that your son spends his time, as they say, ‘promoting depravity.’”

“Oh, depravity’s fun, though,” Hob says, and Morpheus chuckles. For his own part, he adds, “To be honest, I think my parents are just happy I’m employed. Besides, I paid off their mortgage, so. There’ve been no complaints.”

“See,” says Morpheus, poking him again. “More than meets the eye.” He finally pops the dumpling into his mouth.

“I’m not going to get us kicked out of whatever underground club you perform in, am I?” Hob asks. “Being centered around money and all, instead of an agonized artist?”

“Hardly. And I think you will enjoy my brand of depravity. After our rather unsatisfying experience with yours.”

Hob enjoys Morpheus’s brand of everything. In fact, he’s not entirely sure he wants to go back to his own.

-

Hob dresses simply in jeans and a t-shirt while Morpheus occupies his bathroom. When he comes out, he’s put back on his jeans and jacket over the t-shirt he’d borrowed from Hob, spiked his hair by pilfering Hob’s hair gel, and somehow managed to mostly restore his makeup using whatever he raided from Hob’s bathroom. Hob hadn’t realized prior hookups had left that much stuff behind, but Morpheus has managed heavy eyeliner, and glimmering red eyeshadow, and a lipstick so dark red it looks black from afar. He’s a vision of power and danger, and Hob wants nothing more than to draw him close, push him to his knees, guide those dark lips to wrap around his cock—

“I know what you are thinking about,” says Morpheus, with a smirk, and Hob shakes himself, “but we do not have time for that until later.”

“You’re right.” He won’t make Morpheus late for his show. And besides, Hob wants to watch the show. He wants to hear Morpheus sing again.

Morpheus steps close, and leans into kiss him on the cheek, leaving a stamped mark of dark lipstick. He smiles in satisfaction to behold it. Apparently, he’s marked Hob as his little accessory for the evening.

“Come, pet,” Morpheus says, confirming Hob’s suspicions. He takes Hob’s hand and tows him towards the door. “We must expand your horizons.”

“You can expand my horizons, alright,” Hob says, and Morpheus casts him a withering look, but Hob can see the way his lips twitch.

“Hush,” he says, so Hob hushes, and just lets himself be pulled along.

[lizzytheglizzydogtheglock9000]

Hi hi!! I love your writing so much!! I saw you had a prompt list and was wondering if you could do number 11 with the Tenth Doctor 👉👈 I feel like that’s something he would say. Thanks I’m advance! 🫶

Guys I am indeed actually alive, it's just been a hot minute since I've felt any motivation to really come back and write things. But I am back, and I have no idea if I'll be consistent with this or not, it just sparked my interest again. I really appreciate all the consistent support from you guys!! <3333

Tenth Doctor x FemReader

"Yes I have feelings for you, moving on."

"Y/N?! Can I come in???"

You heard a flurry of knocks at your bedroom door as an excited Doctor rushed in before waiting for an answer.

"Why yes Doctor you may enter my room," you laughed. "What if I was changing or something in here?"

"Well I uh.. It hasn't happened yet!" he fought back.

You giggled and rolled your eyes at how flustered he got, something that you noticed happening often. Although you just chalked it up to that being a part of his personality, especially when he has so many lovely women flirting with him on your trips together.

He flopped onto your bed and stared at you.

"So! What are we doing today hm? Go see the stars of Ntiri, or perhaps an alien market, or we could go back to the time of the Renaissance!" he ended with a flair.

"A ball sounds nice, like in France. Marie Antoinette times! But preferably without the Reign of Terror, running isn't exactly on my wishlist for things today," you pondered aloud.

He jumped up and twirled you around, making you go all the way up on your tippy toes.

"Well alrighty then Ms. Y/N! The Yew Ball awaits!"

You rush out to see him start slamming levers and pulling bits and bobs as your center of balance is thrown away like it wasn't even there in the first place. It always amazed you how the Doctor managed to stay up the way he did. He was by no means the most graceful man you had ever met, but the TARDIS didn't seem to throw him around the same way it did you.

As he pulled you up and brushed some stray hairs out of your eyes, a thought hit you.

"Doctor?"

"Yes love?" he replied.

"Where are we supposed to get the right attire for this? My blouse and blue jeans won't exactly fit in a 16th century setting."

"Ah, don't worry about that, I'll get it all sorted out for us," he grinned.

The two of you walked out of the TARDIS, finding yourselves in a storage closet of sorts. You walked out and around the corner, up so many stairs you thought you might pass out, and then finally a couple more turns before stopping at a large white door with gold details.

The Doctor rapped on the door gently before a small brown haired woman appeared in a plain corset and dress.

He whipped out his psychic paper and the woman's face lit up.

"Oh! Madame you must hurry the ball starts soon!!!" she chimed.

She yanked you into the room as you gave the Doctor a very confused look while he just simply grinned back at you.

You then spent the next few hours getting your makeup done and having a multitude of dresses shown for you to choose from. It took at least one of those hours to convince the women helping you to not make you wear a wig, even if it is a sign of wealth, you just can't stand the itchiness.

Eventually, you made your way to the main ball room, stopping at the top of the stairs. The Doctor stood with his hands in his pockets admiring the view around him opposite you.

As his gaze met yours his eyes lit up and a wide smile crossed his face. He was in a royal, no, TARDIS blue coat and pants, with a golden waistcoat, and creme colored tights that he looked very upset to be wearing.

The two of you met at the top of the largest staircase, where the other two converged.

"You look absolutely stunning Y/N," he whispered.

You were given a ball gown in the exact same shade of gold as the Doctor's waistcoat, with your corset and center piece of material a light shade of cornflower blue, complementing your complexion perfectly.

"You look rather dashing yourself Doctor," you cooed.

He bowed to you deeply, arose, then held out a delicate hand to lead you down the stairs.

You proceeded to wander around the room, talking to many couples, eventually getting to meet Marie Antoinette herself. She found you most exciting, and thought you were the most intelligent person in the room.

The night began to slow, and the Doctor was leading you in your final waltz for the night.

"Doctor, I wouldn't have traded this night for anything," you said softly. "Although we must go into the past more often, we don't go nearly enough."

"I agree, the nights are always wonderful with the one you love most..." he stated holding onto your hand even tighter.

"Wait.. Doctor say that again?"

You couldn't believe what he had just said, did he really just say that he loved you the most??

"Yes, I have feelings for you, moving on," he brushed off.

"Wait a minute you can't just move on from this Doctor! You really love me?"

"My dear Y/N, why in the multitude of universes, wouldn't I love you? You are the sweetest person I've ever met, you're strong, capable, and gorgeous to the moons and back."

You blushed and smiled fondly.

"Which moons Doctor?"

"Any of them love, as long as you come with me," he whispered, tipping your chin up and kissing you gently.

You felt a swirl of emotions that you never knew you could feel before, and even more as he swung you off your feet, and placing you down gently.

"Uh, Doctor.. I think we're being stared at," you pointed out.

The entire room turned to look at you both, A truly handsome couple, the queen thought.

He placed a hand around your waist and began leading you back to the TARDIS.

"Well then, they'll definitely be staring after they see us walking into broom closet together," he snickered.

Your mouth dropped but returned to a content smile, not believing the wonderful night that just occurred.

[cherryberry-sugarandspice]

Erik sits back onto his plush recliner, sighing in relief. His body sinks in a bit, his muscles relaxing, the stress of work disappearing the moment he pulls the lever to recline back, his aching feet twitching.

He presses his head against the head rest, eyes fluttering shut.

This is what he needed. A nice, quiet moment to relax and clear his mind.

Until tiny feet run across the floor and someone knocks into his chair, tiny hands shoving against his arm.

"Papa! Papa!" Wanda, his daughter, yells. "Wake up! I need help!"

Erik immediately sits up in a panic from his daughter's worried tone. "What is it? What happened?"

"I accidentally taped Pietro to the wall and I don't know how to get him down!" Wanda yelled, tears in her green eyes.

Erik stares at her for a moment. "You...you taped your brother to the wall?" Did he hear her correctly?

She nods her head, curly brown hair bouncing against her chubby cheeks. "Yeah! On accident!"

"Please tell me this is a joke."

It wasn't a joke.

Taped to the wall of the twin's room was Pietro. He was high up on the wall, taped securely with duck tape. He's squirming, kicking his feet.

Erik stares in shock, unsure of what to make of this. He sees the chair they used to climb up on and there's books scattered around it, meaning Pietro stood on a pile of books while Wanda taped him to the wall.

Wanda stands in front of him, face scrunched in worry and tears welled in her eyes. "Get him down, papa!"

"Wanda, you seriously taped your brother to the wall? You two were supposed to be napping."

She fumbles with her fingers, frowning deeply. "I-It was an accident!"

"Wanda, you don't just accidentally tape someone to a wall. That is not possible. And this is dangerous! Both of you could've gotten seriously injured."

Her bottom lip trembles and she takes a step back, hugging herself "D-don't be mad at me papa. I promise it was an accident."

Erik softens at the sight of his daughter's distress. "Wanda, I'm not-"

Pietro glares at their father, eyes narrowed. He didn't like that their father is about to make his sister cry. "Hey! Leave Wanda alone! She didn't do anything! I taped myself to the wall!"

"What?" Erik said incredulously. "Pietro, you did not."

"Yes I did! So leave Wanda alone!"

Erik gives his son points for trying to protect his sister. He's always been like that, making sure Wanda doesn't get into trouble. Is willing to take the blame if it means his sister won't be in trouble.

He's a very protective brother.

And honestly, Erik isn't mad at this situation. He's shocked, mostly, and he finds this a bit funny. Of course he'll talk to his young children about why and how this could be dangerous to prevent this and future injuries from happening.

"Pietro, son, you're telling me that you pushed the chair against the wall, stacked all those books up, climbed up, and used duck tape to tape yourself to the wall, and then push the chair away?"

Pietro nods his head firmly, determination in his eyes. "Yup!"

Erik sighs, moving the chair out of his way and kicking aside books. "Okay, okay sure. Whatever you children say."

Once he gets Pietro down from the wall, he sits his children down to explain to them about why that's dangerous and to never do it again. He lays them back down in their beds and reads them a story until they fall asleep for nap time.

Erik returns back to his recliner, deciding to clean up the mess later. He sits back and sighs, shaking his head.

He laughs a bit. "Oh, these kids are going to be the death of me, I swear it."

[goingdownorup]

Finished Secret Life again, the roomies killed me once more so this appeared

Roomies, winners remember the games, 1245 words

“I don’t know how you do it.” 

Cleo looked up from the book she was reading, watching Grian shuffle through the front door of her bookshop. His wings were puffed out but he was clearly trying to hide the fact he was on edge. “Hello to you too, Grian.” Cleo said in response, the predictable scowl that crossed Grian’s face at the indirect call out of his lack of manners only fueling her amusement. “What brings you to my shop?”

“You remember.”

Ah. 

Cleo’s grin slid down her face, the cat that had been cozied up on her lap vacating as soon as she shifted in her seat. “I do.” Cleo finally agreed, because there was no point in lying about something like this. She gestured to the empty spot next to her. “A pretty silly way to win, I won’t lie.” 

“I thought it was poetic.” 

“We can settle on an attempt to not kill someone close to me.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, since Grian ignored Cleo’s attempt at getting him to sit next to her. His shoulders tightened, his fingers trailed along the book spines as he paced. Cleo couldn’t help but remember a familiar scene, a moment where her and Etho stood around an enchanting table with Grian moving just like this because he couldn’t stand still. Back then, Cleo always wondered how he had so much energy, how he could be ready to go at a moment's notice. 

“See?” Cleo shook her head at the accusing tone in his voice, focusing back on the current Grian now pointing a finger in her direction. “I don’t know how you can do that! You- you remember something, you pause, and then you keep going with your day. How do you do that?” 

The shop could use some music, Cleo would admit. She was used to having multiple people here to fill the silence, not an angry winner of a death game she only recently remembered. “Because I would tear myself apart if I didn’t.” 

Grian collapsed into her with a dramatic sigh, wings whacking her face. Before, Cleo would think it was odd that she felt like she had done this before, that it was weird how natural it was to wrap her arms around Grian’s shoulders and pull him closer. Now, Cleo knew why it felt so right. 

Cleo knew a lot of things, now. 

“Scar told me it was fine.” Grian mumbled into her shoulder, his own body slumping into her own. “He told me that I should’ve killed him in that pond for all the bullshit he put me through.” 

The laugh was more forced than Cleo would’ve liked, the sound sticking against the walls of their throat for a moment before it escaped. “He did put you through a lot, I won’t lie.” Cleo agreed. A cat scratched at the wood of her bookcase, far enough away that Cleo couldn’t get after it. “I think it’s easier for me.” Cleo added on after a few more minutes of silence. Grian made a sleepy noise, something to confirm he was still listening. “I guess it's how you look at it. I won, and then got blasted with five death games in some kind of recap style.” 

Grian snorted, the sound almost wet. Cleo resisted the urge to look down and check on him. “But that’s all I got.” Cleo continued, raising her hand to run her fingers through Grian’s hair. “I got memories. You, on the other hand, lived all five. You lived through all five and have the memories. You got a two for one deal, I guess.” 

Laughing at misfortune was another thing that was natural but used to feel like it shouldn’t be. Grian shook his head, digging into her shoulder. “I guess.” Grian looked up, finally making eye-contact with Cleo while offering a shaky smile. “Welcome to the world's worst club.” 

Cleo took the sentiment for what it was, tightening their hold around Grian. Maybe the store didn’t need music. Grian’s steady breathing was enough, at least for now. It was nice to hear, in any case, since the last time Cleo was this close to him they were in a dark tunnel about to pull the lever on three of their other friends. His heart was racing then, Cleo’s too, both pairs of eyes bloodshot due to the tears that had fallen after Etho-

“You’re doing it again.” Grian mumbled, the sound of rockets going off in the distance. Cleo just pulled him closer. 

Cleo didn’t know how long it took for someone to find them. The footsteps were familiar, far more to Cleo than Etho would expect. He peeked his head around the corner, just like he would do at the bottom of the staircase at their base. He glanced around, looking at the cats before his eyes landed on the two of them. Cleo’s throat felt dry. 

She might have been lying, about Grian having it worse. 

Because now, Scar remembered. Grian had several death games under his belt to process and grieve in the best way possible for him. Etho’s eyes crinkled around the edges, eyes full of confusion but a warmth that Cleo didn’t think Etho understood. He couldn’t, not without winning. 

But he still made his way over to the two of them, hands tucked deep in his pockets like he was trying to rip a hole in them. He glanced at Grian, who was now tucking his face back into Cleo’s shoulder like he was embarrassed that Etho found the two of them like this. Etho looked back at Cleo, who shrugged, who couldn’t find the right words to explain what was going on without sounding crazy. “Room for one more?” Etho finally asked, the awkward tilt in his voice that made Cleo want to laugh and cry because she knew him when he sounded like this, and she knew him when he was past feeling awkward and it hurt that he was back to feeling like- 

Like he didn’t know them. 

“For you?” Cleo said anyway. “I guess we can make an exception.” 

It was a tight fit, another flash of a memory that would haunt her of all three of them trying to cram onto Bdubs’ bed. Grian ended up sprawled across both of their laps, Etho’s arm wrapped around the back of Cleo’s shoulders. There was a knowing look in Grian’s eyes that Cleo stuck their tongue out at, before Etho let out a tiny breath he was apparently holding. “This is weird, right?” He asked, looking between Cleo and Grian like he was trying to figure out what was really going on. “I feel like this should be more weird than it is, but it’s still weird.” 

Grian laughed again, Cleo couldn’t help the tiny snort she let out. They knew the feeling well. “Yeah, it’s a little strange.” Cleo agreed, resting her head on Etho’s shoulder. He tensed, holding his breath again for a moment before forcing himself to relax. “You’ll figure it out.” 

He would figure it out. Bdubs would figure it out. Bigb and Lizzie and Ren would someday, hopefully, figure all of this shit out. 

Letting out a huff, Etho slowly rested his head on top of Cleos. “Sure. whatever that means.” 

Etho would figure it out. 

Eventually. 

And maybe by then, Cleo would actually have an answer to Grian’s question he asked in the first place.

[purityonice]

💙 BRANCH X AUTISTIC! READER 💙

calming you down.

Requested? Yeah :)

TW// panic attack!

Also sorry if i got this wrong dont be afraid to correct me!!!

im sorry i havent been posting ive just been busy plus i had mad writers block!!

Branch knew you were different, thats why he liked hanging around you.

You two had so much in common and he felt like you were the only one that got him. Even his best friend Poppy didn’t get him like you did.

He never knew why you were so against taking off your headphones or joining in on any of the parties but he was glad for it.

So he knew that when Poppy decided to throw another massive party just for funsies you would come knocking at his door. But not how he expected you to.

“B-Branch! open the door please!” You cried out desperately your hands covering your ears as you crouched down staring at his trapdoor. A loud bang and a bright flash assaulted you as loud cheering could be heard from a mile away.

Poppys parties had become so much more intense after the truce with the Bergens and this one was the worst.

Branch leaned on his lever as he yawned adorned in his robe and coffee in his hand unaware of your predicament. The elevator came to a stop as he began to undo his series of locks, the sound of the party drowning out your whimpers.

The final lock was undone and he swung open the trap door, your scared face looking down at him trembling trying to calm yourself down.

Branch’s face dropped as guilt bubbled up inside him, wondering how long you had been waiting for him. Quickly grabbing you and pulling you inside, closing the door and locking it again.

As you writhed from the sudden contact the bunker was alot quieter than outside, the music was muffled by the underground walls while you swayed back and forth on the ground. The feeling on the elevator soothing you abit as it began to descend.

“Are you alright? you dont look so good.” Branch finally spoke his voice laced with worry as he lowered himself down to your level.

You couldn’t respond your body was to letting you speak as Branch sat besides you.

He knew what was going on all to well.

“uhm- I have this place that I go to when i’m feeling overwhelmed… do you want to go there?” He said softly his eyes gazing your body as you shook your head yes. A soft warmth in his stomach grew happy that youre starting to reapond to him.

“I also have this technique to help want to try it? its going to be awhile before we get there my bunker is pretty big.” Branch asked his eyes never leaving you waiting for you to respond. After you agreed he got right into it.

“Okay just think of three things you see, hear, and smell. it always helps me.” He yawned out streching his legs as you stimmed beside him.

your eyes darting around the little elevator walls as rooms passed by.

Storage room, dirt, Branch

Branch looked at you as you stared at him a heat rising on your face as you closed your eyes to hear better your thoughts begining to calm down as you swayed back and forth.

The elevator gears moving, very faint music, Branch

Branch was shuffling around in his spot his soft grunts as he got up from his place probably to quickly grab some stuff knowing him. His body plopped softly on the floor besides you again a soft jingling following.

Keeping your eyes closed as you began to smell the area that surrounded you a soft pop was heard but never the less you continued, this was really working.

Oil, dirt, Branch.

He smelt pleasant like fresh from the shower nice, the would explain the robe. Your eyes remained shut as you soaked in Branches scent not realising that he was now speaking to you. He snapped his fingers infront of your face to grab your attention.

Your eyes flutters open to a few fireflies illuminating the area the soft buzzes of their bodies was so nice as they danced infront of you both.

“You smell so nice Branch.” You said bluntly while your eyes were still locked on the bugs that flew ahead of you. He was taken a back and let out a chuckle as you started to shuffle closer towards him.

“This is so nice thank you for helping me Branch.” your voice was soft leaning your head on his shoulder as you listened to his breathing.

Branchs body was stiff feeling you drape your head on his a his body heated. A dorky smile on his face as he looked into your eyes full of light. A soft smile plastered on your face while you just let your surroundings soak in.

“So did you still want to goto the room I was talking about earlier?” Branch said feeling you nod against his shoulder you interwined your hand with his as you looked up at him.

“Yes please.”

[obsidianimagines]

All of Time and Space

After a would-be alien invasion, The Doctor offers you the opportunity to travel with him in the TARDIS.

Ten × gn!reader

Warnings: None

"This is supposed to be a spaceship?" With a raised eyebrow, you looked away from the blue box and back to the pinstripe suited man—The Doctor, he'd called himself—his hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers. "It's just an old Police Box."

"Well, looks can be deceiving, can't they?" The Doctor headed towards the box once again, taking your hand to bring you along.

He'd been doing that on and off for the last few hours, holding on tight as the two of you ran from the strange aliens that had apparently infiltrated your workplace. You helped The Doctor send them back to where they came from, only for him to give you an enticing offer.

"You and me. All of time and space. What do you say?"

Even after what you'd witnessed that day, seeing more than just your little corner of planet Earth still seemed far-fetched. But something in The Doctor's eyes told you that you could trust him with your life without knowing him for more than a single afternoon.

You shook the thought away just as the two of you reached the door, and he pushed it open for you, nodding his head towards the inside. "Go on then, give her a look."

Seeing the blue box made you start to rethink that a little bit. Sure, he'd stopped an alien invasion like it was something he dealt with every day, but what if he was just some madman? And even if the box really could travel through time and space, how could the two of you fit in the thing? The Doctor was quite slim, yes, but the idea of being in such close quarters with him...

Hesitantly, you let go of him as you stepped in.

Instead of a dark, cramped box, you found a warmly lit room. The walls were covered in a hexagonal pattern, and it had what looked like curvy support beams spaced around it. In the center of it all sat a console, litered with various knobs and buttons and screens.

And the sound...almost like the ship had a heartbeat.

You didn't even notice that The Doctor had already ran past you and to the console, tossing his trench coat onto the padded railing. He flipped a switch, watching as you took in your surroundings. There was something he enjoyed about seeing others be awestruck at the sight of his beloved TARDIS.

Unsurprisingly, the first thing you said was, "It's...it's bigger on the inside."

"It's called the TARDIS. Time and Relative Dimension in Space." The Doctor leaned on the edge of the console, his hands resting on either side of him as he looked at you expectantly. "Fancy a trip?"

You walked towards him, still looking at the room and wondering if you were dreaming. "You said 'all of time and space'..." Stopping in front of him, you smiled. "How could I not?"

The Doctor grinned and, in an instant, began pushing buttons and flipping even more switches. "The question is...past or future?"

"Future," you said without a thought. "Show me something amazing."

"Coming right up!" The Doctor stopped running around the console to pull a lever, and the TARDIS began to make a strange grinding noise. You found yourself glad for the railing as the ship's movements threw you around a bit. The Doctor seemed unfazed by that, continuing to pilot the ship.

Finally, the TARDIS came to a stop, and you were able to let go.

"Sorry about that," The Doctor said, already moving towards the exit. "Her navigation system can be a bit tricky."

"A warning might have been nice." You jogged to catch up to him, stopping in front of the doors.

The Doctor looked over at you with a smile, "Ready to see the future?"

When he opened the door, your first thought was that it was most definitely not Earth, evidenced by the twin suns in the sky. The buildings looked almost to be made of pure gold, all shining bright where the sun hit them. Dreaming felt like even more of a possibility at the sight of a place so beautiful. "Something amazing: check."

Before The Doctor could say that it wasn't where he meant to bring you, you grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the ship. "What are we waiting for? Let's look around!"

"So..." you began, catching your breath as you slumped down in the chair that you had neglected to notice on your first flight a few hours earlier. The Doctor had just landed the TARDIS somewhere else, but you hadn't asked about that yet. "Do your trips usually end with trouble?"

He leaned against the railing, not quite as worn out as you were after all that running. It wasn't his first rodeo with killer robots. "More or less. Mostly more." He looked down at you with an eyebrow quirked. "Why? Have you changed your mind?"

"No way." You eagerly stood up next to him. "What's next?"

The Doctor didn't hesitate to return to the console and whisk you away again.

[obwjam]

a small surprise part 2 (gravity falls g/t)

read part 1 here!

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

Stanley had tried everything he could think of. 

Which, admittedly, wasn’t much. Pulling the lever, smacking the big button, pushing and flicking and kicking every button and switch and piece of metal he could see, but it was no use. Not even a spark.

Journal in hand, he quietly made his way toward the elevator. He was relieved to see the tiny person seemingly asleep, because he couldn’t deal with that right now. He spent his night poring through the pages, slumped over on the bed in Ford’s room, occasionally rubbing his glasses like it was a genie’s lamp, hoping it would make him reappear at any moment.

He didn’t remember falling asleep that night, but dim sunlight passing over his eyes told him he must have been out for a while, because the storm had subsided, but only outside. Stanley instantly remembered every detail from the night before; most notably, the strange little person he had encountered and subsequently stranded. His stomach churned at that. That was a pretty terrible thing to do, wasn’t it? It felt nice to feel like he had power for a little bit, but 12 hours removed from his initial shock and anger, that familiar feeling of helplessness was creeping back in. If he wanted to get Ford back as quickly as possible, he needed all the help he could get. Besides, this nonsensical journal made almost no sense to Stanley. Maybe it made sense to the half-pint.

But when he dragged himself back down to the bunker, he gasped. The tiny person was lying down the same way she had been last night. She hadn’t even moved, it looked like.

“Oh, no,” Stanley mumbled, rapidly putting the journal down and scrambling on top of the table. His stomach sank as he peered inside the jar – her eyes were most definitely closed, and he couldn’t tell if she was breathing or the glass was just warped. Carefully, he lifted the jar into his hands as he hopped back down to the ground. He nearly recoiled at how cold the jar was to the touch. That couldn’t be good. He let out a huge sigh when he saw her squirm ever so slightly at the change in altitude… but she still didn’t wake up. 

“Great, just great,” Stan groaned. “Now I have to take care of this.” He was going to pretend like this wasn’t his doing in the first place.

The first thing he did was unscrew the lid; he winced at the loud squeaking noise it made. He stood still for a moment, questioning if he really wanted to do this. He could just stick the jar back up on the shelf, behind some books, and forget this ever happened… but this thing, tiny as she was, was a person, with thoughts and feelings and apparent knowledge on the very thing he was puzzling over. And sure, she may be weird, but Stan could really use some company he didn’t meet in a Colombian prison.

He carefully tilted the jar down and allowed the tiny person to slide onto his palm, thinking that would be enough to stir them from whatever deep sleep they were in. But to Stan’s horror, it was like holding an ice cube in his hand. They were freezing. No wonder they weren’t waking up. 

He groaned, keeping his hand far away from his body like he was holding something poisonous. He twisted around a few times to see if he could use anything to warm her up. Didn’t Ford keep any space heaters down here? 

“C’mon, Poindexter, you gotta have something,” Stanley muttered. He glanced down at the tiny again. He was trying not to think about the fact that they even exist, because the moment he did, he would have to accept the fact that his entire worldview was now decidedly, permanently, altered from this. Somehow, with all he had been through, this was still the weirdest thing he’s ever seen.

And she was just – a person. But really, really small. There was no discernible difference, as far as Stan could tell. Boy, that really has to suck, he thought as he pushed aside junk on every table. How can anyone live like that?

Eventually, he found what he was looking for – sort of. It was a ragged cloth, covered in grease and, as a sniff test determined, various other fluids. But as long as it meant not having to hold some half-alive miniature human, he didn’t care. He unceremoniously dumped her into the cloth, once again relieved to see her still on this earth as she squirmed a bit at the new surface.

“Ugh. Finally,” Stan grumbled. He quickly set the cloth on the table and got up to continue tweaking the portal, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He stopped after a few steps.

He couldn’t just… ugh. He turned back around, flexing his hands. I can’t just leave ‘em here. Ew. Why was he thinking that? Because they’re smaller than a damn pencil and can’t survive here on their own. Okay, so what? And how did he even know that? He had no obligation to take care of anyone but himself. But they’ll die down here. Who cares? And it’d be all your fault. No, it wouldn’t. Just like Ford.

Stanley shut his eyes and rubbed them hard. Since when did he develop a conscience? That was inconvenient. But this pipsqueak had said something that Stan found he couldn’t get out of his mind – I was around when Ford worked on it. Even if she didn’t actually do anything, she knew Ford and had some semblance of understanding about the inner workings of this thing, which was more than Stan could say. Maybe she knew where the other journals were, too. Or maybe she’d be able to stop Stan from going insane.

Ugh.

He pulled up the rickety stool he was sitting on last night and flopped down, placing his elbows on the table and leaning his chin into his hands. He narrowed his eyes and concentrated on her tiny form, as if it would help her wake up. Though he didn’t do anything to jolt her awake, his concentration did pay off when he started to notice her breathing. It stunned his mind silent. He could actually see her tiny chest expanding, retracting, expanding, retracting with her breathing. Tiny strands of her hair were being pushed and pulled along with the movement. She was dirtier than she looked from afar. Can she even take a shower? Eugh. She had all sorts of scratches and bruises along her skin including a long gash over her left eye that would have looked kind of badass if it probably didn’t come from fighting a rat or something. 

It was hard to imagine Ford actually befriending something – someone like that, and regarding them as an equal. Stan wasn’t even sure he could think of them as equal. Ford had a condescending way about him; he’s been looking down on Stan since they were teenagers. Why should some four-inch-tall person get more respect than he did? It wasn’t fair. Stan was family. Family was the most important thing in the world. Right?

Stanley took one more long look at the tiny and sighed. Yeah, she probably wasn’t waking up anytime soon. Well, he was already sitting down… he might as well keep thumbing through this journal and see if he could make any sense of it.

*******

Why was everything so fuzzy?

It was like she was moving underwater. Even blinking seemed to go in slow motion. It didn’t help that she was wandering around some dark, dirty room. She couldn’t even feel her limbs moving. They just… did.

Who’s there?

That voice. It was unmistakable! She called out his name, straining her voice more each time.

Hello?

Why couldn’t he hear her? He always heard her. She screamed even louder. “IT’S ME!” she yelled. “RIGHT HERE!”

What in the world…

A form that didn’t even look like his loomed large over her. His glasses were opaque, his expression stoic. He seemed to have no regard for her as his foot slammed down next to her, causing her to fall. She tried to get up, but the sensation of him kneeling down was enough to keep her pressed into the ground. He extended his hand right at her, emotionless, unwavering, not stopping until he gets what he wants. He didn’t seem to hear her pleading, even as he snatched her up. The squeezing feeling was nearly suffocating–

Suddenly, she shot up. Her ears were ringing, and she was drenched in a cold sweat, but everything was moving at normal speeds again. She allowed herself a few heavy breaths before wiping her face with her hands. It had been ages since she’d last had a nightmare that bad. Not since…

“Sheesh, about time you woke up.”

Her blood ran ice cold as she slowly turned her head to meet the booming voice. Him. Ford’s brother. Stanley. The one who stuck her inside a jar last night and left her for dead. Maybe she was still dreaming. Or maybe this was the afterlife.

She began to inch back, planning on pressing herself to the back of the glass jar, but immediately sank downward. What the hell? She jerked her head down, discovering a grey cloth that was once probably white cushioning her. Before she could even think, stars filled her vision, and she clutched her head as her temples throbbed.

Stan raised an eyebrow at her reaction, letting out a small eugh at the way she wobbled back and forth. He guessed it had to be a bit disorienting to be stuck on a tabletop, barely even registering as a speck in this massive place.

He watched – in pity, he later realized, which made him shudder – as the tiny person whipped her head around, clearly disoriented and clearly freaked out by Stan’s proximity. When their eyes met, hers burned with a fear he wasn’t quite sure he’d ever seen before. He kept a straight face, but he knew he had to say something. This was starting to make him uncomfortable.

“Woah, woah, take it easy,” he grumbled, his voice softer than he expected it would be. “I’m not gonna do that again.” Her skeptical expression made him snicker. “I’m serious, short stuff. I was just… mad, last night. Lost my temper.”

Yeah, she thought, cold creeping up her spine. That’s the problem.

Stan couldn’t take looking her in the eye anymore, so he brought his focus back to the journal, pretending to scan through its pages. A few minutes passed, and the tiny didn’t move.

“You were freezing,” Stan started, not looking up from the book. “Inside that jar. So I found that cloth. Thought it might warm you up.”

Jay wanted to laugh, but nothing about that was funny. No wonder she felt so lethargic. She nearly froze to death. Somewhere inside her, she appreciated the gesture, but it didn’t take heightened senses to know this rag was gross. She would almost rather freeze than smell like… god, what even was that?

Stanley frowned. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised she didn’t want to talk to him, but it mildly freaked him out that she wouldn’t even look at him. She kept her eyes trained at the ground, trying not to make any sudden movements, like he would forget all about her if she stayed still long enough. Ugh. Why did he feel so bad about this? I guess it is my fault.

“Y’know, I never, uh, asked you what your name was.”

Jay blinked. No, he didn’t, and she sure as hell didn't want him to know it. It would just be another thing he could use against her if he had to. But what power did she have in this situation to stay silent? He could – no, would – just throw her back in the jar at the slightest inconvenience.

Stan shifted uncomfortably. “Look, tiny, I… I know I probably shouldn’t have put you in that jar.” Jay looked up, surprised. She wasn’t expecting an apology. Stan tried to hide his amusement at her tiny movements. “And I know you have no reason to trust me. But if we want to get Ford back, we need to work together, right? Not like you can fix the portal all by yourself.” Jay thought for a moment, brushing aside yet another size-related comment, then gave a tentative nod. She didn’t feel like facing his wrath by disagreeing. “So, whadda ya say? Truce?”

Truce was a strong word. She didn’t want to do this, but she had to. He was right about one thing – there was nothing she could do in this situation without Stan’s help. And she really, really just wanted to get Ford back as quickly as possible so she never had to see his twin again.

She flinched when a giant finger entered her view, stopping inches in front of her face – a reflex that did not go unnoticed by Stan. He was going for one of those handshakes that humans loved to do. Just like Ford had done when they first met.

Stan was grinning, but it had a smarmy edge to it that she didn’t like. He was amused by the size difference, and his smile only grew wider when Jay hesitantly reached her hands out and placed them on either side of his fingertip. He gently shook his finger, but the movement was enough to nearly pull Jay into the air from her seated position. She quickly regained her balance and shot Stan a nasty look. He just laughed.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” he said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. That was all Jay needed to get serious.

“Okay, listen, if we’re gonna be doing this, we need to lay down some ground rules.”

Stan’s eyes briefly lit up at the sound of her voice. “Oh? And what would those be?”

Jay rolled her eyes. “No touching me without asking. No, you know what, no touching me at all. I’m not your plaything. And if I say something, you actually have to listen. Don’t just brush me off. And…” she trailed off, unsure of how bold she wanted to be. 

“And? And what?” Stan was still smiling. Jay grimaced.

“And… you need to share food and water with me. It’s… what Ford did.”

The room grew quiet at the mention of Ford’s name, and even Stan could sense this wasn’t the moment for a joke. He didn’t put two seconds into thinking how she would eat or drink, but it’s not like she could just walk down the street and go to the grocery store. He didn’t feel like getting into the fact that he had no money for food or water or… anything.

Stan stole a glance at the tiny, who was clearly waiting for an acknowledgement. It didn't seem like she noticed him faltering. Stan leaned back, waving his hand dismissively. “Yeah, sure, whatever, easy enough. You should know that I’m not too good at following rules, though.”

Jay sighed. Just when she thought she had gotten through… no, it was fine. He had listened... in his own Stanley way.

“I’m serious though, kid, you gotta tell me your name. I doubt you want me calling you pipsqueak all the time.”

Jay crossed her arms. “You’ll do that anyway.”

Stan smiled. “Yeah, probably.”

Despite herself, Jay smirked. This giant definitely had Ford’s cockiness, but also his intangible charm. He was unapologetically himself. 

“My name’s Jay,” she said finally, taking a moment to meet Stan’s eyes. Her cheeks flushed red when he raised his eyebrows.

“Jay? Huh. Interesting. Is that short for somethin’?” Stan paused before bursting out into laughter. “Short for something – ha! I mean – you are, short for something – HA!”

“Okay, not funny,” she mumbled, her entire face now burning.

“No, it’s pretty funny.” Stan shook for a few more seconds. “Okay, okay, I’m done.”

“Do you actually want to know why that’s my name?”

Stan leaned down, intrigued. “Oh, there’s actually a reason? Thought it was just some weird tiny person thing.”

“Yes, there’s actually a reason,” Jay shot back, trying to hide her nerves. “All borrower names have significance.”

It took Stan a moment to remember what a borrower was, but he just nodded, prompting her to continue.

“I, um. I grew up in the forest,” she started tentatively, gauging his reaction. He just kept staring. Jay moved her gaze back to her lap. “So we relied a lot on nature. My, uh, family… they relied on birds, a lot. We helped them, they helped us, that kind of thing. So they named me Jay.” She paused, giving Stan room to say something. He didn’t. “Like the bird.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Stanley said, sounding a little breathless. He would never admit it, but that little detail had completely captivated him. She grew up in the forest? It really was like a fairy tale. Except she was no fairy, and this was no tale. After reading through the journal last night, it was clear that this town was full of wacky paranormal weirdness, because Ford didn’t have enough of an imagination to dream all of that nonsense up himself. 

But there was nothing in the journal about this tiny – Jay – that he could use as a reference. He was curious, sure, but he wasn't going to waste his time asking her details about her weird tiny life. He just wanted his brother back. She was a vehicle to make that happen. That was it. Nothing more.

Jay cleared her throat. “So if you could just call me that, instead of some degrading size-based nickname, that would be appreciated.”

“Hm? Oh, sure thing, short stuff.” Jay let out a long sigh, but Stan didn’t hear. He tapped the journal impatiently. “Can we get back to the important stuff now? Like, what does…” Stan squinted at the page, “...‘quantum entanglement’ mean? That sounds made up.”

Jay rubbed the brim of her nose. “It means–”

“Nope, don’t care,” Stan cut her off, flipping to the next page. “First lesson – don’t waste my time with a bunch of nerdy words that I won’t understand. I’m sure we can figure this out without you giving me a chemistry lesson.”

“It’s physics,” Jay mumbled, plopping down on the table. She allowed the journal to tower over her as she stared straight ahead, out into the vast room before her. She had spent a lot of nights down in this bunker, and it was hard not to feel a little wistful for the times when Ford would fall asleep with papers stuck to his face, or when Fiddleford was so hopped up on caffeine he would dance around the room and talk a million miles per hour, or the rare times when Ford would share personal anecdotes and forget all about the portal for a few hours. 

Now, in the blink of an eye, it was gone, replaced with a dark, musty room whose only occupants were a tired, run-down Jay and her best friend’s sarcastic, impatient twin brother whom she did not trust one bit. Ford was always telling her to trust no one. Maybe it’s high time she listened.

Stan silently flipped through the journal for another five minutes before letting out a loud groan and slamming his head down into the pages. Jay let out a small yelp, instinctively scooting back.

“This is stupid,” Stan said to no one in particular. “I’m getting a soda.”

Jay watched, helpless, as Stan disappeared down the hall, mumbling about Ford’s apparent stupidity. 

This was going to take a long, long time.

[zarvasace]

Sorry if this is random but I just wanna say as someone who suffers intense hip pain (like I can't move or eat when it flares up) from time to time, I absolutely love Shatterproof Legend. Idk why but he's comforting somehow, and it's nice seeing him get the support he needs. Anyway, just thank you for writing him and I hope you have a wonderous existence :]

Hip pain sucks man. I'm sorry you deal with that! I'm glad to write something that is comforting :)

---

"This is stupid," Linm complains, sitting on a bench at the carpenter's and holding out the finished as if it would bite him. It still smells of wood stain. "I don't need this."

"You'll find it useful," Ravio insists. He stands and offers Linm a hand.

Seeing his expression, Zelda pokes his side. "At least make sure it's the right height before we leave."

Link sends her a sour look, but he's never actually been truly upset with either of them. He takes Ravio's hand and levers himself up. He overshoots his balance, and unfortunately his reaction is to use the cane in his hand to prevent himself from falling over.

Ravio keeps hold of Link's hand until he's sure that Link won't fall. "See? Already useful. Take a few steps."

Link groans, but he knows exactly how stubborn these two are, and he's tired. He walks, setting the end of the cane down just barely on the ground.

Zelda stands up, using a cane of her own. "Okay, you actually have to put it on the good side—yep, switch it over—and use it to brace the bad steps."

"That is going to hurt my shoulder," Link complains, but at their urging, tries to actually use the cane the right way.

It helps. He's mad about it.

[dullgecko]

if you feel like writing any more fabriz, I love the way you write them, especially early in their crushing process! love all your writing, it's so wonderful to see someone so active in the fandom and it's crazy impressive how fast/how much you write!

(For you dear nonny~)

"You're getting better at that." Riz piped up from where he was sitting on the ground at the edge of the dance studio, having paused for a moment in his little project to watch Fabian practice for his practical test the next day.

"Better, but not perfect yet." The half elf sighed, pulling his crystal out of his pocket to pause the music as he head over to see what their rogue was working on. Fabian sitting down next to him against the wall and accepting the water bottle Riz handed him without looking up from what he was doing.

"Why do you have an office chair?"

"Mmm? Oh, the AV club got new ones with our club budget this year. This one was broken so they said I could have it. Need it for my office." Riz flicked his ear, dexterous fingers digging into the components of the mechanism of the chair as he tried to fish out the broken part and replace it with the new one he'd 'borrowed' from the artificer classrooms. They had hundreds and wouldn't miss it.

"Why do you want it if it's broken?" Fabian was watching what Riz was doing with rapt attention, only glancing away for a moment when the goblin flicked his tail before reaching down grab it. The goblin not looking away from what he was doing but allowing the half elf to play with the tuft at the end without comment. "I could just get you a new one if you need it."

"Don't. It's a waste of money. This is fixable." Riz snagged the broken part that had been rattling around inside and jamming up the works with his claw tip, fishing it out and inspecting it before tossing it to the side.

He wasn't as adept at fixing things as Gorgug was but he could make do. Lots of traps and mechanisms they studied in his rogue classes required a fairly advanced knowledge of how machinary worked, though it mostly involved knowing how to break stuff effectivly. Putting things back together so no-one knew you had broken it previously was a little bit more advanced than his other classmates, but Riz was nothing if not an excellent rogue.

Riz kept working in almost silence for a couple more minutes, the quiet only interrupted by his quiet purring because Fabian was still idly fiddling with his tail. The fighter only half watching what Riz was doing as he tried to work some knots out of the hair tuft at the end with his fingers. The goblin made a satisfied noise as he finished screwing the chair base back together, pushing at the lever on the side which made it rise up to its highest position smoothly without getting stuck this time.

"There, done. Fixed. A perfectly good chair, no need to buy a brand new one." Riz pulled his tail out of the half elfs grip before skooting backwards and flopping to use Fabians thigh as a pillow. The rogue grinning up at his amused face as Fabian just rolled his eyes and moved to pat the top of his head instead.

"Yes yes. Good job. Very impressive The Ball... I still think purchasing you a new one would have been better."

"And I disagree. I don't think I own ANY furniture that's brand new and I'm not about to start now."

Fabian made an offended noise at that but he was mostly joking, fingers rubbing at the spot behind the goblins ears that made him go all squinty and purr louder. "You should let me buy you nice things sometimes."

"Mmmmmmmm but I do. You buy me those fancy coffees... and lunches."

"Those don't count." Fabian laughed when Riz rolled his eyes and shoved at his chin with his hand, the goblin shaking off the petting and sitting up so he could put away his tools. "More to the point, wouldn't it make more sense for you to fix that at home? Why bother doing it here?"

"Oh, right. I wanted to try something." Riz rolled to his feet, grabbing the chair with both his hands and rolling it back and forth on the smooth floor of the studio to test how well it worked. Nodding in satisfaction before clambering up to stand on the seat and wrap his tail around the backrest for stability. "Yeah I think this'll work."

"Work for what? Reaching that board in your office thats hung on the wall? You really should get a stepladder or something before you end up falling of your desk... or this chair... and hurting yourself." Fabian pushed himself to his feet as well, hovering his hands either side of the goblin just in case he lost his balance standing on the chair like that but he looked pretty stable.

"Oh, yeah it'd probably work well for that too but no." Riz grinned, grabbing the hovering hands with his own and moving one to rest on his hip. With the chair extended to its full height he was more or less eye-level with the half elf, Fabian giving him a confused but pleased look as he gripped Riz's hip a little tighter since he seemed to have been given permission to touch.

"You said the other day that you wished you had a partner to practice that waltz with. I'm too short BUT-" Riz used his grip on Fabians other hand to pull himself closer, the wheels rolling smoothly against the studio floor since he'd braced himself against the seat. "-I think we're the right height like this. Plus, I won't have to remember the footwork. You can just swing me around as you please."

"Oh!... You want to dance with me?" Fabian beamed, moving Riz's hand to his shoulder as he walked backwards towards the middle of the room. Shifting the chair from side to side to test how well it would glide with its goblin passenger before nodding and digging in his pocket to reque up the music. "I think we can work with this."

[yatzstar]

Secret (Sister) Weapon

Hey all, this is a rarity for me to post an actual piece of writing over here, but I came across @star-farer’s ik’aad AU for The Bad Batch and it was so cute I had an idea I couldn’t resist! Featuring a young Omega at age 4-ish and her group of brotherdads, a gigantic piece of fluff.

-

“I’m winning!”

“No you’re not! This isn’t a competition.”

“Yes it is!”

“No, it’s not! This is sparring.”

From her position against Wrecker’s leg, Omega watched the argument between Hunter and Crosshair unfold. Above her, Wrecker sighed. “They’re being silly again.”

Omega tilted her head back to look at him, nodding with a sageness that was amusing on such a small face. “Vewy silly.”

Wrecker shot her a grin before calling out, “Just call it a competition and go already!”

Hunter gave Wrecker a look that earned a giggle from Omega. “Alright, I’m going to win.”

Crosshair smirked, spitting out his toothpick. “Oh yeah? We’ll see…”

A few seconds later, Hunter hit the ground, his face digging into the soft grass as Crosshair pressed down on the arm twisted behind his back.

“Nice try,” Crosshair leered, resisting Hunter’s attempts to free himself. “I win.”

Hunter twisted his head to glare at Crosshair, and in doing so caught the wide, enraptured eyes of the little girl a few feet away. Being pinned in front of her, even if her greatest concern was where her latest scribbles of drawing were going to hang, added an extra layer to the humiliation. Unless…

“Omega!” Hunter’s call grabbed Omega’s attention, her little face beginning to break into a smile with the anticipation of what came next.

“Shut up,” Crosshair hissed, pressing harder on his arm. “Don’t you do it.”

Undeterred, Hunter extended his free arm dramatically, crying out, “Omega, help me!”

Omega was on her feet at once, using Wrecker’s leg as a means to lever herself up as she replied with all the strength a child’s voice could muster: “I’ll save you Hun’er!”

“Cheater.” Crosshair’s accusation was nearly lost beneath a giggling yell as Omega came charging toward them, her limbs flailing in the wild, ungainly manner of children. She stumbled and nearly fell over her own feet, but somehow kept her balance long enough for her to plow into Crosshair’s leg.

Though Crosshair complained about the fairness of it, he was still compelled to play along. The force of Omega’s impact against him was little more than a small nudge, but he flung himself off of Hunter with dramatic flair, flopping onto the grass. He was rewarded with Omega’s delighted laughter at her “victory”.

Hunter rolled onto his back, grabbing Omega and lifting her onto his chest. “I knew I could count on you.”

Omega beamed at him. “Saved you.”

“You did. You’re the strongest of us all.”

Omega turned her attention on her victim, who still lay sprawled in the grass. When Crosshair did not move, a frown of concern appeared on her face, and she slid off of Hunter, crawling over to him. She grabbed his shoulder, shaking him with what little strength she had. “…Cwoss?” Her question turned into a surprised shriek as Crosshair moved like a striking snake, snatching her up in a single deft motion.

“You have to remember that sneak attacks are always a possibility.” Crosshair smirked, standing up and taking Omega with him.

Omega fought back, tiny hands pulling at the arm that held her securely. “Le’go’a me!”

“I don’t think so.” Crosshair pulled the little girl in close, all but cuddling her as he ignored the flailing limbs. “You’re too strong to waste on those idiots.”

Omega’s fighting halted with a small, scandalized gasp as she craned her neck to glare at him, her face pinched in a scowl. “Tha’s mean!”

“Yeah, that’s mean,” Hunter agreed with faux hurt, pushing himself to his feet. “You don’t deserve to steal her.”

Crosshair’s lips curled into a devilish grin, jostling Omega just enough to make her squeal. “Just try and stop me.”

Wrecker stood up, catching Hunter’s eye. “Don’t worry, Omega! We’ll save you!”

Omega’s frown turned into a smile, then into outright laughter as a chase began, Crosshair running with her bundled in his arms while Hunter and Wrecker pursued. Initially, Hunter and Wrecker were not trying that hard, but it became clear that Crosshair was fully committed when he put a sizeable amount of distance between them. Then the chase picked up, Hunter and Wrecker sprinting outright to try and catch up with Crosshair, who had always been the best runner among them. Around the Marauder they went, Hunter and Wrecker splitting up to try and flank Crosshair, but he artfully dodged their attempts. Omega laughed all the while, especially when Crosshair “accidentally” tripped Wrecker and almost sent him sprawling, pushing her into breathless hysterics.

“How are you tormenting the poor child now, dare I ask?”

Crosshair slowed slightly as he came around the Marauder’s front, meeting Tech’s vaguely amused gaze from where he stood on the ramp. “Hunter cheated again.”

Tech rolled his eyes, though he cracked a smile. “Ah, yes. There’s no fair way of winning in that situation.”

Hunter came thundering after Crosshair, Wrecker close behind him. “Give her back!”

“Not a chance,” Crosshair hissed with no real malice, hoisting Omega like a sack as he tried to keep distance between himself and his brothers. “You can’t win without her.”

Hunter and Wrecker leapt forward with renewed determination, and Omega fell into another fit of laughter as Crosshair dodged and twisted to keep her away from their grasping hands. This went on for several moments before Tech said, “You should let her breathe. She’s redder than a jellyfruit.”

The brothers finally paused, looking at Omega. Her face had become deeply flushed from laughing, making her blonde curls appear all the paler as she dangled in Crosshair’s arms. When she spotted Tech, she stretched out a small hand, gasping through residual giggles: “Tick, ‘elp meee!”

Crosshair hesitated to release her, but when Tech took a menacing step forward, he gave her up, carefully setting her down. “Alright, alright. I don’t need all three of you on me.”

Omega took one step and immediately stumbled, all the previous motion upending her balance. She almost went face-first into the grass before Tech’s hands appeared to save her.

“What have they done to you, my dear?” Tech asked, brushing stray hairs from her face as he settled her in the crook of his arm.

“Dizzy,” Omega declared, flopping against him.

“I see. It will pass.” Tech turned an unimpressed look on his brothers. “Maybe now you can get some real training done.”

Crosshair scoffed, rolling his shoulders. “Because Hunter can’t cheat anymore. She never saves me.”

“Nuh-uh!” Omega raised her head, looking greatly affronted. “I saved you…” She trailed off, frowning at her own fingers as she tried to come up with the number.

“Three,” Tech whispered in her ear.

“Fwee times!” Omega declared, showing three fingers for emphasis.

“As opposed to Hunter’s ten,” Crosshair muttered, aiming a halfhearted glare Hunter’s way.

“Those numbers seem indicative of who the better combatant is, if nothing else,” Tech said.

Wrecker laughed, and Crosshair smirked as Hunter narrowed his eyes. “Whose side are you on?”

Tech shrugged. “No one’s, but I suppose Crosshair could stand to have a little help next time. What do you think, sweet one?”

Omega nodded earnestly. “I’ll help him, pwomise!”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Crosshair said, his tone serious though his eyes betrayed his mirth.

“You’ll have to wait,” Tech murmured as Omega sighed softly, her head dropping against his shoulder again. A nap was not far away. “I believe our secret weapon is running low on energy, but with the removal of such an unbeatable opponent, I think the next sparring round is bound to be more fair.”

“But what if Cwoss needs ‘elp?” Omega mumbled, clearly torn between her duty and her oncoming fatigue.

“I’ll be just fine,” Crosshair said, reaching out to smooth her messy hair and assuage her concern.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Wrecker assured her. “I’ll help him out!”

Hunter turned on him with a frown. “I don’t think so…”

Omega giggled tiredly at the ensuing squabble, and Tech sighed. “They’ll sort it out, maybe. In the meantime, would you like for me to read you a story?”

“Yes, p’ease,” Omega said, her words broken by a yawn.

By the time they made it onto the ship, she was already half-asleep.

[missamyrisa2]

Agdjsj your massage story got me thinking of a professional clit-cleanser,,, little Lees sign up for a professional, thorough cleaning with a shower head, spinny brushes of all textures, and of course a feather brush-dry at the end

"Oooh you absolutely are overdue for a cleaning ~~ and luckily this is like, a fully automatic facility we have here~ just sit in this cozyy chair and relaxxx ~ now, this miiiiight ticklee~!!"

I skip about in my purple dress, pigtails bouncing as I start setting dials and pressing buttons before I nudge you back into the salon chair. I flash a smirk and pull a lever on the back and activate a team of robotic hands, unable to hold back my squeaky excitement while I watch and pose with a hand on my thick waist belt. Their fingers spring forth and wiggle menacingly at you before diving in, stripping away your clothes and tossing them to a nearby collection bin.

"For your safetyyy~" I grin, pressing a button to restrain your ankles and wrists to the chair with thick waterproof straps. Humming merrily, I pull out what looks like a hair cutting cape, though a bit smaller and emblazoned with a glimmering pearl logo. "Just relaxxx and let the machines do their work~hmm" I squeak and drape the cape over your waist, snugly setting it to hang over your royal area.

With another beep and clank, you suddenly find yourself looking up at my grinning face. The reclined salon chair starts scooting forth on its path, the walls opening and clicking to draw you into the cleansing factory. "First weee~ wheeee~!! We start with a presoak~" I can't contain my excitement, scurrying behind the chair with my clipboard and remote. With a whine and whoosh, a shiny showerhead twists into view coordinating with the chair which is shifting to gently spread your legs.

The collective of little circles on the head begin coating your royal area with a gentle spray, gradually raising in pressure to spread teasing soft touches across your thighs and royal lips, carefully aiming under the clit cape. "Now, did you want the triple foam package?" I start pressing buttons to summon nozzely hoses from three angles which start covering your girly area with a rainbow haze of tingly color. "Of course you dooo~"

As the foam settles and tingles and cleanses, the showerhead retracts and the chair moves further through curtains of light and growing machinery sounds. In the next segment a massive circle rolls out and clicks to life, extending a gang of scrubby brushes. Each one works to cleanse a layer of foam away as I watch and note the progress. "Pearl Destressing is absolutely essential. All these soft brushes make sure the foam is nicely scrubbed right into your most elegant areas." I lean in and watch as your legs quiver at the sensation of each brush gently gliding along your inner thighs over your lips and along your pearly area. "My my my ~ you really are sensitive huh? Don't worry, you can wiggle all you like. You're nice and snug."

The chair moves you along further into the facility, the sounds of slapping materials fill your ear right as you start to see the fuzzy curtains swishing back and forth. "Oh don't worry, that's just to keep the texture nice and fluffed. We're not gonna rough you up darling~" I snicker as we watch together the hanging threads of fuzz slowing and turning to start gently kissing and gliding up your royal area while the chair hums and takes you through. The remaining tingle foam is whisked away and your cleansed skin is thoroughly teased and coaxed into ticklish sensations by the endless parade of swishy soft materials~

"Awww, does that tickle? Does it just tickle soooo much?" I chuckle knowingly, patting your head and teasing your neck with feathery touches while you helplessly struggle through the treatments. In the next room you see the indicator stating it's time for the drying, but after a quick tingly scan the machine goes off in alarm and overrides the process to instead read Deep Rinse. "Ooooh my my my you're a naughty thing huhhhh?" I step around if fake shock, pointing at your swollen wanting button~ "Yeppp we've got a naughty pearlyyy~!!"

Tapping buttons on the machine, robotic hands spring back out and start lightly massaging your inner thighs with their wiggly index fingers, as a coat is slid down my arms and goggles placed over my eyes, with a hand dropping a shiny silver wand into my waiting hand. "Now hold still girlyyy~ we're gonna get you niiiice and clean, I promise~" my tongue pokes out in concentration as I lean in and use the water wand to start spraying up your royal lips. The robotic hands work to tickle and coax out your most royal button, getting close to the outside of your lips as I start drawing up from below.

"Aww ~ coochie cooo laughing girl~ you are soooo naughty ~ look at thatttt ~ you need sooo much cleansing~" I work my wand upward, spraying right over your button with a tickly jet, modulating the pressure up and down while my helpers tickle around your mound and down to your thighs and occasionally hold your steady so I can thoroughly cleanse your throbbing pearl before clicking my tongue in admonishment. "Tsk tsk. Sooo naughty. You keep that up and we'll just have to cleanse you all day oh yes we willll~ satisfaction guaranteed at this clitty cleansing center~!! You don't leave until we have you shiny clean~~"

I snicker and work away, reaching back to pick up a detail brush, teasing with the lightest of stroking pokes on the underside of your button while the spray works around side to side. "Sooo many giggles and gasps in youuu~ good thing we're extracting them allll~"

When you've finally been deep cleansed to satisfaction, your dizzy starry-eyed giggly self is at least in the final chamber. "Only the finest ~ gentlest ~ pamper dry for our cute girly pearllll~" I tease, tracing a long stiff feather over your neck and chest before planting it into the machine. The apparatus starts pivoting back and forth with a click, carefully wicking away the remaining droplets on your girly parts with the feather's tip. "The key is a slooooww dry ~ I could blot away all of it with this nice soft towel hmmm" I run the luxurious cloth over my own face and hum at you~ "but this special feather will dry you one drop at a time for maximum cleansing ~ and sensation~"

I plop myself onto the nearby chair and start pulling up the stats and footage of your cleansing as the machine clicks away, the feather tip caressing at your button and slowly drying it with the tickliest of slow strokes. "Don't you worry, I'll just be over here reviewing your progress and we'll check and see if you need a reclean here when the machine is done~"

[simp-ly-writes]

Space Cat

─────── · · A Doctor Who Story (pt.2)

Pairing: 10th Doctor & Cat-Hybrid!Reader, Donna Noble & Cat-Hybrid!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You are a cat hybrid. How? You have no idea- just like you have no idea how you ended up in what is defiantly not a police station.

─ · · WARNINGS: silliness, bickering and possible non-canon behaviours. eventual x reader

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,129

─ · · A/N: I was surprised in how quickly I wrote this. Hope you all enjoy!

─────── · ·

Backing away and into the back of the Doctor leg as he taps his foot in warning. You raise your clawed paw, ready to retaliate as he crouches down next you you, flicking your head with a warning look in his eyes. "Now don't you start to, little thing- I know what you really are."

Your heart stops in that moment, paw falling to the ground as your eyes widen... well shit.

In the next moment, the Doctor- his name you have yet to process for its oddity, has a pointed device whirling and wizzing in front of your whiskers. They twitch at the intrusion to your personal space as you hiss back at the lightbulb impacting your vision.

"Now tell me, foul creature. Why did the Master send you to me?"

If you had eyebrows, one would be raised in a pointed fashion to further articulate your confusion. Your paw slowly fell back to the floor as you took a seat on your hind legs not knowing what to do next.

You looked yourself over as the man in front of you and scoffed. He kept shoving the device further towards you in an accusatory manner. You didn't feel any different under the light, you hadn't lost any limbs or hair anywhere. Scratching at your face, you counted two ears, eyes, and a nose.

Looking back towards the woman named Donna for help. She shoved the Doctor aside and picked you up once more, looking around for some place to put you before tearing the device out of the Doctors hand with an annoyed huff.

"Get that screwdriver out of their dear face. I would say they are a rather nice gift IF they were from your enemy," Donna stated before handing the now turned off device back towards the Doctor.

─────── · ·

You lost interest in hearing the rest of the conversation once seeing all the various coloured buttons and switches itching to be pressed. Laying down on the large console. You stretched out your spine, claws pressing forwards to a series of glowing blue buttons as you meowed out contently at the sounds they made.

Your eyes next caught some dials a few steps away as you trotted over the various controls to what you had yet to find out. The console hummed out to you, as if purring out like a fellow cat as you turned the dials in all directions before jumping down on a lever and soon you were being thrown off the console by an invisible force.

Letting out a surprised meow as you went airborne, you prayed that cats always did land on their feet AND had nine lives as your body flew closer towards the void underneath the platform.

Life had seemed to have quite not run out of surprises as you the Doctor caught you in their arms. Their head quickly snapped down to your small body in their arms, eyes widened in shock that they did that. Your fur is stuck up on all edges, your limbs locked in place as you shake like a leaf.

Donna screams falling face forwards and into the railing as she grips it for dear life. "The cat, the cat! Where are you darling- are you alright?" She calls out for you as the Doctor turns on his heel, he still looks down at you as Donna lets out a breath of relief.

"Thank goodness you're alright. Doctor! What the hell happened?!" Donna shrikes, looking over the various controls moving on their own accord now. The police box appears to laugh in happiness, the lights in the room appearing that bit brighter that you have to hide your guilty face away from the lights and into the Doctors jacket.

It smells of coffee mixed with an airy scent too overpowering that makes your noise twitch and sneeze. On a subconscious effort, the Doctor beings to pet you in repetitive waves as walks towards the console to discern what had happened.

You slowly allow your muscles to relax as he pats your fur down, humming out a tone you fail to recognize as he politely asks Donna to fetch him his glasses. You peek out from over his arm to watch as she darts off down one of the various halls.

In that moment, you forget that you are stuck as a cat as you ask where exactly she is headed only to hear a series of small meows emit form your vocal cords.

The Doctor shushes you gently, now scratching at your head as you nuzzle into his arm once more in embarrassment. He shifts his hold on you, pressing you closer towards his chest as he frees a hand to press the various parts to the console.

"C'mon girl, tell me," he asks to seemingly no one in the room yet you hear an unknown voice call back out faintly. Even with your improved hearing, you fail to understand what exactly the voice says before the Doctor is running to the opposite side.

A few clicks here, dials turned there and you feel the room move once again. The Doctor remains still with you in his grasp as you hear Donna scream out once more before returning to the space.

"Glasses, Doctor," she announces while gripping a corner of the console. Grabbing the glasses from her hand, you look up at the doctor, taking in his jawline and the way that the black frames fir his eyes wonderfully.

Feeling yourself grow warm once more, you shuffle in his embrace as Donna looks down at your restless behaviour. Clearing her throat the Doctor looks back towards her, "Oh, yes. Thank you Donna," he says before turning back around to look at the various wires and blots for any oddities.

"Umm Doctor?" Donna asks once more. Eyes snapping between you and him. The Doctor looks down at you, his mouth pinned to an, oh. Before he drops you back on the console without another thought.

You watch as he shakes off imaginary fur before dusting his hands on his pants and disappears under the console. You look towards Donna once again as she tilts her head and chuckles lighting before whispering down to you, "some foul creature you are, am I right?"

You chirp out a laugh in recognition that has Donnas eyes lighting up like a holiday display. "Oh you are definitely staying, friend."

"Like hell they are." The Doctor emerges back out from underneath you both in that moment. His hair is shot up in various places, black smears and light burns are formed on his cheeks. And in a move from karma, when he moves to stand, he finds himself falling back as his head knocks against the countertop.

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(pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (pt.5) ... (pt.6) (pt.7) you are here