#been in my drafts because it never felt complete but I think it's ready to be shared | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

to-thelakes · 2 months ago

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my fuckin' limit

content warning(s); underage drinking, overdrinking, throwing up, reverse comfort, reader has hair long enough to be tied up, shitty friends, brief mention of parents arguing

summary; you get very drunk and lip has to come and take care of you, getting some answers on why you've been so off recently.

series masterlist

i should be doing promptober but i'm in a rough spot and this has been sat in my drafts for a good few weeks so enjoy this reverse comfort. i am still not 100% on this part but i think it's fine...? i just need to progress the story along because i literally have 4 more parts already written after this so, here you go!!

Chicks that hang around with you and don’t sleep with you, run the other way dude. Because she’s ready to stop playing and settle down.

Kev’s words had been playing around Lip’s head from the moment he said them earlier that morning to now as he drove the ice cream truck back home. The constant thoughts and questions only stopped when you called. He hadn’t expected to hear from you today.

“Hey, what’s up?” Lip asked as he answered and put the phone up to his ear. You let out a quiet sniffle over the phone and his eyebrows instantly furrowed.

“Think something’s wrong. Don’t feel good, need you,” You mumbled out. Your words were slightly slurred, you sounded so off. It was the middle of the goddamn day and he was sure that you had been drinking. Or maybe you were high. He couldn’t be sure over the phone and he felt the worry crawl into his chest.

“Okay, where are you? What’s going on?” He asked. You sniffled more and blurted out the address. It was only a few blocks over so Lip was heading towards you - on foot - without a second thought. He kept you on the phone but you kept avoiding the question, not daring to tell him what was really wrong.

He wasn’t entirely sure why but he assumed you just felt stupid, so he let it go. Even if your words were slurred and you sounded out of it, he was hoping that you were otherwise okay. He needed you to be okay.

When he got to the front door of the address you’d given him, he saw you. You were leaning against the front of the house, legs pulled up to your chest and curled up, arms wrapped around yourself. The phone came down from your ear just as Lip climbed the stairs up. He knelt down next to you.

“Hey, hey,” He whispered softly, placing his hand on your bare leg. You were only in denim shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. The Chicago summer was not for the weak and you seemed to be doing a pretty shitty job handling it.

“Lip,” Your voice cracked as you moved to sit up. You reached out for his face and he watched you.

“What’s happened? What’s got you like this?” He asked. It definitely seemed like you were drunk. Maybe high too. But he knew you and you had never smoked weed. That was where you’d drawn the line in the sand, for now. Though he wasn’t sure how long that line was going to be intact for. Especially right now.

“You have really pretty eyes,” You stated as you unsteadily moved closer to him. You cupped his face with your hands, looking at him in a daze. He frowned. Your eyes were shining with unshed tears as you looked at him, admiring him.

“Princess, come on, what’s happened?” He asked. But before you got a chance to answer, the front door opened. One of your friends was standing there - Amy. She looked unimpressed, arms crossed over her chest. Well, to be completely honest, she looked pissed. Lip glared at her, “What the fuck did you do to her?” He asked, anger lacing his tone as he stood up. He gestured towards your figure, sat up against the edge of the house.

“She did this to herself,” Amy snapped back. The way her lip twitched made Lip want to throw a punch but he let out a ragged breath, huffing through his nose, and stepped back. He knew whatever your friend was saying was bullshit.

You were careful. You were careful with everything, cigarettes, alcohol, all that shit. You only drank when you wanted to and felt safe and you only smoked with Lip.

“What the fuck happened!?” He snapped.

“She drank too much and threw up all over the carpet. Need her to get the hell out of here,” Amy stated. Anger laced her every word. She looked almost disgusted. Lip scoffed.

“You’re a shitty friend,” He said before he returned back to your side. He slowly encouraged you to get to your feet, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you supported. You leaned into him without a question.

“She’s the shitty friend. Trying getting that shit out of the carpet. Didn’t even have the decency to make it to the toilet,” Amy bit back as Lip guided you off the porch. He didn’t even give your ‘friend’ the dignity of a response or even a look. He didn’t know what to even say to that so he just stuck his middle finger up. Then he just guided you back to the Gallagher House hoping Fiona had a better idea of what the hell to do.

You couldn’t remember how you’d gotten to Lip’s house but when your eyes blinked open, you were in his bed. You still felt drunk. You could feel the alcohol sloshing in your stomach and you felt sick. Very very sick.

The sick was blurring your vision, alcohol making it hard to comprehend any thoughts past I’m in Lip’s room and I’m gonna be sick. You knew you needed to get out.

As you jumped off Lip’s bed, you didn’t even realise that anyone else was in the room. Your entire body was focused on beelining for the bathroom. It was mercifully empty and you slammed the door behind you, hurling up into the toilet bowl.

Food came up but you weren’t entirely sure how. You didn’t eat before you went over to your friend’s and there hadn’t been any food at her place. So, you didn’t understand where it had come from. Though you were also too preoccupied with throwing it up and gagging on it to think about it too hard.

You desperately tried to keep your hair out of your face, sleep having made your loosely tied back ponytail fall out. You were gagging, eyes filled with tears and the room wouldn’t stop spinning. You started crying.

“Fuck,” You whimpered, searching your wrist for an elastic but finding it empty. You’d left it in Lip’s bed… “Fuck,” You whimpered again, cheek resting against the edge of the toilet. Your stomach was still sloshing, not quite stable. You still felt sick. You felt awful. Your bad day was just getting worse as the tears continued to fall silently down your cheeks.

The sound of your name and a knock against the door made your eyes squeeze shut. You didn’t want to think about him right now. Especially of all people.

You loved him.

God, you still loved him but you knew you were going to cry if he started talking about Karen. You couldn’t comfort him today.

“Go away, Lip,” You got out, regret and guilt seeping into every crevice of your being. You didn’t understand why the fuck you had done this, why you thought it was a good idea, why you ever started drinking at all.

Lip - in fact - did not go away and instead opened the bathroom door and walked inside. You were too hot and just as Lip came to sit down, the urge to throw up came back ten-fold. You gagged on air before turning your face in and throwing up into the toilet again.

You were gagging, tears still falling down your cheeks and you were trying to keep your hair out of the way but then you felt Lip’s hands on it. He held it back in a ponytail before slipping an elastic back on.

That made you want to cry more, gagging once or twice before your body seemed to be done. You rested your cheek against the toilet seat again, closing your eyes. You felt sick and far too hot, tears dripping down your cheeks.

“Feelin’ better?” He asked. You opened your eyes just enough to glare at him. He chuckled softly at you.

“How did I even get here?” You muttered as you let your eyes fall closed again.

“Called me,” He responded. You sighed and coughed again, the burning sensation on the back of your throat making you feel worse. You hated being sick. You hated that you were still drunk.

“Don’t remember doing that,” You mumbled.

“What happened?” He asked. You shrugged.

“Had too much,”

“No fuckin’ shit but why the fuck were you drinkin��? It was barely 4pm.”

“Not my idea.”

“You still fuckin’ drank.”

“Like you don’t drink all the time.”

“Yeah but I know my fuckin’ limits.”

“Fuck off.”

You two sat in silence then. The tension was thick and it made you feel worse. The anxiety churning your gut.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” You responded, opening your eyes to meet his gaze. He shrugged, blue eyes roving over your form. You looked like shit. He didn’t want to say that though.

“Not gonna leave you with your asshole friends so,” He shrugged. You rolled your eyes.

“Whatever,” You muttered as you let out a rough cough. You then finally lifted your head off the toilet seat. Being sick had definitely sobered you up but you could still feel the familiar buzz.

The connection between your mouth and your filter still partly eroded. You were trying so hard not to just blurt every thought that crossed your mind.

“She done? I need to piss,” Fiona asked, startling the both of you. You lifted your head up to take in the familiar form of the older Gallagher. You quickly scrambled to your feet, flushing away the sick before you wiped the corners of your mouth.

“Sorry,” You muttered. Fiona shrugged and ushered the two of you out without another word. You stared at Lip, rubbing the side of your face, “I’m sorry,” You said. He shrugged and gently reached out for your arm, pulling you in. He then walked you back to his room.

“Want to tell me what happened?” He asked.

You shook your head. There was a long moment of silence as Lip guided you onto his bed. It was too hot to go under the sheets, your skins sticky with sweat despite the fan that was on. The white noise was a good break from the deafening silence.

You didn’t expect it when Lip pulled you on top of him, guiding you to rest your head against his chest. His arms wrapping around your torso as you nuzzled into him. Usually, Lip was the one that sought comfort with you but it seemed to be the other way. His fingers moved to the nape of your neck, gently running his fingers across the skin making you shiver but also soothing you.

“My parent’s had an argument,” You let out after a beat of silence, “They were shouting at each other, like shouting shouting. Never heard either of them so angry,” You muttered as you moved one of your hands to curl underneath his back. Despite the heat of the day, sharing Lip’s body heat was oddly soothing, “I walked in and they instantly stopped, wouldn’t admit what was wrong and then my dad went to work early this morning and my mom has just been acting like everything is fine. I needed to get out of the house.” You finally let out. You felt so dumb talking to him about it. You and Lip talked, you always had, but to him, your life was perfect, your family was perfect.

You were the good part of living on the South Side. An oasis in a sea of shitty family and shitty people.

Now, you weren’t.

“I really don’t know what’s going to happen and I don’t like it. I love my mom and my dad and I don’t like them arguing and I’m terrified that they’re gonna break up or… or I don’t know. I can’t do that, Lip. Not right now,” You rambled, letting yourself rant a little. You hated it but when the words started they didn’t stop, “It’s been weird for weeks, I just- I dunno.”

Lip sighed and gently ran his fingers across your back and down your spine. His fingers slipped underneath the fabric of your t-shirt, delicately running his fingertips across the length of your spine.

“Want to stay here tonight?” He asked softly. You didn’t expect Lip to give you any advice but it would have been nice. He saw the way that your back deflated, his heart clenching but he tried to ignore that familiar sadness that settled into his stomach. You closed your eyes.

“Yeah, please,” You murmured.

If you were completely honest, you just wanted to forget everything. You wanted to hear Lip complain about Karen and Jody and help him if he wanted to scheme because that would mean you didn’t have to think about this, about how fucked up you felt. How you were sure your parents were going to get a divorce and you were in love with your best friend who wanted someone else. Who had got someone else pregnant, who had never even looked at you twice.

The tears started to fall despite yourself and you curled your head further into Lip’s chest as he softly ran his hands along your back. He didn’t say anything - not really sure what to say - but the way his hands moved and the way his free arm curled around you was his way of comforting you.

You hated it.

#lip gallagher #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher x you #lip gallagher x y/n #lip gallagher fanfic #shameless #shameless fic #shameless fanfiction #reader-insert #reader insert #lip gallagher fluff #lip gallagher angst

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miniwheat77 · 2 years ago

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Enough. (Soap x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cheating, arguing (let me know if I missed any.)

(Summary): After Soap gets cheated on, he learns who his real friends are.

(I’ve had this in my drafts for a while, hope you like it.)

You could see the pain in his eyes. The icy blue’s full of tears, but he wouldn’t dare let them fall. Never. He’d let her down again, the woman he thought he cared most about.

He’d been dating a woman named Nadia for almost 2 years. Sure, he’d spent a lot of that time deployed and on missions, but in the time he spent with her, he loved her. He loved being with her. She made him feel complete. But he couldn’t describe these feelings he had. Couldn’t figure it out. He felt dread weighing down on his chest like a brick wall. He felt the freezing cold air nipping at his skin as he sat in the helicopter. It was bringing the both of you back from a mission and he’d opened up to about Nadia.

You both had spent some time in Ukraine, around a month or so. He tried to play it off, tried to explain everything away. “She’s just been through a lot with me, I don’t blame the girl for being done.” He’d said. A sigh leaves your lips. “You said she asked for an open relationship?” You ask. Trying to confirm it. He nods his head. Heart clearly hurting. “Do you want advice from a coworker, or do you want advice from a friend?” You breathe. He looks down. “Which one is goin to be sugarcoated ah?” He laughs. “Coworker.” He snorts. “I’ll take advice from a friend then.” He breathes.

A sigh leaves your lips. “I don’t want to put stuff in your head. But.. when someone asks for an open relationship it’s usually because they’re interested in someone else, or already with someone else. Probably getting sloppy and not trying as hard to hide it. Have you noticed anything different about her?” You ask. He looks down, not liking the words coming out of your mouth. “Uh.. not really.” He says confused. “Any photos of you disappearing off walls? Text messages getting deleted? Weird contacts in her phone?” He looks down. Thinking. “Has she rejected you… sexually?”

“Uh.. yeah.”

“For how long?”

“About.. 6 months now. Anytime I see her she’s just…” he pauses, everything starts to sink in.

The random watch on their dresser, her “work” phone, him finding the toilet seat up.

You watch his eyes widen in realization.

“Shit Johnny…” you trail off. “I’m sorry.” He nods his head. “It’s alright.”

You and Johnny didn’t live far from each other, and would be getting dropped off in the same base to go home from there. But now, Johnny didn’t want to go home. But he knew he had to. When the both of you get off the helicopter, making your way to the parking lot with your bags in hand, you look at him. “Are you going to be okay?” You ask. “Sure, I’ll be fine.” He breathes. “We aren’t married or anything, it’s gonna be just fine.” He sends you a fake smile. “Gimme a hug Sergeant.” You wrap your arms around him. “Let me know if you need anything okay? I got your back.” He nods. “I appreciate it. Same for you.” You throw your bag into your car, turning it on and messing with the radio. Soap is the first to pull out, turning the opposite way of you. You worried about him, knowing this can’t be easy on him.

You pulled out of the parking lot, not ready for the twenty minute drive it’d take to get to your house. The time seemed to bore you, the only thing keeping your mind occupied was the music you had playing. You felt unsettled in your chest, worried about Johnny. He was your friend, your coworker. Of course you’d worry about him. When you pull into your driveway, you hurry inside. The cold weather was almost unbearable. The first thing you do is throw everything down right at the door, and make your way into your bathroom for a hot shower.

Soap pulls into his driveway, noticing a car had been parked behind his girlfriends, as the ground underneath it had been dry. A sigh leaves his lips, this was just proving his suspicions even further. He hoped you were wrong. That it was just a friend. He decides to leave the bag in his truck, he’d unload it later when this is over with. He climbs out, shutting the door behind himself and walking up to the house. Nadia is there, waiting for him. “Johnny.” She smiles. She hugs him but he doesn’t hug her back. “Is something wrong?” She asks confused. “Who is he?” He knows he can’t talk much, his voice will betray him, and break. “Who. Is. He.” He breathes out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I made dinner-“

“Nadia, I know you’re cheating on me.”

She goes quiet, eyes filling with tears. “Johnny he meant nothing to me okay? I-I” he feels his heart shatter right there in his chest. His worst nightmare coming true, his whole world falls apart right in the palms of his hands.

He has no choice but to watch it crumble, with nothing he can do to fix it. “Who?”

“Someone from work.” Johnny closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “How long?”

She’s quiet again. “Nadia how long.”

“6 months after we started dating.”

Right there. His whole relationship has been nothing but bullshit. “I’m going to leave for the night, Nadia. Want you and everything you own gone. One week.”

“Johnny you can’t do this!” She jumps to stop him as he turned to leave. “No!” His voice booms and she flinches. “I didn’t do this. YOU did this. One week.” He rips open the door, slamming it behind himself. His tires spin out as he pulls out of the driveway. He can’t lie, tears fall freely from his eyes as he drives anywhere but there.

You’re looking through your cupboards, wondering what to eat. You’d gotten rid of everything perishable for your mission with Johnny, meaning you had only box and canned food items. You’re tapping your chin, digging through the cupboards when there’s a knock at your door. You slide off of the countertop, making your way for the door. Surprised when you open it and Soap is standing there. “Johnny? What’s going on?” He laughs, looking down. His nose is red, eyes are bloodshot. “Ya said to let you know if I need anything.” His voice is shaky. “And uh… I need a friend.” He breathes. “Come in.” You usher him inside. “What happened?” You ask. “She uh..” his lip quivers but he turns his head away so that you can’t see it. “I confronted her and she admitted to it, she’s been seeing someone else for most of our relationship.” He nods his head. “Jesus Christ.. I’m so sorry Johnny.” He nods his head, trying to keep himself together. But he can’t. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in for a tight hug. You hated seeing him like this. It made you want to drive over there and punch Nadia right in her stupid face. Johnny was a good man. Kind, gentle, funny. He talked so highly of her. Even planned to ask her to marry him soon. His body shook as you hugged him. “It’s okay Johnny. You don’t have to hide your feelings from me. Let it out.”

“I’m okay. I’ll be fine.” He was meant to reassure you, but really he was reassuring himself. “Do you have clothes to change into?” You ask as he pulls away. “Uh.. yeah.” He shakes. “Go upstairs and take a shower okay? I’ll wash the clothes you’ve got on.” He nods his head. “Thank you Y/N.” He breathes. “You’re a good friend.” You send him a small empathetic smile. “It’s going to be okay Johnny. You have to find someone worth your time.” He nods his head. “I’ll be alright. I’ve got to go grab my bag.” He sighs. You nod your head. He disappears for a minute. He’s brought Nadia over for dinner once before, so he knows where your bathroom is. You decide to order takeout for the both of you while he showers. When he comes back down, he’s got no shirt on. Just sweatpants. You have to draw your eyes away from him. He sits down on the chair across from your couch. “I got takeout. Hope you like Chinese.” He smiles. “Thank you Y/N.” He breathes. “You can stay as long as you need Johnny. You’re always welcome here, don’t forget that.” He nods his head. “Thank you Y/N. You’re a great friend.” He breathes. You smile.

For the next couple hours, the both of you talk about your missions, everything that happened on them. You’re up until ungodly hours of the morning just talking. He takes your guest room and when you finally go to sleep, the sun is peaking through the curtains. Soap loves being around you, you make it easier on him.

After about a week staying with you, he’s ready to confront this. “Hey. Will you go with me to make sure Nadia left my house?” He asks you. “Yeah sure.” He smiles. “I appreciate you so much. I’m sorry I’m making you do all of this.” He sighs. “Johnny, it’s no problem. I really don’t mind so relax.” You smile. “She’s got a track record of accusing me of things I didn’t do so I need a witness,” he breathes. You nod your head, going to get into his car. You can see that he’s tense, so you keep cracking jokes and talking to him to bring him down. His anxiousness is easily readable. When you arrive, he sighs. Her car is still out front. She was supposed to be gone by yesterday. You open the car door, stepping out onto the asphalt. You follow behind Soap, he walks up to the door and tries to use his key to unlock it, but it doesn’t unlock it.

“Fucking hell. She changed the fucking locks.” He growls. “You make the payment, bust a window or something.” You say. “Nah.” He pushes you back, raising his foot and kicking the door until it busts open, hitting the wall and shaking violently. You jump a little bit at how angry he has become. “What the hell!” You hear a woman cry. You are inside behind Soap. “Get your shit and get out.” He growls. “Fuck you John. I’m not moving. This is my house too.” He laughs, a bitter laugh. “Alright, easy enough. Since it’s your house too, you can start making the payments on it.” She’s clearly pissed off too. “I’ll pack my shit, you can buy another lock for that too.” She glares at you. “What is she doing here?” She growls. You smile at her, stepping toward her, your nose only a few centimeters from hers. “I’m here to keep you in line.” You smirk. Johnny smiles, turning his head to walk back into his bedroom. You step away from her, following him back. She follows close behind you. He picks up a duffle bag, digging through the drawers, packing up everything he can think of. “This is so ridiculous. I asked for an open relationship.” She crosses her arms, pouting like a toddler. “You only asked for an open relationship because you were already screwing someone else.” Soap shakes his head. You lean against the door.

“Are you staying with her?” She seethes. “Yes. I am.”

“I’m not okay with that.”

“Okay? We aren’t together so I’ll do as I please.”

“I always knew she’d come between us.”

Soap pauses, looking at her. “She isn’t what did this. You did this. You’re a cheating slut, and it’s your fault.” He shakes his head, lifting his bag up. He’d gathered everything of his by now. What little amount of clothes he had, things out of his bathroom, the rest she could have. He didn’t give a shit. He’s digging through his nightstand, and you’re still where you were with your arms crossed. “Johnny, please don’t leave.” She cries. He shakes his head. “John!” She cries, latching onto his arm. “You can’t leave me for her.”

“She’s my coworker. And I do mean my actual coworker. I’ve never even looked at her in a sexual way. Because that’s how you’re supposed to treat coworkers. Not go behind your boyfriends back and fuck them.” He pulls his arm from her. “Let’s go Y/N.” He groans, moving past you. You follow behind him, a vase shattering over your head has you bending down, hands on the back of your head. You’re stunned for a moment, feeling wetness on your hands. “Are you fucking crazy?!” Soap shouts at her. “I.. I’m sorry- I-“ She’s trying to explain herself. Soap pulls you into the kitchen. Digging around for a first aid kit. “Don’t Soap, let’s just go.” You groan. He nods his hand, passing you a clean dish towel to hold against it. Nadia follows the both of you outside, “John! You can’t leave me like this! I’m pregnant!” He pauses. “We haven’t had sex in over a year. If you’re pregnant, it’s not mine. He looks over the bed of his truck. He’s completely shocked when you swing at her, fist colliding with her nose, sending her back. She lands on her backside, blood spilling from her nose. “That’s for hitting me with a vase, you crazy bitch.” You mumble, opening the door and climbing into the passenger seat. He climbs into the drivers side, driving away. You shake the hand you’d just hit her with and Soap laughs.

The ride back to your house was quiet. You figured Johnny probably didn’t want to talk anymore than he had to. He’d definitely have to patch you up for that.

—

A couple weeks after everything happened, Johnny realized he didn’t have feelings for Nadia like he thought he did. Being without her, not being tied down. It was almost nice. Not having to check his phone every two seconds to respond or she’d get pissed off. Not having to hear her screaming or crying when they weren’t getting along. It was nice. He just didn’t realize how little feelings he had left for her after everything else. You told Johnny to stay for as long as he needed, and you’d even started clearing out the guest room for him to stay in. He was nice to have around. For the most part you didn’t know he was there. He cleaned up his messes, he helped contribute to the supplies in your house, offered to help pay the bills. Of course you wouldn’t let him. But him offering made you feel better. Johnny knew a different version of you than he thought. He seen the walls built up, the thick skinned version of you in the military. But outside of it, you were fun. Went out clubbing with your friends, all kinds of stuff. It started out as fun. Johnny would give you tips on the outfits you wore. Usually tight dresses. Which was a drastic difference from the uniform he was used to you wearing.

Johnny liked being alone in your house at first, but eventually it started to feel different. He didn’t like that you’d rather go out clubbing, probably finding random men to hook up with when he was here. He could keep you company, not them. It took Johnny a couple months of it to realize what was going on. He was starting to grow feelings for you. He kicked himself for it. This went on for a while. Johnny would admire you from afar, and you’d be completely oblivious. Johnny was sitting impatiently on your couch. You were meant to be going out tonight and the thought of you meeting another man ate him up on the inside. But to his surprise, you come down the stairs wearing pajamas. “Thought you were going out?” He asks confused. You laugh, “I’m tired of going out. Those girls have dragged me out more these last couple months than ever.” You smile. “What exactly do you do? Just dance around and drink all night?” He asks. “Um.. kinda. I usually hide in a booth in the back and let them buy me drinks.” You laugh. “Sounds boring.” He laughs. “It is boring.” You sit down next to him on the couch. “Here I was, thinking you were having the time of your life, random hookups, dancing.” He laughs. “Oh god no.” You scrunch your face up. “Johnny have you met me? I’m no man-eater.” You laugh. “What?” He looks confused. “What, you jealous or something?” You joke. But he goes quiet. You turn your head to look at him. “Uh.. here is where you fire back? I’m just screwing with you.” You laugh.

He laughs it off, trying his best to hide how he’s feeling. “How are you Johnny?” You ask. “Oh, I’m great. You know.. my roomate goes out partying and wakes me up at ungodly hours of the night, you know. Awesome.” He laughs. “You can sleep in my bed when I’m not here.” You roll your eyes. “No, I’m not going to do that.”

“Than don’t complain when I wake you up.” You smile. He rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” Your smile falters. “What’s going on Johnny?” He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just.. hate you going out.” You tilt your head, “Johnny. You’re not my boyfriend. I can go out whenever I want. Maybe you should try going out every once in a while. You wouldn’t be so uptight.” you roll your eyes. He laughs bitterly. “Not my fault you have a problem.” He shrugs, you stand up. “What problem do I have hm?”

“Clearly a drinking problem.” You snort. “Oh yeah, because my house is just littered with booze. Right? Oh wait.” You go to walk away. “Don’t know what your problem is Johnny, but you need to fix it. Go get laid or something, asshole.” You mumble, walking away. Johnny gripping your wrist tightly and slamming you into a wall has a gasp leaving your lips. “-the hell MacTavish.” You growl, trying to push him off. He’s so much stronger than you, he doesn’t even budge. He presses his hips into yours and you freeze. “I think you’re right, I do need to get laid. But why would I go out when you’re already here, hm?” His breath is hot on your ear and your cheeks burn. “J-“ a gasp leaves your lips, cutting you off when he lets go for just a second to push your baggy shirt up over your hips. Pushing his hand down your panties. Fingertips brushing over your smooth opening. “Johnny-“ you gasp. “Fuck.. so fucking pretty.” He growls. He’s rubbing circles into your clit, his calloused hands on you causing your heart to thump in your chest. A gasp leaves your lips, when he slides a finger into your opening, body moving up as he pumps it into you. “Thas’ right pretty girl, moan for me.” He attacks your neck with his lips, sucking bruises into your skin. You’re moaning out, pushing your hips forward and moaning out when he adds a second finger. Your eyes are screwed shut and you’re trying to force back to cries that want to leave your lips.

When his lips are finally on yours, he’s needy. Tongue forcing it’s way into your mouth and he’s moaning into the kiss, grinding himself into your thigh. The friction not giving him what he so desperately wants. He draws his hand back, lips still on yours as he lifts you up. You wrap your legs around his waist, arms moving to wrap around his neck as you kiss him fervently. He moves with you, going up the stairs and pushing your bedroom door open, laying you down on the bed. He doesn’t even waste any time by taking his clothes off. Pulling your panties to the side, not bothering to undo his belt or the button on his jeans. Unzipping them and freeing his cock through the hole. He stops for just a second, eyes meeting with yours as he sinks himself right inside of you, a gasp leaving your lips as he fills you to the hilt. Not even another second later, he’s hammering his hips into you. Your bed slamming into the wall with each of his hard thrusts. You’re moaning out, barely keeping yourself together as he fucks himself into you.

“Oh fuck Johnny!” A gasp leaves your lips when his fingers work their way against your sensitive nub. “So fucking tight.” He growls. Leaning down and attacking your neck with his lips and teeth. You can’t keep back the moans anymore, they’re leaving your lips in strings, panting and crying out when he brushes over your spongy spot. He stops for just a second, propping himself up and spitting on the base of his cock. Thrusting back into you, easier with the wetness of his saliva. He tilts his head back, a moan leaving his lips as he finally takes a second to pull his shirt off. Pushing your baggy shirt up over your hips. He pulls it over your head, moaning out at the sight of your exposed chest. “So fucking beautiful. Been waiting months for this.” He growls. Attaching his lips to your nipple. Feeling you moan out and clench down around him. “Oh fuck.” He groans. Johnny spaces out a little more than he should, but he has to think about literally anything else so that he doesn’t cum too fast. But he can’t. The scratching of your nails on his back, your whimpers and cries. It’s too much. “Fuck-“ he grits his teeth. “Going to make me cum so fast, like a pathetic teenager.” He laughs. You try to laugh but it’s hard as he hammers his hips into yours. “We can switch p- ah!” You whimper when he thrusts right into your spongy spot. “Don’t think we’ll need it sweetheart, can feel you clenching around me already.” He smirks. He steadies his thrusts, slowing them and gripping you tight. A cry leaves your lips and he can see how tense you are as he pushes you closer to your high. Pants leave your lips and cries are following. He’s got a steady pace, cock sliding perfectly into every sensitive part on you. “Clenching so tight around me baby.” He grits his teeth, the muscles in his neck clenching up. “Come with me, cum on my cock. Give yourself to me.” He’s holding off, but his dick is twitching. He’s right on the edge.

A mewl leaves your lips and it’s music to his ears. Your pussy clenching down around him, milking his cock. A groan leaves his lips, followed by a string of curses as he reaches his orgasm. Your pussy tightening down, cries falling from your own lips as you hit your own high, milking his cock with each pulse he feels from you. When the both of you are fucked out and sensitive, he slides out of you. Laying down next to you. “Oh fuck.” He groans. A few minutes of silence is broken by him. “I’m sorry if I pushed you too hard.” He breathes. You laugh. “Don’t be. I liked it. Just caught me a little off guard.” You smile. He pulls you into him. You rest your head on his bare chest. “You could’ve told me sooner, you know.” You laugh. “Yeah well. Not exactly a good conversation starter.” He laughs. You roll your eyes.

“I like you a lot Y/N.” He breathes. “You’re not using me as a rebound are you?” You narrow your eyes at him. “No.” He rolls his eyes. “Been thinking about you since the day we came back. Our last mission together and stuff. Thinking about it too much.” He laughs. “Clearly.” You give him a slight shove. He laughs. “Give me a chance. You’re not a rebound.”

“Fine.” You laugh.

You lift yourself up, straddling his hips. He smirks. Leaning up to kiss you. Smiling when you’re tugging your panties to the side to line himself up with your entrance again, moaning into your lips when you sink down onto him again.

“Gonna be the death of me sweetheart.”

#call of duty mw2 #soap mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #captain john price #price mw2 #alejandro mw2 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #mw2 smut #soap smut #johnny smut

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namazunomegami · 9 months ago

Text

Atonement

Pairing: Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Synopsis: How can you cleanse yourself from the sin that has been tainting you since your attempt to escape? The answer is easy: walk on barefoot for him, suffer some misery, risk your health for him, open yourself up for him and you can earn his forgiveness.

CW: canon compliant, established relationship, toxic and complicated dynamics, religious symbolism, porn with feelings, Geto is a manipulative ass how surprising, gaslighting, m!receiving oral, fingering, non-consensual edging, good old unprotected sex + creampie

WC: 5.3k

Credits: my lovely @notveryrussian who worked so hard to get this fic proofreaded. Ngl they deserve all the praise and respect because we lost literal pages from the already edited draft because windows is crap and they had to start over again. Take one big break darl, you deserve it 💕

Song rec: mythical creature by pregnant whale pain was my main inspiration during writing but i think tumblr dot com is not ready yet to listen to an unknown hungarian avantgarde metal band while reading porn lmao. Maybe i'll drop the acoustic version later.

A/N: Here is part 1 in case if you missed it. I think you need to know what happened to completely understand the buildup and have a general idea about their relationship. This fic is probably my fave I’ve written so far, a special lil brainchild of mine. These two are living in my mind rent free with all their lore and they'll never let me go.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated 💕

Minors don't interact unless you want me to stand outside your house at 3 am with a pitchfork

It was very hard to explain to your family what happened to you. The worry which they approached you with, especially Mimiko and Nanako just stirred a weird sense of guilt in your chest. The twins even offered to help you out with chores, eagerly telling you to rest, let your body heal. Your heart shattered to pieces in that moment, weeping endlessly with fat, salty tears. Your precious darling girls, so considerate of you, so caring, their hearts filled with everlasting gratitude. And you wanted to leave them. You felt like a piece of shit of a parental figure, obviously.

Days passed as if nothing had ever happened. Even in your private moments with Geto, the issue was never brought up. He took care of your wounds, of course, but your escape attempt wasn’t a topic of conversation at all. You swept it under the rug.

Which means it was only a question of time until he was going to wield it against you.

“Leave the scabs alone.” he reprimands you softly, dragging your wrist away from them. The hot water softened your scars, making them itchy, easy to pick away at them. But Geto is so thoughtful for looking after you like some kind of crazy mother hen, right? Even sitting in the tub behind you.

He takes hold of the edge, stepping out of the tub swiftly. The water suddenly drops around you, goosebumps dot your skin from the sudden touch of the moistened air as he hides that broad, sun-kissed form of his beneath a bathrobe. You ache for a bit of peace, a bit of me-time, but since the so-called “accident”, he just couldn’t stop himself from keeping an eye on you constantly.

Your hand dances along the surface of the water, bunching the bubbles together into various shapes, like they’re islands. Like you’re a young god, decorating the plane you’ve created. But his outstretched palm appearing in your vision disturbs your creative process.

“Come, I’ll take the stitches out.”

Compared to when your wound was sutured, cutting out the thread is a relatively quick process. Especially with his competency. The tweezer lifts and holds the knot, as he severs the thread with a pair of scissors and pulls it from your flesh before he moving on to the next. It’s uncomfortable, not in a way that it hurts, but it makes your skin crawl and your bones bend. An overall disgusting feeling. But when it’s over, it does feel better. And knowing him, you wonder if it’s purposeful or not.

“Must you make it painful?” you complain, thumb pressing down on the closed, marred skin. For the wrong reasons though, but you can freely complain.

“I didn’t intend to hurt you.” his voice is soft like silk, but not without a sharp edge in it, slowly unfurling, like the jaws of a venus flytrap. “I just wanted to teach you a lesson.”

You glare at him, your eyes piercing him like a dagger.

“Me? I wanted to teach you a lesson.”

This… was a bit too far, you must admit.

You storm out of the bathroom, like you could get away from the conversation.

“Go on, speak.” his words echo through the walls of the bedroom, making your movements halt immediately. You glance up at the window, faced with his reflection as he leans against the doorframe. “What should I learn from you? That you’re not afraid to run? To put your life in unnecessary danger?”

A long sigh leaves through your nostrils.

“If it comforts you, then yes, I realized that I had made a dumb decision.”

You don’t have to turn around to know he’s standing right behind you. Looming over you, shrouding you like an evil trickster spirit.

“I must admit I enjoyed your little attempt…” his palms are heavy on your shoulders, just like his words echoing close to shell of your ear. “Catching you, watching your resolves crumble, the raw terror plastered on your face…” the way his voice caresses you is just like the way he would hold a blade right against your throat, pressing down on the pulsing veins that could be cut open so easily. Like needles slowly being inserted into your ear canals. Eventually it softens, getting more serious and chiding. “But you did scare me. Have you ever thought about what would’ve happened if I didn’t go after you?”

You’d die, you would definitely die. Bleeding out amidst the leaves and grass, letting the frosty night bite you tense and weak. All alone in the dark.

Hold on…

You wouldn’t be injured if he hadn’t frightened you in the first place.

Did he just… no, it can’t be.

He slowly walks away from you, and you hear the bed creak under his weight. The choking feeling finally lifts from your throat. You turn towards one of the incense burners, already filled, it merely needs to be lit. But you do it slowly, just for the sake of appearing busy, to not feel obligated to carry on with the conversation.

But you should make peace with him before he does. He’ll make you face all of your mistakes and their consequences, if not outright making you suffer because of them. Rub all of them into your face until you have no choice but to plead for forgiveness.

It’s not easy, but you open your mouth. The scent of sandalwood lowers your guards, helping you be honest and brings forth the thoughts you’ve been trying to hide for a long time.

“Sometimes I wonder if we’re doing the right thing. And I wonder even more about that if we’ll fail before reaching our goal. Fail spectacularly. Because we want to do the impossible.”

“What is exactly the right thing? Being selfless? Forgetting all about our grudges and letting the world trample all over us? Or being selfish and crushing anyone under our feet to keep each other safe?”

Like an elastic band being strained for far too long, you snap. Luckily, the bronze lid of the incense burner holds out under your grasp.

“It’s too fucking late for moral arguments! Can’t you speak to me more directly for once? Instead of hiding behind your… carefully crafted scenarios that only prove your point.”

You should have avoided looking at him. At your serpent, who made you sin, who was cursed alongside you, your serpent who devoured your beloved Adam. You yearned for the remains, sitting in the bottomless pit of his stomach.

But you swore those remains spoke to you, through layers of flesh, scales, and deception. Soft and calm like a light summer breeze.

“Do you have doubts about me, darling? Are you giving up on me?”

The question breaks you, evaporating all of your anger and resentment in a flash. Devoid of any playful tone or hidden meanings, so raw that it takes hold of your heart and squeezes it so tight that it couldn’t possibly beat anymore.

You know how he twists the truth, striking right into the softest parts of you. He feeds you poison – yet you swallow it right down every single time.

“Faith has no zenith, my dear.” you answer, low and sweet, like you wanted to comfort him. The lid on the incense burner closes, giving you enough time to build up the courage to approach him. You weave your words carefully, in such fashion that it can be interpreted in multiple ways. If he switched just one little word, he’d immediately gain more insight into what’s really been weighing on your heart. “There’s no such peak we can reach on which we can stagnate forever. Faith sometimes wavers, sometimes we question our beliefs. Sometimes we’re unsure if our prayers are heard.” you get down on your knees before him, taking his hand into yours, giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “But I do want to have faith in you.”

His features visibly soften. Heavy lids close in relief, and you feel his thumb brushing along your knuckles.

This is your chance! Go on, there’s no time more perfect than this to try to convince him.

“We should really get away from the temple.” you start with an almost resigned sigh, but your excitement soon starts to show. “Just for a few days. Manami will handle the followers while we leave for the countryside, or an island. We can bring the girls even.”

A faint glimmer in his eyes tells you his answer is going to disappoint you.

“They don’t know about the girls, but they certainly know about you.” he reminds you sternly. “The higher ups want us dead and the last time I offered to protect someone, they ended up getting killed.”

His voice is faint, almost shaky. He rarely talks about the death of Riko. And if he ever brings her up in a conversation, you know he means it.

The heavy lid above his eyes drops, violet irises hiding behind his lashes, averted from you. The words coming out of him are barely above a whisper, like his lips are made from lead, like forming the words is a tiring task because they’re so heavy, and filled with something violently torturing him.

“This is a risk I’m not willing to take again. Not even for you. Especially for you.”

You feel something pooling on your waterline. Translucent pearls of tears appear so involuntarily when you see him like this. Sometimes you do want to hurt him, but when you see him in pain, it torments you even worse.

“I’m not asking you to take risks for me. I never did. But you should take some for you. You could use some respite.” you lace your fingers with his. It brings you a strange kind of comfort how your hand just loses itself in his, but it’s yours that looks more lively and powerful. Like it’s you what keeps him together. As if without you he would shatter into pieces. “You take on an awful lot of responsibilities, I think sometimes more than you’re capable of handling.”

Affection sweeps through his features as he caresses your head, from the roots of your strands to the thick bone of your jaw. A lonely thumb brushing along from your cheekbone to the lobe of your ear. And there’s nothing you can do, only stare at him, wide-eyed with reverence, like he’s an ethereal being.

“This is not your cross to bear.”

He wanted to ease your concerns, but you’re much more stubborn than that. You won’t stand there, at a safe distance, watching him drag himself to his Calvary, whipped and crowned with thorns. You’ll push through the crowd, smash them to bits just to reach him and offer your veil to wipe his face. A thousand times, as many times as he needs.

“Of course it is, what do you expect from me? Unlike…” No, don’t say names, do not compare yourself to certain figures in your past and the way they treated him. “I’m worried about you, for no other reason than I genuinely care about you. That’s why I want you to put our plans to aside - let’s unwind a little, recharge. Before all of this drives us insane.”

He deliberately avoids answering, your concern grows and grows like vicious vine. Is this too much to ask for? A small moment of normalcy can’t be granted to you? What are the two of you really? Idols of worship, if not gods at this point because your sheep do regard you as such. But can’t gods long for a visit amongst mortals? Can’t they shed their divine status? You could, but maybe, before he’d let you leave, he’ll feed you pomegranate seeds.

Would you eat them again? Of course you would. Even if you fight and snarl a little beforehand. Because love is the death of duty, and of a peaceful mind, of comprehensive decisions. Love is so mystified, shrouded in the illusion of an immortalized existence, just like death. Love is, indeed, death.

Your palms cup his face, his skin radiates warmth through you. The warmth of the evening sun that makes the sky bleed with the prettiest colors you can imagine. Your touch slowly encourages him to look into your eyes, finding a strange kind of determination and care mixed with your obvious worry. A Magdalene dwells within your gaze, who already washed her prophet’s feet with tears and dried them with her hair before he starts his last journey to Golgotha.

“I told you a million times, if you fall too deep into your misery, when you feel like you can’t come back to the surface on your own, let me know, so I can pull you out. Or let me know so I can go after you. And we’ll drown together.”

All those little pacts and vows you made during the years echo through you. Even the first one, the most ancient of them all, when it was still easy to hide your concerns behind your techniques.

I’ll keep an eye on you.

It’ll keep an eye on you.

You lean closer, foreheads and the tips of your noses touching. Eyes closing in almost perfect synchronicity.

“Promise me, Suguru. Promise me again.”

You wait and wait, until his warm breath brushes your skin like fine silk, like a feather.

“I promise.”

You sigh in relief. It hurts, it hurts so much. There’s so much place in your heart for him to dwell in. He owns it and he won’t give it back. Ever.

You only wanted a chaste kiss, but a special type of hunger wakes deep below your navel. You taste his words, you swallow them down, nipping them from his lips. You look for the rest of them, his thoughts that hadn’t been formed into words yet, the rest of the sentence, you search for it with your tongue inside his mouth.

You grab onto the sheets, trying to push yourself up. Like you could overpower him, like you could battle against him. To have him laid out on the mattress, defeated. But he stops your advances with a palm resting on your shoulder, gently pushing you away.

“You’re not healed yet.” he whispers, truly concerned.

“Then I’ll be on top, I don’t care.” you oppose breathily, your fingers trying to pry his robe open.

“The cut on your hand could re-open if we’re not careful.”

Oh, how you adore him when he’s so tender with you, but now, this is the last thing you want. You want to bare your teeth and go right for the throat.

“Then you’ll stitch me up again.” There’s a playful edge in your voice, and you kiss him again with the same curve of a smile while he lets you crawl on top of him.

And he smiles against you too, delighted by your eagerness. You, trying to eat him up, digest him - he’s just enjoying you and the feast you’re having. Taking everything from you. He only wants to capture you, to cage you in his hold. He’s kneading your flesh leisurely and humming into your mouth contently, almost lazily.

In the crooks of his body, you find your religion.

The sharp line of his jaw, the tendons of his neck, the hollow caverns around his collarbone. But your mouth carefully avoids the scars slashing through his chest, after all those years, it still pains him when the lightly coloured, textured skin gets touched. As if these lips of yours and your aimlessly trailing fingers were the same blades, penetrating the flesh again and again.

There’s not a morsel of him that you weren’t intimately familiar with. In a way that rivals how much you know about yourself. And what you know even better is that how can you venerate them, dote on them, adore, and idolize with such devotion you could anger all deities created by man and make them scream blasphemy on you.

You take his cock in your hand, teasingly working your palms around him. Pumping it, stroking your thumb along the underside to make his breath hitch. His dick grows beneath your hands, getting harder and heavier. The first beads of precum get smeared along the length by your skillful fingers.

“You know you don’t have to- “but you cut him off while settling between his legs.

“Just relax and let me do all the work.” your response comes out a bit more deadpan than planned. “You deserve it once in a while.”

And with that, you wrap your lips around him, enveloping him in warmth and wetness, your tongue slowly swirling around the head. His thighs twitch, more precum oozes into your waiting mouth as the muscle between your teeth works eagerly. You give him a few, gentle sucks, slurping up the mixture of your own saliva and his arousal. Between ragged breaths, he reminds you to breathe through your nose as you take more and more of his length. You relax your jaw, your fingers tense around the base of his cock and you’re trying as hard as you can to defeat the urge to gag. When you fit all of him inside your mouth, you empty your lungs and give him a harder suck, hard enough to make you cheeks hollow and his chest heave. As your free hand is occupied with kneading his balls between your fingers and knuckles, a moan bursts out of him.

The sound boosts your confidence, filling you with a wicked kind of playfulness. The kind of wicked that makes you pull back your tongue a little, as to not keep your teeth hidden. You drag them along his sensitive, pulsing underside, balancing the pressure between pleasure and pain. Like you could prove to him that you’re ready to bite back, that this is the only moment when he can’t control you, that he shouldn’t underestimate you.

And just as if he could read your thoughts, his hand goes for your head, fingers getting lost between your strands. But he’s not as cruel as to push you down on him, instead he guides you, increases the rhythm that you’re working with. Steady and firm, but not too fast. You earn yourself his praises, soft curses pitched higher than his normal voice.

This is what real worship looks like.

When you feel the muscles in his thighs and stomach tensing up, you stop. You emerge from the space between his legs, wiping your lips clean and admiring your work. All that flushed skin blooming in pink on his chest and face. You move, trying to get into a new position, settling your calves right next to hips. You start aligning yourself with his cock to finally start grinding on him.

He sits up and traps you with an arm coiling around your waist.

“Since when were you so reckless?”

His hand creeps around the apex of your thighs. A finger barely brushes along your slit. By adding another digit, he spreads your folds, finding hot, smooth, slippery flesh.

“I would’ve prepped myself.” that’s all you can say in your defense.

Fingertips circle your hole, applying a bit of pressure, checking how much you’ve loosened up. He invades you slowly as your lungs empty, the hardened skin on his fingers stroking and massaging your sweet spots before he starts working you open.

You wrap your arms around him, slowly undoing his bun to have something to grab onto as you jolt, as your bones melt, as your brows furrow in bliss. The moans coming from you are breathy and tender, and you hide them in his strands. He twists his fingers inside you, stretching your warm muscles further, making your back arch and you press your hardened nipples to his chest. Your essence engulfs his knuckles, clear and sticky like honey.

The heel of his palm settles right against your clit and you shamelessly grind on it. Your mewls pass over his ears as he’s nuzzling into the crook of your neck, nipping at the skin of a faint scar. But you resist giving in, you stop him, telling him that’s enough, but in reality you just want your control back. Take back the lead and revel in it.

And somehow he obeys, laying back into the sheets.

You slip out of your robe, showing yourself fully. The bruises on your skin can finally bathe in the dim lamplight, painting the complexion of your sides, shoulders, and upper arm in different shades of blue and purple, like paint on bare canvas. Like the night sky carrying storm clouds, like you’re rotting, decomposing. You find a twisted, perverted joy in the fact that he must be seeing them for the whole time.

“Slowly, slowly.” he murmurs softly as you’re pushing the head of his cock inside you. “There’s no need to rush.” Trimmed nails trail up and down from the flesh of your thighs to your bruised sides. Tender and slow like a ghost, goosebumps pepper your skin from the tickling feeling. “I’m already yours.” He purrs and your heart flutters.

And there’s so, so much pride in you that only you can render him to this state. Too powerful for the world to bear him, capable to burn this plane to ruins, defying the barriers between a mortal and a god - or something way worse than that. Maybe you should receive twice the respect from your herd, for being the only person who can enslave him in this way, that only you can have this sort of power over him. Only you can overthrow him. Because you’re just too dear to him, too close to his burning heart.

Maybe it’s your time to warn him. Tame him like the monster he is.

You move with your own rhythm. His hand caged between your fingers and pressed down against the sheets. You give him no other choice but to venerate you back and he does, with pleased, low rumbles coming from his throat. Only a singular hand is allowed to roam your form freely. On your back tracing the shallow line where your spine lies beneath skin and flesh, wandering towards the inner part of your thighs, then to your stomach and chest. And you reward him with a prayer of your own, encapsulated in deep, long sighs.

But you’re too trusting of him. You let your guard down too easily.

You’re holding onto his kneecaps, leaning towards them a little, allowing every inch of you to be seen. You want to give him a show, but your knees are too worn and tired.

He takes hold of your hips, helping you guide yourself along his length. His pelvis moves along with you in synced rhythm. Your teeth are pressing down on the soft skin of your lips, but you can’t keep your whimpers in. You’re getting close, your muscles and nerves are st tight and pulsing, your walls are pressing down on his length. His name mindlessly slips out of your mouth.

Maybe you can say you love him before you shatter.

But his fingers clench around you, strong and firm, stopping your movements. Lifting your hips up so high that his cock is barely inside, robbing you from your incoming orgasm.

You’re shocked, eyes staring into the nothingness, open wide. Your stomach drops, stirring up all kinds of feelings dwelling in you. A chill races down your vertebrae as you glance down at him.

“Suguru..?” Your voice is weak, shaky.

Fear courses through your being, primordial and all-consuming.

And when he speaks to you it’s all dark, shrouded in malevolence.

“You forgot one thing, darling. After I brought you back from the forest.”

No, no, no, he can’t do this to you! He can’t hold your orgasm hostage for the sake of toying with you! You should puncture his flesh your nails, scratch him, tear him up, but you can only grit your teeth. Your features twist from bliss to rage.

“You…” boiling anger swims through your voice. It’s like it’s not even your voice - more like a hiss, a growl.

There’s an undecipherable mixture of pity and amusement in his eyes. He twitches inside you but you’re too upset to notice.

“Apologize.” he sneers - almost commands.

His words cause anger to bubble up in you.

“Oh, you piece of shit…!” you seethe, but sob and moan when he slams you back on his cock, stretching you around his length again. Wanting to quench your rage with the sensation you crave the most right now.

“I hope, for your sake, I don’t have to repeat myself.”

It doesn’t matter how much you try to squirm, fuss and wriggle, he forces you still. His behaviour frustrates you to no end when you’re so desperate for a bit of friction, the horribly hollow and burning feeling of your lost peak torturing you seemingly endlessly. To the point where you’re too tired to put up a fight, when you’re teetering on the edge of breaking. You know you must swallow your pride, you have let him have it his way.

“I… I’m sorry.” you apologize meekly, teary-eyed, your voice a pathetic mewl. He finally starts lifting you up and easing you down, building you up slowly. But it’s not enough. You need more but he won’t give it to you just yet.

“You do?” he asks you in a way that it cuts deep into your marrow. It’s not even close to a loving tease – no, he’s outright mocking you.

Vicious bastard. You should grab his throat and squeeze the air out of him.

“Yes, I do!” you cry out without thinking. “I’m sorry for running away from you.” you push the words out through your whimpers. He increases the pace, making you yelp and shake, you end up closing your eyes reflexively. He robbed you from the sensation for so long that you became sensitive, it’s easier to make a mess out of you. Your face is red with shame, so much so you can’t look him in the eyes. The humiliation is like an invisible rope tightening around your neck.

“Promise you’ll never do that to me again.”

He pushes your hips further along his length this time, shifting you a bit towards his thighs. Creating a perfect angle, he uncovers a sweet spot inside you that makes you almost incapable of forming coherent words. And he eats the sight right up.

“…I promise… I promise...” you manage to get your answer out in the form of a choked hiccup. Your vision blurs. Everything is too intense for you to handle. You swear that the very shape of you could dissolve at any given moment.

Faith is desperate. Gods are hungry for despair. So they deliberately make you suffer and only then reveal themselves to you.

His fingers dig into your waist so hard it burns. You feel the world shift with you and then you collide with the sheets. Your bruised back ripples with pain. You’re unsure if he did it out of spite or not. You don’t know if he’ll completely shatter your dignity, or if he’s fine with just enforcing the feeling that you can never be above him, that you can never defeat him.

His weight on top of you is overwhelming. The midnight dark locks of his hair spread around you like spilled ink. And through the thick fog of your mind, too far gone in twisted, masochistic pleasure, you lock your legs around his waist. You don’t want him to go away. You might as well cease to exist if he does.

“And what do we say when we apologize?”

The soft plea coming from you is more instinctual rather than deliberate.

“Forgive me.”

You ache for him to move, you’re starved for the incoming high. Like a ravenous beast, all devouring. When he finally gives it to you, his thrusts make you feel possessed, make your back arch, your head falls back into the pillow as if you were offering your neck to him (maybe one day he won’t be able to resist the urge and will bite down on the jugular, through your trachea, putting you out of your misery) - you don’t dare to beg for anything else.

Maybe just for a little blood. A mark he can wear, just like you wear your bruises. Your nails somehow acquire a will of their own, your scratches have him excited and pleased.

His fingers meander around your jaw, gently coaxing you into letting him guide your gazes to meet again.

He’s imitating you, admiring his work like you did with him. And what he sees is a being stripped from any likeness of a dignified human being. With eyes so blown he can see the bottommost pits of Hell in them.

And he’s satisfied, rewarding you with a soft kiss on your temple.

“I forgive you.”

Your release crashes over you like a tide, submerging you, burning you to cinders on the inside. Tearing you apart. And when he collapses on top you after filling you to the brim, you feel like a festering wound.

He’s a disease, miasma, a flesh-eating parasite crawling inside you.

“You’re…” you huff. “You’re awful.”

“I know. But you love me all the same.”

You wonder what you should have done to earn a different outcome, but you give up soon. Looks like he already had plans for your atonement in mind. After all, gods are impatient creatures. They’re dependent on your reverence and servitude. And you’ve waited for too long to make things right.

Why, why, why - it echoes inside your head.

But if you think about it… he’s your serpent. The vilest, most horrendous creature created by God. The one who charmed you, tempted you with sin and has now sunken his fangs into you. Of course he did, and instead of trying to heal from his venomous bite, you want to catch him - to find out his reasons, to prove to him that you didn’t deserve that.

And yet you could never, ever prove him wrong. Your serpent will always think it was right to bite. It’s in his nature afterall.

“Is your hand alright?”

He makes it up to you with spoiling you again. He cleans your wounds so sweetly, so thoughtfully, looks after you in a way that nobody could, which confuses you even further.

He cherishes you, destroys himself for the sake of keeping you safe - not like it’s a choice, but a must - just like a mother would. He scolds you, reminds you not to make the same mistake again, collars you, keeps you on a tight leash, only loosening it (just a little) when he succeeded at making you play by his rules, just like a father would.

And somehow, he excels at both. Way better than those two ever did when it came to you.

You wish your glare could pierce right through his skull when you hand the empty glass back to him. You don’t have it in you to play nice. You don’t even attempt hide that you’re sulking, he probably finds it funny - adorable even.

“Go to hell.” you spit and lay back into the sheets, your bruised back facing him.

“Oh, darling…” he coos, but the surface level sweetness of his tone hides a sharp edge of condescendence. He crawls into bed, right behind you, caging you in his embrace, forcing you to feel the warmth of his body. The warmth that you’re so used to, the one you can’t sleep without it. Nobody has ever made you feel this safe, and the fact makes your heart ache and your stomach twist.

“If there’s a Hell, I’ll see you there.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru x y/n #getou suguru x you #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader #meesa writes #DAAARLING GUESS WHOS COME BACK FROM JAIIIIL #Idk what kind of deep psychological issue of mine is in that fic but now its your job to decipher #just please dont bring Freud into the picture I hate that man

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thesymphonytrue · 6 months ago

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SHxWC

okay here is a draft of the first meeting between Sherlock&John and Peter&Neal. Sherlock comes off really strong here, but I feel like he always does tho???

Let me know if the characters are tracking, my fellow fans:

Moments later, two men came into John and Sherlock’s living room. One had dark brown hair, brown eyes that seemed to be in constant concern. He wore a khaki colored trench coat, a dark suit underneath. The other man had dark hair styled to perfection, brilliant blue eyes and donned a fitted pea-coat complete with a scarf and…fedora?

Oh Sherlock’s gonna love this, John thought sarcastically, then pondered, Yes, Mrs. Hudson is right, he does favor Henry Cavill…

“Hello,” Sherlock greeted them, “Sherlock Holmes. And this is Dr. John Watson.”

John stood and nodded cordially. Sherlock held out his hand to the man in the trench coat.

“Special Agent Peter Burke, FBI,” he said, gripping Sherlock’s hand firmly and shaking it.

Before Peter could introduce the other man, the blue eyed kid (seriously, how old was this fellow? 22?), grinned and held out his hand.

“Neal Caffrey, artistic consultant,” his eyes glimmered with mischief.

Peter rolled his eyes, “He’s my CI.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Criminal informant,” Sherlock said, eyeing Neal.

Oh dear here we go, John thought, I hope they are ready for this.

Sherlock’s first impression deductions were always humbling, but John felt like for these two, it would be like dunking them head first into arctic water. Even John could see their affection for each other sparking back and forth like circuit energy.

With utter glee, Sherlock pulled a badge out of his pocket and examined it.

“Peter Burke…FBI…” he mused.

Peter patted his coat where his badge would be and immediately glared at Neal, who shrugged, equally annoyed, and glared at Sherlock.

“That’s my move,” Neal muttered to himself, jamming his hands in his pockets and looking at the floor.

“Just like Lestrade,” Sherlock murmured to John, chuckling.

He handed the badge back to Peter.

“You’d think you would keep this in a more secure place considering how many times Neal Caffrey has slipped it from your pockets,” Sherlock said.

Peter smiled, embarrassed, and stuffed the badge back into his pocket.

“A past baseball player who joined the FBI as a plan B career. So fascinating,” Sherlock paced around Peter and Neal, circling them like a lion, “Shoddy coat, wedding ring, hair that has been cut in the same way for ten years based on your hair tan lines,”

Sherlock paused, eyes scanning, brain filing away every piece of Peter Burke it could get its hands on.

“Devoted husband, honest to a fault, and…often bored. Had to get a CI to keep work interesting for you. Now that you have your wife in a marital commitment, there is no longer a chase and you have a need to chase someone. I gather you have running shoes in that duffle bag and your dress shoes are scuffed on either side—revealing that you chase well and chase often.”

Peter’s eyes were wide with astonishment and Neal was grinning wildly, impressed, but also seeming to adore seeing Peter put under a microscope.

“And of course, you have deep affection for the man next to you. Not only because he runs and chasing him is addictive, but you've grown fond of him. You stand close enough to defend him if necessary, but not so close that he can pick your pocket at will. Your eyes move to him once every thirty seconds, meaning he is almost never out of your sight. I saw you tense as I opened the door and you stepped in between Neal Caffrey and myself, in case I was a threat to his safety. He is your weakness and you know it and you do your best to keep that weakness under control.”

Silence filled the room as Sherlock’s deductions hung in the air.

“Damn, Peter, he’s got you pegged,” Neal whispered, but then gave Peter what John could describe best as “puppy dog eyes,” “ Do you really have deep affection for me?”

Neal was teasing, but Peter blushed nonetheless and swatted him away.

“And Neal Caffrey, prolific crime artist and conman,” Sherlock broke their banter and his icy blue eyes turned to Neal.

John shuddered inwardly. Sherlock did not like criminals. He dedicated his entire life to eradicate them. The fact that someone like Peter was working willingly with someone like Neal, probably baffled the genius of a man. John had already prepared himself for lengthy venting sessions from Sherlock once this case started.

“You are wearing a mask for me, but I will see right through it,” Sherlock said and then nodded to Peter, “He certainly can see right through you and yet, here you are…solving crimes together.”

“Sherlock,” John started.

“I can handle it,” Neal said, straightening his stance.

“You carry a scientifically calculated outward appearance. You call yourself an artist, but the mask you have designed is nothing more than a mathematical formula. I can find nothing amiss. Right up to the starchy collar of your dress shirt, everything is neat and clean and…perfect,” Sherlock stepped closer to Neal, squinting to examine him, to find the flaw that would give away the interests of his heart.

John could see that Sherlock found nothing. Absolutely nothing to deduce on Neal Caffrey. He was a clean slate. Other than the lingering glances at Peter Burke, that betrayed much more than Neal probably thought, there was nothing that Sherlock could find.

Sherlock stepped back.

“Other than viewing Agent Burke as a pseudo father figure but also somehow a soulmate, don't ask me to deduce that I'm very confused myself at the notion--- I can’t find anything to deduce on you. Well done, Neal Caffrey.”

John thought that perhaps this would delight Neal, but it did quite the opposite. Neal’s shoulder shrunk and his once charming grin melted into neutral lips. Peter, on the other hand, was dazzled, watching Sherlock Holmes with awe and reverence.

Ahh yes, the Sherlock spell, John thought.

He knew Peter would snap out of it soon, though,

Everyone always did, especially smart ones like Peter Burke.

Soon enough, Sherlock’s quirks and observations would hit a nerve and send sparks (harmful sparks) flying. Everyone was outstanded with Sherlock, but very few could handle him on a daily basis.

John could.

John always would.

He still felt as though he was under the Sherlock spell sometimes, amazed at what that man could do.

“So, the case at hand,” John started, ready to get on with business.

“It’s tantalizing!” Sherlock said, eyes growing round with excitement.

“Ignore him,” John mouthed to Peter and Neal, bringing a tiny hint of a smile to Neal’s face and that warmed John’s heart. He felt for the kid.

#white collar #bbc sherlock #drafting #writing #my fic in progress #crossover

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tmwcs · 1 year ago

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Hey! Its my first time sending an ask hehe~ I just wanted to say that you’re such an amazing writer and your series are just sooooo good!!! 😍😍😍 I started getting into your account when I came across the smau for MRE and HHP and I gotta say, you got me hooked so bad onto Heethan that I end up loving all your Hee-leads so far! I’m so invested in HHP, SE7EN, DT and now TO! I’m honestly so excited to read a new chapter everytime you post hahaha! 🤭🤭

The main reason I wanted to send you this is cuz I’ve been having super stressful and bad days these past few days and its mainly cuz its my final year in college, final semester and final week actually 😅 and there’s just like sooo many final preparations needed to be done for my big final year project (having my big presentation today! soooo nervous) and its just been too much and too overwhelming for me and I didn’t wanna bother anyone with my anxiousness so I’ve been keeping it all to myself and having slight panic attacks and just started having random breakdowns as I complete my assignments. Reading your series, whether its new chapters or just rereading older ones have given me comfort, like I really felt alone but its like Heethan, Heelel and the Heebros have become my comfort characters. It’s just been so overwhelming for me and I didn’t wanna bother my family with it, I only have one other friend that I trust with my whole life but rarely see her, we’re all busy and I just felt like I’m falling behind in everything. Even though the Hee-leads might be like crazy obsessed with the reader, its like I really needed them in my life just to have someone to drop everything just to hold and comfort me anytime life becomes too much for me. I’m actually crying while writing this to you hahaha… it just feels like everyone around me is moving so fast and I’m stuck at the back picking myself up just because I feel so overwhelmed and anxious easily. Turning 20 this year is another thing that has me feeling afraid of adulthood, my mum is pressuring me into getting a job immediately once I graduate but I just feel like I’m not ready, or I’m just not ready to give up my teenage freedom and socialise professionally. Being such an introvert and shy and always thinking I’m just dumb and cant do work without help has been holding me back from wanting to grow and enjoy this new chapter in life.

So sorry for this long ass rant but i just really needed to let you know how much your stories, your Hee-leads have been keeping me going. Excited for the next chapters of your series! Hope you’re having a great day❣️

Omg so....I LOVE THIS.....this is so heartwarming and thank you for sharing it with me. Also, thank you for discovering my blog so you can write this to me, bc as you may have figured, receiving asks are just....its so nice. its a nice and wonderful surprise to hear from readers interesting in my work, wanting to know more about the characters and so forth. I am just beyond touched that heethan, heelel, and heebrows have made their way into your heart and to provide you comfort. in fact, reading your message had reminded me of a piece that i had started to draft (it was originally supposed to be a part of one of the HHP chapters but i never went through with it) but i still had it in my folders so after i finished reading your message, I decided to go back and actually finish it and format it specifically for you as y/n. I hope you like it. <3

Heeseung's Message.....

MDNI18+ content below the line.

Warnings: mentions of losing loved ones, fears and worries about the future, smut, car smut, unprotected smut, some....just some sadness....its a very heartwarming and touching piece.

"What's wrong baby?"

Noting how silent you were in the car, right after he picked you up, Heeseung rubbed your thigh, gently shifting your skirt upwards as he softly slid his hand up and down, enveloping you with warmth and comfort. "Something on your mind pretty baby?"

Placing your hand on his, you grabbed hold semi-tightly, keeping your gaze out at the window. You were hesitant at first, noting that Heeseung had a busy schedule of his own, was on his way of finishing his last year in college, aiding his professors, and of course, there was you....picking you up from classes, dropping you off every morning, taking you wherever you needed to go. You appreciated it but the man had completely devoted his time to everything else, you felt it selfish to bring any matters up to him....feeling that whatever time he did have left within the evening, he should at least have it for himself.

"It's nothing." You sighed out.

Glancing over to you, he furrowed his brows and quickly shifted the wheel, stirring the car over to a nearby parking lot on one of the campus buildings.

"What are you....?" raising up in your seat, you looked around before turning your gaze over to Heeseung, who steered the wheel with one hand and in a smooth motion, parked the car. Unbuckling his seatbelt, his gaze meets with yours before he reaches up and places his hand behind your head, softly grabbing onto your hair as he leans in and rests his forehead against yours.

"Whats wrong? Did something happen? Did someone hurt you? I wanna know. Tell me, y/n."

His eyes were wide and his expression was fierce with rage, however, before he further ventured off into a spiraling path of unhinged presumptions, you reached up and latched your fingers onto his collar, placing a dainty kiss on his lips. "Its not that....I promise nothing like that happened."

Raising his brows and tilting his head, he releases the gentle grip he had on your hair, and replaced it with a soft, petting motion. "Then why are you being so quiet? You seem upset, what is it?"

Looking down at the console for just a second, you raise your sights once more to meet his and began talking.

".....Are you ever scared about the future, Heeseung?"

His face was taken slightly aback as he raised both brows and looked at you with an intent look.

"Is that what this is about? Are you feeling overwhelmed about moving?"

Shaking your head, you looked down once more as you shyly clarified. "Nooo.....its not just that....its more..."

"Like what baby?"

"Like....after the moving.....finishing college, being in an unfamiliar country, not knowing anybody, making new friends, meeting your family, being apart from mine, learning a new language, finding a job after college, and what if I have to do more college? Or ...." pausing, you caught yourself drifting in verbal thought.

"Or....?" He draws out as he bids you to finish your statement.

"Or........what if....what if something happens and we........you know.....what if we just...."

Squinting his eyes slightly, his expression looked a little irked as he rolled his tongue in his mouth. "That's never going to happen y/n. You know that."

"Yeah but....."

"But what?" Slightly annoyed, he closed his eyes for a second, tilted his chin down, and lifted his lids to expose a rather stern and rather angry look. Yet the moment he saw that your eyes began to glisten, shining like diamonds as the tears started to build up, you looked down once more, unable to look him square in the eye as you felt the first tear break free and drip down on the leather padding of the console.

Watching as you faintly sobbed, he nearly felt his heart break into two. He gasped out a faint breath as he reached over with his other hand and cupped your face, no longer expressing a look of annoyance.

"Hey......why? What's making you think that way? Am I not showing you enough love? You know whatever it is you want, all you have to do is tell me and I'll make it happen."

"Its not that i just........there's just some things we can't predict about the future Heeseung......what if some day......what if you stop loving me......or worse.....what if something happens and I no longer have you? What if....just.......you never know.....is it wrong for me to hope for the best, but expect the worse? Because...you know that life can be so unfair some times....and I....I....I'm scared because....I dont even know....what I'm scared of sometimes. I wake up every single morning not even knowing how to live life because there's so many things that I think about....so many things that are thrown at me all at once and I just.....I feel like sometimes......I might fail......I feel like sometimes.....I will let you down.......I feel like its not the world, its me.........its me that's broken, not you or anyone else."

You gasped out tears and soft cries as you spoke straight from the heart. For the first time, Heeseung had sincerely considered if going to Korea was the best option, at least just for a second before he reminded himself of the future that he had waiting for him.....a future that would allow him to continue to keep you....safe....and with him.

Shifting his sights around on the floor bed of the car, his thumbs stroke your cheeks, wiping away the continuous flow of tears that were now coming down harder than before. Gulping down a hard swallow, he turns back to face you.

"Baby.........look at me....please look at me."

Looking up into his gaze, your eyes red, swollen, with eyelashes drenched and your face stained with wet trails of all your fears leaving their mark. With a soft smile, he calmly speaks.

"You're right.....that is tough. There's a lot that we can't control in the future....its precarious, and we're literally just pawns on the board of this silly game called life, where God and the universe are taking turns making each move. It can be cruel, unfair, and tormenting. Its something that we can either overcome with great strife and hard work."

"But what happens if we work so hard and it.....it just doesnt work out? What if everything just falls apart Heeseung?"

"We wont know unless it happens y/n......the thing about the future, as much as we want it here in the present, so we can see and view what it has in store for us, thats....just not the way it works. That's not the way we work....we're not designed to know those things. We didn't become strong because we cheated, we became strong and survived because we, as humans, learned....the hard way."

Looking into his eyes, your vision started to become blurry all over as the next set of tears built up. Smiling as he continued to wipe your tears away, he continues.

"Y/n....for thousands of years, people have fallen, lost, and suffered at the creativity of the universe. Yet we never gave up......people had an urge to survive. Which is why at times, even when the entire world was on fire, times where a soldier never comes home, a woman loses her child, or when a doctor just doesnt have a cure.....we keep moving....we get back up and learn how to walk again. I can't sit here and tell you that I know that everything is going to be great.....I dont know. But what I do know.....is this...."

Shifting his hands down to your waist, he lifts you with his core strength as his abdominal muscles flexed under his shirt. Bringing you over onto his lap, he sat you down in a princess style as he cradled you against his chest.

"No matter what happens....I'm going to be there. I'm going to be there and I'm going to help you, just like you're going to help me. I'll never let anything happen to you....and.....you never have to worry about me not loving you .....noooooooo pretty baby......that's never going to happen, not loving you would be the worst offense against Heaven and humanity. As far as if anything were to happen to me...."

The moment Heeseung touched on that part of the subject, you sobbed uncontrollably against his neck.

"Heeeeeey, come on now. Nothing's even happen, why are you acting like that's a for sure thing?" he chuckles out as he kisses your forehead. "Listen..." Taking your hand in his, he continues.

"I'm not going anywhere......I'm not. I know this because I know what is living for me......you. I will never abandon you. Even if something did happen, you know i'm always going to be with you. You know how?"

Shaking your head, he brushes your hair away from your face.

"Moments like this baby. Every time we talk, touch, feel each other, love, eat, sleep, kiss, and when I fuck your brains out...." gripping onto your waist tightly, he presses his forehead against your own once more. "All the things we do, they never leave. So.......if there is ever a time where I am not physically here......you're always going to remember how i feel..." gliding his hand from your waist, he reaches down and gently trails it upwards under your skirt, his fingers reaching into your panties.

"You're going to remember my touch..." kissing your neck, he latches his mouth onto your soft spot under your ear, and rings the tip of his tongue around in slow circular motions.

"You're going to remember my scent...." with his free hand, he reaches behind your head and gently pushes your face inward, causing your nose to become burrowed in his thatch of dark long, shaggy hair, inhaling the scent of his cool-mint cologne and his shampoo.

"You'll also remember what I taste like...." placing a soft peck on the spot he was sucking on, he tilts his head up slightly and brings your head down to kiss him.

"And best of all......pretty baby.......you're going to remember what it feels like when I fuck you......when I love you." Shifting your body to face forward, your back completely spooned by his chest and groin as you both remained seated in the drivers side, he spreads your legs open by pushing our inner thighs apart. You were so caught up with the sensual four play, you hadn't realized that he tore off your panties. Unbuttoning your blouse, exposing your breasts, he shifts you up as he levels his length to align with your slit, before proceeding to enter inside you. Feeling full of his flesh, you moaned out as the overwhelming sense of pleasure hits you........taking you away from the abysmal depths of your fears and worries.

Steadying you in a reverse cowgirl position, filing you, his cock melts inside you as he begins thrusting slow and steady, picking up the pace as your walls become more moist.

"You feel me pretty baby?"

"Y-yes!"

"Yeah? You gonna remember me forever?"

"Y-yes...yes! He-Heeseung!"

"You gonna remember what this feels like?"

"Yes!"

"What does it feel like baby? Tell me."

"F-f......fe-feels......ssss......goood......soo....soo.goood....ugh!"

"Harder or faster baby?"

"ugh! both! please both!"

Thrusting repeatedly, your body falls limp as he holds you upright, with one arm wrapped around your waist, and his other hand shifting a grip between your neck and your exposed breast, he muffles your moans and screams with his mouth as he swallows every single bit of your precious tones.

"Gonna cum for me?"

"Y-ye.....yes!...yes.......ugh! He-Heeseung!"

"Yeah? You gonna cum because you're a good girl?"

"Mmm!mmmmmm....mmmhmmm!....ugh!"

"You my good girl?"

"Y....yes!!"

"Yeah you are.......now fucking cum on me. Let me feel it."

Adding more depth to each thrust, you gasped out your screams of pleasure as he rams his cock deep inside, separating new found walls and extracting the moisture out of your body. Reaching orgasm and releasing all over his member, your thighs shake relentlessly.

"Good girl.....my turn."

Cupping your lower tummy, he pushes in and feels his thick length as it slides in and out, he found it amusing how your sensitive body could take him like this, especially feeling it inside you as he was doing right now. Jacking his member deep inside you at a rapid and hard momentum, he finally reaches his moment and with one last punctured thrust, he bucks his hips upward as he shoves you down, mashing your bodies together as he releases inside and fills your body up.

Pulling your head back as he latches his mouth on your neck yet again, suckling as your body bounces rigorously from the tenacity of his performance.

Feeling the pleasure of his tainted love, you somehow were to understand his message clearly, all due to Heeseung extracting you from your fears......which he had done before, back when Samuel sent you his email......back when you and Heeseung came together for the first time.....the start of your guys story. Just as he did back then, he helped you to understand, that the reality of what life gives, is never necessarily the ending to your story. The more he kept pumping into you, the more you were reminded of that clarity. Yea sure, you still felt scared, but knowing that if at first you dont succeed....reach happiness.....or if things just dont work out, you can and should always, try-try again. A lesson you were always reminded of, all thanks to Heethan.

Authors note: Lol, sooooooo...yeah this original draft did have some smut....and i was going to take it out but it was too crucial for me to do so. I hope you dont mind that. But, this chapter was originally drafted, back a few months ago. I had this thought in my head, since I have only taken a few college courses, and am about to start back up on it, I was feeling so dreadful and felt too nervous about doing well. I want to succeed in reaching my educational goals....but what also kind of bugged me was....will i still find time to write? I love writing, truly do. Mainly because it brings other people joy and brings out their most inner feelings. I had so much on my mind that time that i had began drafting this, but as i was writing it, i left it unfinished bc honestly, when i drafted heethan's message.....literally its like his voice was telling me what to write....i felt better. like it was a nice little reminder....realistic...very rational....and honest...but still positive and holds truth. there's a lot of things we can't control, but we should never give up. Its okay to be scared and to worry, that's natural, and that is exactly why people such as myself are here, writing these chapters and stories for you all because i know that there is such a thing called 'life' and sometimes....we just need a break from it to refresh ourselves. I know you have alot on your plate, but dont worry because everything will be more than fine. We have to pace ourselves, work hard, but also rest, and play from time to time. Eat and drink well, and finish strong. finish college, work with your mother and teach her to work with you, if you dont get the job you really want, no big deal. no matter what job you get, if its one you dont want, nothing lasts forever. just think that whatever you do now, it is only making you more marketable for the dream goal you have. I hope you continue strong because while you do have alot on your plate, you've been slaying....you've been killing it! and that's a major accomplishment in itself, last of year of college? woohoo! finish strong!

So now i should apologize for responding with the longest post ever lol. but i really hope this makes you feel better. Reading your message had reminded me of this piece and i am so glad you sent it to me because....looking at it now...and actually finishing it......this was something that was meant to be published and shared. bc it holds an important message for all of us. <3

Enjoyed this piece? Show love and treat your girl to a cup of coffee. ♥️

☕ Ko-fi: ko-fi.com/reinbow

#heeseung x reader #heeseung scenarios #heeseung smut #heeseung hard hours #enha x reader #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung fanfic #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enha heeseung #yandere enhypen #yandere x reader #yandere heeseung imagines #yandere heeseung

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sirendeepity · 1 year ago

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[ Nessian Week, day 5: Home ]

A/N: Another day, another "I don't really know if it fits the criteria, but here it is anyway". Pretty sure it was supposed to be a lot more heavier on the "emotional side" and very less literal, buuut it's been sitting in my drafts for ages, and I needed a valid enough excuse to publish it even tho I don't even have a second part ready (or any idea how it will end, because it could be a very easy, mostly Nessian thing, or it could drastically and dramatically change the course of everything and be as not Nessian centric as they come. So it's either peace of mind or complete annihilation. No in between. I personally love the drama, so there might be a big one coming for you.)

@nessianweek

W/C: 1.7k

T/W: the House is in danger, natural cataclysm, mention of possible injuries? (I don't know how to write trigger warnings without spoiling everything, just know that it's bad, or it's going to be)

“Please, spare my life, oh cruel, blood-thirsty warrior!”

Cassian huffed once more as Mor and Feyre’s mocking laughs followed him through the glass doors of the shop. A shop he’d just got out of with an extra-large sized teddy bear holding a “Hug Me!” sign between its chubby paws.

He tucked the furry thing under an arm as he kept the door open for the two ladies.

Ever the gentleman, Cassian, he thought to himself, wondering what would be Nesta’s reaction to the gift.

She’d laugh too.

Which was a very possible, almost certain scenario.

“Never, in a million years, I would have pegged my sister to be the helpless romantic,” Feyre said, catching up to him. Mor was still giggling a few steps behind.

“She’s not,” was Cassian’s reply. “Not in the way you think, anyway.”

That 4’9 feet tall plushie was not exactly a cheesy gift. It was a necessity. Well, it was a healthy mix of both.

Things were not great in Illyria, so Cassian often needed to fly there early in the morning only to come back home Gods knew when - if he managed to come back at all.

A few times now Cassian had come home from the camps in the middle of the night, tired to his very bones; all he wanted was to take a bath and snuggle in his bed, hug his wife close to his chest, and never, ever let her go again. That had been the plan, at least, until he’d opened the bedroom door and found his beautiful mate curled around a pillow. His pillow.

Cassian knew better than to ask Nesta straight-forward and expect her to answer with her heart bleeding and bare for him: she’d made huge steps, but it was a hard wall to knock down at once. Nesta Archeron was not built for vulnerability. But she was trying - doing her best, really - and that was all he cared about. All that mattered, really.

So he had waited for Nesta to open up about what was really going on - about her missing him, about her being so used to having him by her side every night that she’d felt the need to fill the empty space on the bed in a different way.

The first time he’d been welcomed by that view, Cassian was almost sure his heart had shrunk a size and slipped through his ribs, ending up somewhere around his ankles. He had felt the urge to wrap his arms and wings and every molecule of his being around Nesta and tell her not to worry anymore because he was finally home, home, home.

Yet, he had found himself unable to move, not trusting his knees to keep him standing if he even dared to take a step in her direction. So he’d stood by the door and took her in. How Nesta’s nose was buried so deep into the cushion he had wondered how the fuck does she breathe?; how her long hair, free of any braid and band, waved down in every possible direction, covering the silk bed sheets like a second blanket; how her hands were clawing the pillowcase in a white-knuckled grip, as if she was afraid it would go away, too.

As soon as blood came rushing back through his body and Cassian remembered how to function—basic coordination and all of that—, he’d walked toward their bed and woke her up. Nesta had opened her eyes, brows already furrowed as her sleepy gaze cleared and her focus snapped into place. As she realized it was not her mind playing with the darkness.

Cassian had kissed his mate ever so gently. He’d kissed her again and then kissed her once more, as he’d gotten rid of the dirty clothes he was wearing. What had come after was not as gentle—it had started as such, only to turn quickly into something else, something a little more—and neither of them had found sleep until sunrise.

That was the real reason behind the disgustingly big teddy bear.

Pity his High Lady and her Third were currently acting way too childish to learn the truth about it.

“Can we go back and buy another one for Amren? I bet it’s taller than her.”

Cassian turned to Mor, opening his mouth to suggest her next Solstice gift for their pocket-sized demon of a friend, but before a single word left his mouth, the ground underneath their feet shook violently. The plush bear was the first thing to fall as Cassian reached for the two females and shielded them both, his wings spread wide open above their heads. It was not long before silence fell again, the only noise being Feyre’s order to “tuck in that bat wings of yours”.

“It had been decades since we’d had an earthquake in Velaris. Are you all okay?” Mor’s voice was full of worry as she eyed her companions, checking for any kind of injury, hands ready to heal. Cassian knew she would find none on him: all his wounds were inside.

It had happened just a heartbeat later, stealing the air from his lungs and knocking him to the ground, every muscle tensed and ready for an enemy that wasn’t there. The panic and the fear build up to undiluted terror—to pain. And then nothing else.

Feyre was shaking him—or maybe it was Mor. Hard to tell, given that all he heard were distant murmurs, remnants of what should have been words. He couldn’t bring himself to get back on his feet, to take a deep, full breath, to remember where the fuck he was and what had just happened.

“Cassian, Gods damn it, look at me. Tell me what’s wr-”

It’s not me, he said. Not me, not me, not me.

No, he just thought it. Because the females in front of him were looking somewhere else.

The bubble popped as Cassian came to his senses—awareness rushing back along with a cacophony of sounds from all over Velaris.

Cassian gulped air down his lungs and jumped to his feet, turning his head in the same direction as everyone else’s standing in the streets.

It had not been an earthquake.

It had been the House. His House. Collapsed onto itself - dragging the Library, the whole fucking mountain, with it.

“Mother help us.”

[ * * * ]

For a long moment, everything was quiet. Until it wasn’t anymore.

Her ears were ringing. A whistle, constantly playing the same plain note, high-pitched enough to cut through her brain. She couldn’t even think above the sharp, throbbing pain, like a hammer against her skull.

She opened her eyes—or tried to: everything was still dark, so dark Nesta wasn’t sure she did it in the first place.

The Library. I’m in the Library.

Right. Azriel had brought Emerie over and they had both joined Gwyn and the priestesses.

Emerie. Gwyn. The priestesses.

Nesta could have called out their name, could have just whispered them, could have said nothing at all.

She tried to move her arms, found them free of any injury or impediment, and proceeded on with the rest of her body. Just as Gwyn had once told her. Frankly, she’d just half-listened to her friend’s babbling, catching words here and there and nodding along in encouragement. There was a different sort of spark in her big teal eyes whenever that side of Gwyn took control, as if the spirit of a long-deceased scholar had just possessed her body and that was the only relief the poor soul could find after centuries of torments. That was a fun way to put it, anyway.

Neck, nothing.

Ribs, nothing.

Spine…

She wiggled her toes, only to realize she could not. A bookshelf had fallen on her.

Not a bookshelf, Nesta thought, just its books.

Something must have blocked it before it hit the ground.To prove her point, dozens of tomes of every size and texture were on her. Burying her alive. Life had a wicked sense of humor. Nesta moved them away ever so slowly, lest something was not quite right yet.

Once the way was clear, she tried again, just higher: bending her knees, she hold on to what felt like a crumbled piece of wall and pushed herself free from under the now empty bookshelf. The idea of running out of luck and being crushed underneath it did funny things to her stomach. To her self-control in general, given that she was already running low on it.

Spine, legs, feet: nothing.

Sitting up, Nesta started to cough at the cloud of dirt and dust and debris floating through the air. It was hard to breathe and there were one too many reasons why.

Nausea and dizziness hit her all at once, in a rush so strong she barely managed to turn her head to the side before throwing up, emptying her guts.

Nesta could almost hear Gwyn say in that tone as condescending as ever, “That’s called having a concussion.”

“Here I was, believing your skull was the hardest thing to crack open.” That would’ve been Emerie, of course. Never missing a beat.

She needed to find them, but first, she needed to make sure she wasn’t going to die in the process. A moment later, her hands were on her head, in her hair, feeling her scalp and looking for open wounds. She didn’t find any, and yet her fingers were warm, wet.

Mh, strange.

She retreated her hand, squinting as she tried to make out the slickness coating her fingers, to no avail. It was too dark.

Something brushed her thigh, making her startle. It was cold, the whisper of a touch.

And it was warning her. Nesta felt it before it happened, before another rumble shook the ground. It was an aftershock—the first of many.

Her head started floating above her shoulder and her limbs felt so inexplicably light. But Nesta’s existence as a feather was short-lived: she’d flown too high, she’d touched the sun. She was free-falling.

Her knees hit the ground first, the rest of her body soon followed, her marble bones too heavy for her to move, to breathe. Cold sweat pin pricked her skin, and Nesta prayed for luck to kiss her once more. She wasn’t known for her faith, though.

And then the ringing began.

I’m sorry, the phantom wind whispered against the shell of her ear. She could hear it clearly over the screaming and the shouting of that noise inside her head. It was a faint embrace, but Nesta reveled in its familiarity for as long as she could.

I tried.

#dee writes #house of memories #nessianweek2023 #day 5: home #nessian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta archeron #cassian #cassian x nesta #nesta x cassian #nesta and cassian

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therealslimshakespeare · 3 months ago

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ppl might not like me for this, but my headcannon for Jo has alot of the same qualities Ida does (extremely capable, brave, badass) and I don't think that's any coincidence on Bucky's part that he married her. I think after being so close to Ida, he wasn't really sure about other women but then met Jo and she's like Ida's cool twin and he just feels so at home with her right away.

In the au of Bucky and Ida being together, I think his brand of over the top expressions of love and complete fearlessness would actually be so positive in her journey of trying to overcome her trauma (not downplaying my respectful king Rosie btw) but I know from personal expereince sometimes when you are so uncertain about your own approach, it is a big relief to just be safe in the hands of someone who loves you so much and you feel so safe with, that you open up more quickly than you expect on some things

TWC SNEAK PEAK BELOW

Ugh I feel so seen!! These correspond very much with my own sentiments! I love Jo and she will be so loved by Bucky but there’s no untangling how very connected Ida and Bucky both are even when they marry other people. And that’s one reason A Wedding and A Willy is probs my fave installment so far.😭

Here my darling, you earned yourself a rough draft sneak peak from one of Ida and Rosie’s intimacy journey fics, the Nine times she thought she was ready and the one time she was…

Ida came to in a flash, a snarl, a fist to a nose and a jab of her elbow to his ribs. Rosenthal backed off her like a man possessed, flailing back onto his haunches just shy of the edge of the carpet, waiting warily as his wife shook herself in shock.

His nose was bleeding where she’d struck him, she’d done that after welcoming him, “Oh god Robert I’m sorry-“ she cried, horrified and feeling jitters begin to descend, the whole thing too jarring to be processed.

He had been inside her! Inside her at last! And she’d gone and ruined it. Now she knew every part of that cabin in the fable was false, through and through.

She wasn’t alright at all.

Her own arms came up to cradle herself, she rocked back and forth on the carpet, hearth warm at her back and her skirt tucked back to her shins. She’d struck him and yet she was the one crying, it was pathetic. “Robert, I’m sorry, so sorry.” she begged, if only he had moved, fucked her truly, no choice, no hesitancy. She wept afresh, knowing she didn’t want that, knowing he’d never do that, hating and loving him all the same for how hopeless that made the whole scenario. “I thought i was getting better.” she tried to explain, there wasn’t anything to explain except that she’d like him to force her. She couldn’t say that aloud. She didn’t want that. She was angry he wouldn’t try. She hated herself. “Your nose-“

“-I’m going to be fine.” he cut in, almost harsh how clipped and businesslike it was, it stilled her hiccuping cries instantly, “Are you going to be fine?” he asked, eyes piercing and not so gentle. “You’re shaking,” he summarized. “Badly.” an addendum.

She gave him a jerky nod. “I will be. I just- couldn’t stop it.”

He gave her a nod of his own, fingers leaving off their pinching of his gushing nostrils. “Where’d you go?”

To a cabin in the woods, a child in the cradle, a man she loved but did not want making himself to home inside her. “Far away.” she muttered

“Sorry for getting…carried away.” he decided on his own blame.

It had been the most exhilarating few moments of her entire romantic life. Wanting him, clutching at him, the way he’d wanted her so badly she could feel it in his shoulders and his tongue and the way his hips had felt so sure and decisive in the cradle of her hips. “I wanted it.” because that was true, and also, “I thought I was…better.”

#Rosie x Ida #Bucky x Ida #Bucky x Jo #sneak peaks #those who can

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skylermadness · 1 year ago

Text

Something To Be Proud Of (Ragh Barkrock TF/PMC)

(Original Date of Upload: May 4, 2022)

Original Description:

A work written in collaboration with two friends of mine. This TF also comes with a sequence drawn by ArticulatedArtisan. He also drew the art that is used as the picture in the cover. The sequence can be viewed here: DeviantArt / FurAffinity Another Dimension 20 TF, and one that has been a few months in the making. Ragh is a really great guy and honestly needed TF into him- so we're here to provide! Admittedly I dealt more with the drafting, so all of this is written by my friend as they handled editing. I've never really done a second-person POV TF before, but I feel like I could go all in and try writing one myself some day. It'll just take some work- I'm also really happy as to how Artisan's sequence came out. It is so good! Just about everything about it feels perfect. Overall, I'm glad that he was a part of this!

You drew in a deep breath, steeling yourself, and pushed open the door.

It didn’t stop the wave of high school sport odor from assaulting your nose with enough force to make the tacklers jealous, but you managed to keep from gagging. You really wished you were used to this already, being the team’s waterboy and all.

Waterboy, Coach’s assistant, whatever- all it meant was that you had to suffer all the drawbacks, like staying after school for practice and having to deal with the gunk and smell of the football team locker room, and none of the benefits- such as, well, being on the team. The coach just put you to work, setting up the equipment for practice, getting fresh towels and water to be ready on hand, and just about anything else Coach or the players needed, but were apparently too wrapped up to handle themselves.

To Coach’s credit, you didn’t think it was necessarily intentional on his part to put you through all this suffering with no perceived payoff. Back when you first approached him in his office near the beginning of the year, you had wanted to ask about joining the football team yourself. You’d long looked upon these cool, hot jocks around school, joking and jostling each other around, and wanted to play with them, or have an excuse to hang out with them at the very least- maybe you could even be one of the Boys someday, if you did.

But Coach had taken one look at you, with your scrawny, somewhat shorter than average form, and completely misinterpreted your approach as you volunteering for the assistant duties. And here you were now, having never moved from the position, because you never had the gut to correct him.

It wasn’t great- but it could have been worse, surely. You probably wouldn’t have been actually good on the team, anyway.

You did try your best to make the most of it, though. Being often in relatively close proximity with the jocks and players on the team, and using it as an excuse to talk to them or hang out, was sort of what you had been after the whole time- so you took the opportunities to say hi, and talk to them on occasion longer than a question or two relating to what mess you had to take care of next. Your assistant work more often than not actually cut you off from being able to stay talking for long and kept you busy, regrettably. Even when you did find the time to hang out for a little while, your heart sank, as the Boys were certainly friendly to you- but you never felt it reached the point where you felt you could call it you being friends.

The raucous sounds of laughter and football practice and buddies and bros being bros in the distance cut quiet in an instant as the door leading back outside swung closed behind you, and you stepped further in.

You were out on a mission, once again: one of the players, a tall, dark haired one that you wanted to talk with for longer, had forgotten his playing gloves somewhere, presumably left back in the locker room. Coach wouldn’t allow him to let up his reps to go grab them, so he needed to ask you- and did sound apologetic, very clearly aware that it was something he could go do himself. It didn’t force down the light disappointment of being cut off from talking to and getting to know one of the Boys better for longer, but you did appreciate the sentiment.

You made to breathe in and retched a little, very quickly wishing you had not let out that breath of fresh-ish outside air so carelessly. Sure, the Boys were generally nice to you and plenty of fun to hang around when you got the chance to, but you couldn’t say you were a fan of their… low-standard sanitary practices. Loose football gear left strewn about the room, over the benches and on the floor. Shoes and socks that anyone could recognize came from an extremely active high school athlete left out on the floor as well, their ripe odors wafting throughout the stale locker room air. Empty bottles of awful 3-in-1 shampoo littered around the showers, collecting near the shower drains, having long since been used or touched.

Your stomach roiled again at the smell. At least you had somehow convinced them to put their dirty laundry away in the communal bin on their own.

You hurried around the locker room, eager to find the gloves and escape back into fresh air as soon as you could. It was taking longer than you were hoping for, there was so much gear left sitting around to sift through- where were all the gloves? Half the players out there weren’t even in full gear, surely there’d be at least a few unused pairs that the Boy in need could at least borrow for the day…

Frustration was beginning to set in. The smell was probably starting to get to you. You were considering calling it quits and apologizing to the Boy back outside for it, when you spotted them- a pair of gloves, haphazardly tossed onto the end of one of the benches. You hastily snatched them up and turned to hurry back out, having had enough of the locker room stink for now.

Your eyes fell on your prize as you walked quickly, relief suddenly giving way to curiosity as you peered a little more closely at them. These gloves were a hardy brown, made of tough, thick cloth with the sleeves extending past where the wrists would usually end, instead running further up along the forearm than typically. The gloves were HUGE, too- you usually weren’t paying attention to the size of most players’ hands, but you could swear it felt like these gloves in particular could fit three of your own hands inside just one of them, and have space left over to spare. Over the palms and where the knuckleheads would be, were layers upon thick layers of wrappings- having likely once been white, but by now have long since faded and worn out to gray from frequent, rough use.

Were these… really the gloves that player was talking about? You really couldn’t find any other gloves in the entire locker room, so they had to have been if the Boy was sure he left them in there. But then again- these didn’t look like football gloves in the slightest, and didn’t even have the team’s colors. They almost looked like they were instead gloves for shoving, pummeling, or crushing opponents in melee combat.

Your vision swam as you blinked away from the sudden thought, feeling a bit dizzy. You were close to further questioning where the thought came from, before you toppled into something and tripped, landing embarrassingly splayed on the ground. Gathering yourself up and looking around to survey the damages, you groaned. Your worst fears had come back to haunt you- you had knocked into the community laundry bin hard enough to leave dirty, smelly athletic clothes strewn all over the floor in front of you.

And it was your job to pick it all up.

You were reminded of the great pains you had taken to avoid having to handle the laundry by the intense, pungent odor wafting up from the scattered pile. You quickly swallowed the bile in your throat before it could rise any further, and grimaced.

There was no way in hell you were touching any of it with your bare hands.

Scooting backward, you clenched a hand and felt rough fabric brush against it. You almost ripped your hand away in the fear that you had already touched something from this awful mess, before you realized it was just the pair of huge gloves you had come in for.

Glancing down at the gloves, an idea came to mind- one that you immediately felt guilty for thinking of. You could use the Boy’s gloves to pick up all the laundry, that was an option… but then again, you wouldn’t wish this smell on anyone- especially something the player would be wearing as soon as it was returned. The odor would be sure to linger on the gloves, and you weren’t keen on giving him a reason to dislike you.

Although, since the smell came from the laundry bin, which in turn came from the players themselves, maybe they wouldn’t notice if you used these gloves for this, just for a little while…? Nodding slowly, having successfully convinced yourself, you stood up and reached for the gloves.

This act of handling player gear wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary for you- but something about holding them with the intent to wear them had you shivering a little. Not to be weird about it- but just before you put them on, you felt a sudden sense of… proximity? Like wearing these gloves brought you and the football players closer together, somehow.

And in a sense, it was, you laughed to yourself as you slipped the gloves on. This really was the first and probably only chance you’d ever get of seeing what being a jock would feel like.

You felt a bit silly for being surprised when the gloves didn’t fit, once you had them on. Your hands were pretty average in size, while the tough-fabric gloves were big enough to completely dwarf your hands when you wore them. Your fingers weren’t long enough for the tips to reach the end of the gloves, and the palms were too broad for your hands to really fit your fingers into each respective holes- you ended up constantly bunching up the palms of the gloves in your hands to really get a real grip in order to hold anything with them.

You withheld a sigh. The huge gloves were a bit annoying and uncomfortable to use, but they’d get the job done.

You crouched down to get to work picking up the dirty laundry- and were almost immediately assaulted by that disgusting odor again. Athlete sweat and untreated B.O. mixed together in one atrocious concoction of stench, having left to fester in the laundry bin all week. You swore under your breath at the unrelenting attacks on your nose- but you steeled your resolve, and proceeded with picking up the clothing and putting them back in the bin.

As you’d anticipated, the gloves felt awkward and cumbersome, the most efficient method of picking up the laundry really just consisting of you smashing your gloved hands together around a clump of clothes like the world’s worst sandwich, and depositing it into the now upright bin. You found your frustration dissipating, however, after a moment or two of picking up the mess- the need to constantly hold onto the gloves felt less and less, and you found yourself letting go of the bunches you had been gripping and letting them hang on your hands loosely. It only clicked when you tried smashing another clump of clothes between two gloved closed fists, and paused for an embarrasing three seconds, dumbfounded by the sensation of the motion, and why exactly it felt weird. You had the hang of these gloves now. Your face heated up a little, feeling a bit silly that you’d been picking up the clothes so strangely when you could have just picked them up and grabbed them with your gloved hands normally. The gloves didn’t feel like masses of rough cloth covering your hands, they just felt like gloves- why had you been so weird about it?

Despite the worn gloves starting to feel a bit tight on your hands, you shook yourself a little to focus and pick up the pace. Now that that weird mental block keeping you from acting normal had cleared, you started picking up larger piles of laundry to put away, some so big your arms burned and threatened to buckle under the weight. You really weren’t expecting a workout when you came in looking for the gloves, but damn if you weren’t getting one right then and there.

You made to reach for a jockstrap that you thought for a moment was too far away- your arms burned- and you picked it up, without any trouble. You dropped it on top of the newest colossal load you had gathered, carrying and depositing it all into the bin without any noticeable strain on your arms. You stretched your arms high above your head as a quick rest, finding the feeling of stretching your muscles particularly pleasurable in that moment for a reason you could not pin down, and took a sniff. It was getting easier to breathe, the smell feeling less noticeable than before.

But it wasn’t gone, and it was still BAD- you could swear it was actually clouding your vision, what with the tint of green your skin had taken when you looked down at your arms. Yeugh, better get this over with quick.

The short sleeves of your t-shirt were already feeling tight, but that sensation had spread to your neck- and, hell, now that you were thinking of it it was everywhere else, too. It was probably the fatigue setting in, but with every breath you drew in the shirt felt smaller, like you’d put on a size medium you thought you could fit it that day but after the barest physical strain showed exactly how constricting it actually was and how dumb you were for thinking it could fit you.

A surge of power erupted from your solid, heavy core and rushed up to your burgeoning pecs pressing so desperately against your shirt, and you fought the sudden urge to wrestle it off of your body. This was the players’ locker room, not yours, and you didn’t have an extra change of clothes here to fall back on if you tore this shirt.

Another embarrassing five seconds passed before you realized something was wrong with that thought. Since when had you ever been worried about tearing your shirt? You wiped your sweating forehead with a gloved hand, and the sense of rough fabric dragging along your skin gave you pause. You brought your hands to your face to look closely, and saw two gloves fitting perfectly, if a bit tightly, on two massive, powerful, meaty mitts in the shape of hands.

It took you a moment to realize, but these were not the hands you had walked into this locker room with.

You looked down at your body, your brain working overtime trying its best to grasp the situation. You felt around your neck with your huge hands, and felt a short, thick, solid trunk of muscle there, which matched your deeper sounding breathing, you realized. Your scrawny chest and torso were expanding as you watched, the pecs and musculature growing and filling out first, before fat filled in after, greatly softening your pecs and pushing your stomach out into a solid, firm gut. You gave it the smallest of pokes, just to tell if it was real, and your shirt jumped at the chance to survive a moment longer by riding it up, letting your gut touch the open air. The sensations were there, of course, it was there and real and huge- and the skin was the same green as your thick, powerful arms, and deepening in hue by the second. You almost fell over, when your new gut shifted your center of gravity, but you managed to catch yourself and widen your stance accordingly. The things that felt right for your new body felt… really different from what you were used to. But… it was still your body, right?

You bent down over the remaining laundry, getting back to work- something that you didn’t have to think too hard about, and that was something you needed. Your poor brain felt sluggish, too tired to really understand the changes as they continued. You picked up more dirty clothes, now almost completely oblivious to the lingering smell that you vaguely remembered was still there. You distantly registered the sound of your shirt finally tearing from the strain, and the itch of chest hair pushing out in a smattering across your chest and down your gut. Just a few more rounds, you were sure you’d be finished… with the laundry. Finished with the laundry.

The lump in your throat grew larger, and your ragged breaths sounded even deeper- even gutteral, a little. Something about your face was tingling, changing, as the changes rose even further up your body. Your head split into a headache from how fast you wanted it to go, you didn’t want to be left behind with everything happening so much. You realized all of a sudden that your face was wrong and out of place it was hurting your brain because of it- then your skull shifted, the bone thickening and squaring off into something tough and not really human, but your lower jaw pushed forward and locked into place and everything felt right again. It felt good, and it really felt good too when two of your lower teeth grew longer and sharper, into the proud tusks of a young adult half-orc poking out of your mouth.

The ground grew further away from you as your brain struggled to work things out. Some things were starting to make more sense, and some things were making less and less sense to you- so much so that it hurt to try to think of them now with everything else happening. Instead of trying to think about why it was all happening and why it was- or wasn’t- possible, you focused instead on your legs, as they were up next. They grew longer and thicker, powerful logs of mass you’d forged yourself from pouring countless hours on the Bloodrush field, to be able to carry the mountain of mass and meat you were wherever you needed to go. Even despite the splitting pain cracking your head, you couldn’t help the surge of pride or keep yourself from grinning like an idiot at the thought.

Your shorts were barely holding together, looking so small and much shorter on your legs than before, but why? Gears chugged along in your brain and it made the connection- right, your legs were growing, weren’t they? A bit dizzliy, your brain kept flip-flopping between watching the changes in excitement and accepting your new normal. You felt a thrill heave in your throat at feeling your now-tiny shorts ride up your legs and the seat of your pants filling out and pushing up against the shorts, like a bike tire you’d pumped too quickly and was about to pop. Everything was different, but you weren’t scared.

Why would you be scared? These changes were amazing.

Why would you be scared? This was just your body, nothing new- but still fuckin’ great.

You heaved another mountain of dirty clothes into the bin, and clapped your huge gloved hands together once, eyeing the remaining stragglers. One more round.

Each step you take feels like pounding, stomping on the floor without meaning to. Your footsteps sound heavy, and your feet feel way too tight to feel good. Like you put on the wrong size shoes, these ones way too small… which would be something your dumb fuckin’ ass would mix up, wouldn’t it? Putting on the wrong shoes and not realizing through the whole school day… your powerful lungs let out a gusty disappointed sigh. Typical.

Your tiny, wrong shoes seemed to think so, too- and with a shrrrrp of cloth, your heavy green feet finally had space to breathe. You tried to kick as much of it off your feet as you can, and turn back to the laundry- y’know, channeling your shit into something productive instead of wasting time being fucking useless.

Your stomach turned as you bent down to scoop the rest up. It’s… hard not to feel like that, like an idiot who could never get your act together. Struggling in school, making all these dumb decisions, always blowing your top and letting your rage get the better of you… it’s no wonder you could never make the… make the team…

You stood back up, and the surge of something throughout your body followed by the loud SHRRRRPing of shirt and shorts got you out of your head. You tripped backwards into the line of lockers behind you in surprise, distantly feeling the dented metal under your arms. Your brain registered the tight pressure disappear and what was left of your clothes hanging off your powerful frame, and finally began to catch up with your body.

You started to realize and finally understand, just so much has changed about you- and while it’s hard to put them together, all the pieces were there.

The reason you were wobbling and feeling so unsteady on your feet was because your center of gravity was different from what you were used to. The reason you dented the lockers this badly from punching and elbowing them when you tripped was because you didn’t know your own strength- literally. The reason why your clothes fucking hurt so much and were too fucking small wasn’t because you wore small clothes and put on tiny shoes this morning like a dumbass- because you’re not dumb, yeah you know you’re not smart like the wizards or artificers or whatever, but you’re not dumb- it’s because your body is different! You put on smaller clothes that morning because you were smaller!

Your thick brow furrowed and your face scrunched up as you mulled it over, as you became more and more sure in yourself. You rubbed your chin with a gloved hand, feeling the coarse stubble smattered across your chin, while you were lost in thought- unflinching despite the rank odor clinging to the gloves after handling dirty sports laundry for like, gotta be more than ten rounds by now. Honestly, you were losing track.

"Wait- shit, I need to get changed." You blurted out the thought as it bubbled up in your mind, without bothering to think about it first- like the gap between your thoughts and your tusked mouth was getting smaller.

As soon as that clicked, you felt fabric rustling and moving as it stretched to wrap around your much larger body, covering everything up. The bulging and straining shorts grew down your legs and darkened to blue and hardened into weathered denim, not without its scuffs and tears but still a good, solid pair of jeans. Finally the right size and not feeling like your legs were being choked out, a belt slithered around your waist to complete the look.

Your socks and shoes repaired themselves too- the fabric of your socks worn and holey, standing no chance against your massive orc feet, and your shoes concealing the rest of it from view, cutting off the stench suddenly wafting up from them, too.

You involuntarily wrinkled your nose, but it honestly didn't smell that bad. Not really any of this did, anymore.

Your shoes finished off with a splash of red that quickly weathered and darkened from wear- whatever Mending spell was fixing your clothes didn't seem to be able to fix that part of it, turned out. But you didn’t mind, you began to smirk a little as you waggled your now warm feet in a good 17 and a half size pair of sneakers. A perfect fit, for the pair of stompers you’re packin’.

But the main event was just getting started- you rolled your broad shoulders and thick, muscled neck in anticipation. You could feel it, your brain following the patterns as it sensed the scraps that used to be your shirt shiftin' around, and making the connections. Your shirt was next.

The cloth rushed around your body, turning stiff and thick as it repaired itself into a shirt sized much, much larger than the size medium tee you had on that morning. The sleeves stretched long and smoothed out into soft white that felt good on your bare arms underneath, topping off with striped cuffs hugging your wrists and sneaking inside the sleeves of your gloves. You couldn't help the smirk of satisfaction cross your face as you flexed, feeling even these large sleeves strain to contain the solid blocks of jockish muscle and mass your arms had pumped out.

Your eyes followed the middle of your shirt split as buttons popped out into view, suddenly becoming the things holding your shirt together over your bulky chest and gut. The shirt neck pushed up further over your skin- well, more jacket neck than shirt, really. And that meant it made sense that the soft, striped thing around your neck was probably a collar, jackets had those.

A rich red color washed over the rest of your jacket, over your torso, filling out between the white stripes on your wrists and collar. A bright red that your heart leapt in pride for, even though you didn't recognize it yet- or at least, your head didn't. Your body processing things and acting on them faster than your brain could was becoming a habit, at this point.

But even at its snail's pace, it was still chugging along- and the pieces were coming together into something that had you excited. With a duly stretched out tank top appearing just underneath, you were wearing a letterman jacket- just like the kind the jocks wore. Laying a hand on your letterman and feeling the hard, solid mass bulging underneath, it wasn't hard to put two and two… er, maybe one and one together, and realize- you'd fit right in with the team, and maybe Coach would finally take you seriously about wanting to make the Bloodrush team. A brown letter "A" stitched itself onto your letterman's breast, like the jacket itself was in full support.

You didn't think that the team you wanted to join started with an A- or your school, either- but you brain managed to squeeze out the name "Aguefort", and your body relaxed, as if that explained everything. Your chest swelled up again, almost overwhelmed with the pride and team spirit just thinking that name filled you with.

You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. Augh, gods, you really needed to let your brain catch up again. The idea that your tiny fit had just changed into something larger and tougher and more comfortable, was fucking with your mind. Like, you never had the smarts to really get into casting classes, but this wasn't even something you had thought someone could do with magic. Man, maybe you should try taking a spellcasting class or something, see if you could pick anything up before the school year ended- that is, if magic was… real… wait, that didn't sound right…

You let out a deep, involuntary grunt as a headache pounded through your skull, just behind your eyes, and threatened to knock you off balance. You managed to steady yourself in time, quickly grabbing onto things for support, and your gaze fell onto your gloved hand.

Once stable, you brought a massive mitt of a hand in front of your face. You snapped it shut into a huge, meaty fist, feeling the powerful grip in your long, thick fingers, and the tough material wrapped around it tight, and then relaxed your hand. The gloves fit perfectly. Everything fit perfectly.

Everything fit perfectly on your body- holy shit, this was your body now, wasn't it? Your head jerked around, trying to get the best view of the huge orcish form you had found yourself in as you could. No way the Boys on the team wouldn't be jealous as FUCK of your sick gains. And damn, didn't you agree. There was this Pride pushing up in your chest, too- like you deserved a bod with this power and magnitude. Like after all the hard work you put into getting here, training and working out and putting on mass like crazy, there was no way you were going to get a body different from the one you wanted- this one.

But even as proud of yourself you were, and how pumped and ready to RUMBLE you knew this body was, it…

Your spirits fell. It still didn't feel like you were one of them. One of the Boys, the Jocks, even with your new varsity jacket, or your huge, jockish body. You weren't part of the team, you were just the… the, uh… well, you just worked there. Picking up nasty laundry. And there was a sinking feeling, that a part of you knew to be true, that told you that's the way it'd always be, wouldn't it.

You looked over to the stuffed laundry bin, having finished picking everything up, but you couldn't bring yourself to feel happy about it. You sat down on the bench with a gusty sigh, and looked down at your open hands again, huge and strong enough to crush rocks.

All that potential, gone to waste from not being put to use on the team, just felt so crushing.

You'd be fuckin' great at it, too, you were sure.

Your fists tighten, open palms snapped shut into that powerful grip. YEAH you'd be fuckin' great at it, you could probably take every game home by yourself if you had to, even without the rest of the team you'd be playing with backing you up! What was Coach thinking, not letting what had the potential be a star Bloodrush player onto the team? Was he out of his MIND?

You were onto something, it hit you. You stood up from the bench, creaking in relief as your weight lifted off of it, and you began to pace back and forth to give your brain the time it needed to catch up, almost knocking over the laundry bin again. Why wouldn't Coach just let you join? Your face twisted as frustration and borderline rage bubbled up, trying to push past the ache in your head and think a complete sentence for once. Fuck, this train of thought hurt so much it was almost worse than biting glass on accident again.

In an instant, your head snapped to attention and your eyes darted around the room, suddenly remembering the danger at hand. Glass could be anywhere, and you wouldn't even know if you were about to bite some- it was literally invisible! Your gloved mitt of a hand clapped over your mouth just to be safe, your orcish nose having almost fully tuned out the musky laundry smell the gloves still carried.

Your eyes landed on the locker room mirror. That had glass in it- at least, uh, you were pretty sure it did- but it was stuck to the wall, so it was probably fine. Mirror glass was probably different from regular glass, anyway, since it wasn't invisible.

You nodded to yourself, relaxing and feeling safer, when your eyes caught on your own reflection next.

You slowly stepped over to the mirror, the tension of danger all but forgotten as you took in the half-orc standing there, facing you. Now that it was allowed to work on its own time, your brain was finally starting to catch up with your earlier thoughts- just in time for the final changes to make their way up your face.

You wanted more than anything to join the team, and were probably one of the students at the Adventuring Academy most equipped to be really, REALLY good at it.

You lowered your gloved hand away from your mouth to reveal it growing, bulking even further, squaring off into a strong, masculine jaw, skin as green as the field turf, with two thick, orcish tusks jutting up proudly from your lower jaw.

Coach would be crazy to not let someone join the team if he thought they could help them win and play better, and Coach wasn't that crazy. Evil alignment didn't mean crazy, obviously.

Your eyes clouded over and the colors went inverse as your vision adjusted to naturally see in darkness better, white piercing pupils in pits of black sclera. Your nose and ears grew in turn, ears a bit longer and tapering off into points, and nose wider to fit your orcish face better.

But even though Coach was Evil- better than the last coach, anyway, Pit Fiend evil didn't turn your stomach as much as abusive homophobic evil did- he wouldn't force someone into playing for the team if they didn't want to. He was nice like that, you knew.

And then your hair, from the roots up was darkening to a deep, dark green, so dark it was almost black. It swept back into a wilder, slightly unkempt hairstyle over thicker looking side fades, like you'd let it grow out a little after a while without a haircut.

That meant Coach must not have known how much you wanted to play, even though it was obvious how good you'd be for the team. But why, then? How the hell could he not know? Something wasn't adding up, you realized.

You took in the tough, proud face of the half orc reflecting back at you in the mirror. It was solid and imposing, but there was a softness to your expression, too- like it was getting more comfortable in wearing things that weren't a scowl or a snarl contorted in rage. The muscles and fat set in your massive jaw rolled at the even the smallest movement, and the whole jaw was sent shifting from the tiny clenches you made with your mouth as you thought. It was still hard to believe that this all only just happened, and you were so different a few rounds ago. The thought of a scrawnier human figure with a much thinner frame floated past behind your now dark orcish eyes, and all at once it hit you.

Coach didn't know you wanted to play because you never told him you did!

You clapped a gloved hand to your forehead in understanding as your brain finally made the connection. You remembered first visiting Coach back when you looked like a human, and you hadn't had the nuts to tell him you wanted to join the team- and THAT'S why you'd been stuck as the waterboy ever since!

Sizing up the massive, half-orc jock reflecting back at you, already wearing the team's varsity jacket, you couldn't help your face splitting into a grinning smirk. That version of yourself felt so far away from you now, as the confidence of a half-orc AND a jock- who was not only centered and assured of who he was, but deeply and unwaveringly PROUD of who he was as a whole person- surged through you, your heart thrumming and shocking your back upright into better posture, only adding to your height even more. Looking how you did, with the huge new body and all, you wouldn't have trouble getting Coach to let you join the team now, that's for fuckin' sure. You even got a letterman of your own already, too! You turn around with your head craned to get a good look at the back of your letterman in the mirror. It'd be easier to just take it off and look at it there- but nah, no way you're taking this thing off anytime soon.

Even with the added effort of having to read words backwards like that in the mirror, your heart leapt in pride and already knew what the big block letters spelled over the piercing gaze of a snarling owlbear.

"BARKROCK."

Your heart already knew, deep down, but now your brain clicked, too. That was- that was your last name. Your last name, Barkrock! Well- it wasn't before, but like- it felt good to hear it. And it definitely fit the kind of person you were now, and maybe it'd be good to sort of start over again with the Coach anyway, too? You weren't sure how you'd explain it all anyway, so just pretending you were a totally different person would be easier, even though you were still the same but you'd just changed a little. Well, a lot.

So yeah, you'll keep the name, no sweat. You could probably pass as a foreign exchange student, probably.

You turned away from the reflection, and headed out the locker room door back outside to the field. You were PUMPED again and ready to go, feeling it in every part of your body- first steps into the new life laid out ahead of you.

It was a beautiful, clear day with a few clouds about, and you almost didn't realize how different the field and bleachers looked from how they used to, with how familiar everything felt to you at the same time. It was a bit hard to remember what colors the uniforms of the teams on the field had been before, but the red and white they sported now- just like your letterman- felt right, y'know?

You spotted the team on the field, and were about to call them over and ask them where Coach was- you had a lot to talk about- when one of them spotted you first and waved you over.

"RAGH, my guy! Where you been, dude?"

The gap between your thoughts and your mouth was too small to realize the jock had just called you by a name you were pretty sure wasn't yours before you were already hustling over, grinning like an idiot, huge tusks out and proud for all to see.

"I'm comin', dude, I'm comin'!"

And you hustled down the field to meet him and all the others, the fat and muscle of your beefy body bouncing up and down in a way that felt so real, so right, so familiar as muscle memory of your favorite sport seared its way into your body. You were a Bloodrush player, through and through- your heart knew that, your head knew that, and now your body knew that, too, which sealed the deal.

FUCK that felt good.

The other players had headed to the benches, taking a quick water break before heading back out to practice. You saw the other players already had their waters and everything, and THAT got you grinning to yourself. You'd never be stuck as Coach's assistant again- at least, not in the way you used to. The faces of the other jocks lighting up when you arrived, and the growing familiarity you had with each of their faces and then names and then who they were and what they liked, told you that.

You were also pretty sure that some of the Boys here had changed too, like you did, with pointed ears or flaming hair or fuller beards where you didn't expect, but you didn't care about that, didn't you. This was the team you knew, and that was what mattered.

The player who called you over clapped you on the back, getting your head in the game with a jump.

"Jeez, Ragh, you took your time," he laughed, elbowing you in the ribs, sending something fluttering in your chest- something that you knew what it was but you decided you were fine with not following- for now, at least. You were at practice, not prom. "Your gloves that hard to find? Dude, we need you for practice!"

You glanced down at your rough, worn gloves that’d been with you for ages. You could barely remember what that player who sent you in to grab them in the first place looked like, and looking around at your team and best friends at the Academy, you didn’t recognize anyone that might have used to be him among the humanoids there… almost like he was never there at all. Your head was starting to hurt again- feeling sluggish like it was running on empty when you tried to think about it further, and you made a decision.

You held the memory close for a moment, of that nameless player who gave you this chance thanks to his gloves- your gloves- thanked it, and then let it go. Your head felt clearer in an instant, and you shook away the headache, feeling yourself settle back into being comfortable with your friends.

“Sorry dude, knocked over the laundry bin in there and had to clean up. And fuck, dude, I swear- it took me like, what, 15 rounds to pick it all up. There was so. much. shit in there.”

Everything fell into place so easily, the rhythm you had with your friends felt so natural, it really did feel like you’d known these guys and played on the same Bloodrush team for years at this point- which, as far as everyone else was aware, you had. And damn, when you weren’t thinking too hard about how different everything was, it just about had you convinced, too.

“And honestly? Dude-dude-dude-dude, dudes, can I be real with you?” You directed it to the rest of the team, this time. “Y’all fuckin’ smell, dude.”

A firbolg teammate in the back called out, “It’s just the musk, dude-”

“Dude, no, I know the musk. I know the musk, dude, and that laundry bin was like- BAD, dude, even for me. Holy shit. Like, take a fuckin’ shower, guys!”

Sitting back, laughing and joking with your team for the rest of the water break- you were one of the Boys, one of the jocks.

Just like you’d always wanted.

Just like you’d always been.

Your head wanted to pick one of those over the other to be right so bad, but your heart knew they were both true.

You stood up, stretching. “Alright, back to practice. I got the scrimmage drills.”

That confidence, that pride you exuded that kicked your teammates into gear stirred in you something fierce- and hot damn if you weren't fierce- but it also felt like the most natural thing in the world. That sort of authority came with you being the most senior member on the team- even though you weren't the team captain or QB, you knew all the drills, all the exercises, probably even better than Coach did, so you could pretty much run practice on your own when Coach Gorthalax got stuck in a ruby again or something. Getting held back a year or two was crushing back then, but did have its good side, you guessed. You were so familiar with the Bloodrush training stuff from playing year after year, you could probably become a Coach yourself eventually, if you didn't land a job as a star Bloodrush player or bodyguard or something.

It took for when your teammates lined up for the scrimmage play for it to really hit you- you realized the future you had ahead of you. Before, you'd just been a scrawny human without real friends who could never speak your mind, and now you were a huge half-orc jock who had a team of friends and was proud of who you were. That went to the Aguefort Adventuring Academy, too- training teens and high schoolers in magical or fighting stuff to become adventurers and heroes, or at least learn whatever the fuck Principal Aguefort wanted them to take out of all this- a far cry from the boring ass school you used to go to. You had career options you'd never even heard of lined up ahead of you since you're close to graduating.

Fuck, you're close to graduating, too, huh… yeah, that was right, ever since that adventuring party of bad kids you became friends with invited you on a quest and finished it with them, you were on your way to graduation. Fuck, dude, that was something you hadn't though about for a long while, afraid you'd just get pulled back again. Getting through all your identity junk thanks to the school's guidance counselor Jawbone probably helped with that, too, being honest.

More and more memories of being Ragh Barkrock, the half-orc jock who got your whole life turned around after getting your ass handed to you by the Bad Kids and then meeting with Jawbone to work your personal shit out kept filling your head in that moment- and honestly, you couldn't think of anything you wanted more in that moment. You felt solid, grounded. You knew for sure in your big, thumping, orc heart, of who you wanted to- no, who you were PROUD to be.

The Bloodrush captain called the play, clear and sharp that cut through your mind like a greataxe through warm cheese, and your body instinctively sprang into action alongside your friends, your teammates. You grit your tusks and teeth, and called up that white hot feeling- in an instant your head, heart, and body finally all in sync. Not so much thinking of anything, or even really being able to think anything other than being laser focused on the play at hand that you knew by heart.

You thundered forward, letting loose a snarl and calling up that white-hot rage as you charged the poor humanoid player opposite to you, squeezing the last few thoughts through your head before going blank.

Your name is Ragh Barkrock, and you're damn proud of that.

#character tf #species tf #orc tf #transformation #muscle growth tf #weight gain tf #tf

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aishangotome · 5 months ago

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Main Story Chapter 16-07: Before the Storm (暴雨來臨前) | Light and Night 光與夜之戀

Chapter 16-05

♡———♡

I quickly got in touch with the fabric supplier. Mr. Shao told me that the factory was mass-producing filament lyocell and could provide it all to us at the same price.

After confirming the fabric via video, I immediately went to the purchasing department and remotely signed the contract with him.

However, strangely, the purchasing department asked me to keep this matter confidential and to announce to the public that the fabric was out of stock and production was suspended.

It's probably because they're afraid the fabric will be snatched up again. I didn't pay much attention to it.

As I walked back to the office, I mentally calculated the arrangements for the next five days. Although the time was tighter, my steps were lighter than ever before.

Pushing open the office door, I was startled. Manman, Mao Ge, Jiang Lai, who had returned from a business trip, and even Hao Shuai were all sitting at their workstations.

You: Why are you all here? Didn't I tell you to go home and rest?

I rubbed my eyes, thinking it was my own illusion.

Mao Ge: Well, the water heater in my house broke, so I came to the company to take a shower. Now I'm full of energy and ready to work.

You: ?

Li Manman: I left my earring at the company and came back to get it. But since I'm here, I might as well do some work.

Mao Ge: What do you mean, "since I'm here"? Who would believe that?

Li Manman: As long as she believes it, it's fine. Keep your voice down.

Hao Shuai: I'm not like them. I just happened to be passing by after working out. Handsome guys never make excuses.

Hao Shuai pointed to his bulging gym bag and suddenly noticed Mao Ge blinking frantically at him. However, he couldn't understand at all, so he had to ask Manman for help, constantly asking "What does that mean?"

Mao Ge and Manman both put their hands on their foreheads at the same time, with an expression of "I don't know him."

Hao Shuai: You guys didn't come back on purpose, did you?! And you didn't even bring me!

Li Manman: Forget it, forget it, I'll confess. It was Mao Ge's idea for everyone to come back to work and share some of your pressure.

Li Manman: Who told you not to say anything? You're truly Director Qi's student, with the exact same temper.

Mao Ge: We had no choice but to secretly report to the director.

Although I had already understood from their clumsy acting that they had come back to help me, when I heard it, my heart still felt a pang of bitterness. I wanted to say something but felt that nothing was enough.

"No friends in the workplace" is an old saying. So I'm so lucky to have met them.

You: Thank you, everyone.

Mao Ge: You want to dismiss us with just a thank you? We want a big meal.

You: My treat today.

After that day, time still flew by like a rocket, but the principle of "things will turn around when they reach their worst" seemed to have come true for me. The work in this stage progressed exceptionally smoothly.

I don't know if it's because the fabrics were finally complete or because I finally regained my confidence. I think it's probably both.

On the weekend, I took advantage of the rare free time to go to the flagship store to prepare for the new product launch.

Based on this theme, I re-planned the store layout, from the main color to the floor stickers, and worked until the afternoon to finally complete it.

Saleswoman: Um, what should we call you? Director?

You: I'm not the director. I'm the manager of Pristine. You can call me Y/N.

The girl's mouth opened wide, and she quickly extended her hand, excitedly shaking mine several times, introducing herself as Xiaoyu.

Xiaoyu: You're so amazing. So young to become a manager. I want to be like you too.

Xiaoyu: The new products this time are all super beautiful. I also like design. I've even drawn design drafts. Can you help me take a look?

You: Of course.

Store Manager: The food is here, the food is here. We've been busy until now. I'm so sorry to have the Pristine manager eat boxed lunches with us.

You: It's my job. Thank you for treating me to a meal.

Opening the lunch box lid, I saw Xiaoyu picking out all the stir-fried lamb with scallions and putting it into a paper cup.

You: You don't eat this dish?

Xiaoyu: This? I'm preparing it for a little beggar.

You: A little beggar?

Xiaoyu: Yes, he's still a child. He's been appearing here these past few days. I guess he sleeps under the bridge over there at night.

Xiaoyu: You don't know how kind that child is, a bit silly too.

Xiaoyu: I've seen him several times feeding the big black dog next door, even though he's so thin himself.

Store Manager: Isn't it because the child is good-looking that you noticed him?

Xiaoyu: Who doesn't like good-looking people? If he were born into a rich family, he could debut and act in movies.

You: Is he that good-looking?

Xiaoyu: He's super good-looking. I'll take you to see him.

My curiosity was completely piqued by Xiaoyu.

He was a boy of about fifteen or sixteen, with messy hair and a white T-shirt stained with grayish-white dirt at the hem. It was unclear whether it was wall dust or dried cement, but it looked like it hadn't been changed in days.

He squatted on the ground, his head lowered, looking at something unknown. From afar, his entire being blended into the dirty wall.

Xiaoyu: When he raises his face, you'll definitely be amazed.

As if hearing our words, the boy quickly raised his head, his gaze sweeping over us. His messy bangs couldn't hide those turquoise eyes.

You: …… Osborn?!

His face was filled with vigilance and fierceness, but it couldn't conceal another kind of natural innocence.

No, he should be the other half of Osborn's soul.

Looking at him, the chaotic scene from that day rushed into my mind.

I woke up in an unfamiliar room, forced to make a life-or-death choice between two Osborn's. When I rushed to the explosion site, I didn't see either of them....

Although Osborn later sent me a text message to say he was safe, no matter how I asked, he always remained silent about the situation of that other half of his soul. I didn't expect to encounter him here.

Should I tell Osborn? No, no, if they fight again, it might be even more intense than last time. I planned to pretend I didn't see anything and turn to leave, but there had always been some questions in my heart that I couldn't let go of.

Can souls really exist apart from the body? Why did he do that that day? And is it really okay for him to appear on the street like this?

While I was hesitating, the boy had already recognized me and was clearly startled.

He stood up, his expression becoming a bit complicated. I couldn't describe it, but I could be sure he didn't have any hostility towards me because his eyes no longer had the madness of that day, but were instead calm.

The kind soul... shouldn't do anything to me, right? I remember he was quite friendly at the convenience store.

I let Xiaoyu go back first and gestured for him to follow me with my eyes, intending to ask about things Osborn wouldn't tell me.

I was thinking about how to start the conversation along the way, and before I knew it, I had walked a long distance.

Looking back, the boy had already stopped, his eyes fixed on me, vigilant like a small animal in the jungle that had smelled gunpowder.

I didn't think much of it and only felt that it was inconvenient to talk from afar, so I walked towards him. To my surprise, he immediately took several steps back, his face filled with wariness and warning.

Come on, you were the one who kidnapped me last time. If anyone should be wary, it should be me, right?

I was a little confused, but also afraid of angering him, so I stopped where I was.

You: Is this okay?

The boy hesitated for a moment before nodding.

Then there was a minute of silence. I hadn't figured out how to ask yet, so I just kept looking at him until he frowned uncomfortably and his eyes darted away.

You: Um, do you remember me?

Boy: No.

You: ???

But he clearly remembered me just now, so why is he denying it now!

You: I just have some things to ask you.

Boy: If you just have something to ask me, why did you walk so far?

It took me a while to react.

So he thought I had ulterior motives and deliberately walked such a long distance to lure him to a deserted place? Do I look like a bad person?

And isn't he the kind part of the soul? Why was his first reaction to think the worst of people? He wasn't like this at the convenience store.

You: Since you think I have other intentions, why did you come with me?

You: You could have left halfway. Or do you also have other intentions towards me?

I took a big step closer and looked up at him, actually just wanting him to taste the feeling of being misunderstood. To my surprise, a clear panic flashed across the boy's face. He immediately turned his head, his bangs covering most of his expression.

Boy: I don't!

His tone was serious as if he was taking an oath, afraid I would convict him, but his ears turned bright red.

I was stunned for a moment and then burst out laughing. I never expected that fifteen-year-old Osborn would be so easily teased. But at the same time, I was relieved. It seemed he had just misunderstood me.

You: I know you don't. I was just kidding.

The boy was a little annoyed and looked at me sullenly until I stopped smiling.

Boy: What do you want to ask?

You: It's nothing major, just a few questions. What exactly--

However, the words reached my lips, and I suddenly lost my direction. Should I ask him why he's on the street? He wouldn't go to Osborn's house, would he?

Should I ask him why he doesn't return to Osborn's body? It's obvious there's a huge conflict between them. Or should I ask how Osborn was doing after the explosion that day?

Boy: You want to ask about that person, right?

You: Uh....

Boy: Then you should go find him. Why are you looking for me?

The boy showed a "I knew it" expression, and his face immediately turned cold. He dropped this sentence and turned to leave.

You: Why are you suddenly angry? Wait a minute--

However, he didn't turn back and walked away quickly, no less fast than the current Osborn. I chased after him, panting. As I stopped to catch my breath, the boy in front had already walked a long distance.

His back looked particularly thin, his entire being almost squeezed into a trembling flag by the oncoming wind, but his back was still straight.

The heavy, setting sun smoothly slid over his shoulders, leaving a fuzzy edge.

I suddenly felt a little dazed. In that dreamlike late night, Osborn also pulled me forward like this.

He held his head high, his back straight, looking so carefree. No one knew how much weight he was carrying that he shouldn't have to bear.

The boy in front, who never let down his guard, must have also experienced the violence and humiliation of Yuda Academy, the abandonment, and the moment of having his self-esteem crushed. And he seemed to be even more deeply trapped in the pain of the past than Osborn.

My heart suddenly felt a little sour. Seeing that he was about to disappear from my sight, I couldn't help but call out to him loudly.

You: Osborn!

I don't know if it was an illusion, but the boy seemed to pause for a moment before continuing forward. But this time he slowed down a lot, and I finally caught up to him.

You: You run too fast.

To prevent him from turning and leaving again, I immediately grabbed the corner of his clothes. The boy's body stiffened, and then he grabbed the hem and pulled it back forcefully.

I saw a pair of arms covered in veins and light pink scars.

He was too thin, although maybe it wasn't right to describe a soul that way, but the T-shirt hung loosely on him. Suddenly, I remembered Xiaoyu's words - he didn't have enough to eat himself, yet he fed the puppy.

Noticing my gaze, the boy immediately retracted his arms behind his back and tensed his face, but his expression was a little hurt.

Boy: What do you want?

You: I... I actually just wanted to ask if you're hungry.

Youth: No.

He spat out the two words expressionlessly, but his stomach growled the next second.

You: But I'm starving.

You: Let's go, I'll treat you to a meal.

It wasn't dinner time yet, and I figured he wouldn't like crowded places either, so I found a noodle shop on the street. There were only a few people in the shop, and it was clean and tidy.

You: What do you want to eat?

The cashier auntie looked at him warmly, but the boy seemed unused to such a scene and stood far away.

Boy: Anything is fine.

You: Then I'll have two bowls of mutton noodles. Can one of them have more meat?

Cashier Auntie: Yes, yes, that's 70 yuan in total.

After taking the receipt, we sat down facing each other, and there was another long silence.

I looked around and eventually my eyes fell back on him. I noticed a few red marks on the bridge of his nose, like scratches that hadn't scabbed over yet.

They must have been covered by his hair earlier, so I didn't notice.

I took out a band-aid from my bag and handed it to him. But before I could speak, he swatted my hand away.

Boy: What are you doing?

He seemed to subconsciously think of me as someone with bad intentions again.

You: You have a wound here. Here's a band-aid.

I pointed to my nose and then put the band-aid on the table, pushing it towards him.

The boy looked at the table and realized his reaction had been excessive. He opened his mouth and whispered an apology.

You: It's okay.

I shook my head.

After all, he's the kind part of the soul. No matter how much he puts up his defenses, he doesn't have much malice at heart.

If I invited him to dinner because of a sudden pang of heartache, then now, looking at fifteen-year-old Osborn sitting in front of me, a strange feeling slowly rose in my heart.

I used to feel guilty and regretful for breaking the promise all those years ago, countless times wondering if our lives would have been different if I had gone to the appointment.

Maybe it would be completely different from now, or maybe fate is too stubborn and nothing would change. But at least I would always remember him, and when he was abandoned or betrayed, I would stand by his side.

And now, as if time had heard my wish, it rewound back to many years ago.

I quietly looked at the boy in front of me. He was different from the Osborn in my memory. The boy who helped me melt the window with fire had now become agitated, more silent, and resistant to anyone's approach.

I don't know what happened in these three years, and I don't know if he still remembers that day. I really want to ask him.

Boy: Why do you keep looking at me?

You: You're good-looking.

The words came out of my mouth without thinking, and the boy's face turned red again. Fifteen or sixteen-year-old Osborn, it turns out, was so easily embarrassed.

I was about to ask him about what happened back then, but before I could speak, a boy suddenly rushed to our table and pinched his nose with both hands.

Child: Mom, it must be the smell from this person. He looks so dirty.

After saying that, he stuck his tongue out at us and ran away.

I was stunned for a moment. Did he say the boy smelled? But why couldn't I smell anything?

I sniffed hard, but I could only smell food and cooking fumes.

The noodle shop was quiet for a moment, and then whispers started, with the few gazes all turning towards us.

The boy's face suddenly turned pale. I thought he would stand up and scold the child, do what I imagined Osborn would do, but he didn't.

He remained silent, his head lowered. His eyes were completely hidden by his hair, and I could only see his tightly pursed lips, his lower lip bitten white.

Even though the anger surging around him was about to explode, he was still enduring it.

I looked at the instigator. The child saw me looking and arrogantly pinched his nose, even making a face.

What an ill-mannered child.

☾ Night: Angrily retort

☼ Light: Come to his defense

☼ [Light Choice: Come to his defense]

I stood up and quickly walked to the window, opening all of them.

You: This is a noodle shop. It's normal to have cooking fumes. Opening the windows for ventilation will do.

The breeze brought in the rich scent of camphor trees from the street, dispersing the accumulated smell in the noodle shop.

☼

☾ [Night Choice: Angrily retort]

I stood up abruptly and walked quickly to the window, opening all the windows.

You: This is a noodle restaurant, it's normal to have oily smoke, just open the window for ventilation.

You: I didn't smell anything. Child, you can still smell it from so far away, your nose is really unusual.

After finishing speaking, I took out a bottle of perfume from my bag, walked up to the boy and sprayed it a few times in the air around him.

You: Child, does it still smell like this?

The boy immediately covered his nose and stared at me.

The boy seemed unconvinced and wanted to say something, but his mother sternly scolded him.

Child: Mom, look at her--

Before the boy could finish his sentence, the middle-aged woman across from him closed her laptop, scolded him, and gave me an apologetic smile.

☾

Child's mom: I'm sorry, I didn't discipline my child well. I apologize.

The farce ended just like that.

I returned to my seat with satisfaction, but then I realized that I had stood up without asking him and had taken it upon myself to lecture the child. Would he feel offended?

Although we've only met three times, my intuition tells me he wouldn't be grateful for this.

I sat down nervously and, as expected, saw an unhappy face.

But contrary to my expectations, he wasn't angry. Instead, he was looking up at me with a confused expression, like a wronged child. The words "Why did you do that?" were clearly visible in his eyes.

It seemed like no one had ever believed in him or stood up for him.

My heart ached, and I couldn't help but reach out to touch his head, but he quickly dodged and returned to his impatient demeanor.

Boy: I didn't ask you to do that.

But even though he said that, his tone softened.

You: I hate rude kids myself. It has nothing to do with you.

Boy: Don't do that again in the future.

You: Why?

Boy: This time you were just lucky that the person you encountered didn't bother with you.

Boy: People who stand up for righteousness never end well.

Boy: Not only will others blame you, but when something happens to you, no one will stand up for you.

He tugged at the corner of his mouth, not smiling, his expression full of sarcasm.

I suddenly shivered, remembering what Osborn told me about why he was sent to Yuda Academy.

He was never understood and was labeled as hopeless. In such a situation, people either "admit their mistakes" or "have no choice but to become bad." There's no other way.

Osborn chose to "become bad" and abandoned him (the kind boy). And he, having nothing left, had no choice but to "admit his mistakes."

He learned to grit his teeth and endure, but he couldn't harden his heart or become indifferent to everything. After seeing too much filth, he finally understood that justice and tolerance couldn't solve any problems.

So that's why he changed from a purely kind soul to what he is now. I couldn't describe the feeling in my heart, only that it was a pity, such a pity.

You: If someone really gives me trouble, I'll ask you for help, okay?

Boy: Okay.

He actually answered readily.

Boy: I don't have money to repay you. But I can solve the trouble.

You: Money?

The waiter happened to bring the noodles at this moment, and the boy's face was hidden behind the rising steam, his expression obscured.

Boy: The money for the noodles.

You: I was the one who invited you to eat. You don't have to pay me back.

Boy: I don't take things from others for no reason.

Boy: So think about what you need me to do. As long as it's within my ability, I can do it.

The boy didn't pick up his chopsticks. His hands rested neatly on his lap, waiting for my answer. It seemed like he wouldn't eat if I didn't agree.

This person is even more stubborn than I thought.

You: Okay. Then what can you do?

Boy: For example, if someone bullies you, I can teach them a lesson.

You: No, no, no, it's not that serious.

You: Can it not be an action? How about you answer three questions for me.

This seemed to be beyond his principles. The boy furrowed his brows and thought for a while before nodding.

You: If it's difficult for you, I won't ask.

Boy: I didn't say it was difficult. Ask away.

You: First question, aren't you a soul? How can I see you?

You: And how come you look fifteen or sixteen? Is it because you left your body at that age?

Boy: I am a soul, but I have the blood of a god, so I can manifest a physical form.

You: The blood of a god?!

Boy: Yes, and the appearance of the physical form can be changed at will.

In addition to being surprised, I also sorted out some clues. No wonder I saw him looking exactly like Osborn before, but now he has the appearance of a teenager.

As for the blood of a god... Osborn never mentioned it to me, and I only heard the legend of gods from Sariel not long ago. I couldn't believe that there were actually "gods" in the world.

But the recent events made me feel a sense of helplessness that I had to believe.

You: You said you have the blood of a god, so are you very powerful? Besides changing your appearance, do you have any other abilities?

Boy: Is this the second question?

I thought about it and felt it was a bit of a waste, so I decided not to ask.

You: Second question, why did you do that last time? Making me choose between Osborn and those five people.

You: Actually, you didn't want me to make a choice, right? You didn't want to hurt those five people, did you?

Boy: How did you know?

You: Hmm... intuition, I guess.

Or maybe it's trust. Because he's half of Osborn's soul, I believe he wouldn't do anything to hurt innocent people. The boy looked at me, his expression seeming a little moved.

Boy: I just wanted to die with him. That way I could atone for those five people.

Boy: They died because of us. There's no other way but to give our lives back to them.

I clearly saw two flames burning calmly in his eyes.

So that's why he was so persistent and crazy.

It wasn't to take revenge on his other self. He just wanted to atone for his sins, even if it meant sacrificing his life and the freedom he had finally regained.

A pang of sorrow welled up in my chest for no reason, and I once again remembered Osborn's words from that day. He told me not to choose him, that saving those five people was helping him fulfill his wish.

I never understood why he didn't resist at all. With his power, he shouldn't have been controlled, so I always thought the so-called wish was to redeem himself.

But at this moment, I suddenly thought that maybe at that time, Osborn understood the boy's intention. After so many years, he had forgiven himself, but the fifteen-year-old him was still stuck in the past.

He wanted to save not the present himself, but the helpless Osborn who was abandoned back then.

Boy: You have one more question left.

I came back to my senses and saw the boy's frank eyes.

You: Third question--

I had already decided to ask him what he did to Osborn that day. However, looking at him, I suddenly couldn't ask.

All the questions essentially had nothing to do with him. I was just concerned about Osborn.

Boy: Ask away. It doesn't matter if it's related to him.

The more he said that, the more he looked at me with those frank eyes, the more I couldn't ask.

You: You--how have you been spending your time lately?

I ultimately couldn't bear the condemnation of my conscience.

The boy was a little stunned, not expecting my third question to be about himself.

Boy: I have a place to go.

You: Is it the bridge we saw earlier?

Boy: No.

You: Then where is it?

He looked at me, and I knew his guard was up again, so I raised my hand and swore.

You: I won't tell anyone.

Boy: A warehouse I used to go to often when I was little.

Could it be the place where we first met?!

You: The warehouse on Mingzhou Road?!

The boy suddenly looked up.

Boy: How do you know? Did that person tell you something?!

This was the first time I heard him speak so loudly, attracting the attention of several people around us.

You: No.

Boy: That's right, he wouldn't remember these things.

You: He remembers. I remember too.

You: Because the person locked in the warehouse that year was me.

Boy: Impossible.

He interrupted me flatly. I guessed he wouldn't believe me.

You: I was in fifth grade at the time. I had a conflict with a classmate and took a random bus alone, ending up in a place I didn't know.

You: There was a big warehouse there, surrounded by weeds. I walked in, and not long after, I heard fighting outside.

You: Those people said, "Just throw him here, it doesn't matter if he dies." It was something like that, and then I saw a boy.

You: It was the middle of winter, and he was wearing short sleeves, his arm bleeding. I was so scared that I hid and didn't make a sound.

As I gave more and more detailed details, his expression started to change.

You: Later, I saw him lying on the ground, his face pale. I thought he was dying, so I went over and gave him a handkerchief.

You: He was always cool, even as a kid. He didn't want my handkerchief and said he wouldn't die.

You: I couldn't bear to watch, so I used the handkerchief to bandage his wound. He even scared me, saying there would be big wolf dogs coming.

You: We talked a lot that day. He said he was a monster. He didn't know that my classmates also called me a monster at that time.

You: We were both different from the so-called normal people in this world.

You: It was getting darker and darker, and I was anxious to go home, but the warehouse was locked. In the end, he melted the glass with fire.

You: After we got out, he called out to me and asked me--

Boy: Will you come back again?

The boy said almost immediately, his eyes brighter than ever before.

You: I said yes. But I didn't go back.

You: I'm sorry.

He shook his head vigorously, almost at the same time as my "I'm sorry," and then looked at me silently for a while, lowering his eyes and briefly smiling.

It was the first time I had seen him smile.

I found that whenever he smiled, the impatient, cool demeanor would disappear from his face, and he would become a fifteen-year-old boy again.

You: Why didn't you ask me why I didn't go back?

Boy: Do you want me to ask you that?

You: Otherwise? Don't you want to know why?

Boy: I do.

The boy nodded firmly, then shook his head again, and spoke seriously.

Boy: But it doesn't matter.

You: Huh?

Boy: And, it's good that you didn't go back.

You: Why?

Boy: I fought there later. If you were there, it would be dangerous.

I was caught off guard by the sincerity in his eyes and lowered my head, realizing my heart was beating a little fast.

Boy: Did I say something wrong?

You: No... The noodles are getting cold, let's eat.

Perhaps because we were more familiar with each other, he no longer followed the three-question rule. He would answer any question I asked seriously.

I learned that he hadn't seen Osborn since that day, and that he had been running errands for others to earn money, sleeping in the warehouse at night and staying under the bridge during the day.

He seemed to have taken on a lot of work, as phone calls kept coming in for him while we were eating.

I tentatively asked him if these things were legal. He looked away and didn't answer.

Thinking of the crazy him from that day, I felt a vague unease.

I wanted to tell him not to do those things, that in the end, he would only hurt himself. But I had no right to say so. To him, I was just a stranger he had met once.

As we were leaving the noodle shop, he suddenly stopped and looked back at the troublemaking child.

The owner apologized for the incident and gave us two coupons, which I handed to him. But he didn't take them. Instead, he asked the owner for the two receipts from our order.

He carefully folded them and put them in his pocket, along with the band-aid, with a cherished gesture.

Clink-- As he withdrew his hand, he accidentally knocked something out, which rolled to my feet. Looking down, I saw a small, square, gray object with dark red stains on it.

However, before I could see it clearly, he quickly picked it up and put it back in his pocket, looking a little nervous.

I didn't ask further, as it was his secret after all.

But I couldn't ignore the large dried stains on his clothes and pockets, and once again felt sympathy.

You: Wait for me.

I ran back to the shop and picked out some clothes and pants according to his size, then quickly returned, afraid he would disappear again if I wasn't careful.

You: These are for you.

Boy: I don't have money to give you.

He repeated the same sentence, stubbornly refusing to accept them, but this time the regret on his face was clear.

You: Then you owe me. You don't need to write an IOU. If I need you to do something, I'll come to the bridge to find you.

While he was stunned, I stuffed the paper bag into his arms and took his phone to enter my number.

It was a flip phone model from more than ten years ago, probably only able to send text messages and make calls now. The blue screen flickered unsteadily, and the case was dirty. I don't know where he got it from.

You: I won't break my promise this time.

The boy stared at me in a daze for a long time before nodding heavily.

I said goodbye to him at the intersection, but just as I crossed the crosswalk, I suddenly heard someone calling me from behind.

I turned around, and the green light turned on, trucks rumbling past us, drowning out all the surrounding sounds.

This green light was exceptionally long. After what seemed like forever, all the vehicles had passed, and the boy's face appeared before me.

You: Is there anything else?

Boy: These are too expensive.

Boy: So I'll protect you instead.

You: ....What?

I was momentarily stunned. The streetlights lit up one by one, and the boy's expression was exceptionally serious.

Boy: I don't have anything else to offer, only this.

Boy: But I'm not weaker than that person at all. What he can do, I can do too.

Boy: Actually, that day was my-- forget it.

Boy: Stay away from him.

After saying that, before I could react, he hurriedly ran away.

What does he mean by staying away from him? Is he referring to Osborn? What was "that day"? I wanted to grab the corner of his clothes and ask again, but my hand grasped at empty air.

You: Hey, can you please not do those dangerous things?

I shouted loudly at his back, but this time he didn't stop and disappeared into the rolling crowd in the distance.

In a place people could no longer see, the boy stopped and gasped for air.

The warm wind blew his hair, revealing a pair of dull eyes. He raised his hand, but before his fingers touched the bridge of his nose, the red marks disappeared.

His palms were sweaty from the prolonged tension. He wiped them hard on his clothes, took out his phone, and unlocked the screen. There was only one contact in his address book.

He had only wanted to use her to get his body back.

He stared at the only name for a long time, until the phone started to vibrate.

It was the construction site man who had paid for the hemp rope and begged him to kill his boss a while ago. Hadn't they already settled their debts? The boy frowned.

Construction Site Man: Young man, didn't you say last time that someone who looked a lot like you was looking for you?

Construction Site Man: I just saw them, a group of them, on Heng'an Street.

That was where he had just eaten! The boy clenched his fists.

Boy: I got it.

His tone was vicious, the impulse made him want to rush over and take back the body that was supposed to be his. However, he did not forget the humiliation last time.

Boy: There is a noodle shop on Heng'an Street, go find a child for me and bring him here.

He was about to turn around when he suddenly remembered something, took out the gray human bone from his pocket, sneered, and threw it into the trash can on the side of the road.

Lowering his face, his bangs covered his eyes again, he hugged the paper bag in his arms and ran in the opposite direction.

Chapter 16-09

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