#but i had the plot outline for most of the rest

[smolalienbee]

sooo if anyone was wondering why punk au is gone from my ao3, it's because i've decided to take the whole concept and turn it into an og piece of fiction. the opening scenes of it will likely be fairly different from what was already posted but just to be safe i took down the whole thing. to the ppl who were waiting for updates on that one: sorry! but... keep an eye out for new guys and hopefully eventually maybe a full og novel??

[kyofsonder]

Also on the topic of writing, I love when you start a new WIP and instantly root for your own characters. That "Oh, I like you! I'm gonna have fun putting you in situations!" moment is one of my favorite things as a writer.

[elliewithcellie]

Girl, Interrupted

summary: Eddie crashes by your home when you least expected, but everything happens for a reason, right?

wc: 1.8k

cw: PURE SMUT (MDNI 18+), basically no plot, friends to fwb?, oral (f receiving), Eddie is a tease, fairly bold reader lol, fingering, talk of p in v sex, hair pulling, orgasms idk let me know what else

a/n: my bestie bought me slutty pajamas for my birthday, and since I'm a hypothetical whore, this has been on my mind nonstop. Finally took a break from my spn series to write this down. This is the filthiest thing I've written to date but definitely short and sweet

Eddie’s jaw fell slack as the door opened before him. He knew he shouldn’t have shown up to your place uninvited. Sure, you were his best friend, and of course, you had said he could come over whenever, but that never truly meant unannounced. He was already kicking himself for showing up as late as he did when you opened the door.

Your oh so short pajama shorts were the first thing that caught his eye, how your thighs spilled out beneath them, the cotton begging for relief. His eyes trailed higher to your tank top one size too small. The hem rested just above your midriff, the outline of your hips more prominent than he had ever seen. Your face was flush, pinks and reds lining your cheeks. He fought the urge to pinch himself, scared that he was dreaming, scared that he’d wake up to the absence of you and very real feelings emerging.

“Eddie? What are you doing here?” you asked, your arms crossing over your chest. “I thought you had a date.”

Date, what date? Eddie’s mind was going numb. His brain was flatlining at the mere sight of you, more exposed to him than he’d ever seen you. Fight or flight kicked in, debating on whether to say something or just turn around and leave. He was almost sure he was not supposed to see you in this state.

“I—uhh—it didn’t go well, so I cut it short. But I know you love the place, so I figured I’d bring over the leftovers.”

“Oh, sweet. Thank you.”

Eddie hesitated, scared to ask, but his interest piqued. “Is someone—you’re alone right now, right?”

Your eyebrows pinched together. You exhaled a dry laugh. “Please, I’m always alone. Come in. Tell me about your date.”

You ushered Eddie inside and settled into your couch. You pulled a blanket over you, and Eddie released a sigh. He couldn’t believe the hold you suddenly had on him. It was like he was in high school again, ready to combust at the sight of a shoulder. At least with your legs covered, he was less inclined to think about spreading them.

“Was it really that bad?” you asked, drawing Eddie from his thoughts.

“She was just so boring,” Eddie complained. “Like, there’s nothing wrong with her, but it was like we were from different planets! She didn’t know Metallica! How am I supposed to bond with someone when there’s nothing to relate to?”

“Did you think of showing her?”

“Showing her what?”

“Metallica!” you laughed. “Wouldn’t that be kind of romantic, you know, to introduce that to her? Maybe tell her you’re in a band? It’d be like showing her a whole new world. And maybe you’d get a groupie out of it.”

Eddie swatted at the air. “It’s not worth it. We were both bored. And it was clear she wasn’t looking to rock with a guitarist.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.”

“You didn’t meet her. She’s pristine, a Chrissy Cunningham type. Meant to be with a lawyer or some shit.”

You leaned in closer to Eddie, your blanket sliding down your thighs. “Those are the girls who fantasize about guys like you the most. Those girls on the straight and narrow, the ones who seemed destined to be sweet stay-at-home moms or perfect career women, those are the ones who dream of just one night doing something they never thought they could. Something so wild that when they’re taking their kids to soccer practice, or their ‘perfect husband’ is asleep on the recliner while they're doing the dishes, they can think back to that wild night when they fucked a rockstar.”

Eddie’s lip trembled as chills coursed through his body. You leaned back against the couch and shrugged like what you said was nothing. You had to be on something, he decided. Never had you been so frank when the topic of sex came up. Your face was still flushed with color, and you couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position on the couch, shifting yourself from one side to the other to no specific rhythm. Heat radiated off of you, though you weren’t known to be the furnace between the two of you. Something struck Eddie as so foreign but so familiar as he took you in.

“Would you fuck a rockstar?” Eddie found himself saying.

Heat rose to your cheeks. “Do I seem like one of those straight-and-narrow girls to you?”

“That’s not what I asked,” Eddie said, a newfound confidence overtaking him. “You came up with that way too fast to act like you don’t think of it, too. So, would you fuck a rockstar?”

You bit your lip and shifted in your seat. You huffed into the couch. “Wouldn’t anyone?”

“Why so shy all of a sudden?” Eddie asked, egging you on. “You’ve been squirming since I got here, sweetheart. Is something on your mind?”

Your eyes trailed from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. “Tonight is not the night to ask me that.”

“Why is that?” Eddie chuckled. “Were you in the middle of something? Was something left unfinished when I so rudely interrupted? And now all you can think about is the ache between your legs?”

You shuddered at his words. “Eddie,” you said, your voice shaking.

“I could help you.” Eddie leaned closer, his words almost a whisper. “Because I may not be a rockstar, but I’m sure I could give you the night of your life.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Don’t tease me. It’s not funny.”

“No one’s laughing.” Eddie pulled the blanket back, his hands resting on your thighs. Your legs slightly opened on instinct. “What kind of friend would I be, huh? If I didn’t at least offer?”

Eddie didn’t know where this bravado came from, but he didn’t care. All he knew was the longer you looked at him like that, the harder he got.

You grabbed him by his shirt and forced his lips on yours. Nothing soft or sweet came from your lips. You were needy and desperate, clinging to him like he was the air in your lungs.

The urgency shocked Eddie, but he quickly found your rhythm. He smirked against your lips as he pulled his jacket off. His hands snaked from your thighs to your hips to your ass, lifting you onto his lap. You groaned into his mouth as he rolled you against him.

He was sure he was dreaming now. Only there did he ever picture you above him, grinding your hips into his. Only there did he imagine you moaning from his touch. But never were his dreams this vivid, this real, this fucking good.

He pulled you from him and pushed you back onto the couch. You whined at the loss of contact. He’d never seen your eyes so dark, so lustful, so hungry for him.

He slid down to the floor onto his knees and pulled you to the edge of the couch. “You still want my help, sweetheart?”

You nodded emphatically.

“I need to hear you, baby. Say it.”

“Please help me, Eddie. I need you. Please.”

“Atta girl.”

You lifted yourself up as Eddie pulled your shorts down your legs. Eddie’s cock jumped at the sight of you. He bit his lip to maintain what little composure he had left.

“Aww, your poor little pussy’s just as needy as you, isn’t she?” He spread your knees apart, the cold metal on his fingers sending chills up your spine. The throbbing between your legs only intensified, a small whimper escaping your lips.

Eddie couldn’t wait any longer. There was no time for teasing, no time to explore. You needed him, and he was going to deliver.

He dove into your aching pussy like a man starved. You jumped at the contact, your hands flying to his hair. His tongue worked overtime, kitten-licking your clit before diving in for more.

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he said, smiling against you. You moaned in response, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling him closer.

Your sounds turned him on even more, searching for his own release as he rubbed himself against the couch. His mind was in a daze, in utter disbelief that anyone could look so perfect for him with your legs spread and your back arched. Your chest rose and fell to the rhythm of his tongue, and your lips formed a perfect ‘o’. Oh, how Eddie wanted to feel your lips around his cock. How you’d sink down on him, your perfect innocent mouth being completely sinful just for him.

He placed a finger at your entrance and pumped in and out, his thumb now circling your clit. Your head fell back. “God, yes, Eddie. Just like that.”

“I need you to do something for me, baby,” Eddie said as he added a second finger.

“Wha—what’s that?” you asked, breathless.

“I need you to tell me what you think of when you get off. Tell me what you were thinking of before I showed up at your door.”

“I—I oh god,” you shouted as Eddie’s lips found your clit. “I—I thought about you on your fucking date.”

“Oh fuck,” Eddie groaned into your pussy, the vibrations shooting up your spine.

“I pictured you fucking her from behind, her skirt hiked up to her hips, her panties to the side as you fucked her in front of the bathroom mirror.”

“Fucking C—Christ,” Eddie stuttered, his hips rutting into the couch faster. “Keep going.”

“Then it was me you were fucking. You grabbed me by the hair, so I could watch what you were doing to me,” you said, your voice shaking with every word. “Eddie, please. I’m close. Please.”

“Come on, baby. You can do it. Tell me what I was doing to you.” He was past dreaming at this point. He was sure this was heaven. Hearing your words had him reeling. He didn’t want to stop, didn't know how to stop. He just knew he needed to see you come.

Your lip trembled. “Your hands were all over me, playing with my tits, your lips on my neck, and—and your big cock pounding into me over and oh-ver and—and Fuck! Eddie, don’t stop! Please, please, please!”

Your orgasm crashed down on you, expletives and Eddie’s name on your lips. Eddie continued to pump his fingers in and out of you like a madman as he lapped up your cum.

“Oh god, oh fuck!” he moaned against you.

You pushed his head off of you and caught your breath. Eddie took a breath, too, leaning back against his heels. You pulled him back up to you and kissed him, tasting yourself on your lips.

“That… was so hot,” Eddie said, releasing a breath.

“Can it be my turn to help you?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Eddie’s cheeks rouged slightly, his eyes trailing to the growing wet spot on his jeans. “I had a turn already,” he said, guilt painting his words. He leaned in toward you, a devilish smirk joining his features. “But I’m not done with you. Not yet.”

[catboyieejeno]

nct dream reaction ˚୨୧⋆˚

sleepy sex with the dreamies

cw: no pronouns mentioned but reader has female anatomy, mature, explicit smut, although not explicitly stated—any somnophilia is strictly consensual, established relationship in all of these, little to no plot, oral sex, unprotected sex (this is fiction. pls protect urself), overstimulation, pet names, cum play/cum eating, spit, crying, just pure filth fr... all are pretty long... i got too into it...

masterlist

18+ minors do not interact !

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ mark

it doesn't happen often, but on nights where mark wakes up at an ungodly hour, squirming and coated with a layer of sweat, his first instinct is to look over in search of you. his cock is throbbing, painfully hard in his shorts. he had just had the most obscene dream about you, and now his tip was so sensitive that even the fabric brushing against it made him hiss and shudder.

instinctively, his eyes open and he blinks away any sleep that remains, knowing he can't rest under these conditions. he turns and lets his gaze land on your figure that lays beside him. even in the darkness, he can make out your form, shirt lifting to sit at the small of your waist. hesitantly, mark lifts the covers to reveal your bottom half, and he has to bite down on his lip to keep from gasping out at the view of your ass cheeks peeking out from underneath your shorts.

there’s a sense of shame that awakens within him when he circles an arm around you and presses his front into your thigh with a low groan. mark's hips have a mind of their own, wiggling incessantly until his breathing has grown erratic against your side.

"...mark?" you shift around a little, turning to face him.

"hey, baby," he mumbles. he leans to hover an inch or two above you, dipping down to let his lips press into your cheek. lazily, he drags them over the corner of your lips and your jaw, leaving a wet trail along your skin.

his hums are low, and not for one second has he stopped rubbing himself against your side. in a matter of seconds, the pre cum that leaks from his head has dribbled onto his gray joggers, and a soft sigh leaves his mouth. your brows dip until you blink in realization and look down, mouth parting.

"mark,"

"i need you so bad," he explains.

immediately, your thighs rub together and your mind fogs as his eyes stare into yours, low with sleep and dark with want. you can just make out his delicate features, soft and flushed as he blinks at you tiredly. his bottom lip is wet with spit or maybe drool, and you lean in to kiss it.

"please, i need you, too," you whimper, and he squeezes your waist tighter in response, pulling you closer until the two of you are chest to chest and your boobs are pressed flat against him.

he wastes no time pressing his mouth to yours and letting his tongue push past your lips, feeding you a lewd groan when your leg hikes up around his waist. your clothed cunt is now rubbing directly up against him, clenching around nothing.

"tell me what you want," his words are whispered against your lips, and he slides his hand over your ass, fingers brushing your shorts aside to slide between your folds and collect your slick, "woah, baby. you're so wet already,"

"can't help it," you mutter weakly, grinding down into his digits.

"you like my fingers? wanna ride them, baby?" he teases your entrance, but you shake your head, too distracted by the outline of his entire length pressed against your pelvis.

"no.."

you clutch as his shirt to pull him closer and he lets out a breathy laugh.

"use your words, babe," the sigh that leaves your lips when he flattens his fingers against your pussy makes his jaw go slack, eyes narrowing on your face. his dick twitches at the way your pupils are blown out and unfocused, your wetness squelching on his palm whenever he rubs you.

"please," you whimper, "i just want you inside of me, want you making me feel good.."

"since you asked so nicely," he's pulled down his boxers in seconds, hand pumping himself a few times before he rubs himself between your lips so he can use your arousal to slip in smoothly.

his tip, however, barely pushes into you before he's forced to bury his face in your neck, whining out, "baby, you're too tight, it'll hurt for you,"

"no, it's fine," you blurt, reaching for his hips, "please,"

you clench around him and he grunts, "let me stretch you out on my fingers firs-"

"please, please, please..."

he takes one more experimental thrust, teeth nibbling on your ear lobe, "you sure? i don't wanna hurt you,"

you nod quickly, slurred praises tumbling from your lips, "'feels so good, baby.."

"okay, okay," his hips push past any resistance and he squeezes his eyes shut as he bottoms out. the fluttering of your walls has him seeing stars, and he's desperately trying not to bust already.

when you beg him for more, he lifts his head from the crook of your neck and obliges, letting his pace speed up gradually although he's still careful to watch for any signs of your discomfort. he fails to find any, only your usual soft features molded into pleasure, giving away how you're barely holding it together.

your brow is pinched, eyes glossed over, pants and moans falling from your lips.

"you like that?"

a chant of yeses are whimpered against his cheek, which you lean in to kiss as the pressure in your stomach snaps and your orgasm washes over you.

"damn, baby, you're coming already?" he tries to tease you but he eats his words instantly, a dragged out moan rumbling from his chest at the feeling of your walls pulsing and contracting.

"baby, ease up—you're gonna, oh, fuck," he slows down, "you're gonna make me come if you keep squeezing me like that,"

"i can't, i can't control it.. keep going, please,"

he can't deny you, despite knowing he can't hold on any longer. his hips snap into yours and you cry out, coming a second time and in turn, pushing mark right over the edge.

he empties himself into you as your thighs start trembling, cum shooting from him and filling you up.

by the time he comes down, his tip is so sensitive that he can't even try to muffle the noises that are coming out of him. he's shamelessly whining out, gaze focusing only on your pretty flustered face. he's intent on keeping his movements from stuttering, so that you can savor every last bit of your orgasm, and he only slows down once your breathing fully calms.

both of you have worked up a sweat, foreheads pressed against each other and breaths mixed.

"that was..."

"i know."

"we should wash up," he suggests weakly, though his lids are already falling closed. you shake your head in protest.

"too tired, baby.. in the morning,"

mark is too exhausted to argue, too comfortable in your embrace to get up. his dick is still buried deep within your warm walls. he settles for staying still, wrapping his arms around you so he can hold you as close as possible, humming while you drift to sleep.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ renjun

renjun's wake up call this morning is unlike any other. his eyes open in slivers to guard himself from the harsh light that seeps in through the blinds. only for a moment does he think about going back to sleep but his idea fades as he realizes there's a weight pushing down on his lap, a blurry silhouette hovering over him.

"renjun? sorry for waking you..." you mumble, except you don't sound sorry at all.

your boyfriend lets out a dragged out, confused sound beneath you and you giggle, rolling your hips forward again to grind yourself along his length. there's a bit of drool gathered at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes are still swollen and puffy from sleep, but he's grown fully aware of your ruse by now.

he looks down at the spot where your bodies meet, watching through his slightly blurred vision the way your pussy lips part when his wet head pokes out. his dick is hard, pressed flat against his stomach.

"what's got you so needy this early in the morning?" he says quietly, bringing his hands up to grip your waist and thighs.

meanwhile, your hand slips between your legs to rub at your folds, "had a dream about you," your own moan interrupts you, "then, i looked over and noticed the tent in your shorts... i couldn't help myself,"

"i'm glad you didn't," he mutters. he rubs his eyes quickly and looks over to you again, letting his thumb roll over your nipple, "you look so pretty in the mornings,"

you blush at his compliment, "so do you," and lift your hips in order to guide him toward your entrance. with your lip between your teeth, you slide down him slowly. both of you breathe out in relief at the same time, and your lips pout slightly at the pleasure shooting through your core.

"nng-aah, w-wait." his hands fly to still you and you tense up.

"what's wrong-"

"nothing, i just-" renjun's eyes roll back slightly, "don't wanna come too quickly."

you smirk, "oh?" and lift yourself up again before sitting back down. instantly, your boyfriend brings his palm to his mouth, sinking his teeth down as the blood rushes to his cheeks and tip.

"i need you, jun. i can't wait any longer," you tease, and your pace picks up a bit. renjun tries to warn you again, but his words are slurred, unintelligible behind the hand that clasps over his lips.

his pretty eyes are hazy, and he's watching helplessly as you start bouncing above him. your moans and whines are driving him wild, and the way your walls constrict around him has his thighs trembling against the quietly squeaking mattress.

"i'm not gonna last," he breathes out, and you shake your head.

both of your hands come up to his chest for support and you lean down to kiss his cheek, "it's okay, you can come,"

and he does, before the last syllable even falls from your lips. he's practically whimpering as his dick twitches incessantly. the feeling is overwhelming, mind-blowing, and he decides that perhaps, he's coming so hard because he's barely awake. part of him hopes he's dreaming, only because it means he'd be able to do this all over again.

alas, he is awake, and when he opens his eyes again after his orgasm, you're lifting your leg to climb off of him.

"let's shower, yeah?"

"where are you going? get back here," he sits up, your wrist clasped in his hand, "lay down."

he guides you to lay where he did a moment ago, scooting down to place his face right between your legs. renjun doesn't even wait for you to get comfortable before his mouth is on your pussy, lapping up the mix of his come and your arousal from your pulsing hole.

your core throbs against his mouth and you squeak out at the lewd sounds of sputtering, grabbing at one of his hands to tether yourself. his other hand cups your breast, elbows keeping your thighs parted for him.

renjun's eyes flutter closed as he savors you, relentlessly working you until you cry out his name. drops of your release drip down his chin and onto the sheets and you writhe under his hold.

"yes, yes!" your pleas prompt him to shake his head and you gasp out, fingers pressing into his arms to push him off. he doesn't budge, though, too obsessed with your taste and the prospect of overstimulating you. the longer his tongue fucks you, the longer you come, until finally, he comes up for air.

your chest rises and falls in rugged pants, and he only smirks at your state.

"i'll start running that shower for us. how does that sound?"

"sounds good," you nod weakly, and he squeezes your hand.

"it's a shame," he sighs, and you raise your brow at him. he sighs again, "i ate all my cum out of you. i guess i'll just have to fill you up again,"

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ jeno

there's a strange and warm wetness between your legs, most notable when you shift around in your state of limited awareness and feel your thighs gliding seamlessly against one another.

your eyes peek open tiredly, blinking to adjust to the darkness around you. there's a bit of commotion behind you, familiar low grunts that seethe through tightened teeth. jeno lays behind you, body parallel to match your curved form. he was still at schedules when you had fallen asleep, and it seems you didn't hear him come in.

you continue to look around, quickly finding the reason for the slippery situation between your legs. when you glance down, you catch the sight of his angry tip, rhythmically poking out from between your thighs.

normally, jeno prefers engaging in sexual acts when you're awake. he likes watching you fall apart because of him, it gets him off that much faster. tonight, however, he couldn't help himself. when he got home and noticed you had fallen asleep on top of the covers in only a tank top and panties, his already semi-hard dick practically doubled in size.

he had managed to be silent; until now, that is.

"fuck, yes," his voice is strained, no louder than a whisper.

"j-jeno?"

immediately, your boyfriend sucks in a breath and stops his movements. he's quiet for a moment, but when you stir again, he realizes he didn't imagine your soft voice calling for him. he sighs out.

"did i– shit, baby. did i... wake you?" you'd bet anything that his black orbs are blown wide, cheeks red in shame from being caught.

the corner of your lip lifts and you instinctively reach between your legs, wrapping your fingers around his head and pumping a few times.

"s'okay," you mutter sleepily, letting your eyes close again.

he chokes out a needy mewl, "god, i need you so bad, i need to fuck you. please,"

"m'too tired, jen-"

"you don't have to do any of the work, pretty. just lay back, i'll take care of it," his words are cooed, muffled into your back where he rests his forehead for a brief minute. when you nod and whisper out a few soft pleas, he gives your waist a squeeze.

jeno shifts away just enough for his hands to tug at your waist, rolling you onto your back. he doesn't spare a moment, immediately settling between you and spreading your legs apart to see the mess he made.

the bit of light that bleeds into your room from the streetlamp outside bounces off your soaked thighs, coated in a mix of pre-cum and spit. your boyfriend breathes out shakily, bringing his tongue to your skin to lap up some of the wetness.

the pudge of your thighs feels warm in his hands, flesh rolling against his palm as he massages it.

"i love using you...so pretty, all mine," his index finger hooks around the fabric of your panties, shifting it aside to reveal your cunt. with a pleased hum, he licks up the bit of your arousal that drips down your ass, before laying his tongue flat against you. the muscle works you for a moment, slurping and licking until your arousal and his saliva are coating your entrance.

he nuzzles his face deeper still, nose bumping you deliciously and rubbing into your clit when you grind against him. your quiet squeaks are cut off when jeno pulls back, jaw tightening as he spits on you. he dives back in to kiss your pussy then leans back once more, observing his work momentarily until he decides he's satisfied.

hurriedly, he scoots up onto his knees, slapping his dick on your clit a few times, "i'm gonna fuck you now, yeah?"

you eagerly nod, breathing out shakily as he pushes your legs up and to your chest, literally folding you in half. his left hand is large enough to hold the back of your knees and keep your legs in place, while his right hand guides his tip to push into you.

"mmm baby, 'love how you fill m'up," he understands what you mean even though your words are slurred, and he hisses in response, snapping his hips into yours a little harder. your nails dig into his arm as you whimper, impossibly tight from not being previously stretched out. the burn is delectable, though—a plain reminder of how big he is and how no one else can stuff you quite the same.

the position he has you in allows his tip to nudge your cervix with every thrust until you're squelching around him, sobbing and coming so hard that your vision has turned white. your hand flies to your mouth, eyes squeezing out hot tears that wet your cheeks.

he tries to muster a smug laugh but his jaw goes slack as realizes he's much closer than he thought. some of your juices gush when he pulls out, using his hand to milk himself until he busts all over the backs of your thighs and pussy with a shudder, making his second mess of the night.

his groans are loud and throaty, drawn out until the last of his seed has dripped out of his slit.

"feel free to wake me up like that whenever," you laugh airily. jeno's eyes narrow into cute half moons as he mirrors your smile, chest heaving and glistening. he pushes his hair back, then swipes his palm down his abdomen to wipe away the droplets of sweat that had gathered on his pale skin.

"stay here, let me clean you up."

"it's okay, i can-"

"nuh-uh. i promised i'd do all the work," he bends down to kiss your forehead, "now, let me baby you."

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ donghyuck

"stay still,"

"sorry. just trying to get comfortable."

he hums drowsily, nuzzling his head between your head and shoulder, cheek squished against yours.

"hyuck.."

he shushes you sharply, turning his face to press a sleepy, wet kiss to your cheek. the arms that snake around your waist pull you in closer until your backside is pressing completely to his front.

there's no perceivable space between the two of you, which you would not have minded any other day. today, however, your boyfriend had spent the majority of his morning playing video games. by the time you woke up, he'd already been smashing his keyboard and yelling into his mic in the next room over for at least three hours.

meanwhile, you woke up alone in your bed, panties wet and stuck to your folds, fantasizing about having hyuck fill you up to start your day. his absence meant you were left to tend to yourself, but your fingers were nowhere near as nice as his and your orgasm was weak and underwhelming. as you waited for him to be done, you showered and had breakfast to make time pass quicker, but he still wasn't done. that was an hour ago.

hyuck had returned a mere 15 minutes ago, annoyed by his performance in the game and claiming he was "in desperate need of a power nap." he curled up to your back and closed his eyes with a satisfied sigh, entirely oblivious to your neediness. until now, anyway.

"stop wiggling around! i can't sleep," his speech is slurred and mumbled, and it's obvious he has begun to drift off.

you don't answer or slow your actions, though; instead, you let your lids flutter closed to pretend to match his sleepiness, and roll your ass back into him again. hyuck leans up on his arm to look at you with puffy lips and a raised brow. when you peek open an eye and grind back a little more blatantly, hyuck gasps and grips your hips.

"don't start something you can't finish, baby,"

"i've needed you all day, hyuck! you were off gaming... i had to take care of myself," you whisper-shout, despite there being nobody else in the room. hyuck's mouth parts, brow creasing as lust washes over his tired eyes.

"yeah? i was ignoring you all day, huh?" he leans down to lick the shell of your ear, breathing his next words into it, "let me make it up to you.. let me help my needy baby,"

your cheeks glow pink and you fidget a bit as he squeezes your ass, playing with the flesh in his hands. it doesn't take long before he's shimmying your bottoms down to expose you fully. there's a bit of struggle when the covers get in the way, but he's quick to lift them up. as soon as the material of your clothes and panties is just past your knees, he presses himself against you, grunting as his dick swells within his basketball shorts.

you, beyond worked up, reach back for his hand, dragging it over your waist and between your legs. as soon as he feels you, he laughs.

"hmm, what are we gonna do about that, now?" you don't even answer, letting your actions speak for you. you take your lip between your teeth, maneuvering his fingers to rub circles onto your needy clit.

"that feel good?" when you don't reply again, hyuck slaps your folds gently as a kind of warning, making you clench around absolutely nothing, "use your words," he insists.

"yes," you pant, "feels so good, b-but i need more,"

a sort of content sound rumbles from his chest before he takes his hand back. you almost whine out and complain, but as soon as he slides his shorts down and plunges himself into your wet walls, your whine becomes a gasp.

hyuck, perhaps from being tired still, starts thrusting into you at an excruciatingly slow pace—one you may have the patience to ride out another day. today, however, your cunt is throbbing and begging for a worthwhile release.

your movements start as sloppy squirms, the walls of your entrance swirling around the head of his dick. he looks down to watch the way his length disappears in you, but his eyes roll back when you find your steady and quick rhythm. his hand flies up to hold your boob and his teeth graze your neck.

normally, hyuck is quite vocal, but the moment your ass cheeks start audibly slapping his thighs, pussy taking him insanely well, the moans and praises begin fall from his lips with zero restraint.

at one point, he's even louder than you.

"push that ass back into me baby, fuck."

"hyuck, i'm-" but you don't get to finish that thought, wrapping your fingers around his wrist as you come around him with a yelp.

he holds your hands tight against your chest as you come, whispering sweet nothings into your skin. when he's sure you've milked your release by the way your desperate grinding slows to a stop, he returns to his lazy pace, fucking into you deeply and tenderly.

"so good," he purrs, eyes fluttering closed.

"come for me," you mumble tiredly, and hyuck weakly laughs, digging his nose into your hair. his eyes squeeze shut and you hear the whine that gets caught in his throat when he obliges, stilling and releasing his warm load into your walls.

for a second, you think he might stay there and drift off, but he pulls out and moves to quickly tug your panties up before his cum can spill out of you. he pats your pussy over the soaked through cotton then snakes his arm around you, letting his eyes fall closed.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ jaemin

you will never fail to be impressed by your boyfriend's ability to sleep through seemingly anything.

in fact, despite how long you've dated, there's still no way for you to rationalize this special skill of his; it's practically a talent, and its infuriatingly frustrating. you don't care to admit it out loud, but you are, and always have been, beyond envious.

on days where jaemin goes to bed after you've drifted off, you're always stirred awake by the way the mattress dips to accommodate his tired body. regardless of how gentle he is, how quietly he pads over, lifts the covers, and slips into his side of the bed, he will always wake you up.

it's not like it bothers you! it's something neither of you can help, and you remind him of that every time he holds you close and mumbles that he's sorry for disturbing your rest.

but somehow, here you lie between his legs, hot tongue swirling around his swollen head and licking his slit, and your boyfriend lies completely still, chest rising and falling evenly. he's oblivious to your devious ministrations, even when you start taking him fully into your mouth, moaning and stroking him with your fisted hand in an effort to wake him up so that he can fuck your brains out.

it isn't until you've started trailing kisses along his thighs that he flinches slightly, his muscle twitching under your lips as if whatever you were doing tickled.

"jaemin, please..."

he hums, but he doesn't seem to be fully conscious yet.

"jaemin," you whine. nothing.

alright, fuck it. without thinking it over twice, you bare your teeth and sink them down less than gently on his thigh.

"ah, shi-" jaemin hisses and sits up a bit, leaning back on his elbows. when his hand lifts up the cover and he sees you, he sighs out.

his tone is teasing, the pitch of his voice deeper than usual from sleep, "tsk, tsk... you're so bad,"

"sorry," you giggle, "i've been trying to wake you up for a few minutes now."

"is that right?" he flips the covers away and brings a hand to your chin, his other arm going behind his head, "show me what you were doing, then?"

you hum and bring him to your lips, poking your tongue out to swipe along his shaft.

"fuck, that feels-" he pauses and gulps, "i'm so sensitive,"

"i know," you spit on his tip and pump him a few times, watching how his tired eyelids flutter closed, "like i said, i've been at this for a bit."

"mhm, don't stop. feels good,"

"yeah?"

he nods, gripping your hair to push you down. when he hits the back of your throat, he flexes his thighs, falling back onto the mattress. his free hand is on his stomach, stroking up and down his abdomen that tightens whenever you hollow your cheeks.

"so good to me, baby doll,"

you hum and he echoes you, and you can tell from the way he twitches in your mouth that he's getting close. just as you start bobbing up and down, he pulls you off, replacing his dick with his thumb that pushes down on your tongue.

"what kind of boyfriend would i be if i didn't make my baby come after she sucked me off so well? come sit on my dick, baby."

your pussy clenches and you moan around his digit, nerves buzzing with excitement. when he retracts his thumb, a string of saliva stays behind and he brings his spit covered finger to play with his slit.

he watches as you kneel, knees digging into the mattress as you peel off each item of clothing hurriedly. when you spin around to face his feet and straddle him, jaemin's laughs. his hands come down to slap your ass, keeping each cheek in his grip to guide you down his cock.

"i love this view," he comments, landing one more slap and soaking in the way your skin ripples from the impact. you lean forward to grab his knees, whining out when he thrusts up a few times.

every time his hips meet the bed again, his shaft glistens in your juices, and it only drives him to rut into you faster, to fuck your warm, gummy walls even harder.

so, he does, and he doesn't stop until his balls are slapping up at your clit and you're babbling out a string of praises.

"fuck, fuck. oh, i'm gonna-" jaemin's words get caught in his throat as he comes inside of you, triggering your orgasm. when you squeeze him, he huffs out, blinking away the sweat in his eyes so he can watch the way your head rolls back and your mouth parts in awe.

"that's right, baby," he reaches of your wrists, pulling your arms to rest on his chest so that your back is arched.

"jaemin, you're s'deep," the new angle is delicious, and he doesn't stop until your fluttering walls are so sensitive that the tears have been drawn from your eyes.

exhausted, you fall to lay beside him. his arms pull you close to his chest and he leans up to press a kiss to your lips.

"well, that was quite the way to start our day, huh?"

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ chenle

"poke me again, chenle, and i swear to god-"

"what? what are you gonna do?"

you don't answer, simply settling for turning your back to him and tucking the covers under your chin.

"hey," his finger prods at your hip for the umpteenth time, "i asked you a question,"

"chenle, i'm trying to sleep."

"you don't even work tomorrow," he grumbles, scooting closer. you don't know, but the hand that isn't being used to poke you is tucked deep into his boxers, cupping his dick and balls and occasionally massaging them.

once again, you don't reply.

"babe," he snaps. maybe if you ignore him long enough... "babe! babe, babe, babe, baby, babe, ba-"

at once, you flip around, wrapping your fingers around his throat, your other hand slapping over his mouth.

"chenle, i'm actually going to fucking end you," your hair fans around his face and he gulps under your palm.

"not gonna lie," he squeaks, "this is kinda turning me on," you scoff, eyes trailing down his arm to find it tucked away into his groin.

"perv," you flip back around with a huff, but this time, what pokes you isn't his finger.

his member, which he pulls out through the crotch hole, probes your bare ass cheek a few times, smearing his pearly pre-cum all over your skin. he tucks his face into your shoulder, kissing the skin on your neck.

"come on," he whines a bit, "didn't you like choking me?"

"chenle..." your tone is feigning annoyance, but your thighs are starting to press tighter together. tentatively, chenle slides closer, wary of your short fuse. he's careful to not push your limits, trailing his lips along your skin softly.

you hum out quietly, almost reluctant to give in, and he snickers.

"don't hold back. i want you just as bad." when you crane your head towards him, he kisses your lips, maneuvering your panties to the side in a smooth gesture, "this okay?"

"yes. please, chenle," you breathe into his mouth when he pushes into you, sliding into your warmth. his fingers tap your thigh so that you can hike your leg up. as soon as he has better access, his thrusts grow a little more eager, and as you grow wetter, the sound of him fucking you echoes around the room.

the sheets tangle between your fingers when he pushes all the way into you. he stops like this and you yelp out, completely stuffed, his balls pressed against your needy bud.

a strangled sound comes from chenle's throat from the way your walls are involuntarily fluttering, milking and massaging his length in random bursts. when it becomes a bit too much to sit through, he starts his pace again.

the pressure starts building in your abdomen in no time, but it doesn't last long; before you can fully relish in the feeling of your creeping orgasm, chenle's dick is out of you.

"fuck this," before you can say anything, his hands are turning you around to face him, pulling your leg up and around his waist, "wanna see you," he's explains quickly, then he's back inside of you with a wet squelch, gripping your hip hard enough to leave a bruise. at the way his eyes dig into yours, your jaw goes slack.

"a little more," you purr, and he snaps his cock into you harder, only realizing you've started to come because your voice has cut out and you've stopped breathing for a second, vision blurry from the wave of pleasure. the grip your hands have on his shoulders is deliciously tight, and you try tugging him closer.

chenle grunts, "where do you want it?"

"i-"

"baby, i'm gonna come," he chokes out, "where do you want it?"

"can't make a m-mess," you sigh out, "jus' changed the sheets,"

"baby," he urges and you nod, unintentionally squeezing his dick even tighter.

"inside! inside, please!"

his thrusts falter as he releases, painting your insides with streams of his seed. his smugness doesn't waver. he comes inside of you until he's pumped you full of every last drop, just as you had asked, and then instantly scoffs, laughing at your fucked out face.

"and here you were talking so much shit,"

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ jisung

whatever prompted you to drift into your state of unconsciousness with your legs spread open, jisung doesn't know. what he does know, is that his long and slender fingers are now buried in your cunt, coated in your arousal, and pumping in and out of you slowly.

he hasn't yet decided if he wants to wake you with his actions because part of him wonders if he could make you come in your sleep. so far, with the reactions your body has given him, he thinks he might just be able to.

upon first finding you like this when he woke up from his nap, jisung's dick swelled up in his boxers, tip leaking precum and jolting eagerly in need.

he remembers you mentioning that you wanted to be touched in your sleep, but your boyfriend had never before found an opportunity so perfect to fulfill your fantasy.

he wanted to, but every time he intended to wake you up to his tongue, or his fingers, or even his cock, you had fallen asleep with your legs were pressed together. he knew you might wake up if he repositioned you at all, and he was a bit embarrassed to get caught before he’d even gotten started. today was unlike any of those days, though.

today, your thighs were perfectly sprawled apart, showcasing your pretty folds that barely hid under your shorts. unable to keep himself from such a convenience, jisung brought his index finger to toy with your clit a little, just out of curiosity. in seconds, he noticed the shiny wetness that gathered at your entrance. when he slid his index finger in you and found no resistance, he let out a shaky breath, and that's how he found himself where he is now.

his index and middle finger are stuffed knuckle deep in you, free hand groping his own cock. he's been keeping track of each miniscule change in your body language and currently, his jaw hangs open at the way that even in sleep, your tight pussy is gripping his fingers like a vice, fluttering when he dares to curl his digits and rub your sweet spot.

your lips, which were previously pressed together, are now parted, and your eyebrows are pinched down at the center, almost in confusion. your breathing is faster, too, and he's moments away from ditching his plan to make you come like this.

he's itching to fuck your cunt fast with his fingers, to wake you up and make you come hard until you've soaked his forearm, but then, he hears you mumble something, and he decides to pick up his pace only a subtle amount.

"mmm, ji," you wiggle a bit, "feels good,"

"does it, baby?" he whispers, but you can't answer. you're not awake yet.

he adds his ring finger and your mewls grow desperate, your hands reaching across the bed for anything to grab. jisung knows you well enough to know you're close. he's made you come countless times before, and this wriggling is precisely what you do before you come undone.

ever so carefully, he brings his mouth down to connect to your clit, and as soon as he does, you gasp, eyes blinking open as you finally realize what's happening.

"holy shit, i'm coming," you moan out. your hands disappear into his hair, finally having something to hold and tug on as your back arches and your toes curl. when his teeth graze your bundle of nerves, presumably from the accomplished smile on his face, your leg makes its way over his shoulder to pull him closer, and the two of you hum in unison.

jisung is shamelessly fucking the mattress now, stalling himself so that you can ride out your high on his face and digits. he loves pleasing you just as much as he loves getting off, and the look that you give him when you finally come down has him reeling. his balls are fucking full, and he's so close that he thinks he could come right then and there.

you're shaking with overstimulation, face slightly puffy from sleep. your cheeks are bright red, your pupils are dilated, and the cutest little tired smile is playing on your lips. when you tug his hair gently, he understands it as you pulling him to you.

obediently, he withdraws his fingers and wipes away your wetness from his chin, attaching his mouth to yours to kiss you deeply and desperately.

"was that good?" he mumbles against your lips. you giggle and he does the same, pulling away to look you in the eyes.

"that was fucking great," you kiss him again, "but i wanna make you feel good, too."

"i'm close, but i just wanted to wait until i was inside you,"

with a soft grin, your hands tug his hips closer and jisung kneels with your thighs resting over his own, perfectly aligned with your sopping wet folds.

"fill me up, ji. such a good boy," he groans, both turned on and embarrassed at the same time from the nickname. he knows you're sensitive, so he slips in slowly, and that's all it takes for him to release his thick white cum into you. his head falls into the crook of your shoulder, and you rub his back as he thrusts shallowly, savoring his climax.

⋆ ★

[scarletcomalies]

may i request something??. nat having f!r in all fours, taking her w her strap. all soft, vulnerable. please? need her domestic possessive side (you can create a plot if you're up to, but that's pretty much it!!)

all of you, all of me

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word count: 1,608

Warnings: 18+ content, strap-on usage (R. Receiving), fluff.

A/N: Thanks for the request, anon! Hope you enjoy <3

After a dangerous yet successful mission, Natasha Romanoff returned home to you, her loving partner.

Your thumbs gently ran over the once smooth skin of your beloved, now stained by a few scrapes and bruises to which she gave very little importance.

The woman before you was immune to any stimuli, except your caresses, or you as a whole, for that matter. It was obvious from the way she sighed and closed her eyes as soon as you had placed your hands on her cheeks.

After each life-risking mission, the only thing she needed was to feel your touch, and she wouldn't let some silly superficial wounds to deprive her of this delight.

"Oh, baby," you cooed, tracing a path with your hands from her cheeks to her ears, ending at her red hair. It was tangled, and you could even feel the powdery texture of dirt within. "Would you like me to run you a hot bath? Or would you prefer me to bring the first aid kit? Or would you rather rest?"

"Don't 'baby' me," Natasha grumbled, pulling you closer and wrapping her hands around your waist. "I'm not fragile, I don't need to rest," her tone indicating irritation, as if it was an insult that you simply offered to give her the care she deserved after such hard work. “I just want you, okay?” She added lowly.

You hummed disapprovingly, scratching her scalp in circles to soothe her usual high-defense demeanor. She rolled her eyes slightly, and threw her head back so your hands could continue to run through her scarlet locks.

"You're like a kitten," you commented with a chuckle. "A kitten that needs a bath, a massage, and a good night's sleep."

"I don't need any of that, you know I've had worse," she protested, stubbornness shining through. And it's true, Natasha's been through worse. Much, much worse. "What I need is to get you out of these clothes in the next five minutes...—" she stated, her lips moving to kiss your neck as her hands gripped your hips, pushing you tighter against her.

"Whatever makes my love feel better," you agreed, and it was your turn to tilt your head back to give her more access to that area, to let her slowly give in to the intoxicating need for more of you.

Natasha had given you a fair share of small heart attacks whenever she returned unexpectedly from missions at the most ungodly, unpredictable hours known to human kind. The first time, you had given her a bruise on her torso when you felt an extra weight on your shared bed, thinking someone had broken in.

It took some time for you to become accustomed to the fact that an additional weight no longer signified danger, but it rather indicated the return of your partner from another successful mission.

"I want to touch you," she pleaded, mewled against your ear.

"Well, nothing's stopping you," you whispered, your voice full of desire.

"Damn right!"

One of the things that characterized your relationship with the redhead was her ability to elicit a strong physical response from you, regardless of whether you had been sleeping, or had experienced a rough day, she just had to say the word, and that was sufficient to prompt a readiness on your part to comply.

Natasha's hands exerted pressure on your shoulders, guiding your back against the matress. She observed your body from an arm's distance, her eyes tracing the outline of your skin.

"You have no fucking idea how badly I've longed for this," she murmured.

Her lips captured yours for the first time in three weeks, her tongue exploring your mouth passionately. Said kiss was deep and hungry, chanelling all the longing that had built up during her absence. Her hands desperately traced the contours of your skin beneath your shirt, roaming up and down your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

As the kiss intensified, Natasha nibbled at your bottom lip, pulling it gently between her teeth before releasing it with a soft pop, proceeding to begin a journey southward, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck. She paused at your pulse point, sucking the sensitive spot, and in consequence, eliciting a soft moan from you.

Her hands, meanwhile, had found their way to the hem of your shirt, slowly pushing it upwards. As more of your skin was exposed, the redhead's kisses followed, intending to cover every inch of your upper body with her touch.

She paused for a moment, looking up at you with a brief vulnerability.

"I've missed this," she whispered, her voice raspy with need. "And I've missed you."

With a gentle but quick maneuver, Natasha gently turned you onto your stomach, her hands caressing your back as she did so. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of your pants, slowly sliding them down your legs.

When the fabric pooled at your ankles, her hands returned to your hips. She leaned down, pressing a trail of kisses along your exposed skin, from the small of your back up to your shoulder blades.

"You're beautiful," she murmured against your skin, her breath warm and even comforting in comparison to the already present winter. "So perfect,” she added, as she lifted your hips to position you on all fours.

Natasha sat back on her heels, her eyes never daring to leave your ready body as she slowly began to undress. She started with her sweatshirt, pulling it off to reveal her toned abdomen and the simple black bra underneath. Her fingers then moved to the clasp behind, unhooking it with ease as the garment fell down.

Subsequently, she stood up, taking out of her pants, letting them pool at her feet before stepping out of them. Her underwear followed, sliding down her toned legs to join the rest of her discarded clothing on the floor.

Now fully naked, Natasha stood before you, her soft skin adorned with a few bruises and scratches. Perhaps it was wrong to admire the marks of such physical exertions such as her soul-draining missions, but there was something undeniably magnetic about the way she wore those bruises with pride.

She allowed you a moment to appreciate the sight of her, a small smirk playing on her lips at the obvious hunger you displayed shamelessly.

She then reached for a strap-on dildo from the bedside drawer, and fastened it around her hips, your all-time favorite black silicone perking up and adding to her already alluring form. And so, like a lioness eyeing her prey, she positioned herself behind you.

She started slowly, easing the toy into your hole with gentle, shallow thrusts. Your body welcomed the intrusion, already primed and prepared due to her earlier teasing.

Her hands then gripped your hips firmly as she began to thrust with more force, each movement driving the toy deeper. The room filled with the sound of your combined moans and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

"Mine, mine, mine," she remarked accompanied by each thrust, making you cry out in response.

They became deeper, more forceful, each movement causing waves of pleasure to drown you more and more, threatening to leave you breathless and defeated. The only sound present in the room was that rhythmic, familiar one of skin meeting skin.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" You cried out, followed by high-pitched gasps.

Your eyes were shut tight, your hands gripping the bedsheets with such force your knuckles turned white, anchoring you to reality.

Your back arched involuntarily, pushing you further onto Natasha, seeking more, always more. The clenching on your walls, and the tension on your core built to an almost unbearable level, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

Hers, hers, hers. Utterly and completely hers. With each thrust, each caress, each burning kiss, she once again branded you as her own.

“Nat! M’ gonna…” You weren't able to finish the sentence, for your body went rigid, as the pleasure of release overcame you.

Nevertheless, her hips continued to move, albeit slower and gentler as she helped you ride out your orgasm.

Her lips found the sensitive skin of your back, trailing soft kisses along your spine. This moment, this connection with you, was what she had craved during every lonely night on during her mission.

The feeling of your skin against hers, tte sound of your voice, your addictive scent that was uniquely you, it all reminded her of why she fought so hard to come back home in the first place.

As the aftershocks subsided, you collapsed onto your back, and Natasha took the opportunity to snuggle against you, the last bit of energy gone.

She had the presence of mind to be slightly embarrassed by how quickly and intensely you'd managed to affect her, excessively so, if she was being honest. But she was too drained, too satisfied to care much about it.

"Feeling better, baby?" You asked, your voice soft and filled with affection. Your fingers traced lazy patterns on her back, soothing and filled with tenderness.

Instead of a verbal response, Natasha managed a weak nod against your skin.

Her hands moved languidly, cupping your breasts in a delicate manner that contrasted with her earlier fervor. She let out a contented sigh as she settled her face more firmly between them, nuzzling against your soft skin. She could perfectly fall asleep right there and then, all spent and completely at peace.

Natasha pressed a soft kiss to your chest, right above your beating heart. It was a wordless expression of gratitude, of love, of coming home. No matter where her missions took her, no matter what dangers she faced, you would always be her sanctuary, her safe haven in a world of disaster.

[awesumsaus]

pretty when I cry

wc: 6k

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: what was meant to be a slow relaxing morning after a night out with joel turns into something much more.

a/n: so I’ve been trying to work out the rest of my tlou series but couldn’t get this idea out of my head. it’s entirely self-indulgent, absolute filth, literally inspired by porn (but with feelings). pls skip if you’re not comfortable with anything outlined in the warnings/tags, otherwise hope y’all enjoy :] (and if anyone has any interest in a part two lmk bc I may or may not have some ideas lolol)

warnings/tags: explicit 18+ (minors dni), no outbreak au, softdom!joel, smut with a hint of plot, established relationship, age gap, reader is described as small/little but also curvy, hints of possessive!joel, daddy kink, almost dd/lg dynamics, subspace, oral (f receiving), slight somnophilia (very consensual), size kink, dirty talk, so many petnames (baby, honey, pretty girl, little girl), painful sex but Joel is a consent king, aftercare, fingering, *cough* butt stuff *cough*, unprotected pinv, squirting, barely proofread sorry

It wasn’t uncommon, for you to wake up like this, Joel’s head of salt and pepper curls dipped below the covers, his mouth eagerly pulling an orgasm from your pliant body. So it comes as no surprise when you’re roused awake by the sound of your own whines and whimpers, slipping through your lips like soft little pleas. Your tired eyes shift to the top of his head, the sheets bunched at his wide shoulders, leaving you bare and exposed to the cool morning breeze blowing through the open bedroom window. 

He works in slow languid movements, yet he has you gushing around his tongue nonetheless, his mouth warm and wet against your dripping sex, still soft and swollen from the previous night’s activities. You’d fallen asleep, damp and sticky, only after he’d pounded you into his mattress until the early hours of the morning. 

Upon waking, the feeling of his cum still dripping out of you, legs wrapped around one of his dense thighs, it drove him positively insane. It didn’t matter how peacefully asleep you were, how steadily you drew breaths between your plush lips, he had to have you the moment his eyes set on you.  

He senses you’re awake when your fingers delicately twist through the curls at the crown of his head. He hums contentedly against you, the vibrations making your eyes fall closed once more as wanting sounds slip past your lips. You’d never been one for religion, but seeing Joel for the past several months has you questioning everything. The way his mouth moves against your pulsing core leaves you with no choice but to believe in some higher power, some celestial being that deemed you lucky enough to allow a man like Joel into your life.

He pulls away from your messy cunt and you whine at the loss. Your glossed over eyes meeting his with pupils blown wide. “Mornin’ pretty girl,” he says, his voice gruff and his lips shining with your slick. The sight sends another wave of warmth straight to your core. 

“Hi,” you say, tone gentle and weary with sleep. A timid smile spreads across your lips as you run a hand through his scruff. No matter how many times you wake up next to him, how many times he fucks you senseless, you always manage to grow shy under his salacious stare. 

He plants a fleeting kiss to your clit and you shudder, you can feel him smirk even as your gaze shifts to the ceiling above you. Your hand unknowingly grips his hair tighter and urges him towards where you need him most, not even noticing your own action until you hear Joel let out an amused chuckle. 

“So needy for me, huh baby?” He runs a hand from your thigh over the curve of your hip, his touch featherlight over the certain spot by your hipbone that he knows drives you wild. His fingers end splayed across your lower belly, his thumb rubbing small circles into your skin. 

“Always need you, daddy,” you say, only slightly above a whisper, a small buck of your hips to get your point across. The petname has his already half hard cock twitching against the sheets, his other hand instinctively squeezes the flesh of your hip. 

With no warning, his lips are on you again, his pace now fast and increasingly sloppy. He eats at you like a man starved, his curved nose rubbing against your clit with each of his movements. The intensity of it all makes your head spin and your cunt clench around nothing. A ghosting pain lingers in your lower half, another reminder of the evening prior. 

The two of you had gone out, like you often did on Friday nights, deciding on a new spot downtown. Joel was hesitant at first, having heard it was more popular with the younger crowd, more catered to people your age. But he’d learned early in your relationship that saying no to you was nearly impossible, with your big doe eyes and sweet pleading smiles, he rarely had it in him to deny anything your little heart desired. 

But God, the little black dress you wore nearly had him throwing you over his shoulder and locking you away in his bedroom for only his eyes to ever behold. Joel would never admit to being the possessive type. He knew what other men saw in you, wide eyed and sweet, kind beyond reason, with a gorgeous smile and beautiful curves. He saw the way they’d look at you, saw the way their eyes followed your perfect form, like predators stalking their prey.

He would never admit to being the possessive type, but his incessant grip around your waist in every public space and the death glares he’d send any man that looked your way proved otherwise. And despite your attempts to dissuade his arrogance, there was a part of you that craved to be claimed, to be marked as his. 

The week had been long and draining. Your overbearing boss forced you to work overtime into the late hours of the evening nearly every night, and with Joel’s days often starting as early as 5am, he was usually sound asleep by the time you’d managed to feed yourself and drag your exhausted corpse to bed. 

To no fault of his own, Joel hadn’t paid much attention to you this week, leaving you feeling neglected and irritated despite his generally relentless attentiveness towards you. And so you decided to toy with him, always testing his limits and seeing how far you can go before he snaps. You wouldn’t admit it, but you kinda liked him a little angry. 

And boy was it easy to get a rise out of him, especially dressed the way you were, your ass only just covered and your tits spilling over the tight corset-like top of your dress. You had his blood boiling before the two of you even left his house. When you finally walked through the bar entrance, Joel was like a guard dog, his arm wrapped tightly around your lower waist, a permanent scowl imprinted on his face towards the many male bar goers that ogled you. He had you tucked so close to his body you were nearly tripping over his feet with each of your steps. 

After your first drink you were feeling antsy, and a bit too bold for you own good, and so you flirted with them, boys you had not a single shred of interest in, laughed at their jokes and accepted their offers to buy you drinks, all the while glancing back at Joel, biting your lip, trying not to giggle at his grimace and the way redness began spreading up his neck. You’d retreat back to your table, to Joel, prizes in hand, and feign innocence when he’d question what you were up to. 

“What do y’ think you’re doin’,” he questioned after you had slipped away to the bar a second time under the guise of needing to use the restroom. You padded up to him, slotting yourself between his thighs, twirling the straw in your drink between your fingers. Even sitting on the barstool he towered over you. 

“Nothin’, daddy.” You looked up at him through your lashes, knowing fully well what your words did to him. You brought the hand that wasn’t holding your drink to his upper thigh, you could feel the muscle tense as you slid your way up, up, up. 

“Watch it, little girl.“ He grabbed your wrist, hard. You instinctively tried to pull away, but his grip was firm. He jerked you towards him, your chests nearly touching before bringing your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly, a stark contrast to the death grip he still had on your wrist. 

His voice was low, a sign of warning. “F’ you want somethin’ from me, all you gotta do is ask, darlin’.” 

You huffed and pouted slightly when he released you, ignoring the fact that your actions resembled those of a petulant child. Despite knowing that he would give you anything you asked of him, having proved it to you countless times over the course of your relationship, the neglected feeling in your chest grew. You didn’t want to ask, sick of making decisions and telling others what to do after the week you’d had. You wanted him to take. 

It was after your third disappearance, this time to actually use the restroom, that Joel snapped. Passing by the bar, one of the young men that bought you a drink attempted to stop you in your tracks. You didn’t pay him much attention, just smiled and nodded at his words, quietly trying to slip by. But then his hands were on you, grabbing your waist in a way that made your stomach turn. You hadn’t even had time to register a response, to push him away and run back to Joel, before his hands were leaving your body and being replaced by much larger ones, rough and calloused. Joel’s hands. 

“We’re leaving, now,” he grunted, pulling you by the back of your arm towards the exit. It was only after he’d practically thrown you into the passenger’s seat of his truck that you knew you were in for it. 

You’d barely made it to the front door before he was ripping the fabric of your little black dress from your body, letting the torn pieces fall to the floor. Immediately you’d attempted to scold him, it was one of your favorites, but couldn’t get a word in before he was throwing your bare body over his shoulder and carrying you to his bedroom, promising he’d buy you as many dresses as you wanted if you’d shut up and let him have his way with you, let him fuck you stupid, until the only thoughts going through your head were Joel, Joel, Joel.

He spent the following hours relentlessly pulling orgasm after orgasm from your pliable body, impaling you on his thick cock until hot tears streamed down your cheeks. 

“I know, baby,” he said from his place behind you, your limp whimpering form draped across the edge of the bed. “Just needed to be reminded who you belong to, huh?” His voice was mocking, but with a certain sincerity that made your cunt clench even harder around him. 

“Yours, daddy,” was all you could manage before you came around his cock for what felt like the hundredth time that night. 

Needless to say you were feeling extra sensitive this morning, Joel was hyper aware of this fact, yet the feeling of his tongue repeatedly diving into your abused hole had you begging for more. “Need you inside,” you say despite the hurt. Joel holds back a groan at your pleas, needy little thing. He pulls away just slightly to meet your gaze, his breath still hot against your core. 

“Not gonna put my cock in you, honey.” The finality in his voice makes your heart drop and tears prick in the corners of your eyes. You were always like this in the mornings, he had come to notice, sensitive, soft, often emotionally even more so than physically. Joel had always been an assured man, never impulsive or reckless in his actions, always thoughtful and never selfish. But with you he’d learned patience. He’d learned to hold your emotions in the palm of his hand with a certain gentleness he never knew himself capable of. He’d learned you often needed more time than most to become placid, to settle, and so it became almost a sense of his, knowing when to take and when to give, even when you weren’t sure yourself.  

“Please-“ you whine, tears in your voice. His big brown eyes soften when they meet yours, his resolve slipping only momentarily while he moves to kiss the inside of each of your thighs. 

“Not gonna convince me, baby.” he tuts. “Can’t take me yet.” He moves higher, nuzzles into the soft skin above your clit. You let out a small gasp when he starts sucking harshly, surely leaving a bruise, a mark that only he will ever see. 

“I can. I promise.” You wriggle in his hold, feel your wetness drip onto the sheets. He nips the spot and pulls away. 

“Quit.” He pins your hips harder, his eyes meeting yours once more. “Maybe if you hadn’t been such a goddamn tease last night I wouldn’t’ve had to wreck this perfect little pussy.” He runs a finger through your folds as he says it and you tense slightly. He raises an eyebrow at you, an I told you so look, you huff in frustration, yet you relax in his hold. 

“You ready to be good f’ me, baby?” His voice seeps through your ears like honey, your mind beginning to wander to that all too familiar headspace you often turned to in these moments. You nod your head, eyes hooded. Joel senses the shift. “You’re gonna take whatever daddy gives you yeah?”

“Yes,” you gasp as you feel just the tip of his index finger probe your dripping hole, Joel gauging your response. 

“N’ then what d’ you say?” He twists his finger inside you and pushes in just to his first knuckle, the stretch already intense given your increased sensitivity. 

“Thank you, daddy,” you sigh, not a single shred of fight left in you. A devilish smirk spreads across his face. 

“Good girl.”

His hands are on the backs of both your thighs, hiking your legs up so that they’re pressed firmly against your chest, your glistening folds on full display. You shiver as the cool morning air hits where you’re most vulnerable. He then pushes your knees apart, situating himself so that his mouth is only inches from your core while still holding you in place, your legs spread obscenely wide to accommodate the breadth of his shoulders. 

He spits directly on your clit and watches as it drips down your cunt, combining with the mess of wet already there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but it’s how Joel likes you, filthy with his cum and spit and your own slick. You tremble as he smooths his hand over your mound, his undivided attention on the mess he’s creating. When he’s satisfied, the pad of his thumb finds your clit, rubbing small circles into the bundle of nerves, making your hips buck once more.

He pauses his movements, his eyes dark and entirely void of any sense of leniency. “Not gonna tell you again.” A tear pools in your lower lashes at the loss of his touch, your breathing goes shaky. 

“So pretty when you cry f’ me, honey,” his tone mocking. “Almost as pretty as when you come for me.”

His mouth is back on you, even more ravening and unrelenting than before. You have to bite down on your pillow to prevent yourself from screaming when his lips wrap around your clit, sucking the sensitive bud into his warm mouth. Every cell in your body is screaming for his touch, needing more, more, more. You want to be enveloped by him by not just his mouth, but every part of him. You have the sudden desire to crawl under his skin, make a home for yourself there, where all you can ever feel is him, him, him. 

The peaceful sound of birds chirping outside the window is drowned out by your cries and the pornographic squelches of your wet sex. Your vision blurs as his tongue plunges in and out of you. 

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he pulls away for only a second, his eyes not leaving your center as he anchors his thick arms under your ass and thighs, bringing your cunt impossibly closer to his eager mouth.  

Joel knows your body, knows what every twitch and minor shift means, how your breathing quickens when he’s brought you right to the edge, the sounds you make when you’ve completely given in, forfeited all control. And he senses it, when his thumb presses against the cleft of your ass, and a moan slips from deep within your throat, that he’s uncovered something, something that makes his cock twitch and drip onto the sheets below him. 

He pulls away quick, too quick, and your face burns, the fleeting sensation prompting a new surge of desire in the pit of your stomach. The feeling was foreign, a bit startling, but in a way that left you longing for more. If you were to trust anyone to delve into this part of yourself, this uncharted territory, it would be Joel. It would always be Joel. He knew how to take care of you better than any man you’d ever known. With him you were safe, you were heard, cherished and adored. With him there was no emotion too big or too small, no desire left unsated. 

“Joel-“ you breath. “Joel, baby. I want-“

He pulls away from you, a knowing look in his glassed over eyes. “What is it, honey? What d’ you want?”

He can’t help himself and licks a long strip from your asshole to your clit, moaning at the taste. “Fuck- Joel,” you cry out, a drop of sweat falling to your forehead. “Want- want your fingers.”

“Where d’ you want my fingers, baby.” He says it more like a command than a question, but you can’t respond, your head falling back as he starts lapping at your clit. “You want them in this sweet little cunt?” He prods one of his thick fingers at your opening, but quickly pulls away, leaving you clenching around nothing. 

You bite your lip, eyes hooded. “Mm,” you shake your head. His eyes are nearly black now, something unhinged, sinful behind his gaze. He knows what you want, the seed already planted in his insatiable brain, but he wasn’t going to give in to your pleads that easily. 

“Dirty girl.” His voice has dropped an octave. “Tell me what you want.”

“Please, daddy” you squirm, tears pooling at your waterline, threatening to fall at any second. His hardened grip on your hips softens for a moment before he’s turning his head and biting the inside of your thigh, hard. You gasp, a tear rolls down your cheek. “Use your words.”

“I wan- I-I don’t-,” you babble, the tears now flowing freely, leaving wet trails down your cheeks. He lets you choke on your words for a moment, not once tearing his eyes away from yours. 

“Oh honey, I know s’ hard,” he soothes, sliding his hand along the curve of your ass. Your tears slow. “S’okay. Daddy’s gonna give you what you need. No more cryin’.”

You sniffle, a small smile spreading across your face at his words. You always had a way of making him cave.

His expression goes serious for a moment. “What’s your safe word?” Red. “And you’ll use it if you want me to stop?” Mhm. “Repeat it.” His commanding tone sends a chill down your spine. “If I want you to stop, I’ll say red,” you say softly and run a hand through his curls, wet with a mixture of your sweat and his own. 

“Fuck, baby. Gonna make you feel so good,” he says more to himself than you. Your brain turns to absolute mush when his mouth meets your skin once again. 

Even with his head between your legs, even when he’s on his knees for you, he’s the one in charge, the one that dictates your every move. How your body twists and bends to his will. He decides when you get to cum, decides when you’ve earned it. And there’s a certain feeling that comes with it, this loss of autonomy, a sense of ease and security created by a total loss of control. No other man you’ve been with has understood, most of them only seeking to fulfill their own selfish wants. But Joel knows, having understood this unfamiliar part of you almost as soon as the two of you met, knowing exactly how to satiate that little corner of your brain that craves submission. 

You suck in a sharp breath when you feel his calloused thumb return to your tight hole, tensing a bit when he adds more pressure. 

“Relax, baby.” And you do, your muscles go lax almost immediately and the furrow in your brow softens. You exhale a moan as he begins kissing your cunt, avoiding your most sensitive areas so that he can keep you focused on the feeling of his thumb pushing into you. 

“Fu- fuck, Joel!” You basically shriek when the tip of his thumb breeches the ring of muscle, it’s already all consuming, already so full.

He retracts his thumb and you let out a choked sound before he brings his thick finger to your wetness, gathering slick on the pad of his thumb before resuming his unrushed stretching of your virgin hole. 

“More ngh- please.” He prods you painfully slow, assessing your every reaction as his knuckle plunges into you. 

“Uh-uh. Don’t care how nice n’ polite you ask, baby. Not gonna ruin this little hole.” He plants wet kisses along your seam. “Not yet,” he says almost inaudibly against your mound before devouring you once more. The promise of more makes something in your brain snap, all the shyness and trepidations from before gone in one fleeting moment. 

He stretches you slowly, the speed of his mouth quickening and his thumb beginning to slide more easily in and out of you. You’re entirely lost in the feeling, completely overwhelmed by the pressure and the speed of his tongue on your clit. You cry out when he removes his thumb, replacing it with his middle finger, and dipping his freed digit into your cunt, completely overcome, overstimulated in the best way. 

It’s too much, but not enough. But no, it’s too much. He’s everywhere, in your cunt, your ass, your head. All you can think is how anything in life could ever feel this good. How anyone can be this good, this knowing of your every want, every need. The thought makes tears pinch at the corner of your eyes. 

His gaze is fixed on you, every twitch, every shift. He nearly comes at the sight of you grinding down on his fingers. That’s it baby, fuck yourself on my fingers. His movements slow, your orgasm begins to fade and you whine. You’re not even thinking when you bring your delicate fingers to your clit and trace small circles against the bundle of nerves. Joel immediately grabs your hand and pins it to your lower stomach, nearly growling against your skin. Any other time he’d have you bent over his knee for not asking permission, but he’s so drunk on you, so dead-set on making you come apart, he lets this one slide. 

“Need t’ come so bad, huh baby?” You nod your head furiously, a few more tears slipping down your cheeks. “Go ‘head n’ ask for it then, baby. Nice n’ polite like I know you can.”

“Please daddy, please let me come.” You barely register the words falling from your mouth, but the proud look on Joel’s face tells you all you need to know.

It doesn’t take much to send you over the edge. He sucks harshly on your clit, pulling it into his mouth, while his thick fingers work each of your holes. His hand holding yours presses harder, harder, harder until the tension snaps and you’re screaming, sobbing out as you gush around him, soaking his scruff to the point that your slick drips from his chin and onto the already drenched sheets. He works you through it, curling his fingers into your cunt so that another warm stream of slick hits his tongue. And he takes, not letting a single drop go to waste as he laps at you. 

Your head is still buzzing when he finally ceases his movements, the shockwaves of your orgasm still flowing through you making your whole body shake. Your muscles convulse as he slowly pulls his fingers from your core. 

With blurred vision you watch him stand at the end of the bed, his cock painfully hard, red and leaking. You hadn’t even considered what all this was doing to him, so lost in your own pleasure from the moment your eyes opened. You have the sudden urge to fall to your knees and take him into your mouth until he comes deep down your throat, but your body is limp, sunk into the mattress below you. You merely watch with hooded eyes as he fists himself, his gaze fixed on your slicked core, the sight makes another pool of your arousal drip onto the sheets.

“Fuck-“ he sucks in a sharp breath, his hips stuttering against his own hold. “Need t’ be inside this tight cunt, baby.”

Your eyes go slightly wide at his confession, yet your lower half shakes with anticipation. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this, this wrecked, desperate, this needy. He looks almost pained when your eyes meet his, and you feel as though you may just implode if he’s not inside you a moment longer. 

“Will you let me, pretty girl?”

You nod. 

“Yes or no, baby?” He squeezes the base of his shaft, staving off his impending release. You can’t help but smile a little, knowing he could come just like this, just from looking at you in your current state. But the need to feel him inside of you pulls you from the thought. 

Yes, please, yes.

He grabs your hips and swiftly flips you, shoving a pillow under your lower belly and pushing down on you until you’re laid almost flat on your stomach. He grabs roughly at your hips, pulling you up so that his cock brushes up against your slick folds. 

You bite down on your forearm when his wide tip notches at your entrance, basically drooling onto your own skin as you attempt to hold back your cries. He eases into you, still overly conscious of your sensitivity, ignoring the small part of his brain telling him to ram into you, make you feel every inch of him in one swift motion. He knows that you would take it, thank him for it, always such a good girl for him especially once he’s finally inside you, yet he knows the kind of control he has over you in these moments, knows it’s up to him to determine what you can and can’t take. 

When he bottoms out you feel as though you may just split in two, something animalistic sounds from deep within Joel’s throat. Tears fall to your arm when your head lolls to the side, your breathing ragged and your whole body on fire from both pain and pleasure.

“Fuck- not gonna last, baby.” He starts moving in and out of you slowly, and god, it hurts, yet your tight cunt sucks him back in with each of his thrusts, a delicious burning sensation spreading along your slick walls. You open your mouth to respond, to tell him not to worry himself, to beg him to come inside your aching cunt. But all that escapes your lips is a choked sob in the sound of Joel’s name. 

“Shh I know,” he coos. “You’re just so little, huh sweet thing? Little fucking cunt squeezing me so good honey.”

You keen at his praise, gushing around his massive girth. You’d never get used to it, the thickness of his cock, the weight of him deep inside your cunt. No matter how much he prepares you, it’s always a stretch, always just short of too much to bare. 

His thumb presses into the cleft of your ass as his pace increases. “Gonna let me fuck you here, baby?”

“Yes daddy,” you say and he freezes for a moment, your words nearly sending him over the edge. 

“Not today, little girl,” he growls and rocks back into you. A feeling of combined relief and disappointment washes over you. You’re not sure you could take it, not now, but part of you craves to be reduced to nothing but Joel’s fuck toy, fucked deep and full until you can’t even think, nothing but a few holes to be filled. 

“You’d let me though, wouldn’t ya?” He pulls you from your thought. “Dirty fuckin’ thing.”

“Mhm, yes daddy.” Your vision goes black at the feeling of his cock pulsing against your cervix. He was close, you could feel it in the way his thrusts went erratic, sloppy and slightly hurried. 

“Let me do whatever I want to ya, huh?”

“Yes daddy,” you say the only two words left in your brain. 

“Fuck, so fucking perfect, baby-“ The feeling of his warm release shooting inside of you makes you twitch around him and your brain go fuzzy. You can barely hear Joel’s grunts and moans nor his incessant praises over the ringing in your ears. This is what you craved, beyond the physical gratification brought on by these moments, but the way the world around you disappeared and you were filled with nothing but the content of being his, being Joel’s. The safety you felt beneath his large form, it leaves no room for worry, no thoughts of the stress of everyday life, no decisions to be made. Just him, just Joel. 

You’re not sure how long the two of you stay like this, long enough to feel your combined release dripping from Joel’s cock onto your trembling thighs, long enough that you feel yourself dipping in and out of sleep, in and out of consciousness. 

When he finally pulls out of you, he lets your hips softly fall onto the bed, your body sprawled across the damp sheets. You feel the mattress shift behind you as he stands, immediately heading for the en suite bathroom. At the loss of his presence, you’re reminded of the open window, the now midmorning breeze dancing across your damp skin. You can’t help but wonder if the echoes of your morning endeavors made their way to the street below, if a neighbor passing by could make out the sounds of your shrieks and screams, if perhaps it’d been a cause for concern until it became apparent that your cries were derived from a place of pleasure and not pain nor fear. 

Joel returns and takes quick notice of your shivering, immediately making his way to the window and shutting it. You smile to yourself at the sight of his bare backside, so strong and sturdy, the muscles in his shoulders sculpted from years of working on various job sites, tapering down to his waist, the dimples right above his ass. It’s truly a view you would never tire of. 

“‘S impolite to stare, y’ know?” He catches your eye, a playful smirk spread across his face. You giggle at him, still laying on your belly, your head tucked into the crook of your elbow. He chuckles when you make grabby hands at him with your free hand, to which he quickly concedes, bending over at your side and planting a kiss on your lips. You sigh against him, carding your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. 

“Hey baby.” He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your nose. He tucks fallen pieces of hair behind your ear. “You okay?” 

You nod your head tiredly, unable to muster any more of a response, and he doesn’t attempt to pull one out of you, kissing your nose and rising back to his feet. 

He disappears once again, this time returning dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and a damp washcloth in hand. He sits next to you on the bed, moving to clean between your legs, but your thighs clamp shut. It’s a purely physical reaction, your body on high alert due to the sensitivity. 

“Hey hey-“ he runs a soothing hand up and down your spine then leans over to press a kiss to your shoulder. “Just want t’ clean you up sweet girl. I’ll be so gentle, promise.” His soothing makes your legs instinctively relax and he brings the washcloth to the apex of your thighs. He’s gentle just like he promised, yet you still hiss slightly when the warm material meets your sensitive skin. 

When he’s finished, he grabs one of his t-shirts and a pair of shorts from the dresser, quickly returning to your side and urging you to turn onto your back. He dresses you, your body like putty in his hands, his touch gentle and warm. You can’t deny the aching feeling in your lower half when he slides your shorts on, but it’s a good kind of ache, an ache you’ll crave as soon as it dissipates. 

You grab at him again when he moves to pull away, but he makes it easy for you, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours, careful not to bare any of his weight on you. The little whimpers that slip past your lips as your warm mouth moves across his make his spent cock twitch.

It scared him sometimes, the intensity with which he felt for you, the depth of his affections. It scared him, the thoughts he had, of what he would do to those who meant to hurt you, to those who have hurt you. It scared him, the thought of losing you, the lengths he would go to keep you safe, keep you here, here with him. But it was in these moments, when you’re laid beneath him, so soft and so lovely, that all those fears melted away. 

Before things move any further, he hooks his arms under you and lifts you from the bed with ease. You don’t protest, not sure you could even if you wanted to, instead you latch onto him, curl your face into his neck and wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you downstairs to the living room. 

He attempts to set you on the couch, but you cling to him like a koala, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “Let go,” he says firmly, a smile behind his words. “Don’t wanna,” you mumble against his skin, whining as he unfurls you from his torso and plops you on the couch. He places the TV remote in your hand, telling you to put somethin’ on, whatever you want.

He disappears into the kitchen and you attempt to sit up on the couch, your body going slack against the cushions. Your brain is still buzzing, it’s almost like you’re floating, not yet fully aware of your surroundings, but you can slowly feel yourself coming back to reality. You turn the TV on and set it to your latest recording. 

Joel returns a few minutes later, your favorite water bottle and a plate of peanut butter toast in hand, a bottle of Advil in the other. He sits on the couch, immediately urging you onto his lap, and you don’t object. 

“The Bachelor?” He says, a hint of judgement in his voice as he unscrews the cap of the Advil. 

“You love it,” you respond, beginning to lose focus on the show as you squirm and slither against his body, making yourself comfortable as if he were part of the couch. Joel softly chuckles, wrapping an arm loosely around you.

He holds a few of the pills in front of you. “Joel I’m fine. I don’t-“

“Not asking, sweetheart.” You roll your eyes, but take the Advil from him nonetheless, swallowing them down when Joel holds the straw of your water bottle to your mouth, knowing your body would thank you for it later. 

“Good girl,” he plants a quick kiss to your temple, before grabbing the toast from the coffee table, heat rises to your cheeks at his words.

He feeds you the toast, taking bites for himself while you chew. You hadn’t realized how depleted your body was, now feeling the haze lift with some food and water in your system. Every time it’s like coming back to earth, but fortunately you know that Joel will always be there to catch you. 

y'all I’m not good at endings pls forgive me

but hope we enjoyed the rest :p

part two

[kysuguru]

two out of three. that’ll work — stsg x fem!reader

synopsis : gojo still doesn’t take to you, but in the throes of your eyes geto’s smile is prettier and shoko’s personality is much more welcoming. you’ll live.

all mine masterlist

includes / cw : nothing ^_^

a / n : i’m sooooo sooo so sorry for such a long wait, truly. i nitpick HELLA. and i want everyone to remember this book was made on a whim. an impulse book if u will. so even though i have concrete ideas and outlines for the main plots, i’m writing as i go while making my way there. I trashed this about three times before finally coming to a conclusion i was somewhat satisfied with. please enjoy

You lay awake, staring at the ceiling of your dorm absentmindedly. Your alarm has yet to ring. It’s presumably thirty minutes before you have to get up and prepare for the day. Your eyes are burning and it hurts to blink, your throat feels dry and scratchy; aching for its thirst to be quenched, and your body is exhausted beyond belief. Your brain craves rest more than anything, but you still aren’t able to succumb to that sweet sleep you crave. It’s been about 15 minutes already, you think. If the steadily rising sun is anything to go by. Time passes by fast when you need it to be slow. Maybe it’s the nerves. Or the fact that it wasn’t until midnight that you returned to your dorm.

Five hours of sleep was the minimum you could get, your brain didn’t let you rest long. But you figured you’d be alright. Whenever curses were near your house, one instance of one being in your bedroom, you remember not sleeping at all if not at least 30 minutes. You got in trouble that day and scolded by your mother for sleeping in class.

As of now, your eyes are droopy and red and your body feels cramped. But the accomplishment you feel after understanding more of this foreign world of curses overrode your exhaustion. You’re not sure if you feel that same sentiment now though. You cursed your past self for putting you through such strain. Your thirst for knowledge occasionally brought you one step forward and two steps back. Being all knowing was the only way you felt significant.

As of the moment, it was one of those instances where your yearning hurt more than it nourished. Though, it was all really fascinating. Cursed energy, cursed techniques, and how they worked and came to be, there wasn’t a second you could bring yourself to put the books down. To believe the negative emotions of people fester into those horrid creatures…

It’s no wonder they were around every single corner of your school.

You’re embarrassed to say you still have no idea what your technique is, or the innate technique you were born with — or if you had an innate technique for that matter. From what you know being born with an innate technique isn’t all that likely. They manifest from ages 4-6 yet no matter how much you shuffled through your memories to see if there were any instances where you were forced to use your technique, you’re left with nothing. Maybe you did and just don’t know or don’t remember — that’s the most irritating part. You grip your hair slightly, eyes burning into the white of your walls.

There are bags forming under your eyes, you think. It hurts a bit to blink, since you got accustomed to keeping them open while flipping through books, the intrigue not allowing you to divert your attention from the pages for even a second. But to you, it was worth it. One more step to learning about this and making your way back home. To where your mother was (hopefully) missing you just as much as you do her. Maybe you should get up and attempt to cover up the evidence of your lack of sleep.

You turn to lay on your side, staring at your open palm. If you look close enough you can see a faint scar. You clench your fist closed, blinking groggily. Your breathing starts to get steadier as you stare at your knuckles, your eyes feel as if weights are pulling them down, your mind wanders to random things you don’t remember thinking about a millisecond later.

Before you know it, you’re falling asleep.

Though the three seconds of bliss was nice while it lasted, before the familiar obnoxious beep of your alarm clock rang through your ears.

You sigh. You should’ve expected that. Your mind slipped once you woke and you forgot to turn that damned thing off. Though maybe that mistake was a blessing, being late to your first day of class would be a horrible first impression. Or would it be second..?

Now you stand in the mirror and eye your uniform with intense uncertainty. You have an inkling that you look stupid. So you tug your skirt down a little bit. Ok, now you look 12. You pull up the hem.

…

Maybe you should add stockings.

The addition is better, you deduce. You’re content with this. You smile at your reflection, speaking encouraging words to yourself internally. You feel your body shake a bit at the idea of entering the classroom, the thought of four pairs of eyes glued to your form, but your body relaxes slightly at the memory of Shoko. She called you her friend, whether or not it was genuine, you’ll take what you can get. There is no point in being greedy and craving for what you don’t have — or deserve.

You lift your leg and adjust the back of your shoe to fit over the sole of your feet properly. You huff in satisfaction, standing straight and adjusting whatever you could before heading out.

Wait. Do you need supplies? Shit, now you’re nervous all over again.

Wait, wait, wait. If you needed supplies, you would’ve been informed earlier, so if required, Yaga should be obligated to give you what you don’t have.

…That’s unless he did mention it and you just weren’t listening.

Your back is against your dorm room door as you grip your head in agony. Maybe you should just tell Yaga you got the one-day flu and figure it all out tomorrow.

“Yo. You look like an idiot doing that.”

The voice is familiar, but not familiar in the way you’d like. He was no Geto, and he definitely wasn’t Shoko. You look up, eyes watery, and meet Gojo’s gaze.

“You going through something? Wait, don't answer that, I don’t wanna know,” He says, waving his hand obnoxiously, his lips downturned. “Hate to interrupt whatever’s goin’ on, but class is in thirty minutes. If you’re anything like Suguru you’re an early bird, right?”

“Oh.. sort of,” You respond, trying to discreetly wipe whatever tears that might’ve formed. He watches you do it anyway, following your movements closely. You’re a little humiliated now. He probably thinks you’re pathetic.

His stare is unrelenting, you can feel it even behind those pitch black lenses. It burns into you. Through you. You drop his gaze, eyes on the floor as you shuffle your feet.

Did he need anything else? You’re grateful he let you know when class begins, but you two aren’t exactly best friends, and you're positive this is awkward for the both of you.

But you see his shoes from your peripheral view and they stay rooted to the floor. You hold back a shaky sigh.

“Are you heading to class right now?” You ask in hopes to get rid of the suffocating silence. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to starting conversations. Your eyes are still memorizing every dirt particle on your new shoes (which feel odd to wear, you’re so used to staring anxiously at the ones your mother gifted you a year or two ago). Why did he, out of all people, approach you during your crisis? You wished more than anything that it was Shoko, but from what you know about her alone, you’re more sure than ever that she doesn’t go to class early.

“I don’t usually go early, that’s Suguru’s thing. But I guess todays an exception.” You blink, he has a lot to say. You expected a short, clipped answer. “Anyways what’re you doing out here, and what was with the gripping your head thing? Going through a phase?” He asks a barrage of questions, making sure to push his glasses up in case they slipped a smidge. You seemed perceptive, he didn’t need you staring him down and reading him.

“Oh, I was nervous. That’s all.”

Gojo nods, staring at you for a few seconds longer before his feet finally pick up from their spot on the floor. He’s walking off.

“Wait!” Your heartbeat spikes as the exclamation leaves your lips.

His shoes squeak against the tiles as he halts. He doesn’t turn towards you, but the fact that he stopped let you know he heard you. You don’t know why your heart is beating so loud, you’re only asking a simple question.

“Do we need any particular supplies for class, by any chance?” Your voice rises a pitch, and you fiddle with your skirt, positive you’re coming off as annoying.

“We take notes every now and then, by we I don’t mean me, so a notebook would be nice but isn’t required, and you don’t look like you have one with you.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, finally facing you, “Let’s hope you have a good memory. Sensei likes to run his mouth.” He jabs, most likely to see you panic. It works.

Your eyes widen and you bite your lip, fiddling with your skirt, but you’re shocked once you hear Gojo laugh. He throws his head back and you stare a bit. You’re gonna admit, you expected it to be a little more rough and loud. It sounds a bit odd, but it’s kinda funny to listen to, almost enough to make you laugh along. Now the question that’s been sitting on your tongue has the sudden urge to come forward.

Your mouth moves before your mind processes, “Can I walk to class with you?”

“Huh?”

You screwed up, you didn’t mean to ask that — I mean you did. But with his response you’re kind of regretting it now. “Sorry. It’s just I don’t remember the way, and if you’re on your way there I thought maybe I can tag along. Though, it’s okay if you say no.” You wave your hands frantically, trying your best to salvage whatever dignity you have left. You instantly start playing with your nails, looking down at your shoes.

He’s silent for a moment, as if contemplating. Then he sighs.

“Whatever. Do what you want.”

You beam, thankful.

“I promise not to be annoying.”

“You’re already being annoying by saying that.”

“Sorry!”

“Stop apologizing.”

“Sorry. Oh wait uh..”

“…”

He scoffs before walking forward. You sprint a bit to catch up with his pace. He has really long legs. You stare at his side profile as he walks, if he notices your eyes, he doesn’t say anything. But you catch the twitch of his brow. You watch every movement you catch on his features intently, dead set on getting to know him more. You wonder if your gaze feels as burning as his does on you. As if he knows you inside out.

You were never aware of your staring problem until now.

Gojo is struggling himself. Trying not to meet your gaze. It proves to be difficult, for he wants to glare you down and watch you squirm nervously before you finally break eye contact. He hates how bare he feels when you stare.

“Gojo, what’s your inherited technique?”

“Infinity,” he pops a sucker into his mouth, uninterested. But you ignore that, eyes wide as you gasp in awe, intrigued.

“Can you explain that to me?”

Gojo catches sight of your expecting face, how your eyes glittered as your lips part. He can’t help the stroke of his ego. He quickly became smug.

“I have the ability to manipulate and distort space.” His glasses slip a smidge down the bridge of his nose, you can see a sliver of his eyes. He doesn’t push them up like you expect him to, he tends to do that — from what you’ve noticed — and they’re glowing. “Hold out your hand,” he demands, long fingers splayed out in your face.

You reach up and before you can press your fingertips against his palm, a barrier is manifested between the two of you. “Woah, there’s like.. a wall between us.”

“It’s infinity.”

You look up at him, even more in awe, “So it’s science, right? That makes it easy to explain then, huh? I thought it was way more complicated than that.” You’re too engrossed in repeatedly retracting your hand and pressing it back against this “barrier” to notice how Gojo’s expression shifts.

He pulls his hand back as if he’d been burnt and you blink, swiftly putting your own hand back by your side. A frown plagues your lips. You figure you did get a bit carried away, it was really nice to see a cursed technique at play for the first time ever. And you’re glad it was something as magnificent as that. You got excited, forgetting boundaries.

Before you can express your gratitude and apologize, Gojo is striding off once more. You notice this time he’s walking a bit faster, as if he intends on leaving you behind. Your brows knit as you sigh. You don’t jog up to him this time, letting the distance between you increase. You’re always taught not to be greedy. Occurrences like this coming into play to drill that in your head, yet you fail every time — constantly wanting more.

You enter the classroom a bit after Gojo, already seeing him with a big beam on his face as he rambles off with Geto. He’s mad at you again, you think. This is normal for you — people being upset with you. It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. You try your hardest to pretend it doesn’t.

Shoko’s not here yet, unfortunately. You see two empty seats and assume the vacant one by Geto is Shoko’s, so you take the other seat. You aren’t sure what to do with this extra time, you shouldn’t have come so early, so you settle with fiddling with your fingers and looking out the window.

You hear Geto’s voice and you’re not sure if you’re being looked at, but you’re way too nervous to check, afraid that if you looked you’d be caught.

“Ogawa.”

It isn’t until a full minute later you realize that Geto was trying to get your attention the entire time. You finally look at him, the curiosity brimming in your chest and the urge to look back finally sated. His smile is kind and soft. He pats the empty seat beside him. “Why don’t you sit?”

You jolt.

“Isn’t that Shoko’s seat?” You point nervously, trying to find a way out of this. If conversation is what Geto is looking for, you’re the last person that can provide.

Gojo scoffs and you retreat into yourself, eyes averted.

You faintly hear Geto shove Gojo and tell him to shut up over the loud pounding of your heartbeat before he’s turning back to you, that same, already familiar smile plastered on his lips. “I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“You.. really want me to sit by you?” You ask, hopefully. You guess you still have yet to learn and expect disappointment. Geto nods, his smile getting brighter and you glow like the stars.

You stand meekly, shuffling into the seat as quietly as you could, cringing when the metal cried loudly against the tile floor. Geto huffs in satisfaction and your shoulders relax a bit. You wish Gojo weren’t here to stare the both of you down, you feel somewhat uncomfortable by his overwhelming presence. You have an inkling that disturbing you is his goal, for a small smirk paints his lips.

Geto’s voice is soft as he speaks to you. He’s asking you about yourself and you answer somewhat vaguely, unsure of how to go about talking to him. You stammer a bit, trying to find your words. You get a bit fidgety, afraid he might get irritated with you, but he’s as patient as ever, smiling as he awaits your answer. That’s when you relax completely, finding it easier to answer him in stride. You never knew Geto could be so easy to talk to. You’re starting to like him even more. It’s hard not to favor people who are nice to you. But you can’t get ahead of yourself. You have to learn to expect disappointment so you won’t be disappointed.

Gojo doesn’t say a word, staring at the two of you converse so easily. He doesn’t understand why Geto seems so interested in getting to know you. You’re boring, you don’t even know your technique for crying out loud. Weak people piss Gojo off.

Gojo walks by you as you hold your head in your hands, leaning against your dorm door. He’s confused, are you going through something? You look stupid, and he withholds the urge not to laugh at your expense. If Geto were here he’d definitely scold him. He thinks of that and the nagging Geto would put him through. He rolls his eyes and decides to approach.

“Yo. You look like an idiot doing that.”

Well he didn’t actually mean for it to come across that way, but sometimes his mouth likes to run before his brain liked to function.

You look up at him, tears brimming your lashes. The sight makes him sigh internally. If he knew you’d be crying he would’ve avoided you altogether. Comforting you is beyond his expertise. Well.. it’s not. He’d just rather not waste his time.

He asks if you were going through it. Another moment of his mouth moving before his brain. But you don’t seem to take offense, more like you just seem a bit embarrassed at being caught nearly crying.

“Hate to interrupt whatever’s goin’ on, but class is in thirty minutes. If you’re anything like Suguru you’re an early bird, right?”

You answer meekly, wiping your tears with your sleeve. He catches himself eyeing your attire behind his glasses. He’s staring at you and he’s positive you can tell, for your head tips towards the floor. You seem to be awaiting his departure, but he stays rooted to the floor, content on tormenting you this way.

“Are you heading to class right now?”

He never expected you to be the type to start a conversation, not with him especially. He noticed how uneasy you felt around him. But he cuts you some slack and answers.

“I don’t usually go early, that’s Suguru’s thing. But I guess todays an exception. Anyways what’re you doing out here, and what was with the gripping your head thing? Going through a phase?” He answers you and throws a barrage of questions coyly.

You blink. Gojo realizes how much left his mouth at once and pushes up his glasses. You come up with a sorry answer and Gojo decides he’s wasted enough time. If he got there now he could talk to Suguru about yesterday’s conversation with the higher ups before Yaga arrives. He starts to walk off, now considering the conversation boring.

Your voice interrupts his stride, you sound somewhat panicked and he contemplates hearing you out. You must’ve taken his stillness as a cue.

“Do we need any particular supplies for class, by any chance?”

You sound anxious, and he doesn’t even have to look to know you’re shuffling your feet.

“We take notes every now and then, by we I don’t mean me, so a notebook would be nice but isn’t required, and you don’t look like you have one with you.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, and turns to face you. He was correct, this time you’re fiddling with your ridiculously long skirt.

“Let’s hope you have a good memory. Sensei likes to run his mouth.” The only entertaining thing about you is the expressions you make. And he isn’t disappointed with this one either. He doesn’t know why he finds your sorrow so comedic but this time he can’t hold back his laugh. If Geto knew about this or witnessed it, he’d definitely scold him, but Gojo doesn’t care at the moment, shoulders shaking as he cackled obnoxiously.

He sighs, wiping under his eyes, lifting his glasses a little. He thinks that’s enough for now, and prepares to walk off to class. But then you ask a question that makes him freeze, “Can I walk to class with you?”

“Huh?”

He raises a brow, he knows you can’t see it, but he’s looking at you as if you’re crazy.

You instantly wave your hands in panic, trying to explain yourself, he thinks your excuse is lame. “Sorry. It’s just I don’t remember the way, and if you’re on your way there I thought maybe I can tag along. Though, it’s okay if you say no.”

He’s extremely annoyed with you now, watching you fidget and shuffle about with a frown plaguing his lips. A rejection is already sitting on his tongue, ready to be fired, but he knows how disappointed Geto might be with him, so his shoulders drop.

“Whatever. Do what you want.”

He watches you instantly glow. You’re not smiling but he can tell you’re happy. It’s the first time he’s seeing an expression that isn’t filled with some type of despair on you. He thinks he prefers your anguish.

“I promise not to be annoying.”

He rolls his eyes, picking up his pace.

“You’re already being annoying by saying that.”

“Sorry!”

“Stop apologizing.”

You say sorry again and he scoffs to himself. Could you get any more annoying? He can hear your hurried footsteps as you try to match his stride, he feels a bit bad and slows down a bit, letting the two of you walk side by side. He did it to be nice, but it’s a decision he instantly regrets. Did your parents ever teach you that staring was impolite? The burning of your eyes against the side of his face pisses him off. But he tries his hardest not to show his anger on his face because of your intense stare.

He can’t help the twitch of his facade and he thinks you noticed. He’s resisting the urge to meet your stare, glare you down and watch you shuffle like you usually do. He craves to make you uncomfortable and show you who’s really stronger between the two of you. He really can’t comprehend where these hostile emotions are coming from but he also doesn’t care to dig deep and figure it out. It’ll come to him eventually. So for now he’ll get a bit excited as you ask about his cursed technique, jumping at the opportunity to show you how strong he is.

You’re in awe and his ego instantly skyrockets. You press your hand against his infinity over and over again, an intrigued gleam in your eyes as your lips part in a gasp.

“So it’s science, right? That makes it easy to explain then, huh? I thought it was way more complicated than that.”

For some reason that makes him irritated. “Easy to explain.” Funny coming from someone who had no idea what cursed techniques were barely twenty-four hours before. He pulls his hand away from you, as if he was burnt and instantly walks off. He thanks his long legs and their advantage to gain distance from you.

He resists the urge to turn and see your expression.

He originally did it all with Geto in mind; mulling over how he would feel if he’d left you deserted in that hallway, nervous eyes and shaky hands as you tried to find your way. Curse Geto for being such a heavy influence on him, because now he wished he’d never encountered you. Gojo considers his day already ruined before it barely started.

Now he sits and watches you converse with his best friend as if he was your best friend. Geto was always the friendly, welcoming type, so he can’t fathom why it irks him so. But it has to be your fault somehow, so until he figures that out he decides to brood in silence, arms crossed.

Shoko enters and your attention is instantly diverted. One of the many times Gojo is grateful for her existence. You were more comfortable with her than the other two. Probably a girls thing. Gojo didn’t care to understand. He instantly decided anything that had something to do with you would be ignored to the best of his abilities.

You greet Shoko in a quiet voice, as if cautious, and instantly brighten when she sends you a soft smile and a greeting in return. She points to her spot and looks at Geto inquisitively, hovering behind you. He just shrugs with a sheepish smile. So she simply sits and scoots her chair closer to you, waving her hand in a shooing motion towards Geto, “It’s my turn to hog her, your boyfriend looks upset, go comfort him.”

Geto’s head whips towards Gojo instantly, seeing his pouty expression with his arms crossed. He sighs in exasperation, a fond smile painting his lips.

You watch the two of them for a second or more before looking at Shoko. You didn’t know they were dating..

Shoko chuckles, and speaks up as if she read your mind, “They’re not actually dating. Yet, anyways. They love dancing in circles around each other. It’s irritating to witness. Utahime is a grade above me so unfortunately she doesn’t suffer through it as much as me.” She nudges you, her eyes crinkling as her smile stretches a bit wider, “You’re here with me now though, so we can suffer it together, kay?”

You nod eagerly, as if it was meant to be a good thing. Suffering anything is manageable if someone as kind as Shoko is there with you. You need to get her a gift for her kindness. Such a wonderful girl!

Yaga enters the room about twenty minutes later. Shoko lets you borrow a notebook of hers and you instantly get to jotting things down. You’re a bit surprised when you notice how mundane these subjects are. But it makes sense, you’re all still teenagers after all. You’d probably see it as inhumane if all this school taught to their students was jujutsu. No matter the importance of sorcerers and preserving the lives of non-sorcerers, it was always good to live life at least a little normally, to you anyways.

Time passed with you trying to avoid answering questions as much as possible. Even though you hated doing it, you also couldn’t help it. Whenever Yaga looked your way your eyes flew to your paper and you instantly got to acting busy to avoid getting picked on. Plus, it wasn’t like you needed to… Geto was there to answer every question smoothly for the rest of you, so there was no need, right?

Though you suppose it wasn’t evadable forever.

“[Name], can you answer this one?”

You jolt, looking up from your paper where you were “writing” (you just hovered the pen over the paper and moved it about). It was an easy algebra question, so you answered it with ease, albeit quietly. Yaga hummed in approval and moved on. It wasn’t all that bad, you recognize, but the attention is still unnerving.

Shoko nudges your side, “I got a smart girl on my radar it looks like,” she whispers. “You’ll let me copy your notes, right?” She jokes.

You nod instantly, the premise of the joke flying straight over your head. If it’ll keep her around you’ll write her as many notes as need be, you thought. It was the least you could do to repay her kindness!

She giggles quietly, and her laugh was instantly a melody you became enamored with. “I was joking, don’t worry. But you seem smart, born a genius like a certain someone, I presume?” She says coyly and her eyes drift to a particular person one seat down. You force your eyes not to drift in the direction of her finger.

“I usually study in my free time,” You shut down her assumption, you were nowhere near born a genius. “Guess you can say it’s a hobby of mine,” you shrug, whispering alongside her. It was nice, it felt like the two of you were sharing secrets.

“A hobby?” She laughs, shocked and intrigued. “You get more odd by the second.”

Your expression shifts, something she doesn’t hesitate to spot. She lays a hand on your shoulder and rubs it assuringly as she whispers, “No sweat, it’s a good thing. To me, at least. I don’t think I’d be friends with those two idiots otherwise.”

Your face relaxes and she smiles.

“Shoko,” you suddenly speak, surprising the both of you — you the most. Her eyes flit to your own and she sits, awaiting. “Do you like sweet things?” You ask, cupping your hand around your mouth as if that’ll make you any quieter.

Shoko entertains you with a grin and replicates you, hand cupped around her mouth as she leans close to whisper. Her eyes drift over you — if checking you out, something that escapes your notice — before she answers, “I love sweet stuff.”

You seem satisfied with her answer so she shifts her attention back to her notebook. Yaga turns around and her eyes flit between her notes and the board, pretending to be immersed. Though you don’t think she has anyone fooled. You glance at her for a moment more before you do the same and settle for doodling on the empty parts of your notes. Small doodles of Shoko and Geto holding gifts with big smiles on their faces. You subconsciously grin into your hand. You have no clue what either of them prefer but the thought is nice… Maybe you can ask later. Hopefully Geto will have a moment where Gojo isn’t hanging off of him.

You discreetly shuffle your position so you feel comfortable enough to gaze at him. He looks extremely focused, brows slightly furrowed as he taps his pen lightly against the desk, as if afraid to disturb the silent classroom. Your eyes drift a bit to catch a glimpse of his counterpart. A scoff of bewilderment almost involuntarily leaves your lips at the sight of Gojo simply trying to balance a pencil between his nose and the peak of his lip. Even though you have a sudden urge to call him out on his stupidity, this is actually the perfect opportunity to ask what you wanted from Geto without his leering glare, he seems distracted enough.

Yaga is turned towards the board too, voice booming loud enough that if you whispered, he wouldn’t be able to hear you over the sound of himself. It’s insane that you feel so nervous, as if speaking to a classmate during teaching is some sort of crime. But you recall the small doodle of him smiling happily with his gift and persevere.

A small, soft tap breaks Geto out of his reverie. His eyes blink in surprise before his gaze lands on you and your meek, almost guilty expression.

“Do you like sweet stuff?” Your soft voice whispers and he almost laughs aloud. You’re a horrible whisperer, and you’re both extremely lucky that Yaga’s voice echoes, for no one hears you.

He ponders your question for a moment, eyes drifting around your face before they settle back on your eyes. He’s grinning as he says, “Yeah. I like sweet stuff.”

Your visage glows with hope as you turn back to your paper, beaming. Geto’s smile becomes soft.

Brownies it is.

all mine taglist : @kaelisian @tamajoyaki @unsavedandsad @friedstudentflapranch @bomjug @mygarlingelena @phoenix666stuff @mel-star636 @gloobermoober @kallykissr @aichiomei @jaerang @luv-gin @ploylulla @mrowwww @ladytamayolover @tatiishere @kasumitenbaz @autumn-slaves @someoneunknownforyou @rosemary394 @armani78 @lordbugs @decadenthumanalienranch-blog @sokivv @crushed-l1ttle-stars @ichiikoari @okayiamkassandra @cole-silas @kakuchosbff @sugasweettea @suguguro @lacm-ac @irenesolos @redskull199987 @loreleis-world-blog @aleirnebulous @asweetblueberry2 @thel0v3hashira143 @prettypei @astral-hydromancy @ran6ia IM SO SORRY FOR THOSE WHO COULDN’T BE PROPERLY TAGGED!!! there’s a shit ton of u so maybe i got some of ur users wrong or i just can’t tag u, if ur one of those ppl plsss let me know so i can fix it. this taglist long asf!!!!!!

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; shadow milk cookie

requested by ; anonymous (24/01/24)

fandom(s) ; cookie run

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; shadow milk cookie

outline ; “So I am a little OBSESSED in love with shadow milk

So could I get some Shadow milk relation ship hc’s?”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

if there was a need to describe shadow milk cookie’s approach to your relationship, it could be done in just the one word: playful

whenever you’re stressed, he puts on elaborate productions of magic and puppetry to brighten your day and make you smile: funny voices, summoned puppets, plot lines that either touch upon your favourite tropes or make fun of the people that upset you — he never holds back with you

if you’re experiencing a low mood or crying, then he’s upping the dramatics and repeating all of your favourite puns and jokes to pull you out of it and make you laugh — he dresses like a jester all of the time, so it’s safe to say that the man doesn’t mind making a fool of himself for your sake

he’s extremely physically affectionate and can go from slow and passionate to cheeky and playful in a second — alternating between loosely wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as you sit comfortably on his lap, and suddenly tightening his grip on your waist to stop you from getting away as he nips and kisses and tickles your skin until you’re laughing so hard you’re crying and clutching at your aching sides and trying desperately to squirm out of his grip

equally his kisses can be playful and cutesy or passionate and messy depending on his mood

most of the time they’re done for a sort of dramatic flair on top of his usual public displays of affection that usually get you stared at in confusion — consisting of him grabbing you by your shoulders or the side of the face before wetly kissing you on the lips or cheek whilst making a very unnecessary and over the top ‘mwah!’-esque popping sound (he may even stop at the last second and lick you instead just to make you laugh)

but there are times when that playful facade slips and his kisses become much more frantic, passionate, and hot — when the act slips and you’re left face-to-face with a more possessive, seductive, needy side of him that only comes out when he’s so desperate for your touch that he’d sooner slip into your skin with you than let you go, or when someone else has made him jealous

those kisses look a bit more like this: starting with him grabbing you by the waist or neck or sides and all but crashing your body and lips against his, alternating between biting and licking your lips until you breathlessly give in and part your lips for him, letting his hands wander just enough to send a message as you cling to him like a lifeline, and only pulling apart when you’re starting to struggle to breathe — separating by mere millimetres with a web of saliva connecting you both before he giggles, pecks your lips, and lets you go (leaving you breathless, aching, and somehow wanting for more as you watch him practically skip away to do whatever it is that he had planned)

your laughter is his absolute favourite sound in the world and he will do anything it takes to make sure that he gets to hear it for the rest of his life

he wouldn’t hesitate for a second to kill or torment someone for you if only you asked — hell, you don’t even need to ask, the second it’s clear that someone has made you upset, stressed, or uncomfortable, he’s finding their location and plotting to either take them out completely or forcibly make them a part of his act (it’s not too difficult to take control of someone, after all, and he’s certainly done worse for less… and what better cause is there for mayhem than protecting his partner’s honour and well-being?)

all of his pet names for you are as over the top and random as you would expect from someone like him, including all sorts of nicknames from inanimate objects to puns relating to your name and/or interests to random animals that remind him of you to the most disgustingly cheesy terms of endearment that he can think of, to anything in between — and he’s happy to respond to anything you choose to call him, no matter how ridiculous of a pet name it may be

he’s extremely quick to jealousy and has been known to lash out at anyone who dares to get too close to you for his comfort (unless it’s one of a few select individuals that he’s approved of being in your presence) — it’s actually the main thing you argue about when it comes to your relationship, but that’s not going to change anytime soon so you may just be better off accepting that side of him rather than trying to strong arm him into being a better person

[spacelazarwolf]

so this is a trashfire for many reasons.

lack of historical knowledge and complete lack of perspective

israel was not created by britain. israel declared independence from britain. israel was not "designed to funnel jewish people out of all other countries." israel is not "puppeted by america for the purposes of colonizing southwest asia" and the insinuation that israel's goal is to colonize the entirety of southwest asia is actually a documented antisemitic conspiracy theory.

"Even before the State of Israel came into existence, Arab leaders accused Zionists of seeking to rule most of the Middle East," a secret Jewish plot to establish a "Greater Israel" extending from the Nile to the Eurphrates and the Persian Gulf, and south deep into Saudi Arabia. Albeit "farfetched" and a "calumny," this notion has "become so routinized and accepted" that it "now serves as the conventional wisdom in all the Arabic-speaking countries and Iran." Pipes 1998, 49, 69. This is one of two maps in the collection alleged to provide evidence of the "Greater Israel" conspiracy. (The other is ID #2411, "Jewish Imperial Ambitions In Palestine and Neighbouring Countries," 1967.) This map, "Dream of Zionism," shows Zionism as a giant serpent, its back decorated with a pattern of triangles described as "Freemasons Eye, 'Symbol of Jewry.'" The snake's circular outline marks the "Proposed Boundary of 'Greater Israel,'" an area including all of Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, and the Sinai Peninsula; the Nile delta region of Egypt along the Suez Canal and northwest of Cairo; and virtually all of Iraq, including access to the Persian Gulf. It also includes a large portion of northwestern Saudi Arabia, a corridor well over 100 miles wide along the Red Sea, stretching south more than 450 miles from the Gulf of Aqaba to the Holy City of Medina. "Curiously," the conspiracy theorists "see Greater Israel including Medina but not Mecca; the oil fields of Kuwait but not those of Saudi Arabia; and more of Turkey than Iran." The State of Israel is identified as "Occupied Palestine." Pipes 62. This map first appeared in an English-language edition of the fraudulent "Protocols of the Elders of Zion" - the infamous blood libel against the Jewish people - published in Iran in 1985. Ibid. This version appears in a new edition, "Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion," attributed to "The Representatives of Zion, of the 33rd Degree" and published in Kuwait by the "Scientific Research House." The estimated publication date is 2018. The current version of the map varies only slightly from that of 1985 illustrated in Pipes: the words "Symbol of Jewry" have been added in script beneath the legend "Freemasons Eye," and a partially legible signature ("Mir"?) appears at the lower right.

also i'm not sure what the intention was with bringing up the rwandan genocide because rwanda was colonized by germany and belgium, not the british. unless you think literally everything bad that happens in the world is tied to britain... which just so happens to be another antisemitic conspiracy theory that originated in the ussr. all the while jews were being demonized in the uk for being "communist sympathizers." because jews are the symbol of everything you hate, all the problems in your life. that is how antisemitism functions.

2. tokenizing jews for your own benefit

"i had followed [jewish blogs] in an attempt to better understand jewish concerns ... and i've been unfollowing them one by one ... i was getting genuine perspectives on issues i knew very little about - and now, for those blogs in particular, it's impossible to separate what might be a genuine concern verses wht's being weaponised to justify a settler state"

this is an open admission that you are only able to take in jewish perspectives from jews you agree with. and considering the ignorance that's rampant in the rest of the post, my guess is that what you saw was jews who were scared and angry at the way people acted after october 7th and the way antisemitism is rising, but the non jews you follow were insistent that those sentiments could not coexist with palestinian liberation. additionally, the fact you are unable to separate genuine concern verses "what's being weaponised" is your own problem, not ours. the way jewish pain is being downplayed, mocked, ignored, and demonized, the way people have insisted that any mourning for the victims of october 7th or concern for the hostages must be propaganda is antisemitic. and you are actively contributing to that, particularly by saying that western powers arresting people during protests "has been a setup from the beginning" with the very clear insinuation that it is "zionists" who are to blame for the setup.

3. you are really fucking entitled

you are a british goy (not a "goyim" btw, goy is singular, goyim is plural). you literally admitted that you "don't know how to talk about this with the tat and care [you] should be as a [non jew]" and that "certainly there is a degree in arrogance for [you] to talk about judaism as an outsider." and yet you wrote this whole post full of antisemitic conspiracy theories and antisemitic biases while claiming you know how to protect jewish people and while claiming that zionism is "the biggest danger to jewish people right now."

let us be very fucking clear. the biggest danger to jewish people right now is antisemites and the actions they choose to take, and the consequences of those actions.

you say that "if you tell the general public, who are very susceptible to the broader news cycle, that judaism and zionism is the same thing, they very well will be motivated to do antisemitic things, because they believe they are fighting zionism."

this has already happened and has been happening for decades. framing jews as zionists and demonizing zionism as a jewish ideology is not new. it happened all across swana, even before israel declared independence, including during the farhud which was a pogrom that occurred as part of the holocaust in iraq where jews were executed, beaten, and tens of thousands had to flee from government-sponsored persecution specifically and explicitly targeted at jews under the guise of "antizionism." it also happened in the ussr.

the desire to completely separate judaism from zionism as a jewish ideology is not out of concern for jews. zionism is a jewish ideology founded on one possible solution to global antisemitism, as an attempt to keep jews safe from constant persecution, ethnic cleansing, and genocide. it's not a solution you have to agree with, but trying to completely divorce it from judaism only opens the door for the very people you claim to be concerned about who will use zionism as an excuse to attack jews, as they have been for decades.

i have said it before and i'll say it again. zionism is one of the jewish answers to the question "what do we do with the jews?" historically, the answers gentiles have come up with have been "subjugate them, ethnically cleanse them, slaughter them, genocide them." so when you respond to that question of "what do we do with the jews?" with "i don't really care, but not that! and actually your jewish answer is what's causing this in the first place so really it's your fault!" it's kind of fucking bonkers to expect most jews to respond in any positive way. if you expect to have a productive conversation with zionist jews or with jews as a whole, you must present your own answer to "what do we do with the jews?" and if you're thinking "well how the fuck am i supposed to figure out a plan to get antisemitism all over the world to go away? that’s going to take too long!" you almost understand the point. the eradication of antisemitism is a global effort, and one that won't be achieved in our lifetimes. so the least you can do in the meantime is educate yourself, interact with jews in good faith, listen to jewish perspectives even if you don't agree with them, and realize that you are still going to have only scratched the surface.

so yes, you're right. it was extremely arrogant of you to post this, and you are an example of how ignorance breeds antisemitism among the uneducated masses.

[openphrase123]

so i've got three fics that are in what i call "long outline" stage, where a couple chapters are written and the rest is all/mostly plotted out. when i'm done with curtain call i'll probably wait a month or so and then start posting one of them but i Cannot Decide which one to start with. i want to write all of these at some point but i need a Starting Point. please advise. i have decision fatigue

i elaborate on all the options below so if you need to be Sold on any of these keep scrolling. but also if you want maximum chaos and surprise just vote without expanding >:3

no nuance button no chef's choice button. if the chef had a choice he would have choosened it by now. i'm Indecisive please help

propaganda for all the options under the cut

the 20 years later fic is so messy i can't overstate it. i mean that in a good way. very popcorn drama. siffrin and loop haven't seen each other in 20 years but they need to figure out who in the family is harboring a secret regret that's trapping them in a new loop. everyone's over their problems from canon but i give them all NEW problems like osteoporosis and work-life imbalances. bonnie's the only one who ever went to real therapy in two decades and it Shows

the isabeau timeloop fic is probably the most angst out of the three of these??? but it's not a walking sadfest i know how to balance the vibes. it's not Primarily a romance fic but let's face it gamers. this is an isabeau pov. it's like 40% gay longing and you know this. the other 60% tries to solve the question of "would siffrin still be trapped in the loops if they told literally anyone about them at any time" and with the power of miscommunication and self sabotage. i'm pleased to say that answer is YES

the loop one is very prince-and-the-pauper to me. it's set in 1hat in a playthrough of isat that ended on a low loop number. this is both the healthiest and most toxic way for loop to heal postcanon in my heart. siffrin is not here this is NOT about him. he's fine though. it's just that i categorically don't think loop could heal and move on from the loops if siffrin's right over their shoulder being like "hiii do you want to Talk" no you have to TRAP loop into therapy

if you're reading this and going "all of these sound absolutely insane what are you doing" i'm doing My Best <3 all of them have the same general tone as my other fics so if you're like "i like that idea but that sounds too depressing" FEAR NOT. it's the exact same amount of depressing as curtain call and/or inutile

[railingsofsorrow]

summary: you're being neglected by your-so-called-friends and james is there like he always is. 

warnings: self-deprecation; self-isolating; descriptions of being left aside; talk about not feeling enough.

A/N: just words I needed to hear + poor writing (have you caught on that I'm in my james potter phase?) I also wanted to say that if any of you feel like that, you're amazing and you make a difference. don't let people diminish your value. you're loved and you matter. 

w.c: 1.3K

pairing: james potter x gn!reader

navi

masterpost

✧༺༻∞

“you're quiet today,” james plots down on the couch by your side, the leather screeches as he leans closer to you just enough to respect your personal space. 

“I am quiet,” you answer, still with your attention stuck to the parchment. you were finishing an assignment due next week. it's not like you had anything else better to do. 

with a tilt of his head, he tries to peak over your shoulder, smiling softly as he caught a glimpse of your neat handwriting. he loved watching you do anything at all. it was therapeutic.

“you're more quiet than usual then,” james gives you a gentle smile. you had finally offered him your attention. “I didn't see you at lunch or at dinner.”

“I wasn't hungry.”

“I saw you in the kitchens, eating with the elves.”

your glare didn't refrain him from pushing.

“you're isolating yourself,” james says carefully. “why? did something happen?”

you survey his face, from the mole on the middle of his neck to his dirty glasses’ lenses. letting out a sigh, you pull them away from his face, minding the temples on his eyes. 

james doesn't even flinch.

“I'm frustrated, that's all.” you said lowly, muttering a spell to clean off the blurred frames. 

you place them back on his face, aware you were under his awed gaze. 

“d'you want to talk about it?” he whispered after a while, slightly blushing that he'd been staring.

you shrug, going back to your homework. 

james sighs, frustrated himself that he didn't have your full attention. that parchment was snatching all of it.

“did someone upset you? who do I need to hex?” 

you let a giggle escape and his eyes soften. there you are.

“at least six people. are you up for it?” james raises an eyebrow and nods. you rest your quill down, pursuing your lips. “have you ever felt left out?”

james blinks at the sudden question. but taking a deeper look on your eyes and their red rimmed outline he was starting to figure you out a little. the issue must be the group you called friends.

“I have,” he admits, crossing his legs, knees bumping with yours. “when I was little. before coming to hogwarts.”

“what was it like?” you ask quietly but curious. you couldn't imagine james potter of all people feeling left out. he was the boy people looked at and thought I want to be with him or I want to be him. there was no in-between. 

he fiddled with a ripped fabric in a spot on the couch, “it was hard for me to... make friends. my parents kept saying that I should just be myself but that didn't help me at all,” he let out a half-hearted laugh at the memory. “I was lonely, most of the time. before pete moved in next to me. then I felt for the first time that I didn't have to try to be someone I wasn't.”

“do they make you feel heard?” you refer to his real friends, now.

james casts you a look of understanding, “yes, they do. and they care. do you feel like that?” he knew you didn't. it hasn't been your first time with this kind of sadness on your features.

did you feel heard? seen? did your friends at least spared you their attention during conversations?

you pause.

“no.” you admit, ashamed. because now you could see. this wasn't how friends were supposed to treat you. talking over you, skipping your input as if it was nothing. forgetting you completely. just appearing when they need something. like the assignment you were finishing. one of them asked to take a look at it afterwards. let me know when you're done. 

that's all you're remembered for.

“I think people just put up with me. at first, everything is perfect and they even pretend to listen to what I say but then... I don't know what happens, or what I do — if I knew I'd change it, believe me — but they either leave or just stop noticing I'm there, you know?”

you only realize you had spoken it out loud when james is taking your hand and bringing to his cheek. he does it whenever he feels you slipping away or when he wants you to look directly at him. you do. and he has conflicting emotions dancing in his amber orbs. a fire-like anger grazed with a lot of concern. 

you feel like you could tell james anything. any time. he made you feel important. special, even. but sometimes, you think, maybe you should just stay quiet. 

you speak too much. you overshare. you're annoying. everyone thinks you're boring and that's why you shouldn't speak up. you interrupt the smooth flow in a conversation. 

just stay quiet.

“I don't see how someone would just stop noticing you. how is it even possible? you're amazing.” james intertwines your fingers and rests your joined hands against his cheek. “there's absolutely nothing you say that is insignificant. the opposite, really,” he adds, scooting closer as if he was about to tell you his darkest secret. “listen to me now, alright?” he waits for your response and you nod confused. “I don't put up with you. your company is what I look for every day, I love hearing the sound of your voice, I love the way you change your tone when you're speaking about something you cherish. but most of all, I love that you're you. nothing to alter, nothing to leave out.” 

you blinked fast.

hearing the boy in front of you mend up a piece of your heart with those words was... not surprising at all. james had that kind of magic. he didn't need to say anything to make you feel better, just be there. but when he did use his words, it was like your favourite poetry penetrating your chest, brightening your cloudy day with a peak of sunlight. 

james potter really is the sun. 

“you mean it?” you prompt, still pathetically insecure. james, in all his patient-self, kisses your hand and then your cheek to prove a point. 

a smile cracks your sad façade. 

“you don't need people who don't realize your worth, they don't deserve you,” he says, frowning slightly. “besides, they treat you badly, I've seen it.”

“I just don't want to be alone.” you confess, looking down when you felt your throat close. “it's- it's stupid. but now I'm realizing being alone is better than being around them.” 

james shook his head, “you're not alone. never. am I wearing my invisibility cloak now? you can't see me?” he says playfully, pretending to check if his body was visible. you push him slightly and he grins up at you. 

“I'm here,” he says, squeezing your hand. “always.”

letting out a breath, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, “i know, james.” 

his lips waver at the top of your head, fingers working their way up your arm. “come to the match tomorrow.” he requests. 

you look up at him with crossed eyes because of your proximity, “gryffindor plays tomorrow?”

he flashes you a lopsided smile, bopping your nose, “yes. and when I fly through the stands I want to see you there. will I?”

you pretend to think it over and his grin drops. then you smile, kissing his cheek, “of course. I'll be there.” 

sames rolls his eyes, “okay. I hope you mean that.”

“what don't I do for you, james potter?” 

james threw all of his body weight on you, pulling you both towards the mattress with a huff. you squirmed, slapping his back, he didn't move, only laughed into your shoulder. 

his triumph over putting a smile on your face couldn't be masked. making you happy was all that james cared about, and he'd make sure to keep doing that for as long as he was around.

A/N: I wish I had a james potter to cheer me up :(((

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Part 17

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Characters: Wolffe, Fox, Comet

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff, funeral

Word Count: 2.1k

Author's Note: Y'all, we are only a few chapters away from meeting Lilith! I am so excited to introduce her! I don't want to say things are going to happen quickly from now on, but the pace is definitely going to pick up. The foundation has been set, and now it's time to get moving with the plot. And who better than Fox to help move us along? This is another chill chapter with lots of brother-time, so no one should be doing any crying... I hope. As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @/beating-a-dead-plot

Part 1 || Prev | Next

Series Masterlist

The morning came quickly–too quickly–as Wolffe woke before the sunrise. With the time he spent in space, his body never followed the rising or setting of the suns, but rather a clock that ticked deep within his biology. It was both a blessing and a curse in his mind. On one hand, he never had to set an alarm, but on the other, sleeping in was never an option. Cara was still asleep though, resting against his chest under the protective covering of his arms. It would be a bit before she awoke, but that gave him time to think about his mission for the day.

He stared silently up at the ceiling and reviewed every step he needed to take to ensure she was cared for while he was gone. He only had one rotation to accomplish it all, seeing as he would be departing before sunset on the next rotation, so there was no room for errors or setbacks. He had to be calm, calculated, and resolute. Most of those traits came naturally to Wolffe, but when his daughter was involved, a lot of who he was as a commander fell to the wayside. It felt cruel to shove part of her out of his mind, but life was also just as cruel.

It was only an hour before Comet found his way to their room to relieve Wolffe. Ever the cautious man, he poked his head into the dark room to make sure it was safe to enter. Wolffe watched him with amusement, the light from the hall outlining Comet's form, and he would've said something, but he didn't want to wake Cara. The last thing he needed was for her to get clingy before he left for the diner. She knew he would come back later in the day, but it didn't matter to her; leaving was leaving. For Wolffe, a silent hand-off was a lot easier.

Besides, she liked being with Comet more than she liked being with him. At least, that's what he told himself when he had to make the tough decisions that made his daughter cry. Justification wasn't the right word for it, but it allowed him to be the bad guy when he needed to be and allowed Comet to remain the good guy that she needed in life. Even though Comet left when Wolffe left, in Cara's mind, Wolffe forced Comet to leave. She might not understand how the hierarchy worked, but she did understand that when Wolffe spoke, the others listened.

Carefully, Wolffe slid himself off the bed and placed Cara back down onto the indent his body made. Both men held their breath in anticipation, but she must have been very tired because she stayed asleep and barely stirred at the swap. In the dim light from the doorway, Wolffe and Comet exchanged silent words with the same hand motions and gestures they used on the battlefield when vocal communication was impossible. It was clunky, but effective, and got the job done. Once Comet was briefed, Wolffe changed his clothes and left for the diner.

His journey to the diner was uneventful, practically quiet. It was still early in the morning for Coruscant's surface layer to be fully awake, but the subsurface layer was still bustling from the nightlife and now busy setting up for their daytime clientele. The diner wasn't a fancy place, but it was clone-friendly and served good food at a reasonable price. Most clones visited the bars and enjoyed the revelry late nights, but any level-headed, seasoned commander would rather sleep all night and eat a hot breakfast than get a cheap lap dance and a wicked hangover.

It was also rare for multiple commanders to be on Coruscant at once, however at least one was always there–Fox. When Wolffe entered the diner, he knew exactly where to go; left and down to the last booth against the window. It was their usual booth, but usual meant they did this often, which was far from the truth. The last time they met up was during his last leave, months ago, and before that, it was nearly a full cycle. It's not that Wolffe chose to ignore his batch brother, but if he had to choose between seeing his family or seeing Fox, he would choose his family every time.

As Wolffe approached the booth, he chuckled. Fox looked as tired as always, but perhaps a touch more than usual. Fox held the rim of his mug against his lips, the steam wisping up in front of his half-lidded eyes, with his elbows resting on the table, and a blank expression on his face. It almost looked like the mug was holding Fox up, instead of the other way around. If Wolffe didn't know any better, he would've thought Fox was asleep with his eyes open, but he did know better–that was just Fox in his normal resting state.

Wolffe slid into the bench seat across from Fox and stretched his arms over his head before picking up the mug of caf his brother ordered for him. He inhaled the warm and bitter fragrance before taking a sip and then hummed in satisfaction with the familiar brew. There was nothing like a diner caf. No offense to his wife's caf-maker, of course, but something about a cheap diner caf made him feel like a real man. It was leagues better than what the GAR gave them, but not as good as the caf from the surface layer. It was a wonderful middle brew.

"So," Wolffe said as he placed his mug down. "How's the wife?"

"Fat and ugly," Fox answered nonchalantly, then took a sip of this caf. "At least that's what she says every time I ask, which apparently is too many times."

Wolffe laughed. "When's she due?"

"Couple more weeks," Fox said.

"Are you nervous?" Wolffe asked.

"Kinda," Fox said with a shrug. "The pregnancy's been rough on her."

"She didn't get better?" Wolffe asked, then took another sip from his mug.

"Nope," Fox sighed. "She got sick in the first trimester and it's been downhill ever since."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Wolffe said. "It's a good thing she has you to support her."

Fox huffed. "Yeah, support…" He took a long sip after that comment. "The only support she wants from me is to stop breathing so loudly. Some days I think she actually wants me dead."

Wolffe raised a quizzical eyebrow. Fox looked more like he was taking shots of his caf as if it was a cheap whiskey, rather than savoring it. "Are you okay?"

"Just tired," Fox said, then set his mug down and rubbed his face. "She doesn't sleep, I don't sleep, we don't sleep."

"The baby won't sleep either," Wolffe said. He chuckled knowingly to himself with a smile hidden behind the rim of his mug.

Fox shot him with an unamused look through his fingers.

"Sorry," Wolffe said. "But I've got some experience."

Fox waved his hand to dismiss the apology. "Anyway, we're here to talk about you, not me." He paused contemplatively. "I'm sorry about Maria."

Wolffe bit his lip and set his mug down. He stared into the dark liquid and fidgeted with the handle. "I… I don't want to talk about that."

"Okay…" Fox said softly. "Then what do you want to talk about?"

"Cara," Wolffe said without looking up.

"What about her?" Fox asked.

Wolffe tapped his finger against the table as he thought about how he wanted to ask what he needed to ask. "I'm redeploying tomorrow night."

"Already?" Fox asked. "She must be having a hard time with that. You know, since…"

Wolffe tapped his finger faster and harder against the table, the silence getting awkward.

"You did tell her, right?" Fox asked.

"It's better this way," Wolffe said, deciding not to answer the question directly. Keeping the actual words in his mouth made the idea of not telling Cara more palatable for him. Selfish maybe, but he didn't want to handle any more emotional drama. He wanted just a bit of normalcy before he left and then a clean break to harden his mind. It was better that way.

"For who?" Fox asked.

"Listen," Wolffe sighed. "I didn't come here for a lecture. I need your help."

"Wolffe, I know what you're gonna ask," Fox said. He shook his head. "And the answer is no."

"Fox, c'mon," Wolffe pleaded. "You're the closest thing I have to family."

"I get that," Fox said. "But my hands are tied. Between my duties to Guard and my sick, pregnant wife, who can barely take care of herself, we couldn't possibly look after her too."

Wolffe closed his eyes and threw his head back against the booth cushion. "Kriff."

"Besides," Fox said. "Cara doesn't even like me."

"That's only because the gray in your hair scares her," Wolffe said without opening his eyes. "Maybe you should dye it."

Fox huffed and crossed his arms. "My wife likes it and as long as it turns her on, the gray parts are staying gray." He grinned smugly. "She calls me her silver Fox."

Wolffe leaned forward and twisted his lip in disgust. "Oh, gross. Please keep that stuff to yourself."

"But seriously," Fox said, changing the subject back. "You know my situation. If anyone found out about my wife… my kid, it would all be over. I can't risk it. Not even for you."

"Thorn?" Wolffe asked.

"Nope."

"Hound?"

"Not a chance."

"Thire?"

"Never."

"Stone?"

Fox snorted. "I wouldn't trust him to keep a plant alive."

Wolffe groaned and hung his head in his hands.

"I know you have your beef with the Jedi, and I get why you don't want her in the Temple, but what about a nanny?" Fox asked.

Wolffe lifted his head and looked at Fox in confusion. "A nanny?"

"Yeah," Fox said. "We're hiring one for when the baby comes."

"What does it do?" Wolffe asked.

"Well, there are different types," Fox said. "Some work part-time and come to the home on certain days, and there are some that work full-time and live in the home. They do pretty much anything you want–the cooking, the cleaning, the shopping, the laundry."

"Really?" Wolffe asked. He crossed his arms, intrigued by the idea of a live-in nanny. "How much does it cost?"

"I don't know," Fox said with a shrug. "Her parents are paying for it since they physically can't help us with the baby. I guess we got lucky with that."

Wolffe huffed. "Yeah. Real lucky."

"Easy, vod," Fox said. "I'm not trying to rub this in your face."

Wolffe sighed. "I know."

"Here," Fox said, then grabbed a napkin and started to write on it. "This is the name and the coordinates of the agency we're working with. They're not that far from here, so go take a look for yourself."

Wolffe studied the words on the napkin, then looked at Fox. "You sure they're legit?"

Fox looked offended. "I'm the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. Don't you think I'd do background checks on every employee before I let them near my son?"

"So, it's a boy?" Wolffe asked, a smirk turning up on his lip.

"Yes, it's a boy," Fox said.

"Got any names picked out yet?" Wolffe asked, still smiling.

"Well," Fox said, "I wanted to call him Aran, but she wanted to call him Eli, so we compromised and his name is Eli."

Wolffe laughed heartily.

"It's not funny," Fox said, but he couldn't help cracking a smile himself.

"Why are we so bad at naming children?" Wolffe asked. "Maria insisted on naming Cara because she was afraid I'd pick out something stupid like, tooka."

"I mean, that's just normal clone naming conventions," Fox said.

Wolffe hummed, remembering back to when he and his wife discussed baby names. "But babies aren't clones."

"No, I guess they're not," Fox said.

Wolffe and Fox continued their conversation as they ate breakfast with both men reminiscing about simpler times and trading stories of newer times. It was more than Wolffe could've asked for. Although he would never admit it, he felt a touch lonely since his wife's passing. The men under his command were his brothers, but Fox was his equal, someone who could talk back to him, set him straight, and be honest. It was a rarity among the ranks with the commanders spread thin. He missed his batch brothers, and it was good to catch up with one.

Part 1 || Prev | Next

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List:

@nahoney22 @sunshinesdaydream @padawancat97 @coraex @lickylickylicky @homemade-clones @523rdrebel @clonemedickix @moonwrecked @stunkbiggu @cdblake1565 @ladytano420 @moonlightwarriorqueen @anxiouspineapple99 @clonethirstingisreal @dreamie411 @trixie2023 @cw80831 @ca77m3anna @reader6898 @kimiheartblade @dukeoftheblackstar @arc-trooper-8008 @knightprincess @kell-of-storms @skellymom @grindeeloo @totallyunidentified @ladylucksrogue @tesahuy1629 @tanaka @gjrain20-starwars @nerd-ika @imabeautifulbutterfly @tallrock35 @ivanessame @msmeredithrose @griffedeloup @salaminus @roboticsuccubus83 @totally-not-your-babe @rinwritesfics @vithe-potato @haybellewrites @unicorngirl17 @notgonnaedit

Join my taglist HERE

Tip me a tea on Ko-fi HERE

[leezlelatch]

Terzo x GN! Reader

A very kind person pointed out that I had a gendered term in here and I apologize if it took anyone out of the story. It has been fixed!

~6,200 words, contains diner shenanigans, dancing, and sad to happy Terzo. You spend your evenings writing at the old diner in town, looking for your next great story idea. And then Terzo Emeritus walks through the door.

The neon diner sign of rocket red and electric blue illuminates the small parking lot and the few cars strung about haphazardly in their spots. Next to the dumpster in the back, a young couple attempts to get a few heated touches in before the back door swings open, sending them running while the whistling cook pours a bucket of grease into the grassy patch nearby. The few patrons inside sit on different ends of a diner that hasn’t changed a wink since it was erected, although the same couldn’t be said for the diehards who have been coming since their kids were kids or since they were kids. The lone waitress on duty pours another cup of coffee for an overworked cop, while a businessman in a booth runs a hand through his well-oiled hair, his eyes vacant while he comes up with another excuse for his wife as to why the paycheck is short again this week. 

You make eye contact with a young boy sitting at a table with his sister and parents. He smiles at you, and your lips curve in a genuine one yourself. There’s a diversity here. That’s the reason you keep coming back, although the cheeseburgers certainly make their own argument. You make a silly face at the boy and wink, his smile broadening as he giggles before turning back to the chicken nuggets his mother is trying very hard to get him to eat. You take a breath and rub your fingers against your palms before turning back to your laptop, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth as you regard the blank document. 

Writing is so damn difficult, and honestly, you wonder how James Patterson gets away with publishing a hundred books a year. At this point, we all know it isn’t him writing. No, the real writers are out here, plugging away in old diners and trying not to go insane. At this point, you don’t even know where the plot is going, and you regret not making an outline. But you need ideas for outlines and you’re fresh out of them. 

“I should just go back to writing fanfiction,” you mumble, resting your chin on your hand while sighing in frustration. 

The dainty ring of the old bell above the door draws your attention to the front, and you watch with interest as the newest addition to this motley crew enters. You’ve never seen him before. In the weeks that you’ve made this place your writing home, you’ve gotten to know most of its patrons. They’re typical small town people with problems, just like you have problems, but they’re the type of people who always have a good morning on the tip of their tongue and call you honey. But this guy. Boy, did he break the mold. 

He’s older, maybe above 50, close to 60. The wrinkles around his eyes and forehead are cut deep, and it draws your writer’s curiosity to wonder if they’re from laughter or pain. His face is set in a neutral expression as his eyes scan the diner, and you feel yourself inching forward in your seat, squinting a little. 

Am I seeing right? you think, watching as the man moves toward the counter. His left eye looks strange, milky from where you’re sitting, and you immediately conclude that he must be blind in one eye. 

You quickly look away and down at your table, your eyes a little wide. Judging much? you scold yourself. Jesus, get a grip. You’re not that damn bored. 

Despite your internal reproach, your eyes flicker back up to watch the man as he takes off his jacket and lays it over one arm, politely waiting for the waitress to turn around as she refills the coffee pot. He’s wearing a dark purple button-up, sleeves rolled up to expose dainty wrists and forearms covered in dark hair. He’s that dark and debonair type, his hair that kind of black that’s almost unnatural, probably dyed. His bangs fall into his face, a long-fingered hand coming up to brush it away from his eyes. Your eyebrows raise as the errant lock of hair settles in a perfect wave with its brethren, unmoving. So the handsome older stranger has perfect hair, entirely unsurprising and very much appreciated. 

You quickly glance down at your laptop when his eyes sweep across the room, likely looking for a place to sit, and you’re faced with your blinking cursor once more. Ignore the most interesting person you’ve seen walk in here in weeks, and write your damn story. 

“Hello, how are you doing?” His accented voice floats across the diner. 

Fuck it. 

You watch him greet the waitress with a smile, his arm not holding the jacket coming up to rest on the counter as he casually leans, crossing one foot over the other. Penny, the poor woman caught in the clutches of that peculiar stare, flounders like a fish for several seconds before asking what she could get him. You try to peg his accent as he asks for black coffee with a squeeze of lemon, but all you can think about is how lovely the words sound coming out of those full lips. At this point, you begin to wonder if you’re in heat. 

“You sure you don’t want cream, honey?” Penny asks him, pouring his coffee in one of those chipped porcelain mugs. 

“No, thank you. I am lactose intolerant,” the man chuckles lightly and presses a hand to his stomach. “It will come back like a ghost.”

“A ghost?” Penny frowns. 

“Eh, to haunt me. Stomach troubles. This is what I get for trying English phrases, no?” 

“Oh. Right,” Penny laughs a little uncomfortably and slides his coffee across the counter. “That’ll be a dollar fifty.” 

The man slides a twenty across the counter and smiles pleasantly at her with a quiet, lilted, “Keep the change, per favore.” 

He turns and makes his way to a table about two away from yours, and reaches into the pocket of his jacket. He pulls out a small notebook, moleskin, and leaves the jacket draped over the empty chair beside him before taking a seat. Your eyes peer over the top of your laptop, watching as he warms his hands on his cup for a moment, just staring into the mug with an unreadable expression. There is something sad about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on. Honestly, you shouldn’t be trying. It’s rude. You’re rude. And the poor man probably just wants to enjoy a cup of joe before going home for the night. 

As he lifts the mug to his lips, his eyes catch yours. His left eye isn’t milky, the iris is entirely white, pupil like a pinprick. God, you just wanna fling your laptop across the room. You are so goddamn nosy, and look what happened. Embarrassed, and thoroughly blushing, you look away for a moment before compelled, you return his odd gaze. He smiles at you and tips his mug in greeting before taking that first sip which prompts a satisfied sigh to escape that perfect mouth and you want to die. 

You start to type on your keyboard, nonsensical stuff to make it look like you’re working and not obsessing, but all you can manage to write is, “I am as thirsty for this old man as he is for his cup of coffee.” Oh my god, delete that now. What is wrong with you?

I’m never leaving my apartment again, you think. I’m not doing it. He’s been in here for 10 minutes and I am acting like a looney toon. 

Taking a deep cleansing breath, you take a big bite of your nearly cold cheeseburger like a feral animal before cracking your knuckles, determined to get back to your story. You begin to write a descriptive opening for the scene, and as the story progresses, seemingly slipping from your brain to your fingers to the document on the screen, you decide that it’s going to be a romance. Perhaps entirely inspired by the man a few tables away from you, but hey! That’s the reason you come here. It’s paying off. 

Your eyes unwittingly fall on the man once more, and he’s hunched over the little notebook, a pencil in his hand as he writes. His lips move, silently reading along with each stroke of his pencil, and he more than once has to brush that bang away from his forehead, causing a smile to light your face. Not so perfect hair after all. Ah well, who are you kidding? Even the messy bang is its own perfection. 

His fingers rise to his face and he pauses for a moment as if he’s remembering something before shaking his head a little with a barely perceptible smile and scratching his nose. He heaves a sigh and looks about the diner again, his eyes falling on the sign that claims the diner sells Pepsi fresh. You watch his eyebrows turn in, deepening the wrinkles which pucker above the bridge of his nose, giving him an angry look which coupled with his white eye could make anyone shiver in intimidation. 

The family sitting nearby finish their meal and stand up, the kids talking exuberantly as they put their jackets on. The little boy runs ahead of his parents and nearly trips, the man on instinct half-standing, his chair scraping across the linoleum as he makes a small lunge toward the boy in order to prevent his falling. The kid rights himself without help, and looks at the stranger with a nervous, wide-eyed stare. 

“It is alright, little one. I fall very often,” the man says with a soft smile, making a show of nearly tripping and falling back into his seat with an “oof!” The little boy starts to giggle, and you feel your own cheeks heat as you watch them interact. It’s so incredibly sweet, and the way the man’s eyes shine as he nods the family out the door makes you wonder if he has his own children at home. Likely grown. But the lack of a ring on his finger says otherwise, although…that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. 

Your stranger turns back to his notebook and picks up his pencil, taking another sip of his coffee with his free hand. When he presses the lead to the page, it snaps. He stares down at the broken piece for several seconds before his hand curls into a fist, and it looks as if he may throw the pencil across the room in the very same way you considered throwing your laptop. His expression changes, no longer soft and sweet as it was with the boy, or politely curious. It crumbles as if he was just given bad news, his mouth cutting a severe line. That bang falls into his face, and he doesn’t bother to push it away, letting it hang limp in front of his eyes that are hollow, vacant. 

And then he looks up. And it’s gone. He looks only minorly inconvenienced, his gaze once more falling on you. He leans across the table slightly, an arm reaching across the expanse as he attempts to catch your eyes which are hyper focused on your laptop. You are the master of being inconspicuous, for sure. 

“Excuse me? May I bother you for a moment?” Such a basic question, and yet his accent caresses each word with a musical quality. 

“Hi, yes?” You inquire, finally meeting his gaze. If there ever was a moment to ‘audibly swallow’ as so many fanfictions describe, it would be now. 

“Well, I must have a very strong grip because my pencil broke before I could get a single line on paper,” he says, holding up his broken pencil. “And as my brother would say, I do not have a brain, and forgot to bring another.” 

He pauses for a moment to admire your amused smile at his words which bolsters his own. He gives a little shrug, “He also says to get out of my room and write, but I cannot do so without a pencil, sì? I end up bothering a lovely young person like yourself who have better things to do than entertain such an old chatterbox.”

“Is there a question in there?” You tease, arching a brow. You tilt your laptop screen down to better see him, and you don’t miss the way his eyes scan your face. 

He puts his hands up and you take note of a signet ring on his right hand, but from this angle, you are unable to see the symbol adorning it. “What did I say, huh? I talk too much. My question is, do you have a pencil? Or a pen, if it is not too much trouble.” 

“Are you a writer?” You ask, picking up your bag to rummage through for the pen you know is hiding at the bottom. 

“Perhaps it is one of many things I do.” 

“Perhaps?” You find the pen, and pull it out, scooting back from your chair. 

“No, no, please don’t get up,” he says, slipping from his chair to approach you. You feel a rush in your chest as he comes to stand beside you, your head tilting up to meet his eyes, immediately entranced by the lovely shade of green in his right one. 

“One would have to write to be a writer, no?” He continues, lightly taking the pen from your hand. His ring has the sigil of Lucifer carved into the face. 

“Which is what you were doing, until your pencil broke,” you point out. 

“It is more of a hobby than a profession.” 

“A writer is a writer no matter if you do it day, night, or in between time spent staring into the void,” you say, your eyes returning to your half-closed laptop.

“Ah, I am familiar with the void,” the man chuckles softly. 

“Hell?” You question, your gaze once more falling to his ring. 

His handsome features turn confused for a moment, following your gaze before stretching out his fingers and making a small noise of acknowledgement. “Ah, my ring! Sì, sì,” he laughs again, turning his hand this way and that to admire the gold. “Do you believe Hell is a void?” He asks you then. 

“I don’t believe Hell is particularly anything,” you return, watching as he pulls out the chair next to you, pausing for a moment to give you a questioning look before you nod, and he settles himself in. 

“What if I told you Hell is a beautiful place?” The man asks. 

“Are you preaching?” 

“Preaching is one of the things that I do,” he shrugs. 

“Usually one introduces themself before trying to convert another to their religion…or cult?” You smirk. 

His eyebrows fly up into his hairline and his full bottom lip drops open. There’s a beat of a second before those fingers are once more running through his dark hair as he leans back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “I am being not very nice,” he shakes his head. “You can call me…Terzo. And no, I am not trying to convert you. And no, it is not a cult.” He slaps his lips, waving his hand around like a conductor. “Okay, maybe it is a cult, but it is a good one!” He pauses. “Sometimes.” He pauses again. “It is trying to be.”

“Interesting,” you say slowly.

“I am bothering you,” Terzo mumbles, placing his hands on his thighs as he moves to stand. “Mi dispiace. Sorry. Sorry.” 

“Hey!” You reach out a hand to touch his arm. As your fingers wrap around his wrist, the both of you freeze - you in your seat floundering like a fish and Terzo half-standing, the oddest expression on his face. You quickly let go with a small apology before saying, “I meant interesting as in actually interesting. I’m interested.” The last part comes out almost like a quiet plea. 

Terzo nods slowly and sits back down, his knees cracking as he does. He gives you a weak smile as he reaches a hand down to rub at one absently. “Do not get old.”

“Are you Italian?” You question. 

“What gave it away?” He teases, arching a bushy brow.

“Accent and interwoven Italian words aside, it was your name. Terzo means third, right?” 

“Do you know Italiano, uh…okay, now you are the rude one not giving me your name, huh?” He smiles. 

You laugh and hold up your hands, “You got me.” You provide your name, and Terzo lights up, tilting your pen still clutched in his hand toward his chin. “What’s that sneaky expression for?” You add. 

“Names have power, don’t you know? You have given me a gift.” He wiggles his foot, tapping the pen against his chin. 

“Are you going to take my name back with you to your non-cult cult?” You reach out to close your laptop the rest of the way, wholly invested in this conversation. 

“Only if the owner comes with it.” He leans forward, a glint in his white eye. 

“Ha! Knew it. You are trying to convert me.”

The both of you break into easy laughter, and you notice that Terzo’s smile has finally reached his eyes, so unlike the half-smile built into a blank face he provided Penny earlier, or the melancholy which overshadowed his playfulness with the little boy. His smile is crooked, wide, and his eyes wrinkle deeply at the corners. It’s sweet, and so very beautiful. 

“You did not answer my question,” Terzo continues, tilting his head to the side slightly. “Do you know Italian?”

“Ah, no,” you laugh shyly. “I just know primo, secondo, and terzo mean first, second, and third. Among other random vocabulary.” 

“Well, you just named three men of the Emeritus family.”

“Emeritus? Is that your last nam-…wait,” you arch a brow. “I named them?” 

“Eh sì, my eldest brother Primo, then Secondo, and myself. My fratellino is Copia, he was spared the numerics,” Terzo shrugs amusedly. 

You start to speak and then stop, looking down at the table, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth as you fight a smile. 

“I realize it sounds ridiculous. Our father, as Copia likes to say, is a dickhead,” Terzo supplies. 

“Okay, it’s funny,” you concede, grinning. “But it’s not…it’s not bad. Terzo is a very lovely name. I like it. After all, three is considered the perfect number. Full of magic.” 

“I have been known to carry a few tricks up my sleeve,” Terzo says with a charming smile. “Do you believe in magic? In the alteration of space and time? Conjuration, for example.” 

“I believe that there are things in this world that we don’t fully understand.” 

“Ah! And Hell is so hard to believe?” 

“I don’t know. I guess if I had to believe in something, it would be what you said. That Hell is beautiful. I’d want it to be accepting of flaws. And mistakes. Lucifer was the original rebel, right? I don’t want to believe in a place of pain,” you say, unable to believe that you’re discussing the afterlife with this man, virtually a stranger. Really, you can’t believe you’re talking to him at all. Your night at the diner is certainly not the quiet, uneventful one you expected it to be. 

Perhaps a new story began the moment Terzo Emeritus walked through that door. 

“That is a Christian concept. And excuse me, fucking wrong. I know this, I am Papa,” Terzo delivers this line as if he’s done it a hundred times and believes it to be one hundred percent true. 

“Papa?” The word comes out of your mouth as if he just announced himself as “big daddy” to the entire diner. 

Terzo’s expression drops in an instant. The confidence he exuded moments before melts away, his fingers twitching and tapping against the table with a nervous air. He tries to smile, but it wobbles, becoming a strange half-frown. “Forget I said that,” he says. “Per favore, eh…please.”

“What are you trying to write?” You ask, gesturing toward his little notebook which still sits at his table, closed. Terzo gives you a small smile of thanks before getting up and collecting his things, returning to your table to sit and open his notebook to the page he was working at. 

He wags a finger at you. “Big mistake inviting me to sit, now I won’t fuck off. Dispiace. I say fuck a lot. And shit.”

“Every writer needs a colorful vocabulary.” 

“Ah, sì. And you are so intent on hiding yours, huh?” He makes a playful grab at your laptop. You almost shout in alarm, pulling it back, before looking apologetically around the diner. Penny squints at the both of you suspiciously. Terzo snickers beside you, his hand to his mouth. 

“It’s not done,” you hiss quietly. 

“You expect me to show you mine then, tch tch tch!,” Terzo shakes his head. “Have you ever heard of a little tit for tat, darling?” Terzo’s smile widens and he ducks his head to try and peer under your half-closed screen which you swiftly close with a click. He tilts his head, gazing at you from beneath long lashes. “Is it erotic?” 

You give him a withering look, your cheeks flushing a pink that makes his eyebrows raise with a gentle smile that replaces his teasing smirk. He appears fascinated, his eyes scanning your features for several seconds. You have no words for the sudden change in his demeanor, and you look at him with equal quiet reverence. Something unknown passing between the two of you. 

“I should not tease you,” he says then, his voice a few octaves lower. “I never show my writing to anyone, well…that is going to change soon.” 

“Why’s that?” You ask, your gaze falling to his notebook where his messy cursive loops across the page, rendering you unable to read it from your position at the table. 

“If you must know, curious thing, I am writing a song. I am a musician. A singer,” he says, bending his hand at the wrist which he flings to the side with a grandiose flair. 

“Really?” The incredulity in your voice makes him frown at you, a bushy eyebrow arching.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” 

“No! No, it’s not that. I just would think as a songwriter, you would sing or…like someone would have heard your work at some point. Why keep it a secret?” 

“You are full of questions, volpino,” he says with a little smirk, tilting his head to regard you with amused eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” you answer immediately, shying away from his gaze. “I guess I’m prying pretty hard. Tit for tat, right?” 

“I never said your curiosity was unwelcome. Believe it or not, but I like to talk about myself,” he winks, and it makes you laugh. Terzo closes his eyes and hums a little. 

“I’m writing romance. Which, I know. Not exactly original.” 

“Che cosa?” His eyes open and he shakes his head. “Not original, pah! Some of the greatest works in the literary canon are romances, yeah?” 

“I can hardly write like Jane Austen,” you scoff. 

“Sì, but perhaps you are more like a Brontë. Ah no,” he snaps his fingers. “Mary Shelley.”

“Frankenstein isn’t a romance,” you say, laughing softly as he holds up both of his fingers, leaning forward in his chair. 

“Then you are not reading it correctly,” he says, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment which momentarily distracts you. “Who do you believe is the true monster? Victor or the Creature?” 

“Victor,” you answer immediately. 

Terzo smiles and nods, gesturing at you with his hand. “Then it is a romance. Albeit, a tragic one.” 

“The Creature wanted to be loved,” you say quietly, looking into Terzo’s eyes, and unintentionally focusing on the white one. “They saw him at face-value, not the soul who celebrated nature, who yearned for purpose, and was cast out by the man who was supposed to be his father.”

“Exactly,” Terzo whispers, nodding slightly. That heavy melancholy was back, settling over the lines of his face like a shadow which he hid behind a mask of easy smiles and witty banter. His Creature. 

“Are you okay?” You finally ask, unable to hold yourself back when this mysterious and beautiful man looks so incredibly sad. If you were being honest with yourself, there is something about his melancholy that feels familiar to you, like a beast you are too afraid to poke. 

Terzo merely smiles, and leans his head back to laugh a little, rubbing his hands together before picking up his notebook. “Sì! I am always okay. Always good. You asked me about my song, correct?” He enunciates the word, landing hard on the ‘T’. “It is called Zenith. I am not usually the songwriter of my eh…little group. This is a first. And I expect it will not go over well.”

“Go over well with whom?” 

“Now you are asking the right questions, volpino. There are…individuals, hmm…authority figures in my organization. Let me rephrase that - there are individuals in my organization who think they have authority. They have to approve the song.”

“And you think they won’t?” You ask, suddenly feeling like you are hearing things that perhaps you shouldn’t be privy to. Secrets unraveling, another chapter of this mystery opening the more the man talks. 

“Perhaps they do not like me very much,” Terzo says wryly, a dry smile on his lovely features. 

“I don’t see how anyone could dislike you,” you say, that pink touching your cheeks again. Your words make Terzo chuckle quietly, and he rests his elbow on the table as he brings a thumb to his mouth, wrapping his lips around the tip of it as he looks at you with nearly hooded eyes. 

“Do you like me?” He asks softly. 

The old jukebox in the corner, its light flickering faintly, comes to life with a squeaking click as one of the worn tracks slides into place. It takes a moment for the speaker to push out the song, crackling before settling into a low static hum behind the vocals of none other than Frank Sinatra. 

“I love this song,” Terzo says, looking pleasantly surprised as he stands and strides closer to the jukebox, placing his hands on the glass to peer closer at the inner workings of the old thing. You breathe a small sigh of relief, or is it disappointment, as you dodge his question.

“That thing turns on by itself all the time. Something inside must be busted,” you say, standing up to move beside him.

“Ah, not broken. Simply yearning to sing, sì?” He says, glancing over at you with an amused smile. “You know this song?”

“Frank Sinatra?” 

“Molto bene, mio volpino.” Terzo takes a step back from the jukebox, a hand pressing against his chest as he tilts his head up and closes his eyes. “Over and over I keep going over the world we knew,” his voice floats effortlessly, soft and persuasive, in the space between you. “Days when you used to love me.” 

You watch him sing with parted lips, your brow furrowing as you’re filled with awe, but also an ache deep in your chest. A yearning for the strange man you fear will disappear from your memory forever when you leave this diner. He opens his eyes and pins you with a stare, his smile very soft, but quirks in a way which whispers mischief. Terzo holds his hands out to you, fingers curled slightly as he tilts his head to the side. “Dance with me?” He says, his tone gently demanding. “With Papa now, sì?” 

“That’s the second time you said that,” you note with a small grin, reaching out to place your hands in his. His fingers are chilled as he pulls you in, a hand naturally falling to your waist. Your breath catches, and he smiles. 

“Ah, slip of the tongue,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning the blush on your features.

“Something you do often?” Your voice is a little breathless as he turns the both of you, and you look down at your feet, chewing on your bottom lip as you beg whatever deity out there to not step on his. 

Terzo lets go of your hand for a moment to gently tap your chin. “Eyes up, tesoro. And as for your question…,” a wide smile crosses his face, a tiny chip in his front tooth. “I use my tongue very often.” His pink tongue wets his bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth for a moment before slowly and sensually letting go. 

Your eyes widen and you giggle nervously, “You are…something.” 

“Something good?” His eyes flicker with amusement before his mouth pops open in a little ‘O’ shape. “Ah, yes! You never answered my question.” He pulls back to spin you around, laughing again when you do an awkward little turn on your heel. He draws you even closer then, his hand flexing against the small of your back. “Do you like me?”

“We just met.” Your voice is small, and your eyes focus intently on the dark chest hair peeking out from his purple button-up. 

“Sometimes meeting is all it takes,” he murmurs. 

Your eyes find his again, and you don’t think you’re dancing anymore, but you’re still swaying - your heart, your mind. Swept up in the softness of his eyes as they look back at you with…hope. Glaring desperately from green and white depths. The vestiges of a younger, happier man. And there’s a part of you that wants to cry. 

“I like you very much, Terzo Emeritus.”

His response isn’t what you expect. His head raises slightly and he peers at you with curiosity, his brow furrowing as he searches your eyes for some kind of answer to a question you aren’t privy to. You get the sense that he doesn’t believe you, that he’s waiting for the punchline to some cosmic joke. “Well!” He says finally, his face dropping back into that easy smile. He waves a hand. “I am an old man. Do you see? I moisturize but,” he clicks his tongue. “The lines, they grow. I appreciate you entertaining me, eh?” 

Your brow furrows and your mouth presses into a thin line as you gaze past him with the intent to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about. “You think I can’t like you because…you have wrinkles?” The word comes out slightly high pitched and confused. “Make it make sense, Mr. Emeritus.” 

Terzo’s bushy eyebrows fly into his hairline and he looks vaguely disturbed. “I am not called that often…it is weird.”

“Oh, right. You’re Papa,” you wiggle your brows, and the man groans. His fingers dig into the small of your back and he pulls you closer, dipping his chin to regard you with a heated stare that sends a shiver down your spine. 

“You should be careful with that, amore,” he murmurs, his voice low like the crackling of firewood, flames licking over the endearment. “I could have you saying ‘Papa’ in a more…breathless manner, hmm?” 

His words alone are enough to knock the wind out of you, and he knows it, a twinkle in the man’s eyes that tells you this isn’t his first passion play. The song is long over, the jukebox having gone back to its eerie nostalgic silence, yet he turns you again, his shoes sliding along the faded linoleum floor like butter. You are, perhaps, less graceful. 

“I thought you were too old?” You ask him, narrowing your eyes. Terzo looks briefly affronted, and the nearly outraged expression on his face makes you burst into giggles. He wags his finger in front of your face before placing both of his hands around your back, lacing his fingers together and drawing you forward until your hips are flush. That shuts you up very quickly. 

“I know what you are doing,” he purrs. “But I can play, too.” He smiles and sighs, looking up at the cracking ceiling before returning your gaze. “And yet I see your point. But it is true, volpino. I am much, much older than you.” 

“I think whether or not I’m bothered by that is my decision, don’t you?” You ask.

Terzo concedes, tilting his head a little. “In my faith, it is encouraged to follow your desires.” 

“Oh, right. Your non-cult cult. How could I forget,” you tap your finger to your temple and Terzo chuckles. You smile back, wrapping your arms around his neck. A million possibilities, a million ways the night could have gone, and you got the one with Terzo. Your smile softens, your eyes taking on a tender reverence, and you can see pink dance at the edges of his cheeks. His wrinkles smooth as his face falls into almost boyish wonder while the two of you sway to nothing. No, that’s not right. You’re swaying to a music all your own. 

“You have a really nice face,” you murmur, your voice coming out in a soft hush. 

“You aren’t lying.” It’s said as a statement. Confusion lining his words, his eyes widen just a fraction. This isn’t the first time in the night where you wanted to just…ask him if he’s okay? Hug him. Your words appear to confound him, and a hand lets go of your waist to touch his cheek, his fingers following one of the deeper lines. “You know, in my line of work, I usually wear a full face of makeup.”

“Is this where you tell me you go by…Paprika Smear or something?” You tease, eyebrows raised. 

Terzo laughs so hard, everyone in the diner, who isn’t already watching you like you’re the first interesting thing to happen in decades, are gaping now. Penny hasn’t turned the page in her National Enquirer in the last ten minutes. “No, no, no. Ah, my naughty volpino. What I am trying to say,” he clears his throat. “I do not show my face often. What you said…grazie mille. I am often not kind to myself.”

“I have no reason to lie. We just met, Terzo. This is my perception of you. My honesty. I feel like you’re looking for a different answer or…looking for deception.” 

“I am looking for something real,” he says, with vulnerability in his eyes. “It has been a very long time since I have had something real.” Terzo releases your waist and removes your arms from around his neck, but he holds your hands in his. His thumbs rub circles into your skin, admiring the contrast of your hands together, and he brings them closer, cradling them near his chest. 

“I can be real,” you say, turning your hands to lace your fingers through his despite his tight grip. Terzo takes a deep breath, his lower lip quivering slightly as he thinks. 

“And if I told you to know me is to know Satan? If there are dangers in my life, amorino? Things your beautiful, sweet mind could perhaps not comprehend?” His voice has turned nearly desperate in his speech, pained. And yet despite his warnings, you don’t feel afraid, or concerned. There are no red flags waving over Terzo’s head. You just see someone very alone. 

The shrill ring of a cell phone slices through the tension like a heated blade, and the two of you freeze for a moment before Terzo sighs, heavily, his shoulders falling like rocks have been placed on his shoulders. He gently pulls away from you, his hands lowering yours back to your sides before he’s digging into his pocket. “Sì?” He snaps into the phone, listening to the voice on the other end. “Perhaps I am not ready to come back…because I am Papa and I say so…of course I understand!” Terzo runs a hand through his hair, the strands sticking up in a few places. “You tell that stronzo he can wait…ah-but…dai!...alright, alright. I will see you soon.” 

Terzo puts his phone back in his pocket, and looks at you with an apologetic smile. “It seems our dance comes to an end, eh?” You stand facing each other, and panic seizes your heart in a fist. If Terzo walks out that door, you may never see him again. It almost strikes you as odd, the way he managed to wrestle his way into your very being in your short evening here at the diner. There was no feasible way you could sit back down and go back to writing, surrounded by the same monotony while this man is somewhere in the world. 

“You know,” you begin, taking a step toward him. “I’ve been really into theistic Satanism lately. Gosh, if only there was a place, or someone, that could guide me.”

Terzo stares at you with an unreadable expression, and then he takes a step forward, and places his lips against your forehead. He chuckles softly, “My evil plans worked, volpino. I am converting you.” He pulls back to wink. “You like me.” 

“I already told you that-” 

“Sì, sì, I am only teasing,” his smile broadens and he smooths back a strand of hair from your forehead. “This is a big thing for Papa, no? Something real.” 

“You’re going to have to tell me why you keep calling yourself that,” you giggle, shaking your head. Terzo’s fingers cradle your jaw and tilt your head to meet his gaze. 

“Come and find out.”

Another look is shared between the diner writer and the mysterious stranger. But this one? It’s a look of yearning. Yearning for a future that changes the both of you. That a man can learn to love himself again. That the walls of this diner will let you go. Terzo grabs his jacket and his little notebook, and you slip your hand into his pocket to grab his phone. 

“Already, amore?” He says, his grin wide, and you laugh and swat him with a hand. You type your number into his phone and slip it back, but Terzo grabs your wrist. He brings your hand to his lips and gently kisses the soft skin. “I will see you soon,” he promises. 

“Arrivederci, Terzo,” you sigh dreamily. 

“Eh, we will work on your Italian,” the man rolls his eyes playfully. 

Terzo walks toward the door of the diner, and you sit in your seat. Is it possible to change in a single evening? You don’t feel like the same person who watched this man walk in with the perfect hair and pretty accent. And you get the feeling that he isn’t the same person now either. Terzo stands in the doorway, looking back at you, and he smiles. A smile that lights up his whole face, and is really, truly…happy. 

When he’s gone, you open your laptop and stare at the pages you had written earlier. With a wry smile, you shut your laptop off and gather your things. Walking to the front, you toss a few bucks on the counter. 

“Gettin’ cozy with that eye-talian man, huh, honey?” Penny asks, chewing her bubble gum as she looks you up and down with the eyes of a seasoned gossip. “Be back tomorrow?” 

Your phone buzzes and you glance down, grinning before taking a breath and looking back at Penny, the diner, and its forever patrons. 

“No, I don’t think I will.” 

[littledollll]

Blank canvas

Lucifer Morningstar x reader

A/n: this idea was haunting me for weeks before I even posted about it and now here we are.

Big thanks to @pebbleswritessometimes for being with me through the whole writing process (like basically always I just b forgetting to tag this hoe) and @v3nusxsky for also helping out and naming the fic!

Warnings: tattoos/aftercare, shower sex, multiple orgasms, rly soft Lucifer, lots of praise.

___________________________________

It was a few years into your relationship that you thought about getting a new tattoo. Something that symbolized, showing their mark on you. Yet you didn’t actually follow through until well- today.

Early in the morning you came up with some excuse to go to the mortal realm. And since Lucifer never questioned you or your work, you got away quite easily without suspicion. The appointment had been set up for weeks, after years and years of considering and thinking it over you decided you wanted this etched permanently into your skin, for the rest of your immortal life alongside them.

You were away for most of the day, which again, they didn’t question. Because you wanted to finish the piece in one day. Knowing Lucifer wasn’t quite capable of keeping their hands to themselves for too long, and let’s be fair, neither were you. This was a surprise, and you sure as well didn’t want them to just see a half finished piece over the length of your back.

When you came back at the end of the day, they were more than overjoyed to see you. Immediately welcoming you with wandering hands and more than a few kisses. “What’d you do all day, hm? Have fun abandoning me?” You giggled at their questions as you parted from them and took their hands.

“Wanna take a shower with me?” Only a fool would refuse that offer. It seemed like logic to Lucifer that you didn’t even have to ask. “Oh? Did you miss me all day?” They said in an amused tone, and you only looked back at them with a face that told them you had a secret. “I see how it is.”

Lucifer followed you in, watching you closely as you made a point to undress facing them, they couldn’t see, not yet. “Are you gonna go in dressed or something?” You teased, seeing as they were observing you instead of getting ready themselves. “I’m trying to see what you’re plotting.” They seemed dead serious on figuring it out, like some sort of game they had to win. Ever the competitive devil.

“You think you’ll be able to read my mind if you stare at me long enough?”

“Perhaps.”

A short answer before they reluctantly started undressing themselves, having to break their view from you. Taking the chance, you almost ran into the shower, just making them more suspicious of you.

They joined you a few moments later, their hands gently placed on your hips as they looked you up and down. “You haven’t turned your back on me since you undressed.” Their tone dripping with pride, like they’ve just done their best detective work.

“Ohh good job, Detective, you have a great eye.” Your sass was clearly not welcome as they attempted to decipher what you were hiding, giving you a playful glare.

“Okay okay. You’ve gotta help me with something.” As you turned around they caught sight of the fresh saniderm bandage and the bit of ink that had released into it, not making the tattoo clear enough.

“Ah. New tattoo?.. why all the secrecy for that, my love?” They asked softly, adjusting the water to fall perfectly over your back as they gently started removing the bandage. “You’ll see.”

And see they did. They were quiet for a moment as they observed the fine-line piece. The outline of the sun, serving as some sort of heading, or halo for a simple yet beautifully drawn serpent below it. It was quite big, starting at the height of your shoulders plates down to your lower back.

Their hands gently trailed down the sides of it, not wanting to touch in case you were feeling sore. The silence was starting to worry you, and you looked over your shoulder to see what their reaction was.

You were quite pleased to see them admiring it, a soft smile on their face. Such a simple thing felt so intimate in that moment. “..you got this, for me?” the question seemed almost unsure. Their voice low and quiet as they continued to inspect it like it was the most complex piece of art they’ve ever seen, when the design was rather simple.

A simple nod was all they received and you swear you heard a whimper slip past their lips. “Can I- do you want me to help you clean it..?” It was rare to hear Lucifer be shy of all things. You, of course got it with the idea that they’d love it, but this is not the reaction you expected from them.

It felt endearing to see them be so affected by it. “That would actually be very helpful. Thank you, Luce.” They nodded. Gently, they lathered their hands in soap, opting to use just one to rub gently over the tattoo, making sure to leave it perfectly clean. You hissed, feeling a little soreness but it was quickly replaced by the feeling of their free hand inching towards your inner thighs.

They hummed, pressing themselves against your back, the other hand coming to wrap around your waist. Effectively covering you from the shower, then you felt water dripped from their hair down your shoulders. “Is this okay too?” The feeling of their breath on the back of your ear made your knees weak. The feeling only being worsened as two fingers slowly started thrusting into you and you scrambled to find some support against the shower walls.

Your shaky legs couldn’t handle your own weight with all the pleasure you were receiving. But thankfully you were saved by Lucifer’s thigh being pushed between your thighs, giving you a little more stability as the palm of their hand continued rubbing your sensitive clit. “please-“

Lucifer cut your words short with their own. “I think it’s only fair I reward you for this precious gift… don’t you?”

And who were you to deem them wrong? “Y-yes.. yes, please-“ Your moans served as encouragement as they another finger and slowly picked up their pace.

Lucifer felt as your thighs tensed up, queuing them to hold onto your shaking body just a little tighter as you released around their hand with a breathy moan.

Their hold on your waist was gone for only a second as they turned the temperature of the water cold, feeling suffocated in the heat of their own body.

You didn’t know if you were hot or freezing anymore, the cold water contrasting the burning sensation of your body and theirs. Heat burned in your stomach and between your thighs as you felt the rush of freezing cold water running down your back, and pebbling down your hard nipples. It made your whole body shiver as you needily began grinding against Lucifer’s hand.

That very same hand pushed carefully on your lower back, leading you to lean a little forward against the wall. “Good.. perfect. Now I can keep looking at your beautiful back and stunning tattoo.” They murmured, placing soft kisses over the back of your neck and wherever they could reach of your back.

“Spread your legs a little more for me baby.. don’t worry. I won’t let go of you.”

They didn’t give you a chance to breathe after that as they simply picked up the pace once again responding to your needy grinding and effectively turning you into a whining, withering mess in their hands.

“You’re perfect. So perfect, my darling.” Their voice was breathy now as they took their time, switching between running two fingers down your slit and toying with that pulsing bundle of nerves and using those same two fingers to fuck you to oblivion.

Lucifer kept you pressed against the shower wall, your nipples rubbing against the cold tiles whenever they pounded into you, only giving you the illusion of a break when they went back to circling your clit, practically bathing in the sweet sounds of your broken moans.

“I love it, sweet one… who knew you could be even prettier, hm?” They muttered, clearly still hung up on admiring your new tattoo.

You felt delirious. Quickly tumbling over that delightful edge again as Lucifer slowed down for once, keeping their focus on your clit. Your cheek was helplessly pressed against the cold tile as you panted to catch your breath, which was difficult considering Lucifer refused to stop their ministrations any time soon. “Luce..”

“Give me one more, angel.. just like this, just one more.”

Apparently it wasn’t enough that you felt weak enough to turn to mush, or that you quite literally couldn’t stand anymore and they were the only thing standing between you and the hard tile. Clearly your shaking body was no sign of stopping for your devil.

Your eyes slipped shut as curses and cries continued tumbling from your lips. Somehow the slow, almost gentle pace felt much more effective than the previous harsh one. Perhaps it was the overstimulation. No, it clearly was. Your mind was simply not functioning enough at that point to think about the most logical reason why everything felt ten times better, or why every drop of water against your skin made your whole body want to tumble over the edge.

It didn’t take long, of course. Not with their warm skin wrapping and pressing against you, contrasting the cold water. Not with their delightfully long fingers thrusting into you. Certainly not with the palm of their hand rubbing your sensitive clit.

Slowly, they worked you down from your high. Switching from a slower pace to just a sweet and gentle caress, before both arms wrapped around your body and they held you close, pressing your back against them. You could vaguely tell Lucifer’s tone was one of praise as they whispered against your ear. But in all reality you had no idea what they were saying.

You simply relished in their gentle hold, providing you much needed support. Almost sure you’d crumble into nothing if your lover let you go.

You’re not exactly sure how long you stood under the running shower, wrapped in their arms with their face nuzzled sweetly against the crook of your neck. This wasn’t the outcome you had planned, but one things for sure. This was definitely not going to be the last tattoo you got for your loving devil.

[bnhaobservation]

BNHA ENDING or how a good plan might become something not so good when written down

So time has gone by but people who’re unsatisfied about BNHA ending remain.

Of course part of this might be because people had personal wishes that weren’t fulfilled, and part of this might be due to cultural clash that didn’t allow the whole message of the story to pass smoothly when the story was offered to an international readership, but, I think, another problem might be that Horikoshi’s Doylist purposes end up on moving the characters more than their Watsonian intentions.

What do I mean by this?

When you write a story you often draw a general outline of what you, the author, want to happen in it so that you’ll insure the themes of the story, the messages you want to pass and the arcs you want to close will be carried on by the plot. It’s usually a good thing because it allows you to stay on track.

Then you flesh out everything by writing the story itself. This is the part in which you write the characters and make them move as if everything that happens in the story was due to their wants, wishes and mistakes and not due to your own will, so that the story feels like a smooth and logical narration of what people are doing of their own free will and of what is logically happening to them in consequence.

The BNHA ending has a good outline as the author’s plan was definitely good.

As the ending touches various plotlines I’ll take the part regarding the Todoroki plotline for example (also because it’s the part I love the most) but I could take almost whatever bit of it, starting from the bit in which the plan to split the Villains is put in action.

So let’s first go through what the outline Horikoshi planned likely said:

FINAL WAR ARC

Touya and Shouto end up together in Kamino and, with them there are also Endeavor’s sidekicks and Iida (PLUS POINT: This will built up the idea of how Endeavor’s sidekicks will remain supportive of him so that their arc will close with them continuing to be supportive of him in the epilogue). Touya and Shouto talk and how Touya survived the fire is revealed (PLUS POINT: this clears up something we were previously left in the dark about and starts to get the basis for the idea that AFO is to blame for everything). Shouto and the sidekicks realize Touya is suicidal. Touya and Shouto have a big COOL fight in which Shouto put to action a new ultimate move (PLUS POINT: Shouto shows why he was born in his family carrying on his arc). Touya is temporally stopped.

In Gunga Endeavor gets distracted and All for One makes him even more upset by revealing his involvement in Touya’s tragedy. This leads Enji to end up wounded but he thinks back to his origin and overcomes this (PLUS POINT: Enji gets a tragic past) and, despite losing his arm, put up a big COOL fight, thinks at how he won’t stand in the way of the kids’ future and manages to seriously wound All for One. All for One uses the rewind bullet.

Touya wakes up, copies Shouto’s technique and uses Kurogiri’s warp gate to reach his father. Shouto and the rest remain behind. Enji worries about Shouto’s survival and then leads Touya away from the battleground only to discover his son is about to blow up and he can’t stop him. Endeavor discovers Touya also has a ice Quirk. Geten tells us the Himura’s history and how he’s an Himura and Compress is alive (PLUS POINT: this explains why ice Quirk was predominant in Enji’s kids to the point even Touya has one ice quirk). Enji takes responsibility and decides to die with Touya. Rei, Fuyumi and Natsuo arrive and try to help (PLUS POINT: the Todorokis deal with their regrets carrying on their arc and Touya finally feels seen which carries on his arc). Shouto arrives there thanks to Iida (PLUS POINT: Iida becomes the Hero he wanted to be carrying on his arc) and saves the day in a COOL way. Enji apologizes to Touya who cries and his fire, both physical and psychological is finally shut down (PLUS POINT: This mostly ends Touya’s arc), then Enji apologizes to the whole family (PLUS POINT: he carries on his atonement arc). Shouto faints.

EXTRA

Shouto and Enji will fight again against All for One in Shigaraki's body (PLUS POINT: this carries on their atonement to society), although it’ll be Midoriya the one who'll beat him.

In the epilogue, days after the battle ended, the whole family will visit Touya at the hospital, where we’re told Touya is dying. The family confirms its wish to keep on talking with him until he’ll die, Shouto and Touya learn how each other favorite food is the same (PLUS POINT: This allow Touya and Shouto to connect and lead Touya to regret what he did to Shouto, closing their ‘siblings’ arc). Once the family leaves Touya, the fate of the other family members is revealed: Fuyumi got another job, Natsuo will marry and cut contacts with Enji, Shouto will continue to stay at U.A. high, Rei will remain with Enji who’ll continue to try to protect his kids. (PLUS POINT: Enji continues to take responsibility, strengthening his atonement arc) Natsuo acknowledges his father's efforts as cool, calling him father for the first time (PLUS POINT: this ends the Todoroki family arc in a way that paves the way for a possible reconciliation (even though Natsuo previously expressed the wish to never see Enji again), and therefore to a happy ending for the family). Enji’s sidekicks as well as Hawks and Kurumada will keep on supporting Enji (PLUS POINT: This reaffirms the theme of supporting Heroes when they can’t keep up any longer). Much later Shouto is confirmed to have turned into the Hero he wanted to be. (PLUS POINT: This closes Shouto’s arc)

THE END

Of course this is not, exactly, how Horikoshi wrote his outline, this is how I think he wrote it according to the story he wrote (but the plot might have been changed along the way, enriched or shortened), and I’ve split the whole outline in two parts, labeling as extra the final fight with All for One and the epilogue. That’s because the final fight with AFO is more a cameo and the epilogue merely confirms and expands most of what was basically into the final war arc already, with one notable exception, the ‘reconciliation’ between Shouto and his brother which we can find SOLELY in the epilogue.

I’ve also underlined the action scenes as ‘COOL’ because in an action manga like BNHA you need cool fighting scenes, and often people think the more, the better.

So, as you can see, in the final war outline, we’ve three cool fighting moments (the Shouto/Touya fight, the Enji/AFO fight, Shouto saving the day) [yeah, I’m not counting as a fight the Enji/Touya one as there was really no fighting… if you want we can label Touya’s nuking technique as cool, but as it ends up sliding into Shouto’s cool final saving the day moment it feels redundant to do so], the chance to expand things with info (how Touya survived, AFO’s involvement, the Himura background) and moments in which the characters’ arcs are advanced/lead to conclusion. The epilogue is mostly kind of like a bonus which just strengthen and confirm all that was said/shown here (the only really relevant thing here is the moment of bonding between Shouto and Touya, everything else was implied, if not outright stated, in previous scenes).

Anyway, in this outline we’ve Shouto becoming the Hero he wants to be, the Todoroki family coming together and finally looking at Touya, Enji acknowledging his wrongdoings, showing he’s willing to sacrifice so as not to let his son die alone (finally acting like a father) and apologizing to Touya and to the rest of the family, and Touya sort of reconciling with them. Yes, I hear you, he still said he hates his father, but he switched from ‘die shitty old man’ to ‘I hate you, dad’ and he’s crying and previously he thought he wanted to talk with them more so this is Touya’s way to ‘reconcile’ by venting to his family instead than against the world like Natsuo and Shouto and Enji asked him to do.

Originally there was another plus point, Shouto commenting it was Touya the one who was the Masterpiece Endeavor wanted (someone with an amazing firepower and who could use ice to cool himself down), which meant to close the arc in which he viewed himself as a failure as well as be another stab to Enji, but it was removed for the final version likely because it was completely in bad taste in such an emotional moment for Shouto to slip into the Masterpiece topic, never mentioning the realization Touya was the one with the Quirk Enji wanted all along, came already when Enji realized Touya had a fire Quirk, no need to repeat it, and so all that remained was Shouto showing appreciation for his brother’s ability to raise heat.

It’s a damn good outline, one that carries on the family members arcs and gives us cool moments and additional info and so on. It works great on paper.

It doesn’t work so great when Horikoshi transposed it into his manga though.

Why?

Because the Doylist reasons for why things happen often force the characters to act in a way for which the Watsonian reasons, even when the story gives them (and it doesn’t always give them), are poor or not so good, when not outright OOC.

Basically on the Watsonian side of the story we’ve plenty of problems and, while we can make up some answers for them, fundamentally the story mostly handwaves them because they’re not important, what’s important is for the story to keep on following the outline.

In fact let’s go through the outline again and look at what doesn’t work for the Watsonian perspective but works just fine for the Doylist one.

Touya and Shouto end up together in Kamino and, with them there are also Endeavor’s sidekicks and Iida.

Watsonian problem: The sidekicks hardly contribute to the fight. 4 Heroes, 3 of them seasoned Pro and they just stand around and watch as Touya and Shouto exchange blows, with only one notable exception in which Enji’s sidekicks take a blow aimed at Shouto at the end of the fight, when all around a war is waged and resources are stretched thin. From a Watsonian perspective it doesn’t make sense, there’s no reason to waste resources like that. So why this happens?

Doylist answer: The sidekicks and Iida can’t attack Touya, that’s Shouto’s moment to shine, bringing him down isn’t meant to be a group effort but the result of Shouto’s hard work who, through this, proves why he was born in that family and moves to the path for becoming the Hero he wants to be. At the same time Iida needs to be there because he’ll bring Shouto to Gunga later on and the sidekicks need to be there because Horikoshi needs to develop them so as it wouldn’t come out of nowhere they would support Enji at the end of the story. Also, involving the sidekicks in the fight too much, would stretch the scene more and make it look as if the Heroes are ganging up on Touya, who’s not as powerful as AFO. This would end up making Shouto look weak and the fight look unfair as it would be Touya against many. So it’s one against one and Shouto can win by his power only.

Touya and Shouto talk…

Watsonian problem: Touya and Shouto talk more than once through the fight, but all their talks carry on the same problem. In fact we see how Touya first complains about how Enji isn’t there to face him, which upsets him because he interprets it as Enji AGAIN not caring about him, which again hurts him. Then he tells Shouto he went back home only to discover again he was judged a failure and the family left him in the past, which was something that hurt him. Ultimately Touya tells Shouto they’re different and Shouto can’t understand him. All this hurts Touya and makes him angry and more determinate to fight Shouto. Shouto though, could have corrected Touya’s beliefs. Shouto KNOWS Enji wanted to face him, Enji even phoned Shouto asking him to switch, Shouto knows the family didn’t forget Touya but mourned him, his mother’s health got worse when he was assumed dead, Natsuo spent more time talking to the Butsudan than talking to Shouto, when Touya turned out alive his father cried and the whole family expressed regret for what had happened. Shouto wants to connect with Touya, he wants to sit down and eat with him, he would even accept to eat hot udon in order to connect. Shouto is also a kind boy who doesn’t want to cause people pain and doesn’t want his brother to die. Shouto however doesn’t say anything to soothe Touya’s pain/anger. First he makes the fact Enji didn’t come there all about himself, saying HE came here to face Touya because he decided so (either way Touya wanted to interpret it, Enji didn’t want to come but Shouto wanted or Enji wanted to come but Shouto didn’t let him is not going to make things better), then, instead than reassuring Touya he was missed, Shouto worries about telling him that he won’t let him hurt people. Also, when Shouto will scold Touya, he won’t tell him he’s wrong in thinking his family didn’t care, that his family is actually still suffering for him, no, he’ll do it from a morally superior point, telling him ‘yes, father was a madman and our family was screwed but you decided to burn people on your own when you should have aimed your rage at us’. The result is he NEVER denies Touya’s family didn’t care about him, he doesn’t soothe Touya’s pain but enrages him further, which clearly leads Touya to want to fight more and to use more of his firepower which hurts himself and the ones around him. Not only enraging Touya is counterproductive as it worsen the situation instead than improving it, but it let Touya in pain and stewing in false beliefs, which is uncharacteristic for Shouto. From a Watsonian perspective it doesn’t make a lot of sense Shouto wouldn’t tell Touya the truth about his family loving him and missing him, and therefore Touya being wrong in raging… especially since Shouto had a full arc about the importance of connecting the heart, yet Shouto doesn’t, to the point such behaviour borders on OOC and unnatural for him, so why he does so?

Doylist answer: Shouto can’t soothe Touya’s rage because Touya’s rage is FUNDAMENTAL to lead Touya to fight him and then, consequently, to try to nuke Japan. If Shouto had managed to calm Touya down, to connect with him, the battle wouldn’t have happened or, if it had, Touya wouldn’t have been so enraged he couldn’t bring Enji Shouto’s head he would try to nuke Japan in order to hurt Enji. Shouto has to worsen Touya’s rage and his physical conditions (let’s remember Touya is meant to die soon by the end of the epilogue) as well to carry on the plot. What’s more, Shouto has to talk about himself so as to remember the readers about Shouto’s arc, about Shouto becoming a certain kind of Hero. His speech is IMPORTANT for his arc, instead than with moments of attempted connection, the fight is peppered with discussions on how Shouto took the long way as a Hero, how he improved flashfire, how Shouto has to fight him because that’s the only way to reach the goal he’s aiming at, how that’s Shouto’s power, how this will affirm the reason why HE WAS BORN IN THE FAMILY (skipping completely how instead Touya wanted to know why he was born in that family). That because Horikoshi, instead than prioritizing creating a connection between the two brothers, decides to prioritize furthering Shouto’s arc as a Hero, and that he will focus on the connection between the two siblings in the epilogue. Also, at the same time, Shouto’s speech is IMPORTANT for everyone’s arc as it triggers Touya into discussing why they’re all there fighting. Plus… the whole moralizing speech is something that all the Heroes do when facing their Villains in this final arc. Probably, since the Villains were sympathetic, Horikoshi felt the need to remember to a younger audience that no, what they were doing wasn’t right. Long story short, Shouto’s words are functional for the story to advance it the way Horikoshi wanted it to advance.

… and how Touya survived the fire is revealed.

Watsonian problem 1: The Touya flashback ends up with the explanation that Garaki and All for One left him go because he only had a month to live… a month in which, if Touya had decided to remain at his home, he could have revealed everything behind Garaki’s orphanage to the Number Two Hero. Why Garaki didn’t worry about this? It makes no sense.

Doylist answer 1: In the story the problem is inexistent because Touya won’t remain home and therefore won’t reveal anything. The main purpose for the flashback isn’t really to explain what happened to Touya, but to set up how the blame for what happened to Touya had to be placed also on AFO and giving Touya an additional sad backstory so as to further increase the empathy readers have for him and give him more reasons to rage. We’ve to feel bad for him, it’s a tragedy, a kid who loved his family and wanted to become a Hero now has turned into a Villain who wants to kill his family, a tragedy that could have been avoided if Enji had changed his ways. We also need to hate AFO more because he meddled with the Todoroki family ruining further Touya’s life... and this prepares the ground for how he manipulated/ruined Tomura's life too. Also, remembering all this, Touya has to rage more because, remember, this is mainly ‘angering Touya’ time.

Watsonian problem 2: To explain how Touya survived even though he supposedly only had a month of life we’re told… it was his grudge who kept him alive. To swallow this asks us a huge suspension of disbelief as Touya survives FOR YEARS with ZERO HELP, in apparently good conditions (we never see him feeling sick or something) which kind of backfires as it becomes harder to accept Touya could survive without medical aid (or any sort of aid for the matter as Touya has no one to help him and no money) for years just fine, never showing any physical problem through the story beyond his burnt skin, all this thanks to his grudge, but won’t live long at the end of the war despite having medical aid and people wanting to take care of him. In truth way too many situations in the story begs for our suspension of disbelief SO HARD, that it becomes hard to accept characters can indeed die, it feels more like they have been forcefully killed off by the author instead than that they had met their expected fate.

Doylist answer 2: Horikoshi likely assumed by saying Touya was meant to die so long ago, it would make easy for the readers to accept now he has to die, that he has burned up all his resources and that his death would feel like a natural conclusion for him, since HE WAS MEANT TO DIE BY A LONG TIME. In short, after asking us to suspend our disbelief, he’s asking us to accept the realism he can’t live any longer. He’s basically preparing the ground for Touya’s incoming death, a death that won’t take place on the battlefield, and that will take place despite Touya getting medical aid. He wants us to think that nothing can be done, that this was meant to happen. The intention is good... the execution is not.

Shouto and the sidekicks realize Touya is suicidal.

Watsonian problem: Wait, hadn’t Shouto realized it sooner, in the Paranormal Liberation War arc? When Touya has hugged him, Shouto has pointed out how Touya would burn himself as well (implying this would kill him as Touya is even more burnable than Shouto) and had showed concern, to which Touya basically replied he didn’t care as long as it hurts Enji. Actually Enji too, watching the scene, should have realized it and yet it never goes discussed by the family, nor the Heroes are warned about this. This is important, a suicidal person would go much farther in a fight than a not suicidal one, in fact we’ll later see Touya is okay with exploding himself to hurt Enji. This information needed to be shared and yet Shouto and the sidekicks acts as if they had just found out about it. Have they forgotten about it?

Doylist answer: Shouto and Enji couldn’t realize Touya wanted to die because otherwise they should have worried with the family about SAVING Touya from himself. No one in the family wants Touya to die, so Touya being willing to die/wanting to die to hurt Enji would have become an additional problem and source of concern. Instead the family prefers to worry about how, since they hurt Touya, now Touya is out on hurting society, skipping how he’s also hurting himself as the more he uses his flames, the more he burns himself. This is because the family back then had to worry about STOPPING Touya from hurting others, they've to feel guilty about the damage that's being done to society due to them, and they’ve to realize they’ve to worry about Touya’s survival LATER, when Enji will face Touya and then he’ll be joined by the rest of the family as they attempt to stop Touya from exploding. So the whole thing about how Touya is suicidal and showed it already, goes somehow forgotten, only to come up later on.

All for One makes him (Enji) even more upset by revealing his involvement in Touya’s tragedy

Watsonian problem: AFO says he tried to take advantage of Enji’s longing for power for ages, which lead him to target Touya. So far so good. But then Touya escapes and AFO just… let him go because Touya is gonna die. And never again AFO tried to take advantage of Enji’s longing for power by… let’s say targeting Shouto or Fuyumi and Natsuo, or even Rei. No, he did try with Touya, it didn’t work, and he let it go and, for years, he did nothing to try to take advantage of it again. Why didn’t he try again? Also… all his trying with Touya constituted in him picking Touya up once he burned himself. Not only he didn’t orchestrate the situation (like instead he did with Tenko) but what if Touya hadn’t lost control of his Quirk and burned himself? What if Enji had gone there before Touya were to lose control of his fire? If one of the above had happened, Touya would have been saved and AFO couldn't have managed to take advantage of Enji's longing for power. This doesn’t feel like a carefully planned plan, this feels like AFO randomly passing by and catching the chance… and it feels pretty similar to how Garaki talks about how they wanted Eraser Head’s power, made an attempt, it failed and they settled up for Shirakumo’s power never trying to get Eraser Head's power again (Chap 270). This undermines AFO’s characterization as a careful planner, it feels more like he follows random spur of the moments.

Doylist answer: This has likely as main answer that originally there were no plans for an Endeavor/AFO fight. Horikoshi revealed Enji was meant to die in the Paranormal Liberation War Arc, during which AFO woke up at the last minute. Likely AFO wasn’t going to give Enji a speech on how he had a hand in his son’s disappearance to distract him.  Mind you, Garaki showed interest in Dabi from the Villain academia arc, so Garaki and AFO were likely always meant to be involved in Touya’s survival… but, since there was no plan to slam it on Enji’s face, in the first draft their involvement might have been a (un)lucky accident, which would have fit more with how things went. However telling that AFO instead planned and orchestrated it works well for the story. It paint an even more terrible image of AFO as a great mastermind (preparing the ground for when he’ll reveal he was behind Tenko’s tragedy) and it adds to Enji’s arc by underlining even more his responsibility in Touya’s tragedy. Not only Touya burned due to Enji’s mistakes and his decision not to go on Sekoto Peak, but due to his ambition his son was also targeted by AFO. As if this wasn’t enough, it contributes to create drama and a problem Enji will overcome, in fact the revelation causes Enji to lose it, attack AFO and get wounded so that he’ll have to rouse up himself again, while at the same time making space for Jirou and Tokoyami to do something, before Enji’s COOL fight with AFO.

This leads Enji to end up wounded but he thinks back to his origin and overcomes this

Watsonian problem: Wait, wasn’t Enji’s origin how he got envious of All Might and wanted to surpass him? Weren’t we told this over and over and over and over? Why no one ever mentioned him losing his father? Why the whole things is extremely vague and unclear and not foreshadowed at all?

Doylist answer: The point of the scene is give Enji drama and a motivation to rise up. A dead father when he was in middle school is dramatic and traumatic, no matter how unclear the whole thing is, actually the whole thing being unclear works to push the readers to interpret it as they prefer, making easier to generate sympathy toward him after having just reminded us how it was due to Enji’s mistakes that Touya was targeted. Of course the scene is not foreshadowed because if Enji was meant to die in the Paranormal Liberation War Arc, this revelation was never going to take place.

(Enji) thinks at how he won’t stand in the way of the kids’ future

Watsonian problem: Why when he thinks so, he thinks only at Shouto (and class A?) What about Natsuo and Fuyumi? What about Touya?

Doylist answer: Credits when it’s due, even discounting the fact that Touya is dying and suicidal, Touya was never meant to have a future if the Heroes were to win but just to be jailed in a new Tartarus and, likely, consequently executed (as in BNHA they can sentence people to death, Moonfish was on death row before he escaped). When Enji says he’ll keep his eyes on Touya, Enji doesn’t mean he’ll look at him the way Touya wants but that he’ll keep him under control so he won’t be capable to harm society any further. It’s only later Enji will realize he should have also looked at Touya the way Touya wanted him to, but this doesn’t change Enji knows Touya doesn’t have a future and Horikoshi surely couldn’t show us as an example of bright future a jailed and executed Touya, a Shouto that walks toward his classmates and toward the future looks much better. As for Fuyumi and Natsuo, compared to Shouto, they’re considered minor characters so the story doesn’t bother with them. It’s important to say Enji’s past won’t be a hindrance to Shouto’s future because Horikoshi assumes among the Todoroki kids that’s the only future we care about. It’s something we’ll see also in the final chapter when only Shouto’s future will be shown (there though it makes more sense as the narrator is Midoriya and he might not know about Fuyumi and Natsuo’s future).

Touya wakes up…

Watsonian problem: Why does Touya take so much time waking up after Shouto hits him? It can’t be he fainted if he was copying and keeping active Shouto’s technique so why he takes so long?

Doylist answer: To give the plot time to advance Touya couldn’t wake up immediately. Also the idea Touya lost makes it for a surprise once he wakes up.

(Touya) copies Shouto’s technique

Watsonian problem: Not only Touya copies Shouto’s technique successfully after just seeing it for a short time, while Shouto had to try it out many times before grasping it but, while Shouto keeps on losing concentration to keep it active, Touya will manage to keep it active no-stop, even when he's unconscious, even when his mind is supposedly gone, all this while his stats regarding techniques are considerably lower than Shouto (Shouto has first 5/5 and then 4/6 while Touya has 3/5, 2/6 and 2/6). How is that possible?

Doylist answer: Stats are either clearly not reliable (all of Touya’s stats are considerably lower than Shouto which should make very easy for Shouto to defeat him…) or influenced by how Touya doesn’t bother creating new techniques but just copies others’… even though he clearly manages to learn them without teaching, quickly and can use them better. But the real core point of Touya managing to keep Shouto’s technique ongoing while Shouto kept on losing concentration during the fight is that in the Shouto/Touya fight this created tension, and made harder for Shouto to fight, in the Enji/Touya ‘fight’, not only Touya keeping up phosphor no-stop allows him not to get destroyed by the cumulating heat but, even if this wasn’t the case, Touya losing concentration would be just a distraction to the chase and, later, to Enji’s speech. We’ll see Shouto also effortlessly managing to keep up phosphor later on, despite Shouto being completely worn out and stressed and even rolling on the ground due to a fall, when he’ll race toward where Touya is, and this will also be because him losing control of it would have been a distraction, so Shouto also conveniently managed to learn how to keep it costantly active.

Shouto and the rest remain behind.

Watsonian problem: Why Shouto doesn’t try to chase Touya like Uraraka and Tsuyu do? He has his fire that would allow him to fly to where the gate is, he has his ice who could raise him, why he doesn’t even try? He’s not too tired for it, when he’ll try to go there with Iida he’ll use his fire and ice no-stop and yet now he doesn't even try to chase and therefore stop his brother from reaching his father. Why?

Doylist answer: If Shouto has given chase right then, we wouldn’t have had the chance to let Iida have his cool moment and fulfill his arc, nor we would have needed to have Enji face Touya. Shouto has to remain there to watch in order for later to have Iida help him reach Touya as that was why Iida was there, and also in order for his father and his family to face Touya before he’ll arrive to save the day, otherwise it would have been a Touya vs Shouto part 2 with no chance for the other Todorokis to confront Touya.

Enji worries about Shouto’s survival…

Watsonian problem: Why Enji doesn’t worry about Touya’s condition but just worries about Shouto, when Enji is supposed to care about Touya too and Touya is in horrible conditions, with people wondering how he’s still alive? According to the story Enji loves Touya and, as soon as he sees him this should be his first thought, and then, the next thought should be for Shouto as he’s nowhere to be seen and Touya had bad intentions toward him. What’s more, why since transmitters work (we’ll see it with All Might) Shouto or someone else in his group hadn’t warned Enji Touya was about to show up? Touya could have caught them on surprise, causing serious damage. And why Enji hadn’t checked upon Shouto’s group by using the transmitters, which would have been safer than ask Touya (as the latter could lie) and wouldn’t have hurt him?

Doylist answer: Because, of course, it’s Enji’s turn to upset Touya so that Touya will keep on being angry. Enji couldn’t worry for him or apologize to him, this must happen later, and Touya must be affected by the apology, but we still need him to try to nuke Japan first, so Enji can’t do something to tone down his anger, he actually makes it worse by asking about Shouto. And, of course the transmitters aren’t used exactly because if Enji had known beforehand Shouto was fine, he wouldn’t have asked Touya about Shouto. It also serves to introduce Touya’s determination to destroy something to hurt Enji.

…then leads him away from the battleground only to discover his son is about to blow up and he can’t stop him.

Watsonian problem: Why, since Enji had the time to ask him about Shouto, Enji doesn’t try to talk with Touya FIRST but just tries leading him away? Since Touya will use his Quirk to give chase, he will only hurt himself more and he’s in an already horrible condition. Enji doesn’t want Touya to die, so why would he want to cause damage to him? Also why Touya’s mind is declared gone when he asks for Natsuo to play with him, but not only he can keep up phosphor and concentrating heat inside him, but later he’ll be aware enough of his surrounding to realize Rei, Natsuo and Fuyumi have arrived (meaning he could tell who’s there and who isn’t), will realize everyone is watching him, will ponder on it lamenting it should have happened sooner, will think at his origin and about how things aren’t so simple and how he wants to talk more with his family and, once Shouto hits him with his blow, will also speak in a perfectly coherent manner, in short he does plenty of things that seem to point out his mind is not gone?

Doylist answer: If Enji has talked with Touya first, again this would have risked soothing him and so it couldn’t be done. But at a certain point Enji needed to talk with Touya so as to let the readers know of his feelings, so Touya conveniently loses his mind (same as Spinner, in a way to Kurogiri and similar to Shigaraki who’s possessed) in order not to hear anything of the sort and keep up continuing what he’s doing… how he kept on doing what he’s doing (using phosphor, collecting heat) if he was thinking he was playing with Natsuo is something the story doesn’t bother trying to explain but just asks us to suspend our disbelief, possibly invoking the rule of cool. But then we needed for Touya to realize his family was there and for us to hear Touya’s thoughts so… his mind has to go back to coherent again. Because the story needs so.

Enji apologizes to Touya who cries…

Watsonian problem: Touya cries? Wait, wasn’t he unable to cry? Was that a lie?

Doylist answer: Having Touya cry was the easiest way to deliver his feelings. Horikoshi already forgot he said Touya couldn’t cry when he made him cry tears of blood… and we also saw him crying during the flashback when he was told by AFO about his status and when he went back home. Long story short, likely Horikoshi retconned that part because now tears well work to deliver Touya’s feelings (Touya is going to cry another time in the epilogue). Touya being unable to cry and losing blood from his scars in place of tears, or the visual of the hair dye dropping from his eyes in place of tears, worked well for the previous part of the story, so likely, when Horikoshi had him saying so it wasn’t meant to be a lie. It was just something he retconned because it didn’t work well anymore.

Enji apologizes to the whole family

Watsonian problem: Why Enji apologizes just for ONE thing for each family member when he actually hurt them in more than one way? (he shouldn’t just regret he didn’t go to Sekoto Peak, but also that he neglected Touya and caused him to be targeted by AFO, he didn’t just push Rei to the breaking point, he beaten her, he didn’t just let Fuyumi pick up the pieces, he neglected her same as Touya and Natsuo from when Rei was at home…) And why he doesn’t find a thing to apologize for Shouto but just tell him sorry?

Doylist answer: The overall idea is that Enji apologizing for hurting his family is all that matters. In case you don’t remember what he did to his family members, you get a hint. It’s impossible people forgot about what he did to Shouto so Horikoshi doesn’t bother to give readers a hint but takes advantage of how he doesn’t have to add anything else to say sorry in bolder letters. The chapter is meant to end after all and ending with a big sorry work well to deliver Enji’s regret. It’s a visual choice to deliver the message of how sorry Enji is. Of course this works a little less well in the anime that can’t write a big sorry not can have Enji scream it, though I’ve to praise Inada Tetsu for how he delivered the line.

Shouto faints.

Watsonian problem: Okay, Shouto ran and also fought and also used his power but making him faint with no one catching him and leaving him on the ground with no one worrying for him feels cruel. We don’t even know if he heard Enji’s apology! And what’s more Enji fought and used his power and is hurt way more than Shouto but he’s awake. The same goes for Fuyumi and Natsuo, who are unused to use their Quirk and are more hurt than him. Why knocking Shouto off and letting him sleep even when the sea of Twice arrives, which makes him look weak, especially since Enji who’s clearly more hurt than him, doesn’t pass out? And what about Enji protecting Touya from the Twices? The Twices wouldn’t have hurt Touya.

Doylist answer: Basically, same as what it happened before with Touya, who slept for a bit, now it’s Shouto’s time to miss a turn. Shouto is the less hurt, he can move around, if he did the story should have followed what he did. Instead the story preferred to wait until he and Enji needed to go fight AFO to wake him up, letting him sleep even when the sea of Twices appeared close to them so that Enji could have one panel of him protecting his family by covering them with his body. By the way now Enji protects Touya by the Twices because now he can shows he cares for his whole family and does what was meant in Japan too the duty of the family head, protect the family.

Shouto and Enji will fight again against All for One

Watsonian problem: Why sending Shouto and Enji to fight against AFO? Later it will turn out Enji was physically destroyed (not only he lost his arm but he’s covered in burn scars and won’t be able to walk) and it would have been better if he had remained with his family instead than prioritizing his Hero work. Shouto had fainted and hadn’t wake up till now. If we’ve to believe he was so tired, why not letting him rest and be carried to a hospital like Uraraka?

Doylist answer: Enji and Shouto have cooler fighting powers compared to Uraraka so Horikoshi couldn’t pass the chance to use them and, what’s more, they’ve to atone to society for the sin of being related to Dabi. Plus Horikoshi wanted Sero to give us a piece of wisdom about them. Hence they don’t get a break.

…days after the battle ended, the whole family will visit Touya at the hospital

Watsonian problem: Wait, days? Why they didn’t immediately check on him, especially since he’s dying? Okay, Enji might not have been up for it but the others definitely were and it’s not like it could be the problem was Touya as they just put him in a tube! He wasn’t in coma nor they were operating him or anything and he could talk just fine when the battle ended! And still even if he were unconscious why not to visit him?

Doylist answer: Because Horikoshi needed to wrap up all the Todoroki plotline in one chapter and he needed to do so by having ENJI speak to Touya. The family barely speak because they’re relegated to side characters BIG TIME. So they couldn’t go there without Enji and start things without him, or Enji’s speech would have less weight.

…where we’re told Touya is dying.

Watsonian problem: Touya is dying? Why his family isn’t reacting to the news? Why they’re all so calm? It feels like they don’t care! Besides why Touya has to die? Couldn’t Horikoshi just save him since he saved, often in unrealistic manners, plenty of other characters?

Doylist answer: The info was likely given for the readers’ benefit. The family was likely already told it but we weren’t yet so the guard/nurse tosses totally at random that piece of info in order to let us know in the fastest way possible. Yes, an info box would have worked better as it wouldn’t have felt such an unnatural monologue. Also, if the family had been grief stricken and busy crying, the conversation wouldn’t have worked well. Horikoshi decided to prioritize the words that are being said to the tears, because for a Japanese audience the fact that the family is there despite Touya being a criminal is already A BIG PROOF they love him. The point of the Villains dying is that it’s a tragedy. Society didn’t help them and so three kids, two of which originally wanted to be Heroes and one who just wanted to be normal, ended up becoming Villains and causing pain to other people and then they die because when someone decided to help them it was too late. What Touya (and Tenko and Himiko) suffered was real and unfair and the unfairness is made more vivid by how nothing could be done to save him. At the same time their death is also a direct effect of their actions because the story can’t say their actions were okay. Touya burned himself over and over, so his body got destroyed by his own Quirk, Tenko wanted to destroy everything that came from his house and he came from his house so he got decayed (it was implied Tenko was suicidal too), Himiko stabbed the person she loved so she gave her blood to save Uraraka. The Villains’ death in some cases also serve to inspire others, like how Himiko’s death inspired Uraraka to work on Quirk counseling and Tomura’s death inspired Spinner. Also, if they weren’t to die they would just end up jailed like Spinner and Compress, and eventually executed as they didn’t have a redemption moment, so the story couldn’t just spare them from punishment like they did with Aoyama, Lady Nagant and Gentle Criminal. This would have been depressing too but less tragic, so it would have worked less well.

…the fate of the kids is revealed…

Watsonian problem: Wait, if Touya can talk only for a short time each day and Enji is going to visit him all the days as Touya wanted and needed, the fact Natsuo won’t met Enji ever again means he won’t see his brother ever again! Didn’t Natsuo regret not listening to Touya? Didn’t he tell him to take it out on them? Wasn’t he so close to him? Does he not care anymore even though he was supposed to be a kind boy?

Doylist answer: The core of the problem here is that Horikoshi have to wrap everything in one chapter and that he didn’t want to include in it Touya’s death, and so he had to reveal Natsuo’s intentions as soon as he finished the part with the talk with Touya. It’s the same reason why we aren’t shown the reaction of the family to the news Touya is going to die. It’s ergonomic for the story. Of course he could have had Natsuo just say he’ll cut contacts with the family ONCE TOUYA DIES and not right then but that’s what we got.

Enji’s sidekicks as well as Hawks and Kurumada will keep on supporting Enji.

Watsonian problem: Enji and Rei’s son is slowly dying and they’re all happy they’ve support? Shouldn’t they be sadder?

Doylist answer: Horikoshi didn’t want to end the story on a sad note and he wanted to focus on the theme of supporting people. Hence Enji and Rei having someone supporting them magically make things well enough they can smile and instead than being shown suffering for their dying son. The same goes for Fuyumi, who has someone who supported her to get a new job, for Shouto who can count on class A support, for Natsuo, who can count on his girlfriend. Support making everything better is one of the core themes so… no sadness.

Much later Shouto is confirmed to have turned into the Hero he wanted to be.

Watsonian problem: Wait, what about Fuyumi? Natsuo? Is Touya still alive? Did what happen with Touya influenced Shouto in any way (not just in the hardship he experienced but in his way to be a Hero)? We only see Enji with Rei and supported by his sidekicks and Hawks but what about his kids? He’s supporting them?

Doylist answer: Fuyumi and Natsuo are minor characters. Horikoshi already told us Fuyumi is going to keep on working and Natsuo is getting married, likely he didn’t think we needed to know more. He also probably didn’t want to reveal Touya’s death because it’s depressing in a chapter that’s meant to be happy. In short Shouto’s three siblings don’t get mentioned. What Horikoshi needed to do was to close Shouto’s arc confirming, in case people missed it, he became the Hero he wanted to be despite everything, so he did and that’s why we’re shown Shouto being this kind of Hero. In the whole matter with Touya there wasn’t something that might have pushed Shouto to change (Shouto was never held accountable for what happened to Touya, differently from the rest of the family) or to start something like it did with Uraraka (Uraraka started a project about Quirk counseling), nor Shouto’s actions in dealing with Touya are criticized in any way, so he had to change something about himself. Since all this was never a plot point, all this isn’t touched. The fact he got rid of the fact he was called Endeavor’s son is instead an OLD plot point (it came up already in the sport festival), which was made worse by the whole matter with Touya, so it gets touched. Japanese readers know Shouto faced hardship due to what Touya did, Horikoshi didn’t feel like he needed to write it. The last thing Horikoshi needed to do was to show a major character like Enji receiving support as the importance of support was one of the themes of the story, so he does. Yes, Horikoshi could have shown Enji supporting/protecting Fuyumi, Natsuo and Shouto but this was likely harder to show visually so Horikoshi decided not to show it.

THE END

And so we have reached the end of the story and a similar exercise to the one I did for the Todoroki plot can be done for Tenko and Himiko as well. Spinner too to be honest but as his arc is pretty minor there’s less to talk there.

Now I can hear some of us saying that they could just give Watsonian explanations to the Watsonian problems. I could too, however those would be my headcanons. Canon doesn’t offer an explanation for too many things, nor makes it so intuitive everyone would get it, which is why people complain.

We aren’t talking of the “Divina Commedia” here, there are just too many blanks to fill in a story that’s meant also for entertainment.

The result is that while the idea of the story makes sense the presentation feels disjointed, with characters doing things BECAUSE THE PLOT WANTS THEM TO DO THEM.

It’s entirely possible that if Horikoshi were to be given more time, he would have streamlined more his narration, so that what happens would feel more natural, but it’s something we’ll never know.

The final war arc is just a giant sized arc with too much happening in it (it’s around 7 volumes compared to the previous war which was around 4), too many characters involved and too many plot points that need to be closed.

In a way stretching things more would have made it even longer and I’m not sure how well this would have worked.

Horikoshi did his best to carry on his arcs and his themes in the most ergonomic way, but the result ended up being that the story was forced to go forward without the story really having a chance to make the characters’ actions feel well streamlined, which causes people who focus solely on the Watsonian part of the story to feel rightfully disappointed, because a Doylist answer like ‘this is needed/important for this character’s arc to close’ means nothing to the Watsonian perspective.

Now Horikoshi is being given time and extra pages for the final volume and it’s possible he’ll use it to improve the epilogue, but it would have probably benefitted the story if he had time and extra pages for all the volumes starting from Vol 35.

This is however the manga industry, volumes and chapters needed to come out at a certain pace and he couldn’t help it.

I think his attempt to stick at his themes and arcs is praiseworthy, even if the result came out messy. Of course though, this is just my opinion and you’re free to think differently.

[hetalia-club]

Hetalia Characters & How I Think They Would Fare In a Teen Slasher Movie (Ain't gonna lie most of these bitches die & you know it)

(Based on a lil fic I started last Halloween and gave up on. I cleaned it up and made it sound more like a movie plot rather than just a messy fic outline.)

Movie Plot: (Just so you're like not confused on what is supposed to be happening here) After the untimely death of their beloved high school friend, a group of young adults meet up for their annual camping trip to honor the death of their old friend (Italy). They all have grown apart over the years getting their own lives and separate friends. They have proclaimed this to be the last camping trip they will do before going their separate ways for good. Most of the group is happy for the tradition to end, some saddened feeling like they are just forgetting their friend by ending his tradition. Their finale camping trip is cut short when the group is plagued by an hooded figure seemingly hunting the group for sport, or is revenge? wooooo~~ scaaary.

Nyo!America- Is the final girl aka the 'main girl' (This is how I will refer to her to save time) the movie is centered around. we are rooting for her the entire time. Think Sally in Texas Chainsaw, or Sidney Prescott in Scream. (Lives) America- America would be the mean jock/popular/rich guy, probably had a girlfriend he wasn't very nice too. Does not really want to be there. His sister is the main girl. (Gets killed but does get a few good swings in on the killer/monster though. You don't really care that he dies he was a dick anyway.) England- The nerdy book worm kid that you're like "surely the killer will take pity on him" but they don't. Probably one if the first few to die before everyone is really aware there is a killer about. They find his body later while running away (Gets killed and you are meant to feel bad a bout it. His death is uncalled for and not deserved. Used to set a tone for how cold hearted the killer/monster really is.) Canada- Ends up getting away. He's sent to get help with the only working care after the killer sabotages the rest of them. He drives to the nearest gas station 10 miles away and no one believes him. Instead of going back he leaves everyone there stranded. It's a real dick move. But he does end up coming back at the end to pick up the survivors. Like thanks I guess? (Lives, but a what cost honestly. Can you blame him though?) Russia- Is helping the killer/monster in some way. His betrayal is a big reveal at the end. It shows little flash backs showing him thwarting the heroes at every turn. He has a change of heart last second. (Gets killed by the killer close to the end after siding with the heroes.) China- He is pushed off a cliff by Russia (secretly) when they all split up to find help and everyone thinks he's dead but he comes back later limping out of the woods all cut up to rejoin with his friends after the killer is dead. Everyone who lived is really happy to see him. (Lives) Italy- Gets killed pretty brutally by the killer several years before the story stars. He was known to be someone that everyone generally liked. His gruesome death took their small town by storm. What's worse is his killer was never caught and remains at large getting away with it so it seems. The whole movie is centered around his friends getting together for an annual camping trip several years after his death. (Killed) Romano- Surprisingly, he survives! He is the one who is with the main girl the entire time. He probably get's hurt really bad at some point. Loses a finger, breaks his arm or leg, and or gets stabbed. You are lead to believe that he will die at one point and he confesses his feelings for the main girl. The main girl leaves him some place for awhile saying she will "go get help". She comes back with Japan. (Lives) ~Everyone else is down below~

Germany- The voice of reason. The one who ends up making a great sacrifice to take out the killer/ monster. Stand back to hold the door for everyone so they can run. It was his car Canada stole. He feels responsible for the group since it was his idea to go camping one more time in the first place. (Killed/sacrifices himself) Japan- Because he was driving in from out of state he was supposed to meet the group at the campsite. On his way he’s run off the road by the killer/monster. He never shows up and no one can get ahold of him (no cell service of course). We are lead to think he is dead him being the killers first victim but he’s found later knocked out in his car by the main girl. He’s hurt but only has a few cuts and bruises (lives) Prussia- At night he goes off by himself to wait for Japan's car to pull in to the camp site. So he could lead him to where they made camp. They are still hoping he'll show but he is instead found by the killer (Killed)

Austria- Thinks everyone is playing a joke on him. He does not think it's funny that everyone 'keeps disappearing' and thinks it's bad taste considering the reason they are all on this trip. Everyone begs him not to break off from the group but he goes off by himself anyway. (Killed) Spain- Is actually the killer hiding behind a charming personality & his devilishly good looks. Why was he so mad at his former friend group that he felt the need to pick them off one by one? Don't know never got that far tbh. Was going to work that out as I go. Probably a pretty shit reason though imo. Most likely jealousy over something.(Dies...OR DOES HE? Yeah he does.)