#but i really do want to get better. i suppose i just don’t know how

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"You're gonna go far"

okay yall this is chapter one! if it sucks or doesn't make sense pls don't hate. might take it down later if i decide i hate it. likes, comments, and reblogs encourage me!!!I brainstormed this pretty fast so it might be messy.

lmk if there's any plot holes! This is the week following the failed patrol and Tiffany taking reader's credit. About 6 to 7 months after Tiffany moved in.

The first day after the incident, you had stayed in your room, nursing the bitter sting of betrayal. You couldn’t even remember the last time they’d acknowledged your existence. Tiffany, of course, was the shining star of the household. While you were holed up in your bedroom, processing the snakebite that had changed everything, Tiffany was out there, winning their favor with her charm, her sweet smiles, and her sugar-coated lies. You spent all night aching and feeling your bones shattering in your skin, feeling your skin peel off, and your teeth sharpen and make your mouth bleed.

The day started with her knocking on your door, her voice dripping with fake concern.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “I heard what happened last night... but don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just walk it off, right? Just a snake bite! You weren't even supposed to be on patrol, Dad said that you can't be part of the team. You're not skilled enough.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. How could you? It wasn’t a matter of walking it off. The venom inside you had begun to manifest, the snake-like power curling through your veins, but Tiffany's words twisted the knife further. You could see the smug look in her eyes as she added, “It’s okay. I’m here now. I know you’re upset, but let’s just move past it. You need some tough love”

You didn’t know what to expect when the transformation took hold that night. One minute, you were trying to cry yourself to sleep the next—your skin tingled, muscles shifting, twisting beneath the surface. The bite on your neck from the damn snake burned like fire, but something deeper, something inside you, urged you to embrace it. Again you felt your mouth burn, your body tingle, your skin shed and a searing pain from the waist down.

As you lay flat against the wall, your hands pressed against the cool surface you couldn’t help but grin, pain was better than numbness. You weren’t just Bruce Wayne's outcast daughter, nor were you the wannabe batgirl, as Stephanie liked to call you, you were something else now, something powerful.

The first time you ejected venom from your fingertips, you almost dropped your phone in surprise. It was cold, sharp, and terrifying in its power. It didn’t make sense. You could feel the agility coursing through you, every muscle in your body aligning with the new capabilities as if your very bones were made for this transformation. This wasn’t you anymore.

The idea of getting even, of showing them all that you weren’t weak or invisible, had always been a fantasy. But now, it didn’t feel like a fantasy. It felt real, solid in a way that left you trembling. You weren’t just going to prove them wrong. You were going to become something they could never ignore again. And they would never see it coming.

But what now? The Batfamily—Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, all of them—had given you nothing but pain and neglect for years. They didn’t understand you, didn’t care to. They couldn’t see past their perfect image of family long enough to see you. Now, with this power, you didn’t need them. You never did.

Except… there was Tiffany.

She was their new perfect darling, their shining star. Every time she took a step into their world, they’d fawn over her, ruffle her hair, praise her as though she could do no wrong. You had tried to be perfect for them, but perfection never got you what you wanted. It never got you love. It never got you acceptance.

She was a liar, a fraud, and she’d ruined your life. You'd tried to warn them, tried to tell them what she really was—what she was doing behind their backs. But they chose to believe her over you. They always did.

So it was time for them to learn. To know what you were capable of.

You wouldn’t hurt them but you would make them understand. You would show them your worth, show them what they had turned their backs on. No more hiding. No more being invisible. You’d be the storm they couldn’t control, the one they couldn’t ignore.

One by one, you would take back everything that was stolen from you.

The next day Bruce didn’t even acknowledge you when he passed you in the hallway. You wanted to tell him about the snake, about the strange scary things going on in your body, of the violent thoughts running through your mind but the words died in your throat in fear of ridicule. You stood there, heart racing, desperately hoping he’d say something, anything, just a hint of recognition. But he didn’t. Tiffany was at his side, her arm linked through his as they strolled past you. She was chattering on about some trivial matter, and you could feel the coldness in Bruce's demeanor. No eye contact. No words. Nothing.

It was as if you weren’t there. It hurt, more than you could have imagined. And yet it wasn't anything new.

Alfred, the one person who might’ve shown you compassion, didn’t even make you breakfast. You waited in the kitchen, hoping for something—anything. But no, Tiffany had already filled the void with her charming demeanor, sitting at the table with Alfred, chatting about some charity event.

You stood there, waiting. Watching. Silent.

Eventually, you turned and left. Alfred hadn't even looked up when you walked out.

Damian.

Your little brother who you tried so hard to bond withhad taken to sneering at you when you crossed paths with more anomosity than usual. His usual arrogance and distaste for you had only intensified. You had caught him once, whispering something to Tiffany about how "pathetic" you were. “Father’s blood runs through me, not through you,” he had muttered under his breath. You had to fight the overwhelming urge to break down right then and there. The venom inside you seemed to thrum in response, as if it recognized the cruel words, feeding off them.

Later, you overheard him tell Tiffany, “You’re far more worthy of being in this family than she’ll ever be.”

Jason, who you once thought of as a brother, the only one who could’ve understood you, had turned his back completely. You had tried to reach out to him and tell him of the pains at night, to apologize for whatever wrongs you’d committed, but all he did was glare at you. A snide comment about how “you wouldn’t know what it means to feel pain” and then he walked away, his back to you as he followed Tiffany down the stairs.

Your heart shattered.

Tim was... absent, but his absence was worse than anything. He made no effort to reach out, barely acknowledging you when you passed by. When you tried to speak with him, to ask how his day had gone, he merely gave you a dismissive shrug and muttered something about needing to “work.” Tiffany, on the other hand, always had time for him. She seemed to be everything you were not—everything they wanted. She was their perfect daughter, their perfect sibling. She was the one who belonged.

You tried to slip into the shadows, but the truth was, you felt like you were already invisible.

You and Duke used to be friends when he first came, till he realized Stephanie was much cooler than you. Maybe you could hang with them in the cave, maybe they could help figure out what was happening to you. Maybe even talk to Barbra and Cassandra!

The Batcave was eerily quiet when you worked up the nerve to enter. You were sitting at a workstation, trying to work up the courage to talk to any of your siblings but your thoughts kept drifting. Tiffany had completely woven herself into the fabric of the team, and everyone else, even Duke, seemed content to ignore you.

You and Duke had once been close. He’d been one of the few people who had ever tried to make you feel like you belonged in the manor. You remembered the late-night conversations, sharing stories and laughter, plotting out plans for how you could prove your worth to the family. But now, every time you glanced in his direction, there was nothing but distance and confusion.

you could feel his presence across the room. He and Tiffany were standing by one of the equipment stations, speaking in hushed tones. You tried to ignore them. It hurt too much to look at Duke, to see how easily he had fallen under Tiffany's spell, how effortless it was for him to ignore you now.

Tiffany was front and center, as usual. Her presence always seemed to command attention, like a star that everyone gravitated toward. You had grown used to the way they all fawned over her, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch.

“Duke, you’re up next,” Tiffany called out, a smile playing at her lips. Her voice was sweet, but you could hear the subtle edge beneath it. A tone that made your blood boil. She wasn’t just charming them, she was playing them.

“You know, I’d never say no to a challenge, Tiff.” he said, his voice almost affectionate.

“You’re the best, Duke,” Tiffany purred, clearly pleased.

You glanced at Barbara, hoping for something—a glance, a small acknowledgment—but her eyes were glued to her computer screen. She might as well have been miles away.

Cassandra, as usual, was focused on her training. She hadn’t ever shown interest in you, and today was no different. Her sharp gaze didn’t waver from the sparring targets she was working through, ignoring you entirely.

You sighed, not wanting to add to the already uncomfortable tension in the air. The weight of it was overwhelming. But you couldn’t help but overhear the rest of Duke and Tiffany’s conversation.

“I’m telling you, Duke,” Tiffany was saying with a laugh, “you’ve got this in the bag. You’ve been training for years, they’re never going to see it coming.”

Duke chuckled, clearly reveling in her praise. “Yeah, but I’m still not sure I trust the plan,” he said, glancing at the others. “You really think it’ll work?”

Tiffany’s smile was cold and calculating. “Trust me, it will. I’ve been working on it for weeks, and with your skills, we’ll have it done in no time. Just follow my lead.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from speaking up, even if you weren’t sure why you were still trying. You knew they didn’t care, but some part of you still clung to hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d listen. You and Duke were friends, he wouldn't ignore you. You didn't want Tiffany to pressure him into a plan he wasn't sure of.

“Tiffany, why don’t you give Duke some space?” you asked, trying to sound casual. “He might want to work out his own plan, you know?”

The moment the words left your mouth, Duke’s expression darkened, and so did everyone else's. Even Barbra glanced at you.

“Oh, you’re still here?” Tiffany asked, her tone laced with mock sweetness. “I didn’t realize you had any input. I guess it’s cute that you think Duke needs your help.”

Duke’s eyes narrowed. “I’m good, [Y/N]. Really. Tiffany’s got this. Don’t you have some... other place to be?”

Your mouth burned and your bones ached, since when did Duke treat you like this? What right did he have? You were friends, friends aren't mean to friends.

Your fists clench, "Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean?" You spit out, unusually angry and brave.

His eyes softened for a second but then Duke looked up at you, his gaze colder than you remembered. “It’s not personal, okay? It’s just… you don’t really fit in with the rest of us."

The words felt like a slap in the face. Tiffany was the one with the skills. Tiffany was the one who was flawless. Tiffany was the one who didn’t need to try. Tiffany fit in.

You wanted to scream, to demand an explanation for why you were being discarded like this. You tried, but the words caught in your throat, leaving you silent. Duke wasn’t the person you had once leaned on. He wasn't your friend anymore. you could feel the deep divide between you both now, a gap named betrayal.

Before you could respond, Stephanie, who had been standing off to the side, stepped forward. “Come on, (Y/N), don’t waste our time. If you don’t have anything useful to add, just leave. You’ll be better off on your own.”

Your eyes snapped to her. Of all people, you didn’t expect Stephanie to be so blunt. But here she was, her arms crossed and her eyes not even looking in your direction as she spoke.

Tiffany shot Stephanie a glance of approval. “Exactly, Steph. They’ll just slow us down. Maybe you should go back to the kitchen and bake something.”

The words were meant to belittle you, to remind you of the one thing they knew you were good at, baking, and nothing more. You felt your fists clench, the sting of her words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit.

Duke’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, but he didn’t say anything. His silence spoke volumes. You could feel the finality of it, the way the space between you both had grown too big to bridge.

“You don’t have to listen to them,” Tiffany continued, her voice smooth, "You’re not part of the team. Just let it go. It’s better for everyone.”

Tiffany’s manipulation was sickening. But what hurt the most was that Duke was going along with it. He had always been the one person who had made you feel like you mattered in this cold, detached family. And now? He was treating you like you were nothing. He had chosen her over you. The reality of it hit you like a t train.

“Fine,” you muttered, swallowing the lump in your throat, ignoring the burning of your eyes and the hole in your chest.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked out of the Batcave, the cold stares of Tiffany, Duke, Stephanie and Cassandra burning into your back. no matter how hard you had tried, how many times you had bent over backwards to prove your worth, it would never be enough for them.

The final blow came that night on the 7th night after the incident and the day after Duke's betrayal.

Tiffany had won. You could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. She won their trust, their love. Now, she was going to make sure you were out of the picture for good.

You overheard Bruce and Tiffany speaking in his study, a room you were never allowed to enter.

“I think it’s for the best,” Tiffany said, her voice sweet, almost too sweet. “She’s so... incompetent. Maybe a change of scenery will help her grow.”

“Maybe,” Bruce replied, his voice cold, indifferent. “But it’ll also keep her away from Gotham for a while. From the family.”

“It’ll be better for everyone,” Tiffany continued. “She’s been so distant lately, and honestly, I don’t think she fits in here. She doesn’t belong.”

“I’ll have Alfred make the arrangements tomorrow,” Bruce said, his tone final. “It’ll be good for her. A change of pace. A chance to learn discipline.”

And just like that, your life as you knew it ended.

You would be sent away to a boarding school in New York City. They didn’t even give you the courtesy of telling you themselves. Tiffany had already manipulated the situation, convinced them that it was for the best. That you didn’t belong. That you needed to be removed from the family.

Later That Night

You sat in your room, fists clenched, eyes burning with tears you refused to shed. You could hear Tiffany’s laughter echoing in the halls as she paraded through the manor, a crown on her head that wasn’t hers.

You weren’t going to cry. Not anymore. You weren’t going to beg for their attention. For their love. No. You had something far more dangerous now. Something that didn’t need them. Something that would show them all just how wrong they were. The venom in your veins burned brighter now. You could feel it coiling around your bones like a living, breathing thing. You would prove them all wrong. You would go to New York and never look back.

Ok I tried my best guys be nice! I just had so many ideas and didn't know how to execute them! Send in asks! I wanted to get the plot moving tbh

[madamechrissy]

Would you come with me?

Pairings: Satoru Gojo x F! reader

Summary: You have been Satoru's best friend for such a long time, and one day he asks you a really big favor- marry him. What!?!? Well, Satoru has to take a wife as he's running the Gojo corporation, and what better way to get them off his back than 'marry'? In name only, just best friends living together for a year to calm them down, sounds so perfect and uncomplicated, right!!! Well, living with Satoru Gojo makes you both question everything, is this fake marriage feeling... real? and can you just be friends after this?

CW: NSFT-MDNI- So much mutual pining and longing, not sharing feelings. This chap- making out, masturbation (toru hehe), teasing and some very kinky ass thoughts, but mostly TENSION. Eventually - Explicit sex, oral sex, it's me so a breed kink. Gonna be a miniseries, Satoru is a lil sweetie and a lil freaky ass- falls hard, ya'll both down bad. WC this Part- 7.5k

Songs for this part - Lose Contol // My Boo // Friends

This was supposed to be a oneshot but it's going WAY too long, so I'm separating it into three parts! (Also ty for 5k hehe) Comments and reblogs appreciated <3

Part one

“You love me, right?”

You blink a bit, as you stare at Satoru Gojo, he’s been your best friend all throughout high school and even before you’ve known him. You’re sitting across from him, while he’s sipping boba with you, his Gucci shades perched on the bridge of that straight nose, a smirk on his glossy lips. You tilt your head curiously at him, of course you love Satoru, but he only pulls this when he needs a favor.

“What’d you get into this time, Toru?” You demand, he gasps then, affronted, a hand to his chest.

“Excuse me, missy? I’m just asking if you love me.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat in the little cafe. “Of course, you know I love your goofy ass.”

 Satoru takes off his glasses, those swirling blue eyes wrecking you as they have all these years, usually you can put up enough of a barrier not to let them consume you, but apparently you haven’t today. You watch those snowy lashes lower when his eyes bore into you, swirling storms of bright blue, you have to snap yourself out of it.

Being Satoru Gojo’s best friend wasn’t for the weak.

“How much you love me, hmm?”

“What is it you need, an alibi?” He snorts then, shaking his head and wrapping his lips around the straw.

“M’not Suguru, shit… no, I need a really big favor. Like… the biggest favor, but if you agree, I can really make it worth your while.”

“Okay this isn’t a mobster movie, Toru, what is it?” Satoru looks down then, long fingers swirling around the top of his cup, before his eyes snap back to yours.

“What if I said I’d help you with all that student loan debt, and buy you a shiny brand new car?”

“Satoru, I don’t want your money, I do fine okay?”

“Your car is old enough to drink.”

“Fuck off!” Your glare makes him snort in laughter. “It is not, it’s like… not even old enough to vote… I don’t think.”

“It’s old, sweets. Say you also had a place to stay, for free?”

“Satoru this isn’t Pretty Woman-”

“I love that movie!”

“Satoru! What are you getting at!?” You’re crossing your arms then, raising a brow at the lanky man across from you, whose legs are spread wide in his dark blue dress pants, he’s pulling just a bit at his silky black tie.

Satoru has taken a huge role recently in his family business, the conglomerate that owned a million different things, you know how much he detests it, but once Satoru graduated college his family pushed it more and more. At this point he was thriving, doing most of the work with his father taking much more of a back seat, his health starting to deteriorate.

You and Gojo spend more time together than ever, you know he needs his friend, especially with Suguru having left for some time, the two of them not together was always hard on him. You’d been friends with both of them, but Suguru seems to have left and found his own calling, swinging through to see you both from time to time, but much is different since those days at Tokyo high.

Not you and Satoru though.

For the longest time you pined away for him, but you never made that move, aside from one stolen kiss in a closet during seven minutes in heaven, and Satoru had it bad for you all of Junior and Senior year, but the two of you never risked it, your friendship. And now you’re glad to have him in your life, but it’s hard to even think of someone serious when he’s so brightly and firmly in your life.

“This is a huge favor I need, it’s… a lot to ask.” Satoru murmurs softly, you tense a bit, brows drawing together.

“What’s wrong, is everything okay?” Your voice is a low hum as you murmur, he nods just a bit.

“Yeah it’s fine just… I’m being forced to choose a bride, and they have many candidates.” He laughs humorlessly, and your heart breaks for him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Satoru. I thought you’d have longer?”

“Yeah, I wish.” He runs a hand through his silky white locks, looking down for a moment, lips that always smirk or maybe pout actually frowning. “I need to just get it done, get em off my ass.”

“That doesn’t sound like you, why not tell em to fuck themselves, hmm? Where’s my Toru!?”

“He’s exhausted.” He swipes a hand across his face, and you lean closer, hand on his leg, his eyes sliding back to yours.

“Do you want me to help find someone? I have a lot of good friends in high families… find you someone not money hungry, not a psycho? How much time do you even have?”

“That’s not what I'm asking.” He puts his big hand over yours now, sighing, leaning closer to you. “I’m asking if you want to.”

“If I want to, what exactly?”

“Marry me?”

“What!?” He chuckles then, but even that sound is exhausted.

“You forget you’re from a top family, nah it’s not the Gojo clan but…”

“Satoru…”

“Just for like a bit? To get em to leave me alone, let me gain some more power. All for show, and I’ll help you with anything, I promise.” He’s clutching your hand, and suddenly the room feels like it’s spinning.

“Wh-why me? We… you… I…”

“You’re my best friend, it would be like being roommates damn near. You could… do your thing as long as you’re discrete.” He murmurs, you want to laugh then, as if you’ve done anything in a couple of years now. “And I would be discrete, respectful, we’d just be in name, appearance. We’re best friends, it will be a piece of cake, and most of all… I trust you.”

You try to digest all the information, blinking and trying not to think the insane thoughts that come with it, but you fail. “But won’t they want… an heir?”

Satoru’s cheeks flush bright pink now. “We don’t need to… I’d never ask you to do that, ever I swear. I’d never be an ass like that.”

You feel your heart racing as you shove back all of the images you should not have for your friend. “I know, I know. But… they’d-”

“That’s the thing, a year or so and they’ll back off. Give me time to fix some mistakes, with dad being sick… I’m not saying I won’t miss him, but how he is running shit? No, I know I can make things better, take down these shitty higher ups who are so greedy. You just could give me more time, and I promise I’ll do anything I can to help you too.”

“It’s insane, this is marriage!” You blink a bit, shifting, his hand now brushing back a lock of hair from your forehead, a familiar gesture that now takes on something more intimate.

“It can just be for show, we’ll be the same best friends as always. I have no one I can imagine even living with but you, maybe Suguru but… he’s not a girl.”

“He has that long silky hair?” You both laugh a little, softly then.

“He sure does, but… you’re prettier to look at.”

“Flattery? Stop that. It’s insane, and… how would we even explain it in such a rush?”

“We’ve been friends forever. Who wouldn’t believe that we got together? It’s even easier. I mean, maybe a couple kisses and things for show, but… you’ve kissed me before, remember?” He’s grinning wide then, you shove at him playfully. “That closet was cramped, hmm?”

“Oh shut it, that was so long ago. I mean, if you really need me, you know I’ll do this for you. I don’t expect you to go all out on anything for me in return.” Satoru pauses now, watching how the light streaming in through the large cafe windows hits your pretty face, as you explain to him that you’d want nothing in return for this!? For this huge imposition on your life.

You have always been the sweetest, best friend he has had, so important to him he’s never dared to cross that line, and he knows it will tempt him to no end to do this, but he also knows he can trust you. “Let me just take care of a few things for you, you can almost see it as a job. There will be events, meetings with the other leaders, trust me. Like anything I can do, you’ll be helping me so much.”

“Alright.”

“What!?”

He’s hugging you tightly to him, you giggle a bit, breathless. “Yeah, I’ll do it… I need a nice car though, Toru. A BMW?”

“I’ll get you ten BMWs.”

“Jesus, no. Silly boy.” You giggle as you look up at him, your best friend, but then your heart falters when he’s just a bit too close.

“Should we practice kissing now?” He teases, voice husky.

“Satoru, you're insufferable.”

He pouts now, and you swallow down the fact that you don’t know if you can even handle kissing his lips. “Aww you’re still such a brat, since middle school.”

“You’re the brat here.”

“Meanie.” You both stick your tongues out, and when he’s walking you over to your shitty car, he wraps you in a big hug in his strong arms, making you melt against him. “Mwah, mwah, mwah you’re the best friend ever.”

“Oh, stop.” He’s smacking kisses on your head as you inhale his cologne, sighing as you contemplate just what the fuck you’re doing. “When do we do this?” You ask, pulling back a bit and looking up at him.

“I can have things going in a couple weeks, something super simple, like I said we’ll just live our lives, just be friends, it’ll be fine. Like a really long sleepover, hmm?” He teases, grinning now, putting back on his shades.

You figure, what’s it hurt? Your apartment is shitty, your car is old, Gojo is your best friend, and you’re down to help him avoid a miserable marriage for as long as he can. You nod then, smiling. “A long sleepover.”

One week of being ‘fake married’ to Satoru Gojo, your best friend

Satoru Gojo thought he would control himself decently living with you, considering how many times you’ve slept over, how many movies you both have crashed out on the couch together. He’s seen you in bathing suits over the years, he’s caught glimpses of your pretty body of course, he knows how beautiful you are and he’s always maintained himself.

Satoru treasures you far too much to fuck it up in any way, despite the amount of times he’s almost lost it. Aside from Suguru, you have been the most important person in his life, and perhaps you’re closer now. But he can’t help but compare other girls to you over the years, and he usually makes quick work of the small relationships that he has with them.

However, what he hadn’t anticipated? Living with you walking around in your fucking panties and a crop top.

You nearly took him out the first morning you were here, when he went to brush his teeth, he has a huge house but of course you went to the main bathroom that divides his room and the room he set for you, it’s the bathroom you used when you stayed over. So he should have maybe anticipated it, but nothing prepared him for you bent over the sink, washing your face.

Your ass looked far too tempting in those damn boyshorts, half of each cheek tempting him to smack it, grab it, fucking lift you by it and slide into you. He was shocked when he was hard from the sight of it, he’s not inexperienced or not used to women, and he’s used to you, but something about the sight made him fucking feral, and he had to literally run to one of his guest bathrooms.

He now was almost used to you walking around in almost nothing, but this morning you’re in some little white tank top and he sees the outlines of the curve of your pretty tits, sees your nipples perked up, begging for his mouth. You’re wiping your eyes, yawning, using his Keurig to make coffee, smiling at him as if this is in any way normal or okay.

He gulps as you turn your attention to him, hair in a messy bun, his eyes struggle not to just stare at your body, he has to shut his mouth because it’s just slightly ajar. Satoru, a man who sees women naked frequently, fuck he has business meetings at strip clubs, nudity is nothing. But he can’t take it, take how your breasts are calling for him, how your thighs shift.

“Good morning, Toru! We have that event tonight, right?” You say sweetly, as his heart hammers in his chest, and then you feel his gaze on you, making your nipples tighten, more apparent as you look where he is now, biting your lip. “Shit, white isn’t the best color huh? How embarrassing… it’s kinda cold…”

“Yeah, cold.” He clears his throat, stepping closer, and your eyes drink him in, shirtless and built so perfect. You’ve seen him this way of course over the years, Satoru had no issue pulling his top off to work out, play a game of ball, but something about him in his soft sweats that show too much makes your brain run awry.

You should be immune to it, the god-like body Satoru Gojo has, how fucking perfect he is built, how pretty he is, but something makes your tummy heat up lately, especially when he comes closer, blue eyes lidded. “Um, I’ll make coffee?”

“Yes please.” He smiles sleepily, far too pretty, and you have to remind yourself, as you have all week, that you’re not with him, not truly.

It feels too easy, too comfy.

That was the point though.

“Got it.” You turn now, setting to put the pod in, tiptoeing to get his sugar, he chuckles deeply, reaching above you now, far too close to you, his bare chest pressing against your upper back. Your fingers grip the counters, feeling the cool granite of them, your breath catching.

“I’ll put them a little lower.” He teases, smirking as he sets them down, leaning a hip on the counter, and you smile, pretending to be calm, like your heart didn’t just beat out of your chest.

You’ve literally hugged this man every time you’ve seen him, you’ve even crashed next to him, why is he fucking with you so badly!? You suppose his presence in pieces was just easier to cope with than anything, but now your brain keeps having ridiculous images. Him having you up on that counter, your thighs spread, so intense you drop the spoon, it clatters to his tile floor.

“Shit, sorry.” You bend down, and your breath is right against him, over his thin sweats, and you look up at him, creating the worst images of his best friends he can ever imagine.

“It’s… fine.” He clears his throat, turning so you don’t see the clear evidence of what you’ve done.

“You okay, Toru? Tons of sugar, like usual?”

“Yeah.” His voice is gruff, as he glares at his cock, willing it to go down, you blink curiously at his back, wondering what’s wrong. You clear your throat again and hand him the cup, stepping next to him, he takes it, having put his cock up in the waistband of his boxers now, smiling nonchalantly. “Thanks sweets.”

“Of course! Can we go over a few things later today, before we go? I don’t wanna fuck anything up.”

“Of course we can. I also ordered you a dress and some jewelry, that cool?”

“Oh what? I have dresses, pretty ones!”

“I know, it’s really uppity bitches there though, you need something top notch.”

“Oh…” You trail off, a blush decorating your cheeks now, making you look even more tempting. “But you don’t know my size?’

Satoru brushes a tendril of hair that’s come out of your bun then, smirking just a bit. “Think I don’t know your size, sweetheart?”

“I… um…” Satoru has you flustered, dammit. “Oh?”

“Mhmm.” As if he hasn’t eyed your body a million times over. “It’ll be here later, I have to go to work for just a couple hours.” You nod then, for some odd reason wanting to kiss him, but you bite your lip instead.

“Sounds perfect, I have the day off!”

“Even better, go take a nice bath and relax before we deal with the snobby old fucks.” You giggle at him, you have always loved how he speaks of rich people, when he’s filthy rich, but Satoru? He’s very different.

He’s just…

Satoru.

Satoru’s heart doesn’t hammer in his chest, it almost falls out after he’s got his three piece pinstripe suit on, adjusting a skinny silk tie and peering at his silver Rolex, seeing what time it was, as you appear in front of him. The dress he picked out was a lacy black one, perfect for evening, but the way it hugs your every curve, the way your breasts are pressed up in that top?

You do a nervous spin, revealing your pretty back, the curve of your spine, the v neck so deep he sees hints of the dimples on your back. You turn back around, eyes glittering, enhanced with a little mascara and eyeliner, your lips the prettiest shade of red he can imagine. You look…

Beautiful.

Is that even the word?

How does he even explain it, when he’s speechless, when he feels his ears heat up at just how nervous he is to be in your presence then, eyeing a delicate gold necklace that hits just so in the hollow between your collar bones. You’re tilting your head to the side, hair falling softly in curls you’ve put it in, clutching your pretty little evening bag.

“How do I look, Toru? You look so handsome, but when don’t you.” You tease, and he tries not to look at the slit showing far too much of your pretty thigh, so tempting to slip a hand up it, find your surely pretty little pussy.

“You look…” He takes a breath, trying to act somewhat normal, smiling then. “You look… hot as fuck.”

You giggle then, rolling your eyes. “Oh whatever!”

“You look… amazing. Really.” He steps to you, giving into the temptation to brush the backs of his finger across the apple of your cheek, then across your jaw line, watching your breath catch, your red lips part, showing a hint of your little bottom row of teeth.

How would that pretty face look so fucked out?

God, it’s been a week, he needs to stop.

His hand falls, and you barely hold yourself together, breaths coming quicker and quicker. “You look beautiful, sweets. Gonna make quite the impression.” His husky admission makes you blush further, looking down and eyeing that little knot on his tie, as it’s like the entire room is holding its breath, everything so overwhelming, his nearness, his scent.

“Thank you, really for this dress. It’s so beautiful, and this.” You touch the pretty gold necklace, just making his eyes watch your pretty breasts rise and fall.

“Of course, it’s part of this, you know.” His little admission breaks you just a bit, for some insane reason, you felt like this was some date? You rein yourself in just a bit, smiling.

“Yes, but thank you. Shall we go, hubby?’

“We sure can, wifey.” You both laugh, the friendship of years prevailing finally, when you slip into the back of his limo with him, trying to ignore the feeling of his strong thigh pressing against yours, burning through the silky layer of the dress. “So remember the story?”

“Yeah, it’s easy to think of it happening, friends falling.” You then panic, as his blue eyes catch yours in the dark of the limo. “I mean-”

“No, of course it is. I’ll say that… I started falling in high school.” Because he did, god he did. After you all are about to be at the event, he notices it, your nerves, this just wasn’t your scene. “You look perfect, really.”

“Oh no…” He leans close, cupping your face, but it feels too good, your lips are too close.

“You do, gonna knock 'em dead, yeah?”

“We both will.” You smile tremulously, inhaling the night air greedily as you both walk up to the event, being ushered in. You’re clinging around his elbow as he casually goes about it, going into Mr. Gojo mode, you’ve seen him do it plenty over the years, still keeping his charm and sarcasm, but he’s just a force, the way he plays them all.

Knowing Gojo wants to take most of these people down is thrilling in its own way, you’ve always been enamored with how he fights for his principles, how real and raw he truly is with you about it. How humble when he’s come from everything, but still he knows that role he must play, and play it he does, his hand pressing on the small of your back as you two make small talk.

“I always thought of you two falling for each other.” Says your mom now, yes even your parents had to think it was true.

“I did too… so sudden though? Young love.” Gojo’s mom says, tossing back her silky long locks with a smile.

“What can I say? Your son is hard to resist, he’s so persistent. Like a cute little puppy.”

“A what!? Brat.” He’s glaring, but your parents and his mom are laughing, and you know it works, being real.

“Aren’t you two so in love?” Another person says later, as they observe Satoru placing a little peck on your temple, and he smiles with ease, not realizing the entire mess he’s making you.

“A beautiful couple. Gojo, you chose well.” One of his work friends says with a grin.

“We’re very lucky, both of us.” You say softly, stopping Gojo’s heart, when you peck a little kiss on his neck, tiptoeing in your heels, he turns then, your lips far too close, so close you taste the sweetness of his breath, and your eyes lock. “Aren’t we, Satoru?”

He blinks, realizing… you’re just helping him, and you’re nailing it. He tries to shove back the odd fluttering in his tummy, tilting your chin up. “We are lucky.”

The night ends up with plenty of dancing, plenty of schmoozing back and forth, and plenty of both of you being the perfect team. It was so easy, you both knew each other like no one else, the answers flow, the dancing flows, you’ve both danced in school before, you’ve partied together. You’ve been a plus one even as a friend.

Too natural, too perfect.

You soon need a breath, as you feel far too much as Satoru dances with a lovely girl, you recognize her, Gojo dated her and she’s a family friend. You assume she was a candidate for marriage as you recall her family ties, but seeing someone in his arms suddenly makes your heart break.

It’s only been a fucking week!? Can’t you keep it together!?

Later as you both get home, you’re taking off your shoes, wincing as the heels are off your feet, and Satoru looks at you curiously. “You okay, sweets? Kinda a long night of assholes, huh?”

“Oh it’s fine, Toru. Truly. Um… I recognized a couple girls there.”

“Yeah, they run in the same circles.” He takes off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves of that crisp white dress shirt, revealing the veins of his strong forearms, addling your mind further, how fucking attractive he is when he loosens that tie.

“Um, I know you said discrete, will you be… bringing them here?”

Satoru blinks at you, head tilting, soft white hair falling just so. “What? Bring who here?”

“Um, her, or any of the girls there really. If so I think I’ll probably… wanna know if you don’t mind? So I can make sure I’m in the room or whatever. A little notice?”

Satoru walks to you now, your head is tilted back when he hooks two fingers under your chin. “You think I am interested in them?”

“They’re beautiful. And we’re not together, so it’s fine! Just… a little notice would be cool?”

“And you, what if you bring someone over.” His jaw tenses, his words surprisingly sharp. “Will you tell me?”

You laugh softly. “That won’t even be a thing.”

“In a year?”

“It’s… never been a thing really.” You realize then, that you are almost spilling it, the fact that the entirety of your experience is one fuck in college, a two pump event that involved nothing really.

His brows draw together in disbelief. “Never? You don’t…”

“Listen, we’re best friends, but that’s private. Okay?” He nods, stepping back and rubbing the back of his neck, looking down.

“Shit I mean you date a bit though?”

“Yeah, I do. But… it’s… I need to get out of this dress.” You say then, suddenly rushing to your room, leaving Satoru’s mind whirling.

How do you think he wants anyone when you’re here killing him.

“Toru?” You lean your head out from the bathroom a few moments later.

“Yeah?”

“This is embarrassing, but the zipper is stuck, and it’s so expensive… I don’t wanna fuck the dress up.” You murmur, he smiles, feigning ease as he steps into the bathroom, peering at you in the golden gilded mirror.

“No worries, got ya. Huh it is a little stuck…” He gently tugs at the zipper, humming a big. “Um… hang on I need to pull it up a bit.”

“Sure. Be careful!”

“You’re worried about this when I could buy you ten more tomorrow.”

“Still!”

He smiles at your reflection, hand palming your bare back then, making you bite back a gasp, body shifting in desire at just the touch, your eyes shut so he can’t see them rolling back, but he sees those goosebumps everywhere. He unzips it then, revealing lacy panties that make him pause, letting the dress fall, you’re catching it at the front, gasping.

“I think I got it.” He says huskily, unable to stop his fingers from trailing up your delicate spine, blue eyes so bright in the mirror they wreck you, while you barely hold the material on. “Need any more help?”

“No! I mean… n-no.” Shit shit shit.

You’re soaked from a brush against your back!?

“Got ya.” He smiles just a bit, leaving you now, resting his back on the door, hand running across his face, curious how he’s throbbing with precum from seeing your fucking back.

Two weeks of being ‘fake married’ to Satoru Gojo, your best friend

You arrive at his work, the coworkers all greeting you so friendly, as his assistant Miwa escorts you, giving you both soft smiles. “Your wife is here Mr. Gojo.”

Satoru looks up in surprise, you’re in your pretty work dress, looking all cute and professional, holding a bento box in one hand, a boba in the other. You’re smiling brightly, as his lips part in surprise. “I had an early day and I thought I should bring some lunch?”

“Oh… oh thank you… Miwa if you could?”

“Of course, I’ll give you some privacy.” You hear her giggle and you smile at Satoru, looking as he’s leaned back in his big leather seat, smiling softly back at you, eyeing your hands.

“I get lunch made for me, shit I am lucky with my fake bride.” You snort, rolling your eyes and walking up to him, setting them on the desk.

“It seemed wifey to do? But also I really do have a short day, figured you might be hungry?”

Fuck you’re sweet.

Fuck you’re pretty.

God, you’re looking at him like that, leaned over just a bit, his eyes darting over your body that tempts him every day more and more, but your sweetness ruins him, the thoughtful nature you’ve always had, but now so geared to him. Is it all for show, he can’t believe it is when you open the bento and show him sushi, onigiri and greens placed so prettily his mouth waters.

“You ordered this, yeah?”

“No silly, I’ve been practicing. You helping me have some time off work has literally given me so much time… I hope they’re yummy? Oh, I didn’t make the boba though.”

“Why didn’t you get anything?” He asks, frowning.

“Oh I’m good, I just was dropping it off. You’re probably busy, taking down the villains huh?” Satoru’s words catch in his throat, looking you up and down again, before looking back down at the food in front of him.

“Stay a bit, it’ll… look good you know, us having lunch together.” He murmurs, lying out of his fucking teeth, as if he didn’t want to eat you then and there.

Your thighs spread, panties to the side, lapping you up?

Yummier than this. Killing him to imagine.

“Oh, um… where do I sit, over here?” You go to scooch a chair over, and he stops you.

“Nah those are heavy, come on.” He pats his thigh, earning your eyes widening, pulse fluttering as he smirks. “You’ve sat on my lap at parties plenty.”

“Y-yeah… but it’s… I…”

“C’mon, have a couple bites please, I’ll feel bad if you did all this for me and didn’t eat.”

“Satoru, you have bought me a new wardrobe and a car, can’t I make some sushi?”

“Sit.”

You sigh, it’s true you’ve sat on his lap, but the past two weeks of constantly being wet around him are taking their toll. You smile brightly, sitting on one of his thighs, praying he can’t feel it, the heat from your pussy as you’re pressed on a muscled thigh, and he’s picking up sushi with chopsticks, popping one in his mouth and moaning, rolling his eyes.

“Fuck that’s yummy. You made it for real!?” You giggle, nodding and trying to be more comfortable, it’s your Toru, right?

“It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it. That’s got eel sauce on it, this one is the spicy crab.”

“You like spicy crab, here.” He pops one to your lips, and something feels too intimate, on his lap like this. “Open.”

Open.

Open!?

The pictures of you hearing him that while on your knees makes your cunt dribble, you shift nervously, clearing your throat.

“Open, silly.”

You do as he says, as he pops the roll in your mouth, and you chew, feeling the flavor hit your tongue, he grins now, popping another into his mouth, and you wonder if it’s easy for him to be this way. He’s so natural at it, sipping his boba and humming happily, all while his thigh presses where you’ve been aching for him, forcing yourself not to touch your pussy to the thought of him.

You can’t do that, it’s fucked.

You try to get up, and he presses you down, big hand on your waist, far too close when he leans the thick straw to your lips. “Take a sip, it’s so good.”

“Oh… um sure. Thank you.” You take a sip, lips pressing where his had, and he can’t stop focusing on how good your lips look, wrapping as you suck, cheeks hollowing and making his cock twitch.

You both sit there then, staring at each other, breaths coming just a little too quick from you, as he sets the drink down, but you stay on his lap. “Y’know… the event tonight, we should probably actually kiss? There will be cameras all over.”

“Kiss!?” He laughs then, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I mean it’s kind of part of it. You’re comfy with it right, not gonna fall head over heels.”

“Psh.” You already have, long ago, it’s all fucking hitting. “You’re so cocky, Toru I swear.”

“I can’t help it, my lips are so talented, you know. Makes girls fall.” He brushes his silky hair back, winking at you then, and you swear you can hear your heart in your goddamn ears.

“I remember you were pretty good.”

“Yeah, you remember?”

“Yeah it… was my first kiss.” You mumble then, looking away, sipping his boba nervously, he blinks rapidly, blue eyes wide in shock.

“What now!?”

“No biggie, we were like seventeen…”

“But you… never told me?”

“It was embarrassing.” Satoru’s mind races to that night, as does yours, as you sit in his office, just the hum of the fan and soft music playing from his little device, staring at each other, both in a haze.

You and Satoru Gojo were thrown in a closet together, you’re sighing as you’re pressed against him, peeking at your phone in the dark to see the time. Being too close to Satoru wreaked havoc on your brains at times, though you have known him so long, you couldn’t lie and act like you didn’t think of things… kissing him, maybe dating him? But you know they’re silly thoughts.

“Don’t freak out, we’ll just let 'em think we made out.” He says now, and you turn your eyes up to him, adjusting in the dark, but even here you can see the glint of those bright baby blues.

“Y-yeah. You’ve kissed plenty, though.”

“You haven’t really?”

“Um, no.”

Satoru’s gently turning you to him now, tilting your chin up while his eyes adjust to see your pretty face, you’re thankful it’s so dark that he couldn’t see your blush. “We could practice, you know.”

“Satoru!”

“What? A little practice between friends? You know you wanna kiss me.” He taunts, teasing tone as he grins.

“No way!”

“Not at all? I’m hurt, sweets.”

“Oh whatever, it'd be weird, we’re too close. Do you kiss Suguru?”

“Oh yeah, have you seen him?”

You both laugh then, when he leans down just a bit. “Well, if you kissed Suguru, I feel left out now.”

“We can’t have that. Show me what you do know, I’ll advise.”

“Kissing expert, hmm?”

“Mhmm.” You lean up then, as he bends down, your arms wrapping around his neck, you pause as his hands press against your waist, making your heart race. “Ya scared?”

“No! Goofy ass.” He’s chuckling until you lean up, pulling him down for a kiss, and your lips meet for the first time.

Your first kiss.

He pauses, your lips connecting just do something. Satoru at seventeen had done plenty of make out sessions, but they were fun, something to do, exciting at times, but nothing prepared him for it. For your sweet lips on him, tingling them, his heart beating in his chest.

Satoru falters, and he never falters.

He doesn’t slip his tongue in, he doesn’t pull you close, he freezes, so in shock at how good it feels, how right it feels. You ease back, nervous then, clearing your throat, as he hasn’t moved his lips. “I’m sorry I’m not…”

Satoru yanks you against him then, pressing your body on his, kissing you over and over, so deeply, taking your breath away, you’ve never felt something like this, you’re trembling as you feel his tongue slip against the seam of your lips. “Open them up for me.”

This isn’t silly Satoru, goofy ass friend, his husky declaration destroys you, and he uses the gasp to slip his tongue inside, swirling with yours, igniting something between you that night that you will both avoid talking about for years. When he presses you against the closet door, sighing into your lips, and you’re being picked up in his arms, as your mouths move over each other.

You both pull back, gasping as the timer goes off.

What was that!?

“If I’d known it was your first kiss, maybe I wouldn’t have… gotten so excited.” He says with a little pink on his cheeks.

“No, you didn’t cross any lines, Toru. Don’t worry.”

He wants to laugh, because oh, he wanted to.

If he’d had more time he’s sure he’d have lost it, whatever control he has now he did not have as a seventeen year old. “Was it a good one at least?”

“The best a girl could have.” You say softly, smiling at him then, making his heart race when you both sit there, far too close, and he swears he can feel your heat against the hand that’s on your thigh.

“I know I’m pretty amazing hmm?” He teases, trying to hide the raging storm inside of him, you giggle, shaking your head and standing finally.

“You’re a conceited little shit.”

“Hey!?”

You’re both back at ease, as he stands now too, looming so tall over you, his presence making it hard to remember why you’re here. “I should go.”

“We should practice, though, yeah?”

“I mean… you think we’re that rusty?” You try to feign ease, he smiles then.

“Yeah, we gotta be. We’ll bump our heads together or some shit.”

“Okay… um…” You take a sip of his boba then, clearing your throat and smiling up at him. “Let’s practice.”

Satoru brushes his thumb across your chin, your ass pressed against his desk and you’re pinned between it and him, your hands sliding up his starch white dress shirt slowly, eyes lowering to his glossy lips. He presses a kiss against your lips, and you then know it, more than ever.

Nothing is like kissing Satoru.

Nothing is like his lips making contact with yours, as your eyes close, the feeling of him working his lips over you so gently, making you tremble, making you ache in ways you have tried to hide, to avoid. He pulls back, cupping your face and exhaling, his snowy lashes low over cerulean eyes, his lips parted just so, as you both stare at each other, speechless.

You don’t know if he’s as affected, and neither does he.

“How’s that?” He asks softly, and you lean up, your fingers enwrapping in his hair, as two of his hands bar you on either side.

“Maybe one or two more? To look natural.” You whisper, and you expect a smirk, or something cocky, conceited, but he slams his lips on yours now.

His tongue is swirling against yours in moments, as you both devour each other, hungry and needy, kissing each other desperate, messy now. A kiss like you’ve never had, as his hands press against your hips, then he lifts you on the desk, your thighs around his hips, making you cry out. The sound causes him to lose any semblance of control, he’s biting your lower lip, moaning into your mouth.

“Mmm!” Your hands pull his hair now, as his slip up your bare thighs, and then you feel it, the hardness under his slacks against your heat, your panties already sticky and damp, and you pull back with a gasp.

Your eyes shoot up to his when you break apart for just a moment, and Satoru’s breath is coming in little pants, his fingers scrunching your skirt up your hips, yanking you closer. You whimper now, head falling to the side, and he’s kissing down the side of your neck, your breasts pressing against his chest, dying for him inside you, as he’s ready to fuck you right on his desk.

“Satoru… what are-” You’re trying to whisper when his lips find the shell of your ear.

“I need-”

Knock knock knock.

You both pull back, his eyes dilated to the point they’re dark, his hands still on your bare skin, as his eyes dart down your body. “Yes?” He manages gruffly.

“Twenty minutes until your meeting Mr. Gojo.” You hear, and he curses softly, turning away, trying to calm his nerves, his racing heart, all while you’re hopping down, trying to pull yourself together.

You’re almost darting out of the door when he sees you. “Shit, please…”

“No, no. We um… were practicing?” You manage to whisper, as his hand is over yours on the knob. “I got carried away.”

He laughs, without humor. “You did?”

“I did. I’m sorry I don’t even do this.”

“Just how… inexperienced are you?” He asks softly.

“A lot.”

Because she can’t help but compare every man to Satoru Gojo.

“Well, you can’t tell, you’re an amazing kisser.” You blush furiously, looking down, biting your lower lip.

“You don’t have to say it.”

“You are, shit. My god.” He brushes your hair off the side of your neck, exhaling, breath tickling you, setting your body on fire.

“Thank you, so are you. We will be good to go tonight, you think?” You whisper, so nervous to say what you want to, and he pauses, clearing his throat, his hand falling off your shoulder now.

“We’ll kill it. Thank you again for lunch.”

“Of course.” You brightly smile, trying to remember.

It’s fake, it’s fake, it’s fake.

As you’re repeating it in your head, Satoru is struggling to not lift your skirt up and fuck into you right on this door, he wouldn’t care if the entire office heard you scream his goddamn name. When you slip out the door he rests his head on it, the cool wood doing nothing to his overheated skin, hands clenching into his fists as he tries to calm himself.

What was that, what is that with you both?

He promised he would be respectful, he has to try to rein it all in, he has to make sure your friendship isn’t ruined because he can’t stop himself. Satoru tells himself that as he wills his cock to go down, but he can’t stop himself, soon he’s stroking it right in that seat, remembering feeling your pussy pressing against his length.

God he needs you, he shuts his eyes, imagining sinking inside you while he twists his hand up and down his length, desperate for any relief. He had some regulars he would call back in the day, but not only does it feel so wrong to do so, he doesn’t want anyone but you, he can’t even put a vision in his mind but you.

‘It’s fine, baby girl you can take me’ he murmurs softly, snowy lashes shut as he imagines fucking into you, stretching you god he bets you’re so tight, and he could feel that warmth, imagining you as he spits down on his pretty cock.

His pink tip is oozing precum while his head rests back in his office chair, he can still smell your scent, that shampoo you use, the body spray you have worn since high school, it’s you. He’d kiss every inch of your body, have you so ready you beg for him, fuck you so good tears pool in your pretty eyes, he can damn near feel is as his hand strokes faster and faster.

He lets out a soft groan, muttering a ‘that’s it, you’re so wet f’me, huh?’ to the very image of you on that desk, tasting your sweetness on his lips, while he pinches his tip, the precum and spit wetting his cock enough that the sound of him stroking fills his office. His breath quickens as he thinks of shoving your thighs up high, slamming into your cervix, ruining you.

As he cums white hot spurts all over his palm he cries out softly, the release feeling so good, he’s fought it, touching himself to you, but he can’t anymore. He quickly cleans up, panicking as he sees what he’s done, jerked off to one of his best friend’s in the world, someone who trusts him, and he’s not even holding himself together for shit now.

He exhaustedly leans his head against the desk as his alarm for the next meeting starts, struggling to remember this isn’t real, but his cock sure didn’t fucking realize that, and by the time he’s home and he sees you all dressed up for the next event? He almost has to go jerk off again.

You’re smiling all nervous in this beautiful glittering gown, and he’s once again speechless, trying to pull together his usual charm, but it falls flat. You look at him, concern clear on your features. “Everything okay Satoru?”

“Of course it is. Look at you.” He smiles, putting on the best show he can, as you wonder if you’ve over thought that kiss, he just seems so normal really.

Maybe he just got carried away, should you act normal too?But how can you, when just the brush of his hand on the small of your back shoots desire straight through your body. It’s only been two weeks, how could you hold out an entire year?

Sooo to have written this in a oneshot would have been INSANE but expect the next two parts very quicklyyy ;) Gojo is DOWN BAD my god- smut in the next hehe.

taglist #1: @plaggi @baepsays @victoria1676 @flwerie @luringfantasy @moncher-ire @allonyyourmom @kindablackenedsuperhero @evelynxxo @jkslaugh97 @sugurusfavemonkey @ninikrumbs @s4ikooo1 @bunheadusa @twinkling-moonlillie @chameleonsoul111 @nina-from-317 @naammiii @whippedbyikemen @alygator77 @uarmyhopeworldwide @1satoruu @theclassbookworm @jud3thedude @isleqt @mcromer2999-blog @silvarys @orikixx @jiejies-corner-store @assbutt-inlove-with-koreans @lordbugs @ari-sa @blue-musingss @minaa-06 @uhnosav @cvixmei @seeiin @indiewritesxoxo @loafteaw @moonlitwitchdaisy @beachaddict48 @miizuzu @honeybunnnnie @honeybunnnnie @gojosukuna2268 @haruhatake @strychnynegirl @jinjen

[velarisdusk]

No Room for Error

Azriel x Reader

word count: 1.5k content: [ explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV, az does not pull out (as is typical with my fics lmao), hate sex, explicit language ] summary: Your heated argument with Azriel during a mission turns into an unexpected, yet not first-time, encounter in a broom closet. author's note: AZ AND Y/N SPIES AZ AND Y/N SPIES AAAAAA i've been wanting to write this one for a while, i'm happy it's finally in existence somewhere outside of my brain and writing drive lol ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

“You really couldn’t wait to make your move, could you?” you snap, frustration leaking into your voice as you shift again, the small space feeling tighter by the second. “We’ve been plotting this mission for months, Azriel.”

“I’m getting the job done, aren’t I?” His tone is dismissive, the usual bite to it harsher. “Maybe if you focused less on talking and more on following orders, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Following orders?” You scoff, pressing back against him involuntarily, even though you’re not sure if you want more space or less. “Maybe you’d actually listen to me if you stopped thinking you know everything.”

“I do know everything,” he growls in your ear, a dark edge to his words that makes something inside you tighten. “But you’re too busy trying to prove me wrong to realize it.”

“I’m not trying to prove you wrong,” you retort, voice sharp as you shift against him again. “You’re just impossible.”

His breath huffs against your skin. “And yet, here we are,” he murmurs, tone low, barely hiding the edge of amusement. “You’re not exactly walking away.”

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter, shifting uncomfortably in the cramped space. “I should’ve completed twice as many missions as you by now. This was supposed to be my assignment, not yours.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Azriel snaps, his voice tight with annoyance, the tension between you both palpable. “Maybe if you didn’t rush into things all the time, you’d actually finish your missions instead of barely scraping by.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job,” you retort, clenching your teeth as the walls feel like they’re closing in. “I’m just fine without your help, Shadowsinger.” You spit out the title like it’s venom, though the words feel hollow as soon as they leave your mouth. The competition between you two was fierce—always had been.

“It’s not about help,” Azriel mutters, shifting just enough that you feel his presence even closer. “It’s about keeping up. You always think you can do everything on your own, but in the end, you just screw it up. It’s like you're trying to outdo me for the sake of it.”

“Outdo you?” You laugh bitterly, barely able to move without pressing into him. “I’ve been outdoing you for months, Azriel. You’re just too arrogant to see it.”

His laugh is low and dark. “If you were outdoing me, we wouldn’t be stuck in this closet right now, would we?”

“Oh, you think this is my fault?” You almost scoff, your words dripping with irritation, but the heat between you is undeniable now, thick with more than just frustration. “Maybe if you didn’t play the lone wolf every damn time, we wouldn’t be here.”

“I didn’t play ‘lone wolf,’” he growls. “You’re just too proud to accept I’m better at this than you.”

Your hand moves, fumbling to adjust—or maybe to steady yourself—and the shift in position has Azriel’s breath catching. The sound sends a rush of heat through you, though you’re still unwilling to admit it aloud.

“Better than me?” you ask, voice dropping dangerously low, your lips curling into a sharp, humorless smile. “That’s rich, coming from someone who’s been riding my coattails for months. Admit it, Azriel, you can’t stand that I’m winning.”

His hand tightens at your waist, and his next words are spoken with deliberate, biting calm. “Winning? You’re delusional. You’ve never beaten me, and you never will.”

Your lips part for another retort, but the words die on your tongue, the sound morphing into a moan as he moves. The shift in position presses him against you in a way that makes your breath hitch, his body hitting that spot deep inside you.

A faint sound of footsteps outside the closet snaps you back to reality. You barely have time to register it before Azriel’s hand is covering your mouth, his fingers warm and firm against your lips, stifling any sound you might make. His other hand grips your hip harder, pulling you even closer as he continues to thrust into you, each movement making you feel him deeper, the rhythm brutal and unforgiving.

“Do you want them to hear you?” he growls low in your ear, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Want to fuck up the mission? Want to give us away?” His voice is tight with barely-contained pleasure, his breath hot against your neck. “You better keep quiet, sweetheart. We can’t afford mistakes.”

You can feel the cold leather of your pants bunched up at your thighs, the heat of his body pressing against you, the sensation of him pushing against you with every thrust, sending jolts of pleasure that make it even harder to keep silent. Your body trembles beneath him, every instinct screaming for release, but the fear of getting caught only makes the tension sharper. 

A desperate whine escapes from your throat, muffled by his hand, and you feel him pause. The sound of footsteps somewhere outside the closet slows, a beat of silence hanging heavy in the air. His breath hitches slightly, but his grip moves up to your waist, and then, in one fluid motion, he presses his hips harder against you.

“Am I going to have to tell Rhys that you cost us months of work?” His words are a dark tease, but the edge of warning lingers in his voice. He pulls back, only to thrust forward again, his hips grinding into yours with slow, powerful force, each movement designed to make you feel every inch of him, to make sure you can’t forget for a second what’s happening. “Think about that, sweetheart. All of this… for nothing.”

Your breath catches as he shifts again, his rhythm turning into something deeper, more intense. The tight space only heightens the feeling of him—every inch of his body pressed against yours, making it impossible to escape the raw heat between you. He grinds into you again, his control slipping as the pressure mounts, but his voice stays dangerously low.

The footsteps outside fade, growing softer as they move away from the door. Azriel’s grip loosens slightly, and he pulls his hand from your mouth, his breath ragged against your skin. You can’t hold back anymore. 

“Please, Azriel, don’t stop, I need it,” you whine, the words slipping out before you can stop them, desperate for more. 

His response is immediate, cold, and calculating. “You don’t need anything. You want it.” His tone is firm, void of any tenderness. “You always want more, don’t you?”

Before you can answer, he shifts again, thrusting into you with a deep, controlled force that makes your body seize in response. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, using the grip to pull you onto him again and again.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, voice low but commanding, “do you always beg like this? Is this how you get Rhys to give you assignments I’m the obvious choice for? Or am I the only one who gets to see this side of you?”

Your heart races, his words swallowing you whole. But you’re beyond caring now, beyond anything but the feeling of him inside you. His hips grind into you with a brutal, possessive rhythm, and you can’t help but let out a moan, your back arching as you press against the wall. You can feel the pressure building, every part of you straining for release, but his control is absolute, keeping you on the edge, making you ache with every moment. You know you can’t hold back much longer. 

With a final, deep thrust, he shudders, his body tightening as he finishes inside you. His breath is heavy, ragged against your neck, and he pauses, just for a moment, as if to savor the feeling of you beneath him. 

Azriel pulls out slowly, his movements deliberate, and you feel a brief emptiness where he was. Without a word, he tucks himself back into his pants with calm efficiency, as if there were nothing out of the ordinary. 

“Pull your pants up,” he says, his tone cool, detached. There’s no hint of the intensity from moments ago, as if he can shut it off in an instant. 

You blink, the haze of pleasure clouding your mind as you slowly process his words. What? You’re still trying to make sense of everything when he pulls back as far as the cramped broom closet allows, glancing at you with that unreadable expression. 

“We’ve got shit to do,” he shrugs, voice colder now, businesslike. “Maybe I’ll stop by your room tonight.” There’s a dangerous flicker in his eyes as he says it, but it’s gone before you can even react. 

He opens the closet door and steps out, holding a hand out to you. You hesitate for a moment, still reeling, but you take his hand, letting him pull you back out into the hall. 

[emptymanuscript]

XD!

So, laugh rule but also:

What’s kinda throwing me is that I think this is actually pretty close to the central thesis of the actual mystical/religious tradition/lineage I’m actually in.

Like, the belief is absolutely that the god we call God is real (as are many other gods and other things) but that the fundamental idea of Divinity vs Mortality is not real. That the fundamental purpose of most religious thought is so the Divine can keep us in our place, even though we’re perfectly capable of doing what they do and achieving apotheosis into being without a difference. The problem with God is that He thinks He’s it and the problem with people is that we think we aren’t.

And, yeah, the fundamental task of the novitiate (initiate? I’m always fuzzy on those. The person just starting out who knows enough to look but enough, yet, to do. Early level apprentice who is learning the ropes sort of person) is to Self Create.

Like that’s the most necessary part of the tradition. You’re supposed to study your little butt off (obviously why I am drawn to it XD, studying everything as a religious devotion? Sign me up! I am a B+ child and I want you to love me teacher XD). But the purpose of the study is to find the hidden resonances, what is actually true, that is not actually recorded in full anywhere because you are divine so only you can fully define you.

It’s self definition by using the other. I am that. I am not that. I am like that but not in this way, etc. Just using metaphysical principles rather than your social group.

Or, I suppose, in ADDITION to your social group.

My actual biggest criticism of my tradition lineage is how often we’re inconsiderate assholes. Not just that we’re not nice people but that we’re not nice people in and on principle. For whatever reason (some I know and some I don’t) the first thing we seem to say we’re not is good, kind, and caring. Like, the exact thing we would want in our own deities and berate the Demiurge (the god who thinks He is God because He was the deity that did all the original creating as far as He is concerned) for not being is what we’re not going to do, too.

Which I get as an act of anger and provocation and boundaries. But I really don’t understand as a mature decision for the path of one’s life. I hear it’s better to reign in hell than serve in heaven but nothing I see demands that that is the actual choice at hand.

There IS a lot of worship. And, yeah, I think part of the draw to my tradition/lineage is that it speaks to lonely weird people who are happier surrounded by books than crowds. But there’s nothing actually NECESSARY to the path about starting a cult, claiming that you’re evil, and then proving it by manipulation and lies. But somehow, those are all the famous people writing the influential texts.

Like, why not be the sort of person you wish that a deity would be. Be your own dream fulfillment. And instead of putting yourself up at the top of a pyramid of something icky, just be the sort of person that other people like hanging around.

Of course, that may just be me being a novice. Wizards aren’t exactly known for their EQ. We know the forbidden names of gods and a whole mess of trivia. My current joke is that if you want to find one of us, go looking for a party. Go to the weirdest one you find. Like, these are not the cool kids, you get me? Look at the people who are up against the wall, not partying. Find the most boring person out of them. That’s your most likely candidate to be a Wizard.

If they are, the questions to ask are ones that lead you to awareness of their humility and sure confidence in themselves.

The more confident they are that they know the secrets of the universe, as a whole, for everything and everybody, the farther back toward initiation they are. The more they need to fight for their own self definition and boundaries, the closer they are to being in the “middle” of their journey. It’s not really the middle it’s simply that you’re very self confident at the very start and very self confident at the end. But the majority of the journey is taking a hammer to the ego when we’re often the sort of people who don’t have a lot of ego defenses to spare.

Which means defensiveness and love/worship cravings are rampant. A great area to promote Narcissistic impulses.

That’s actually a big warning I’ve run into a few times now. That a lot of people simply break and become these megalomaniacal monsters who are just completely full of themselves and their arcane power. They become Demiurge like. They think they’re it. You’re just a prop to them and their power trip fantasy.

Mostly, I hear the solution to be this gray ascetic humility. That the world is illusory and transitory and that includes me and my feelings. So you become this immovable, unimpressable center point. Nothing bothers you. It’s why I talk about my own lineage as shit-eaters. Because that’s a literal example from them. That you should be able to have the same experience and same emotional impact whether you have the best meal of your life or eat literal feces. All that matters is your will and willpower and, yeah, power… so you can enact your will.

Can’t say I like the idea. I do not particularly want to eat feces. I like enjoying food. And this dichotomy strikes me as false. You either reject life or are conquered by it. Meh. I like dialectical thinking not dualistic thinking. And the entire point is to make something new. Something you. Not to simply repeat the old lies and oppression.

If you’re a god, great. Namaste. In all humility and seriousness. I see and acknowledge the divine in you. I welcome it. But as a living, breathing, experiencing person who participates in the world with other people, I would ask some questions:

What are the benefits of your worship to you?

What are the benefits of your worship to your worshippers?

How are you the same as your worshippers?

How are you different from your worshippers?

What are the drawbacks and costs to you that come from your being worshipped?

What are the drawbacks and costs to your worshippers from worshipping you?

If you put yourself in the place of one of your worshippers (pick a few at random) would you feel the benefits and costs weighed out in your favor?

If you put one of your worshippers in your place (pick a few at random) would you come to the conclusion from the outside, with a godlike view of the whole situation, that it weighted out to an activity that was ultimately favorable to them?

For the worshipper you have put in your place, would you be satisfied with how their worshipper’s lives would work out for them in the care of that other?

What would be the benefits to you of rejecting the idea of being worshipped all together?

What would be the costs to you of giving up that particular place at the center for just being one of that particular group you get along with?

DO you actually get along with your worshippers when they aren’t worshipping you? Or do you only like them for their worship? Are they the people you would surround yourself with if you weren’t in this group together?

What benefits might they get from being let go from worshipping you? From being let go from the group?

What would it cost them if they were to stop worshipping you? What would they necessarily lose if they left the group?

Looking at the balance of your answers to these questions and comparing it to likely possible alternatives (NOT the best, NOT the worst, NOT the strangest), is worshipping you the best thing for your worshippers?

Looking at the balance and considering the likely possible alternatives for yourself, is being worshipped in this way the best thing for you?

Looking at all the answers that you’ve written out, and being honest with yourself, with the full divine view of what is and what could be, is this situation what you actually want? Would that answer change if it was for someone else? WHY? WHY is this the best arrangement? Or WHY isn’t this good enough? WHY does it matter who the worshipped is versus an alternative versus the worshippers? WHY? WHY? WHY? There is a reason that children demand this endlessly. It is the most necessary question to understand their lives. That doesn’t really change when a child grows up and realizes their own divinity.

They say you gotta worship god because he created stuff, but I created myself, and my epic boobs, and I'm real, so aren't I better than god? Maybe I should be worshipped. Much to think about

[scoupsakakitty]

Fan Letter | idol!Dk x reader | fluff

Y/N had never thought much about the contents of the shoebox tucked away in the corner of her closet. It was a relic from her teenage years, filled with old posters, concert tickets, and faded memories of a time when she was just another fan in a sea of glowing light sticks.

But apparently, DK had other plans for that shoebox.

“Y/N,” his voice rang through her apartment as he stepped inside, waving a crumpled piece of paper in the air. His expression was a mix of confusion, amusement, and something else she couldn’t quite place. “What is this?”

Y/N blinked, completely caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

He held up the paper, and her stomach immediately dropped. The handwriting was unmistakable, it was hers. A letter she had written years ago, when she was just a fan who never thought she’d actually meet the man who had inspired her so much. And now, here he was, standing in her living room, holding the very letter she had hoped no one would ever see.

“Where did you even find that?” she asked, her voice a mix of panic and embarrassment.

DK grinned, tilting his head in that way he always did when he was teasing her. “You told me to grab a blanket from your closet, so I might’ve… accidentally opened a box.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Seokmin, you weren’t supposed to see that. It’s so embarrassing.”

But DK didn’t seem embarrassed at all. In fact, he looked almost… touched. “You wrote this to me? Like, for real?” He glanced back down at the letter, reading it aloud with dramatic flair. “Dear DK, I don’t know if you’ll ever see this, but I just wanted to say thank you. Your voice has helped me get through so many tough days.”

“Stop it!” Y/N lunged at him, trying to grab the letter, but he was too quick, holding it above his head and out of her reach.

“Whenever I feel like giving up, I listen to your songs, and it feels like I can breathe again. I don’t know how to explain it, but you make everything feel a little lighter.” He paused, his expression softening as he lowered the letter and met her eyes. “You’ll probably never know who I am, but I just wanted to say thank you for being you.”

Y/N froze, her cheeks burning as she tried to think of something to say. “I was young, okay? I didn’t think you’d ever read that. It’s… it’s just stupid.”

But DK shook his head, folding the letter carefully and slipping it into his pocket. “It’s not stupid. Not even a little.”

“Seokmin…” she started, but he cut her off, stepping closer.

“Do you know how much this means to me?” he said, his voice quieter now. “To know that I could make someone feel like that? To know that I made you feel like that?”

Y/N looked up at him, her embarrassment slowly fading as she saw the sincerity in his eyes. “You really helped me,” she admitted softly. “Back then, when I was going through a lot, your voice… it made things feel less heavy. It made me feel like I wasn’t alone.”

DK’s smile grew, and he reached out to take her hands in his. “And now you’re not alone. Not anymore.”

She let out a shaky laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Nope,” he said with a laugh, pulling her into a hug. “But seriously, Y/N, this is one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said about me. And the fact that it came from you makes it even better.”

She relaxed in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. “I still can’t believe you found that.”

“Believe it,” he teased, gently swaying them side to side. “But hey, if you ever want to write me another letter, I wouldn’t mind. Maybe something like, ‘Dear DK, you’re the best boyfriend in the world.’”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re the reason I keep singing,” he replied softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Y/N realized that the boy she had written to all those years ago had turned out to be even better than she could have ever imagined.

————————————————————————————-

[mizgnomer]

Behind the Scenes of The Giggle - Part Fourteen

Excerpt from Benjamin Cook’s article in DWM 599:

In the back garden of a lovely detached house in the Cardiff suburbs – “Not a mansion, but enough to make you go ‘Ooh’,” Russell’s script specifies – David Tennant is giving Bonnie Langford a bear hug. “Welcome back!” he’s saying. “How long’s it been? Thirty-four years?” What a touching moment. “Yeah! And then she sort of blew it,” David tells me later, laughing, “and said, ‘Oh, no, I was here last year!’”

In a timey-wimey twist, today – Friday, 17 June 2022, another scorcher – is Bonnie first time back on Doctor Who since 1987… bar a fleeting cameo in 2022’s The Power of the Doctor. She’s carrying an apple crumble through some patio doors.

And there are the Nobles – Donna, Rose, Sylvia and Shaun – gathered around the garden table, beneath the pergola, about to tuck into pots of curry and cauliflower cheese. (Anything but tuna madras, please.) Sat with them, joining the familial fray at Donna’s new gaff, is the Nobles’ lodger: the Doctor, like we’ve never seen him before. So relaxed. So happy. “He’s not really save-the-world Doctor right now,” Chanya tells David. “This is an off-duty Doctor.” He’s regaling his adopted family with The Eyebrows Story that he’s probably spun a hundred times before. He’s almost at the bit with the Warrior Queen of the Felooth when –

“Am I late?” Enter: Mel, wearing a Reiss dress covered in pink and white flowers. It’s a floral riff of her Time and the Rani ensemble (“They put me in white trousers in a quarry,” winces Bonnie, when I ask her about that ’87 gear. “What the hell was that about??”). “Sorry, the door was open, you don’t mind?”

“Mad Aunty Mel!! I was so happy when I thought of that,” says Russell. “At last she’s got a home, a story, a history. I suppose this house is Donna and Shaun’s, living with mum and grandad, and the Doctor as the strange lodger in the attic. They were promised compensation by UNIT at the end of The Star Beast [after their home was ravaged by Wrarth Warriors].

“Or maybe Bonnie Langford should move into Bannerman Road?” adds Russell, tantalisingly. “I wouldn’t object. MAD AUNTY MEL.”

For Catherine, working with Bonnie must be the equivalent of David partnering with Ncuti? Is there a sense that they’re kindred souls? “Oh I mean,” she says, “I’m just not as deep as that.” She explodes with laughter. “We didn’t even discuss it. I didn’t know she was a companion! I was literally going to David, ‘Bonnie Langford was in Doctor Who?!’”

“Bonnie’s quite unusual, certainly from the old show, in that she was probably better known for other things,” David reasons. “That’s quite rare. This show tends to cling to you.”

“That’s the thing about Doctor Who. You can run, but you can’t hide,” says Catherine. “It’ll get you. It’ll bring you back in the end – happily.”

Catherine has no regrets, then, about returning for these 60th Anniversary Specials? No, not one, she insists. Best of all, Donna finally gets the happy ending she deserves – the delightful fate of Donna Noble. “I think it’s just amazing that Russell has found a way to do that,” says Catherine. “I was convinced he was going to have the Doctor and Donna die in some terrible, spectacular way and everyone would be sobbing. But no. We sit in a garden and eat apple crumble with Bonnie Langford. Ha! Which is so perfect.”

When Catherine read the script for The Giggle, she was “a little bit taken aback, actually, at what happens,” she told us two issues back. Now she explains: “That was when it fell into place for me. I realised, the need to want the monumental was the actor in me. That’s not what Donna wants. Donna doesn’t want the drama. What she wants is to bring the Doctor home and to ground him the way she needed to ground herself. That’s how she saves him. For me that’s Russell’s brilliance, that he sees beyond the showiness.”

Catherine texted Russell after reading the script. “I was like, ‘Oh my God, we sit in a garden having a barbecue,’ and he goes, ‘Yeah, Donna gets the ending she always wanted.’ I thought, of course, that’s what she wants. She wants her best friend. And obviously,” says Catherine, smiling cheerily, “they get the best of both worlds, because there’s a TARDIS in the garden as well.”

“I really like that this is part of the garden,” says David, pointing across the lawn to where his TARDIS is stood. The Doctor’s TARDIS, by the patio windows. For now. (He took Mel to New York last week. And Rose Noble to Mars.)

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

For other posts in this set, please see the #whoBtsGiggle tag. The full episode list is [ here ]

[steddieas-shegoes]

a birthday halfway forgot

for @corrodedcoffinfest pop-up event 'birthday boy' using the prompt 'birthday' and 'age 30'

rated e, minors dni | 3132 words | no cw | tags: famous corroded coffin, band manager steve, established relationship, fucking on a motorcycle is ill-advised but they do it anyway, hand jobs, anal sex, domestic fluff

🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️

He’s looking at the calendar in shock. He didn’t know. He didn’t realize.

It’s January 26th.

It’s Eddie’s 30th birthday. It’s Gareth’s 27th birthday.

Somehow, he lost track of dates in all of the chaos of planning the next tour and being so focused on the April through September parts of the calendar.

“Shit.”

He immediately calls Jeff because he’s sure the next most mature human being in their codependent group of misfits hasn’t forgotten. There’s no way Jeff forgot.

“Shit,” he says when Steve asks.

He forgot.

“Okay. It’s not the end of the world! It’s still early.”

Steve looks at the clock. It is early, but they don’t have time to plan something.

“Make a reservation at that Italian place they both like. The one with the fried meatballs. I’ll get cake. It’ll be fine,” Steve is good in crisis. He’s proven time and time again how quickly he can fix problems on tour. He can do it for this, too. “They won’t know we forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Eddie asks from behind Steve.

“The appointment we made for everyone to see the doctor before tour!” Steve says, way too loud to be considered normal.

Luckily, Eddie is used to Steve being a little manic during the planning stages of tour and doesn’t question his volume or strained smile.

“Is that Gare? He was supposed to call me when he got up,” Eddie steps closer. “It’s almost noon; There’s no way he’s still asleep.”

“It’s Jeff.”

“Jeffery!” Eddie grabs the phone from Steve’s hand and waves his free hand around. “Haven’t you taken my husband away from me enough lately?”

Steve rolls his eyes. It’s not his fault they choose to handle most things themselves instead of outsourcing all the tour management to the label. It’s better if Steve and Jeff take care of things.

They talk for a few minutes and Steve decides he needs to pull out the phone book to find a bakery. It’s gonna be a hell of a challenge to find someone capable of personalizing a cake within a few hours, but if anyone can, it’s Steve.

Eddie ends up driving to Gareth’s instead of waiting for his call, which makes Steve’s life a lot easier. He finds a bakery— only had to call six before someone was willing— and tries not to worry too much about how much he’s paying just for a cake. They have money. They can afford an expensive cake.

Eddie and Gareth deserve it.

Steve cannot believe he forgot.

||||||||||||

“You forgot,” Eddie laughs.

The restaurant is empty except for the guys and a handful of staff ready to wait on their every want and need. There’s a balloon on the centerpiece of the table and one gift sitting next to it.

Steve groans.

“Jeff forgot, too.”

Eddie kisses his temple and walks over to the gift. Steve knows it’s Gareth’s gift. Eddie’s can’t be wrapped.

“Hey!” Jeff exclaims, but Eddie waves him off.

“We didn’t forget your birthdays, we just forgot what day it was entirely,” Steve continues. “Sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says and really means it. Eddie doesn’t get upset about this stuff, Steve knows that. “Gareth and I had a bet.”

“That’s what you had to go over to talk to him about?” Steve looks over at Gareth, who is flirting with the waitress while everyone else sits at the table. “How much did you bet?”

“He bet that you guys forgot and wouldn’t remember until we told you. $200.”

“And you?”

Eddie laughs. “I bet that you’d remember in time to pull off a surprise but just barely. $500.”

“Wow. Does he even have that kinda money laying around?” Steve jokes. He does. They all do. They have more money than they need. Their money has money. Literally. It’s accruing interest in accounts.

“You know exactly how much money I have,” Gareth says as he lays an arm around Steve’s shoulders and smacks a kiss on his cheek. “You balanced my checkbook last week and I swear I’ve only spent a few grand since.”

Steve knows he’s joking, but his heart stutters in his chest anyway. Just because they have it doesn’t mean they should be frivolous with it. He knows they all know that, but Gareth is still quick to sign a check for pleasure sometimes.

“Happy birthday, Gare,” Steve says as he leans his head on top of Gareth’s. “Sorry we forgot a little.”

“Eh, it was only a little. We’re celebrating now. Plus, I’m only turning 27. Grandpa over here should start drafting his retirement announcement.”

“I would, but I haven’t developed arthritis yet,” Eddie says as he grabs one of the fried meatballs from the plate near the end of the table. “At the rate you crack your knuckles, you’ll be celebrating your 28th in a care facility.”

“Alright, enough. Let’s order drinks and stop making the staff nervous,” Steve starts to gather everyone to the table, take the lead the way he usually does. It’s natural, and easy, and fun. He likes being the beacon of responsibility for this group. It’s different from his role with the kids in Hawkins— less life or death most of the time— but still a glorified babysitter position. “Behave like the adults you claim to be.”

“Wayne Munson just came out of your mouth,” Eddie says as he sits. “Not sure I like it.”

Steve ignores the bait. He’ll never get them all to be decent guests at this restaurant if he keeps going back and forth with Eddie.

They spend so much time together already, but it’s never difficult to be around each other. They really are codependent at this point; Where one goes, at least one more will follow and he’ll bring beer and sarcasm.

Gareth opens his present, eyes shining when he sees that everyone chipped in to get him the record player he loved when they went to an old record shop in Chicago. It was considered antique and the owner of the shop wasn’t even interested in selling it to him, but Steve is a convincing guy, and the rest of the guys pulled out their own checkbooks to make it happen.

They grabbed a few records for him, too, but he’s already talking about the list he has and where they can find them. Everyone listens because it’s his birthday, only throwing in jibes occasionally instead of constantly. It’s his birthday so they’re taking it easy.

“I guess my gift is these fried meatballs,” Eddie finally says. He doesn’t sound disappointed; That’s how much he loves the fried meatballs.

“Your gift is at home,” Steve pats his knee, dismissive.

Eddie wiggles his brows. “From everyone or just you?”

“Part of it is from everyone,” Steve allows.

“I’m ready to go!” Eddie claps his hands. “Thanks for coming, happy birthday to my birthday twin, blah blah blah.”

Frankie rolls his eyes and reaches for one of the meatballs on Eddie’s plate.

“Just remember the part that came from all of us is not the part you’re so excited about,” he says with his mouth full.

“Love you all, but I definitely have no interest in fucking any of you. See ya!” He waves as he gets up and leaves.

Everyone looks at Steve. He pats Gareth on the shoulder and smiles at everyone else.

“See you guys tomorrow. Not early, though. Unless you wanna see something you’ll never forget,” Steve winks.

Everyone groans but they wave and say goodbye with smiles on their faces.

Eddie’s sitting in the passenger seat when Steve gets to the car. He’s a passenger princess through and through and Steve loves him for it.

“Step on it, baby!”

Steve steps on it, but maintains the speed limit because the last thing they need is a ticket.

||||||

He doesn’t park in the garage because he can’t.

Eddie’s immediately suspicious.

“It’s supposed to rain early in the morning. Don’t you wanna pull the car in?” He asks.

“Can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“I can’t.”

“Oh my god.”

Steve smirks. Eddie unbuckles his seatbelt and practically falls out of the car as he bangs on the garage door.

“Open it!” He yells at Steve, who has the button in the car, but thinks this is way more entertaining than doing what Eddie asks. He could always unlock the door and get inside that way, but he knows Eddie realizes what his present is now.

They went all out for his 30th. Even the kids got involved. Wayne picked it out. This has been their best kept secret for months.

The fact that Steve forgot today was the day is crazy in hindsight. He’s had this date circled as delivery day for nearly a month.

Steve finally pushes the button to open the door and Eddie barely waits for it to be lifted above his waist before he’s ducking inside. He screams. High-pitched, girlish in nature, entertaining as hell. Steve almost wishes he could’ve thought to bring the camcorder with him to record this special moment.

“Steve!” Eddie exclaims when he’s done squealing. “A Harley?!”

Steve casually walks into the garage and wraps his arm around Eddie’s waist, kissing his temple.

“Wayne said this is really close to the one you liked when you two went on that trip together,” Steve explains. “We can always paint it if the color isn’t right.”

“It’s perfect. Don’t touch it. It’s perfect,” he babbles, leaving Steve’s arm to sit on the seat, bouncing once as if to test how squishy the seat is.

It’s squishy. Steve checked.

“The helmet even has bats painted on it!” Eddie reaches for the helmet hanging from the handle. “And my name! Stevie!”

“And the helmet is required. Even if you’re just going to Gareth’s house or to the store. No helmet, no motorcycle,” Steve places his hands on his hips. He means business and Eddie knows it better than anyone that safety comes before fun, always.

“I know, I know. I can’t believe this,” Eddie says, still in awe. “I didn’t think you’d ever cave. Who convinced you?”

See, Eddie’s wanted his own bike for at least four years now, ever since he and Wayne went on a bike tour of the Appalachian Mountains. Steve wasn’t necessarily against it, he just knew they didn’t have much time at home to enjoy it, and he did worry that Eddie wouldn’t prioritize safety over fun if he got carried away.

He hates that Frankie of all people managed to convince him by saying there’s nothing hotter than fucking on a Harley.

He’s hoping Frankie’s right.

Instead of answering the question, Steve presses the button that closes the garage door and walks over to the bike.

“You ready for part two?”

“I don’t even know how this can get any better, but sure,” Eddie looks up at him with wide eyes.

Steve pulls off his shirt, kicks off his shoes, and strips off his pants and underwear. He shivers, but not because he’s cold. Winter looks a lot different in California than it did in Hawkins, that’s for sure.

“Oh my god. I must be dreaming,” Eddie grins as he leans back, making room for Steve to straddle his thighs on the bike.

It’s a sturdy bike, so he’s not too worried about it falling over while they do this, but a small voice in his head is still telling him to make small movements. He’s not letting Eddie fuck him on this thing until they test it like this.

Steve’s half-hard at the thought of Eddie holding him up on this thing, letting him bounce on his cock. Maybe he’s fantasized about Eddie being a mechanic fixing his car and Steve’s only way to pay for the labor is to ride him until they’re both sweaty and messy, oil stains leaving fingerprints on Steve’s skin.

That’s not what’s happening now, and won’t actually happen ever, but this is close enough.

“Been thinking about you touching me all day,” Steve admits. It’s true, but he’s playing it up a little, fluttering his eyelashes a little. “I wanna take a ride, too.”

“I’ve gotta be the luckiest man in the world,” Eddie groans as he wraps his hand around Steve’s length, squeezing the head of his cock and jerking his hand a few times to bring him to full hardness. “I’ve had this exact dream.”

“How’d the dream go?” Steve gasps as Eddie touches him the right way over and over. He’s good at this, always has been. He finds the right pace and pressure, and he just keeps going, listening for any sign that Steve’s not feeling perfect.

“I got to make you come and then lay you down on the seat and lick you clean,” Eddie ends on a moan. “Please let me do that, baby. I’ll do anything.”

Steve nods, would never stop Eddie from doing that. This sounds like a dream he’s had, too.

His hands hold onto Eddie’s shoulders as he tilts his hips up to push into Eddie’s grasp. He’s close, so close already. He doesn’t think they’ll ever stop being embarrassingly quick when they get their hands on each other.

It’s a gift to know someone so well that you feel like teenagers every time you touch each other.

“C’mon,” Eddie nips at Steve’s neck, breath hot against his skin. “Make a mess, baby.”

Steve’s always been good at following directions. He moans as he comes, paints his own stomach and Eddie’s hand, opens his eyes to see cum dripping onto the seat under him. He’s sure Eddie doesn’t mind.

He feels shaky, unstable, but only because the bike rocks under them as Eddie pulls his own shirt off and stands, moving Steve so he’s laying back. It’s far from comfortable, but it’s hot as hell.

Eddie licks the cum off Steve’s stomach and dick, takes his time while Steve sucks on his fingers. They’re both still worked up too much to stop, and now that Steve’s slowly coming down, he realizes he wants Eddie to fuck him. Now.

“Get your pants off,” Steve demands.

“Say please,” Eddie teases before sucking a bruise into Steve’s hip.

“Please,” Steve begs, because it’s Eddie’s birthday and he’s gonna do whatever Eddie wants. Eddie likes when he begs a little, even though they both know there’s no need for it. “Fuck me.”

“You look so good like this,” Eddie says as he shoves his pants off. “Not even sure I need to drive this thing if I can have you like this all the time.”

“No more band? Touring? Just fucking me on your motorcycle?” Steve’s laugh turns into a groan when Eddie’s finger circles his hole. “Not sure we can back out of this tour now.”

“You and I both know I’ll find plenty of places to fuck you on tour,” Eddie smiles down at him. “Comfy or do you need to move?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m okay for now. Just want you inside me.”

Eddie opens him up efficiently, doesn’t rub against his prostate until he’s got three fingers inside him.

Trying to stay still is proving to be difficult, and Steve’s pretty sure their pushing the limits of the kickstand.

“C’mon, I’m good. I’m ready,” Steve says. “Fuck me, Eddie, c’mon.”

Fucking on a motorcycle is not easy to do, but they’ve actually fucked in more difficult positions before.

One time, Steve fucked Eddie over an amp backstage. It wasn’t wide enough for either of them to properly sit on, but they managed. They had bruises and some strange red marks for a day or two, but it was worth it.

Another time, the hotel they were staying in had a balcony. Kind of. It was barely more than a small extension of the room with an iron bar around it, but they put that iron bar to the test. It passed, they were sore.

They have to be slow, slower than they normally would be. Steve doesn’t wanna have to bring it in for scuff marks to be buffed out if it falls over on day one.

If he were less flexible, maybe a little older, he’d have to call it. His legs are tight around Eddie’s waist and he’s using more of his ab muscles than he’s used in years to maintain his own stability.

Eddie blankets himself over Steve, barely moving in and out of him. The friction of Steve’s leaking cock against his stomach is probably enough to get him there.

Eddie brushes Steve’s bangs off his face, kisses his forehead, and moans when Steve clenches around his cock.

“I love you so much,” Eddie whispers. “You’re the best gift.”

Steve kisses him, mouth open, tongue licking over his teeth. It’s wet and messy, and it’s perfect. The phone’s ringing inside the house, but they’re too close to care about trying to answer. They’ll leave a message.

They both come together, whimpering into each others’ mouths as Eddie’s hips stutter and Steve’s legs fall.

Eddie kisses the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck. He pulls out slowly, and they both wince at the loss of being filled and being surrounded.

“Let’s get cleaned up. I wanna take this for a ride,” Eddie helps Steve off the bike. “You got a helmet?”

Steve nods. “I assumed you’d want me to come with you at least once.”

“I’ve had dreams, Stevie.”

They both laugh and the phone starts ringing again. Eddie sighs and rushes to get inside.

“Hello?” Steve follows, closing the door behind him. His legs feel numb, almost enough to make him stumble. “Gare, you knew what my gift was and you’re still calling?”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Of course I love it. No, you can’t come over for a ride tonight. No, you can’t drive it. No!” Steve is giggling as he kisses Eddie’s shoulder on his way past him to their room. “I don’t care if it’s your birthday, too. It’s my gift.”

Steve drops his clothes in the basket and goes into the bathroom to start the shower. He has no doubt that they’ll get messy again before the night’s over, but they should try to look decent if they’re taking the Harley out for a spin.

He hears Eddie telling Gareth not to call back until tomorrow as he steps into the hot water.

Gareth will worm his way into driving it by the end of the week, Steve’s sure of it. Eddie’s got a soft spot for him that can be seen from space. That’s why there’s a helmet for Gareth sitting in a box in the living room.

Steve thought of everything.

“Does cum stain leather?” Eddie asks as he steps into the shower.

Steve’s brows furrow.

Maybe he didn’t think of everything.

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 6 - How to Infiltrate a Terror Cell

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: Violence, sexual remarks/touching, use of weapons, description of injuries, implied torture, blood, death.

AN: This one really got away from me. These mini fics are supposed to be 'short' and easy to write.

Previous parts - masterlist - next

AO3

Enjoy <3

It's the worst idea you’ve ever heard. But here you are nodding at Price while he lays out the plan.

“First things first we need to confirm Konni have Alex. Then we focus on Makarov.” 

“I know one of the guards who works in the prison wing. He’ll be my way in.” You explain.

“Makarov will be harder. He's always surrounded by his best soldiers. I can probably find out what he's doing here but as for getting an audience with him or even getting near him it’s going to be next to impossible.” You explain. Price hums laying back on the sofa.

“Find out why he's here then we get Alex out. Rendezvous with the ULF and make a plan from there.” Price says. 

“As soon as we spring Alex that's it. There's no way I will be getting back in there.” You say raising an eyebrow.

“That's why it's important you get as much Intel before getting him out.” You nod standing up. 

“Here.” Gaz says coming over to you and handing you a USB. You take it raising an eyebrow. 

“Plug it into any computer and it will copy all the files over.” He says, you nod at him, he lingers for longer then he needs to. Maybe he’s warming up to you too. 

“When you find Alex, tell him 141 sent you. He’ll know to trust you.”

“Are you sure?” You ask sceptical. You know if they’ve been trying to get info out of him it’s very unlikely he will trust you, or anyone for that matter of fact. You might have to resort to dragging him out.

“I’m sure.” You sigh looking out the window. The sun is coming up. You should leave sooner rather than later, it’s a few miles back to the border, wait any longer and the story you’ve constructed might not make sense. You go over to pull your jacket on.

“I should get going.” 

“We’ll be waiting at the rendezvous point.” price says. You nod looking round the room. Maybe they won’t wish you luck. Maybe they don’t mind if you die, one less thing for them to worry about.

“Good luck.” Gaz calls. That you didn’t expect. You smile at him. 

...

“You said Farah’s forces where moving north not fucking marines.” You snap at your handler, Ivan. He called for you as soon as you made it into the base. It was early morning, most people had gone to meet Makarov's entourage, apparently, the place was running on a skeleton crew. 

Good, easier for you.

“The packages?” 

“Dead.”

“Shit, they were tech specialists, Al Qatala needed them.” 

“Explains why they were shit lookouts.” You mutter under your breath. The other man in the room catches that and you look over at him. You don’t recognise him, he’s barely said a word since you entered the room. Just looks at you now and then from over his laptop.

“Why did they let you live?” He asks, his accent is thicker, he’s not from round here. Maybe he’s not even Russian at all.

“I patched up one of their injured. They let me live.” 

“Which way did they go?”

“West.” You lie. Both the men look at eachother then back down at the map.

“Sakhra?” Ivan asks.

“Makes sense If they have one injured they’ll want to head to a neutral hospital or a ULF. The Americans have been getting too close to the border for my liking.” The other man says shrugging. 

“How sure are you that they're heading west?” 

“I overheard them talking before they left.” You explain.

“Well, I have to deal with a very angry Al Qatala contact. You better get yourself ready. Makarov will have jobs for you I'm sure.” Ivan says. 

“Wouldn't want to fuck them up.” The other man says.

“What's he doing here? Makarov?” You ask as the Ivan turns away. 

“Not really any of your business but let's just say he's planning a nice surprise for the ULF. And now we have an American who knows all their movements there's no way we miss.” The other man says. 

“Has he talked?” 

“Not yet, but he will. The Butchers on his way. A little gift from Al Qatala.” Ivan says. Shit. You have to move quick if you’re going to get him out here it has to be now. You leave the room, closing the door behind you. Before you head to the prison wing you skip into the handlers office. He never locks it, he's going to regret that. 

You plug the USB into the computer and a loading bar starts. You look round the desk, looking at the papers for anything interesting. Your heart is hammering in your chest, you keep looking up to the door hoping no one will come in.

You look back at the PC, it's only 50% done. You start to look through the drawers for anything, even if it is just to keep you busy. You see plans, plans for some kind of weapon. You take them out, folding them up and shove them into your pocket. 

The transfer is almost done. You hear a door close, you’re holding your breath, your hands run over the papers on the desk. You hear the Ivan's voice 90%. You panic, he’s probably coming to his office, you need to distract him. You go round to the other side of the desk leaning against it. You hear a beep on the computer, the USB must be done, you reach over pulling it out and shoving it in the pocket with the papers. 

You only just manage to compose yourself as he walks in. A smile grows on his face. He walks up to you, his hand resting on your hip.

“You’ve got me in a whole bunch of trouble. Least you could do is make it worth my while.” He says, you can smell the vodka on his breath as he leans in to kiss your neck. You don’t have time for this, one of his hands slips round to grab your ass. It’s like he wants to pick you up and put you on the desk.

“Ivan,” you breath as his hand presses dangerously close to the other back pocket. He pulls his mouth off your neck. “I have stuff to do.” 

“Yeah you do.” He says with that stupid grin on his face before pressing his lips onto you. Normally you wouldn’t mind but you’re about to betray him this feels wrong. You push him off you. He huffs crossing his arms.

“I really have to get ready. Besides, don't you have to prepare for our special VIP?” You say, he tips his head to the side you can tell he’s not happy about this. He steps away walking round to the other side of his desk and you turn with him.

“Fuck Makarov, this whole plan is pointless. The American is not going to talk, he’s rushing into this too quickly.” 

“What does he want?” You ask, maybe now you’re alone he’ll give you some more answers. 

“He wants to take over the northern territories.” 

“Of Urzikstan?” Ivan nods. “He’s crazy, he’ll turn Al Qatala against him.” 

“He wants to use it as a bargaining chip.” he says. 

“Not going to be much bargaining if he’s dead.” You scoff crossing your arms. That explains why he’s so nonchalant about upsetting Al Qatala, when Makarov is done, lost techs will be the least of their worries. 

“On top of that he’s got us chasing some military unit helping Farah.” Your stomach sinks. 

“Military unit?” You ask, swallowing the nerves.

“Yeah 141 or something. Anyway, I’ve had people looking for them for weeks. We don’t even know if they’re still in the country.” He says going to type on his computer. You need to leave. Get Alex and leave.

“Well, if I find them I’ll let you know.” You say heading for the door. He chuckles. 

“Hey.” He calls as you’re about to close the door. “You’ll be back later right? I’ve missed you.” He hasn’t missed you, he’s missed sex. You smile and nod at him. 

…

“You look like shit.” Caleb says offering you the last of his cigarette. You take it sucking a deep breath in and letting it calm you. It didn’t take you long to walk over to the prison building, of course Caleb was already waiting for you, he waved at you when he saw you walk through the front gate.

“Heard you fucked your job.” He chuckles.

“Hear a lot with those massive ears of yours.” You say reaching up to flick him. He bats your hand away. “Thought you would be out with the others going to pick up Makarov?” 

“Fuck that.” He laughs, you smile, throwing the butt on the floor and stamping it out. You follow him back into the prison wing. It’s not really a prison, this whole building used to be a school or something, it’s been abandoned for years. Well until Konni and Makarov took it over. 

“Heard you’ve got an American here?” You ask looking round at the shabby built cells. 

“Yeah.” He says pointing down the hall. There are at least two other guards. Hopefully you can get Caleb to turn a blind eye, then you only need to worry about them. And the guards on the gate, and the extra security that will come after you as soon as they know there’s been a break out. 

“Heard The Butchers coming to question him.” 

“Oof, unlucky guy.” He winces. You walk down a different hall with him. There are only a few people in the makeshift cells, most of them are converted offices. 

“Anyway, how did you manage to mess up your job?”

“Marines came in and caught me off guard. No one warned me there were Americans around.” You say sticking to the made up story. 

“At least you’ve been out doing something. Ivan has the whole place on edge with this Makarov visit. Maybe it’s good you came back early. Calm him down.” He jokes nudging you. You roll your eyes. Nudging him back. It’s just sex, mindless stupid sex. And yeah maybe Ivan looks away when you fuck up from time to time, like today. 

“What did he get bored of the cook house girl?” You tease back, Caleb laughs. You walk on a little further mustering up the confidence to ask him. You have to be careful, out of anyone you want Caleb to get hurt the least. You’re going to miss your chats with him. 

“I need a favor.” You say stopping him and gripping his arm. He frowns at you, he seems to sense the unease in your voice looking around before leaning in closer to you. 

“The American. I need to talk to him. 30 seconds alone.” You say trying your best not to sound nervous. 

“Are you crazy? Ivan’s got that shit locked down. No one is allowed to look in his direction let alone talk to him.” Caleb whispers gripping your arm. 

“I’ll deal with Ivan.” You say. “You owe me, remember?” He shakes his head. 

“Not this, they’ll kill me if anything happens to him.” 

“You owe me.” You say again this time gritting your teeth, you don’t exactly have time to negotiate. He sighs looking around. 

“30 seconds. No more.” He says. You smile reaching up and kissing his cheek. 

“Thank you.” He shakes his head and calls the other guards over. You move past them pretending to head for the exit before turning down the hall where Caleb pointed earlier. You take the key off the wall opening the door. There’s a man sitting on the bed. He springs up as soon as you step in.

“I was sent by 141. Are you Alex?” You ask, holding your arms out. He nods, frowning, as well as he can, his head is bruised and one of his eyes is swollen. The few clothes they’ve left him in are drenched through and he’s holding his other arm like it’s broken. “I’m here to get you out. I don’t have time to explain, you just need to trust me.” You say leaving the room. He hesitates a second then follows you. You go over to the guards table and pick up a weapon, loading it and putting another mag in your pocket. 

“Can you walk?” You ask, trying to keep an eye on the door Caleb would have taken the guards through. As soon as they see you they’ll open fire and sound the alarm. You need to leave. You start to head towards the door, clicking the safety off your gun. You quickly look behind you to make sure Alex is following, he is but too slow for your liking. 

Before you can tell him to hurry the door at the end of the room opens. A guard looks at you, his eyes then flick to Alex. You don’t have time to think you bring the weapon up and shoot him. 

Move! Your brain screams. The shot will have alerted people. Alex makes it over you and you practically drag him through the door out into the courtyard. A shot rings out and you pull him round the side of a building. You look back to see Caleb shouting orders as more guards run round. 

You look over at the entrance of the base. It’s close but you have to get over the wall, which means you’re going to have to fight. 

“We’re going to have to hop that wall. Think you can manage that?” You ask as you turn to Alex. He nods and opens his mouth but before he has a chance to say anything more shots ring out hitting the wall where you’re hiding. 

It’s now or never. You jump out from behind the building and sprint across to the wall. You hear Caleb call your name as you throw yourself over the wall rolling down the embankment. You hear Alex groan out in pain, he’s definitely got something broken. You get to your knees watching him writhe in pain. You don’t have time for this. Alarms ring out. Now you really don’t have time for this. You look over to the entrance. The gates are being locked. Great now you’re going to need to get keys. 

At least that's easy to do if the person is dead. You reach over gripping Alex’s arm pulling him to his feet. He cries out in pain, you don’t have time to worry about it as more shots ring out. You can see Caleb running across towards you, you pull Alex over the drain and up the opposite embankment. You let go of his arm to open fire on the guards in front of you. There’s only two of them, at the gate. 

You take cover behind the inspection booth, Alex kneels down beside you. You hand him your gun.

“I need to get a key, cover me.” You say. You don’t know if you trust him, or if he’ll even be a good shot but he’s better than nothing. He nods, you crawl out over to one of the bodies. Shots ring out behind you. Well he’s not killed you yet. You fumble around the guards belt and pockets. Nothing.

“Shit!” you call crawling over to the other guard out in the open. More shots ring out, from in front and behind you. Alex must have picked up a weapon off the guard. You find the ring of keys clipped on the guards belt. Your hands are shaking from adrenaline as you try to unhook them.

“Watch out!” Alex shouts. You don’t get time to look up before someone kicks you in the back. You look over at Alex fumbling with a mag. A shot rings out and he ducks behind the booth just in time. 

“Fuck.” You say pulling yourself to your feet. You’re surprised the person lets you get up. Before you can turn though a pain radiates in your side.

It’s worse than anything you’ve ever felt before. Have you been shot? When you finish turning you see a guard. Before you have time to react his head explodes into and he lands beside you. You look over at Alex, he’s still fumbling with the clip. 

You turn to see Caleb bringing his weapon down to his side, he looks sad, he’s your friend and you're betraying him. You reach down to touch where the pain is. Your head is swimming, your hands feel blood, then cold metal. There’s a knife, you’ve been stabbed.

“No!” you yell at Alex as he comes back from round the booth, his weapon drawn. Caleb holds up the keys, you smile at him. He pushes past you, opening the gate. You stumble over, each step sending shooting pains through your body.  

“You owe me!” Caleb says as he throws his arm around you. You lean up against him as he half drags you into the tree line.

“On the other side of the tree line. There’s a truck.” You say switching to English. 

“Rescue?” Caleb asks in English, you smile crying out in pain as you step over a fallen tree. 

“That's where 141 are waiting.” You say, it’s getting harder to focus, at least the sound of the alarm from the base isn’t ringing in your ears. 

“How do you know 141?” Alex asks as he watches round you, his weapon still drawn.

“It’s a long story.” You say breathless. You want to pull the knife out, it hurts so much. You know you shouldn't though. Not until you have something to pack the wound with. 

“Just keep going.” Caleb says, hitching you up tighter to him as you start to stumble. You can barely see what’s happening, the forest becoming a mix of blurry greens and browns. It feels like you’ve been walking for miles when you hear the engine of a truck. It makes your adrenaline spike, giving you a brief moment of clarity as you make it to the edge of the tree line.

“It’s them!” You hear the familiar Scottish accent. The sun blinds you as you make it through the trees. 

“Shit, what happened?” You hear someone ask, there are more hands on you now. You’re picked up.

“Who are you?” A gun clicks.

“Caleb, friend.” Is all you manage to say. You hear whoever is holding you curse under his breath. You’re pulled into the back of the truck on the floor. It makes you cry out again, your hand going to your wound. There’s banging and clattering. You don't have time to question how they got their hands on an military truck.

“Hey, lass, c’mon stay with us we’ll get you sorted.” It’s Soap. You look out through the back of the truck, you can see Price with his hand on Alex’s shoulder, Gaz taking the weapon out Caleb's hand. Then you see it in the distance, a truck. 

Price notices it too. He helps Alex get in the truck next to you, closing the back.

“Ghost, let's move!” He shouts. Gaz has vanished, you hear a door slam. Price pulls himself in the truck holding his arm out for Caleb. It doesn’t matter though.

Shots ring out, they hit the truck, you see Price duck, then the flash of blood. Caleb's hit, his body goes limp and falls to the floor as the truck pulls away. 

You’re not sure what happens next. Your scream fills the air as you watch Caleb's body get smaller covered in the dirt kicked up by the truck. Someone is pressing your body down. Suddenly Price is leaning over you, more shots ring out hitting the truck. You feel tears stream down your face. You got him killed, the only person you didn’t want to get hurt. 

“Alex! Cover fire!” You watch as Price hands him an AR, they both move down to the end of the truck returning fire. Your body is being flung from side to side as the truck drives out the forest and onto a road. 

You don’t care what happens now, you don’t care if you die. You did your job, you got Alex out. You close your eyes letting out a breath. 

“No, no, no! Eyes open c’mon!” It’s Soap again. Your eyes snap open as he shakes you. The gunfire dies down, maybe you’ve lost them. Maybe they won’t follow you out on a main road.

“Caleb.” You say. “His name was Caleb.” Soap frowns for a second then lets out a sigh. 

“Johnny.” He says. 

“Nice to meet you Johnny.” You smile. He smiles back. You can’t stay awake anymore. Your head is spinning, black spots fade into your vision. He calls out to you, shaking you but you just can’t stay awake. Your last thought is of Caleb as everything goes black. 

next

Banners by plum98

[buck-star]

for the stucky bingo!! “showering together”

either smutty or angsty! if you go angsty I’m always a sucker for the whole “just got bucky back” civil war era trope.

maybe steve helps bucky shower for the first time since getting him back! he prob didn’t have running water in bucharest so is a lil grimey but def doesn’t really have any positive associations with showers or bathing so he’s on EDGE the entire time but steve just mama birds him.

or alternatively bucky mama birds steve! maybe he gets sick somehow and bucky is full blown 1940’s “stfu and let me take care of you mode” and drags him into the shower

sorry for the rambling bye

Shower and comfort

Steve helps Bucky not just with a shower but also to calm his anxiety during the shower.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Boyfriend!Steve Rogers

Wordcount: 2.330 Words

Warnings/Tags: anxiety, Bucky with ptsd, crying, comfort, established relationship, petnames [baby], kisses, nudity (none sexual), fluff

Authors Note: Thank you for the request. It really sparked the muse to write, hope you like it. Divider made by me.

Events: WinterShield Bingo [I2 | Showering Together | @wintershieldbingo], Hurt Comfort Bingo [BO32 | Row Two-Three | Showering Together | @hurtcomfort-bingo], Stucky Bingo [SB6010 | N3 | Free Space | @stuckybingo], Seasonal Delights Bingo: Types of love [O5 | Silent Hugs | @seasonaldelightsbingo]

Masterlist | Stucky Masterlist

The warmth of the hot steam of the steady shower spray fills the room, mixed with the sound of the water dripping down onto the cool shower tiles to warm them up.

“Stevie, I don’t think… I don’t need a shower,” Bucky stutters, hugging himself tightly while he sits on the closed toilet where Steve placed him a few minutes ago. “I—I can just… I will just use a bit of soap and a sponge to wash me.”

Steve shakes his head; he hates to see Bucky so afraid and unsure. But as much as he loves his boyfriend, he can’t ignore that Bucky’s looking like he hasn’t had a shower in years — he probably hasn’t.

Bucky’s brown hair is stuck together, dirty, and causing pain already when Bucky tries to comb it. More often than not, Bucky scratches his dry skin until it’s a wound that has to be fixed by Steve, or else it would inflame itself.

“Buck, I know you don’t like it, but your hair is so dirty; we can’t fix it with just a bit of soap and a short wash,” Steve tries, but his boyfriend shakes his head, refusing to undress himself for the shower.

“But I don’t want to,” Bucky whines. As cute as it might sound, Steve notices the deep fear that’s in the tone of Bucky’s rough voice. His ocean blue eyes are pleading to let him get away with just a short cleaning. Steve would agree to it, and Bucky would agree to having a shower a week, but he hadn’t had one in months, maybe even years.

“When was the last time you really cleaned yourself? A full-body cleaning?” Steve asks, his voice remaining soft and understanding. He would never say that Bucky’s disgusting for having such a lack of self-cleaning, but he wants his boyfriend to feel better, and showers are supposed to feel better. Once you’re clean and pretty, you mostly feel not just fresh but also better.

“I don’t know… But I… I can clean my whole body without having to step inside there,” Bucky tries to argue. He only earns a soft shake of the other man’s head with a smile on the plump lips of his boyfriend. “Stevie, please. I will wash my body. But I don’t want to go into the shower.”

“How do you want to clean yourself then, baby?” Steve knows how Bucky would do it; he would undress and use some soap on either his hands or a sponge to rush it over his skin and use a bit of water to wash it away. The amount of water Bucky uses to clean himself fits in a small glass. And then he would dry himself with a towel before dressing himself again.

“Stevie…” Bucky mumbles, hugging himself even closer. The brunette shakes his head, whimpering quietly. “Please…”

“How about we undress you?” Steve suggests turning the shower off. Bucky immediately relaxes and nods. He lets his hands fall to his sides, and Steve uses the opportunity to help Bucky out of his sweat and dirt-covered Henley.

Bucky then gets off the toilet, looking down at Steve on his knees while he pushes down Bucky’s sweatpants and gets up to take a step backwards.

“Take off your boxers and I will get you a clean towel and a sponge,” Steve says, kissing Bucky’s forehead before he leaves the bathroom. Bucky does as he’s told, pushing down the thin fabric of his boxer briefs and stepping out of it. He then sits back down on the toilet, waiting for his boyfriend to come back into the bathroom.

Steve walks back into the bathroom, a towel thrown over his shoulder, new boxer briefs, a Henley, and sweatpants, as well as a sponge in his hands. He watches when Bucky pulls his legs against his chest and wraps his arms tightly around them. The usual broad and big man looks small and fragile when he sits there like that.

“Sit down in the shower for me; the tiles should be warm,” Steve says as he puts the clothes down on a counter. Bucky watches him with widened eyes, shaking his head. “Please, Buck. Sit down in the shower for me; I don’t want to drag you in there.”

“Stevie, you wouldn’t. Please, you don’t want to drag me in there,” Bucky whimpers, pulling his legs even closer against his broad chest. “I’m strong—“

Steve sighs, wrapping one arm around Bucky’s back, and the other slides underneath his legs, lifting his boyfriend up. Bucky whines, wrapping his arms tightly around his boyfriend's neck while he lets Steve carry him to sit on the floor in the shower.

“Stevie, you’re mean… I’m not gonna shower in here,” Bucky mumbles and tries to get out of the shower, but Steve blocks the way and gets on his knees to push Bucky back into a sitting position.

“Please, I know you’re scared, but please let me wash you. Let me undress; I will join you, and I will wash you. We can keep the door slightly open if it helps; the water isn’t gonna hurt you. And I’m not gonna hurt you, either,” Steve mumbles, running his fingers over Bucky’s cheekbones to his jaw to tilt his head slightly. “I will make you all the hot chocolate your heart desires, and we can watch all the movies you want with all the food you want to order, which can be fast food or whatever you want. But first we shower.”

Bucky’s eyes fill with tears, and he curls himself together as small as he can while Steve sighs and gets out of the shower to undress himself. Bucky muffled his quiet sobs with his arms, moving into the corner of the shower to press his back against the cool tiles of the shower.

When Steve turns back, his heart aches, and he quickly gets into the shower as well, crouching down and closing the door behind him. He reaches his hand out to pull Bucky closer and turns him in his arms so Bucky’s back is tightly pressed against Steve’s broad shoulder.

Steve runs his fingers softly up and down Bucky’s sides and over his thighs, trying to soothe him. “Buck, baby, take a deep breath for me, please.”

Bucky tries to take a deep breath, but another sob wracks through his body. The brunette is trembling; his fingers dig into his thighs while he leans against his boyfriend, his head against Steve’s shoulder.

He whimpers quietly. “Out of the shower, Stevie, please,” he whispers, more tears rolling down his cheeks. Steve keeps storming up and down Bucky’s soft skin, slowly taking both of his boyfriend's hands to keep him from digging his fingers into your thighs to cause bruises. “Stevie, please.”

“Take a deep breath, Buck. Deep breath, hold it, and slowly exhale,” Steve mumbles, his heart squeezing with Bucky’s pleading tone and begging. “You can test the water if it’s too hot or cold, and I will be as soft as I can.”

Bucky shakes his head. His fingers curl around Steve’s hands, grounding himself. “Please,” he begs, trembling and crying softly, but he does as Steve asked him and takes a few deep breaths and watches Steve take the showerhead. The blond-haired man turns on the water.

“So, hold your hand underneath, Buck,” he says softly. He wants to take off the shower and not shower with his boyfriend, but he knows he has to. When Bucky reaches his shaky hand out and lets the soft spray of the water fall on his hand, he flinches but nods. “Good, then I will start with your hair, and after that you can wash the rest while I clean your hair.”

“But… Stevie…” Bucky whispers, turning his head slightly to look at his boyfriend. His eyes are red and teary. “Be careful, please; I-it hurts when I comb through my hair.”

“Of course, I will not hurt you, Buck,” Steve explains before he brings the head of the shower to Bucky’s head. He uses one hand to lean the brunette's head back, letting the water dribble down on his messy hair. “You can relax; it’s just you and me in the shower, Buck.”

They both sit there in silence for a moment; Steve wets Bucky’s hair. His fingers combing as carefully as possible through them while Bucky sits there all tensed and still softly crying. When his hair is wet enough, Steve holds the shower head in front of Bucky to take it, and he does, letting the warm water flow down on his legs to keep him warm.

“If you don’t want to have the water on, let me know, and if anything is uncomfortable, you tell me,” Steve says, using some of the shampoo Bucky loves so much to put into his hands. He rubs them together for a bit before he brings them down on top of Bucky’s head and rubs the shampoo in the brown hair.

Bucky stays still; he keeps the showerhead over his legs and sometimes slips his head underneath to collect some water before he lifts his hand and lets it run down his chest.

Steve washes his boyfriend's hair softly, massaging Bucky’s scalp and neck while he rubs the shampoo in his brown locks. “Can you give me the shower head for a moment? Your hair is pretty stuck together; guess we need to wash it out and put a bit more shampoo in it.”

The brunette holds the shower head out for Steve to take. He’s still tense, his body still trembling, and Steve knows that Bucky’s on edge — ready to break down. But somehow he manages not to and remains still. Steve washes Bucky’s hair out, taking care that no shampoo lands in Bucky’s face or eyes.

“You’re doing so good, Buck. I’m proud of you, baby; you’re doing so good for me, letting me wash your hair,” Steve mumbles, using Bucky’s praise kink a bit to his advantage. Bucky’s lips twitch slightly for a short moment, his heart fluttering at the sound of Steve’s words.

“Thank you, Stevie,” he mumbles, taking the shower head again. Steve puts shampoo in Bucky’s hair again and repeats to rub it in the brown locks while he massages Bucky’s scalp and neck.

The longer they sit there, the more he massages Bucky, and the longer the water drops down on Bucky’s thighs and he plays a bit with the water, the more he relaxes.

“So, do you want to wash yourself or want me to wash you?” Steve asks after a while, his thick fingers still tangled into Bucky’s hair. He takes the showerhead once more and washes the shampoo out, Bucky’s hair way cleaner and not as messy anymore.

“You, p-please?” Bucky asks; he's still feeling unsure and on edge in the shower. But with Steve’s soft touch and his assuring words, it makes the shower easier and more comfortable.

“Of course, just relax,” Steve says with a soft smile and kisses the top of Bucky’s hair. He takes the sponge and some soap, then he washes Bucky’s body. Beginning on his shoulders with a slight massage included to his arms and down his muscular chest and abs. Then he moves to Bucky’s back, massaging the tensed muscles while he rubs the dry skin off and cleans Bucky. “Mhm, doing so good, baby. Showers can be really relaxing for tense muscles, and you will feel all fresh, and your skin will be soft like the one of a baby.”

“Stevie…” Bucky whines, playfully this time. The brunette's lips twitch slightly, and he leans further back against his boyfriend's firm chest. “Don’t say that; that’s embarrassing.”

“But it makes you laugh,” Steve argues. He snakes his hands to Bucky’s legs and finishes cleaning his boyfriend, who’s starting to play with the showerhead. Bucky smirks when he washes away the soap the moment Steve inches a moment away. Then he turns the showerhead and holds it at Steve’s shoulder and face, causing the blond-haired man to groan when the water hits his face. “Bucky!”

“Stevie!” Bucky smirks, turning the shower head back. Steve laughs softly and takes the showerhead to wash the soap away, then he turns it off and clicks it back in its place.

The blond-haired man gets up, opening the door of the shower and stepping out. He keeps an eye on his boyfriend, who’s slowly getting up as well. Bucky’s still smiling, his whole body less tense, and he walks out as well.

Steve holds a towel in his arms, grinning as he walks closer and wraps Bucky in the towel before he grabs himself a towel and wraps it around his own body.

“I’m proud of you, Bucky. I know it’s not easy for you to shower with all that stuff that reminds you of your past. But I’m proud of you for taking the shower,” Steve says, placing his hands on Bucky’s waist to pull him closer. Bucky smiles softly, his cheeks heating up, and he leans closer to press his lips softly against Steve’s.

“You’re my rock, Stevie. And you owe me fast food, hot chocolate, movies, and cuddles,” Bucky whispers against the plump lips of his boyfriend. Steve nods, knowing that’s Bucky’s way to say thank you and I love you when it comes to stuff that includes his past trauma. “Burgers… and more burgers, and those cute dino nuggets — these are great, and you love them just as much as I do.”

“I do, but I still love you the most,” Steve smirks, causing Bucky to blush further. He brings his lips to Bucky’s once more, chuckling into the kiss. Steve’s hands remain on Bucky’s waist while Bucky wraps his around Steve’s neck — the metal arm making Steve shiver slightly when the cold hits his skin, while Bucky’s other hand is so warm and soft — and pulls him even closer, growling playfully.

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[toasttt11]

youngest

December 6, 2024

Gemma was sitting on the floor in front of Luke’s stall resting her head on Luke’s knee messing with a pen in her hand as she has just been signing stuff before warms ups.

Luke noticed Gemma fidgeting and looking bored and he handed her his glove making her take the glove and look confused, “Go ahead.” Luke gestured to the pen, he knows she likes to doodle on her gloves and stick.

Gemma’s face lite up with a smile and she immediately started doodling on Luke’s glove.

Gemma started doodling flowers across the palm of the glove and towards each finger.

Luke let Gemma doodle on his glove until she needed to get up and start warming up.

Luke smiled looking at his glove as she handed him it to him, it was adorable and very Gemma, “Thanks Emmie.” Luke ruffled her hair softly as she smiled at him.

Gemma and Luke headed out of the locker room to start warming up before the game.

Gemma was skating across the ice skating around the Krakens defender and passed the puck to Luke.

Luke shot the puck and got his first goal of the season.

Gemma beamed and immediately skated over to Luke jumping on him hugging his tightly.

Luke laughed as Gemma gave him a head pat and was beaming at him so proudly.

Gemma has wanted to see Luke score so bad and she was able to assist his first goal of the around.

Luke and Gemma shared a grin and a fist bump before heading back to the bench.

Later in the third period Luke assisted on Gemma’s goal.

The Devils won 3-2 against the Krakens.

Luke ruffled Gemma’s hair after they both showered after the game, “I guess i need your doddles more now.” Luke mused with a fond grin, it seemed like her doddles were good luck.

Gemma grinned at Luke’s words.

“Bows!” Stefan called out walking over to Gemma, “Do you have a second?” Stefan asked seeing Gemma was about to head out.

“Sure.” Gemma nodded.

“My daughter really was hoping she could see you after the game.” Stefan explained to Gemma.

“Oh she wants to see me?” Gemma blinked looking surprised, sure she has met most of the team’s kids so far but she has not gotten closer to any of them or talked more that a few words to any of them.

“She told me to ask you.” Stefan grinned shrugging.

“Sure.” Gemma smiled slightly awkwardly but started following Stefan to the family room.

“She doesn’t go there often does she.” Nico spoke to Luke and Jack just realizing now he’s only seen Gemma in the family room for a few minutes over the past few months.

“She isn’t use to kids.” Luke whispered to Jack and Nico and they followed Gemma and Stefan to the family room. Luke knew Gemma has barely been around kids especially younger ones if they aren’t fans and she doesn’t necessarily know what to do.

“Because she is the youngest?” Nico realized, he was pretty similar as he was the youngest is all of his family growing up and there was never really anyone younger than him.

Luke nodded as they walked through the doors together.

“Leigh!” Stefan called out smiling ad his daughter rushed over to him and he bent down hugging her gently, “There’s someone here for you?”

Leighton gasped seeing Gemma, “Hi!” She beamed as Gemma kneeled down in front of her.

“Hello.” Gemma smiled sweetly and spoke awkwardly speaking, she felt out of her comfort zone and didn’t know what she was supposed to be doing. She was a bit better with kids a few years old but she had no idea what to do with babies.

“Mom said i can get your jersey.” Leighton beamed making Stefan sigh and shake his head fondly.

“You want to wear my jersey?” Gemma looked shocked but touched.

“Of course you’re the coolest on the team.” Leighton giggled as Stefan playfully gasped.

“Why don’t i help your Dad get the jersey for you?” Gemma offered giving Stefan a small look as she had a plan for the jersey and Stefan nodded smiling seeing how well Gemma was doing with his daughter even if she was being awkward.

“Really!” Leighton gasped and clapped her hands happily as Gemma nodded.

“I made something for you.” Leighton pulled out something from her tiny little purse and handed it to Gemma.

Gemma delicately took and saw it was a beaded bracelet that had red and white beads and her name spelled out with red bow charms, “Woah this is so pretty thank you Leighton.” Gemma softly spoke to the younger girl making Leighton perk up happily.

“We match!” Leighton held up her arm that was covered in hand made bracelets and a lot of them had things for Gemma.

“We do. They are very pretty.” Gemma softly spoke feeling a bit more comfortable talking to the child.

Eventually Stefan had to take Leighton away to head home and Gemma waved bye.

She was standing with Nico, Luke and Jack talking with Jacob and his wife Amanda when she felt something tap her leg and she looked down seeing Jacob’s one year old son Clark holding two mini sticks and looking up at her.

Gemma’s eyes widened in worry she had no idea what the baby wanted, Gemma looked at Jacob for help.

“He wants to play mini stick with you.” Jacob explained with a fond smile. He’s realized Gemma doesn’t really know what to do with kids.

“Uh okay.” Gemma slowly nodded and walked a few steps following Clarke and she sat down.

“Ba.” Clark babbled as he handed her a stick making her nod at him.

Clark backed up and hit the ball at her and Gemma softly hit it back at Clark. She felt a bit more comfortable with the baby playing mini sticks with him.

It was adorable seeing Gemma playing with Clark and it was a soft reminder to the ones in the room that Gemma has only been officially been an adult for a few months, she’s still incredibly young.

Clark was babbling to Gemma as they played and it seems to make her more comfortable with him.

[neetily]

Ch.3 So, Reddit... AITA? — (SDV) Kent

— ✧ chapter warnings: misogyny, sexism, slowburn — ✧ word count: 4,962 — ✧ genre: smut 18+ — ✧ synopsis: AITA (47M) FOR FINALLY FOLLOWING MY DOCTORS ADVICE?

— ✧ A/N: FINALLY, chapter three :D i missed this man so much that i wrote this chapter in two days LOL…. this time, it was beta read, so i hope that shows!! thank you for tuning in, if you do <3 and don't worry, things will start ramping up soon!!

thank you to @usernamemybeloathed and Sonder (link TBA pending confirmation that it's okay!) for beta reading!!

previous

It only takes roughly a week into his supposed peaceful retreat for the culmination of issues to arise, which is fucking typical, if you ask him. Expected, even, to an extent. Because nothing in his life since returning to the valley has ever gone his way thus far, so he’s not sure as to why he’d allow false hope to worm its insidious way back into his hardened heart to whisper the opposite so soon. He should know better by now, he scolds himself silently.

Because to expect anything other than his current troubled life was a pipe dream from the start, and he knew that, regardless of what the doc had ordered. Nobody knows him better than himself, and yet… The pitiful pout you wear in response to his questioning is more pretty than anything else in his mind— and he simply can’t stand the thought. Struggling to swallow the large lump of hope currently stuck in his throat, he opts instead to simply shut up. Lips tightly closed to form a thin line as evidence of his inner turmoil. There’s no power in that which is unspoken, or so he hopes.

And he used to be so good at keeping his emotions hidden, too. Had to be, really, given his role in the army. Impassive to the deafening booms and blaring alarms that would so often surround him— imperfect stoicism. Because nobody is truly perfect, right? But regardless, he had to keep himself somewhat in check, remain cool, calm, and collected in the face of some of the worst humanity has to offer.

Yet, here he is struggling to bite back the simple word pretty in the face of some harmless little girl.

A pretty one at that.

It’s pathetic, in truth, how hard his muscles strain when he clenches and unclenches his fists in an attempt to remain in control. So what if you’re pretty, he bargains with himself. Don’t change a fuckin’ thing, really.

But a part of him wants to reach out and soothe all your troubles away anyway. Tender in his touch, a swarm of butterflies filling his lungs full to leave him momentarily breathless, subsequently causing him to cough the hope away. It’s just fatherly instinct, he tells himself.

Hope hasn’t gotten him anything yet, and he’d rather not start relying on it for anything in the future either. He already learnt his lesson.

The art of longing is a fickle one, however. And against his better judgement—body begging for him to get up and leave, because you’re not his problem. Especially not when he’s supposed to be relaxing and getting better—he decides to inquire further about your obnoxiously obvious upset. Almost on a whim at that, because he has to suppress a pained wince at the sound of his voice when regarding you.

It’s too soft. Too genuine for comfort. A pitter patter of his heart briefly catching that lump in his throat again for him to force his words around, audibly frustrated by your pathetic posture before him. Not that he’s any better, unfortunately.

“Whats got you looking so…” He pauses, searching for the right words to describe exactly what he sees on your face without sounding too accusatory, or so involved as to open too much conversation. He’d rather not concern himself with the wants and wishes of your temperamental attitude. “What’s got you so down?” He settles on after a beat, exhaling heavily at the way you still yet avoid his knowing gaze.

You can’t hide from him for much longer, not when you’re forcing him to confront his inner self too.

You take a moment to respond, and he has half a mind to just get up and go before things get worse. But, “It’s, um…” you initially stutter, and he immediately regrets asking, because he so badly wants to coo down at you with soft words and sweet sounds. Yearns, upsettingly, to see you smile again.

But he isn’t about to beg you for information, refuses to stoop down to such a level. He’s got far too much pride to be grovelling at your feet like that, huffing mostly to himself at your inability to admit your truth despite his asking. Though thankfully—or annoyingly, depending on which side of his brain he wants to listen to in the moment—his evident irritation seems to speed things along for you. Makes you peer up at him with those pleading puppy eyes he’s done his best to avoid thus far into his stay, just to wobble your bottom lip in a manner that has him squinting in an attempt to ignore how trigger happy his fingers are.

“It’s date night…” You confess, slow and steady, as if you were ashamed to admit such a fact in front of your boyfriend’s father. Like he shouldn’t know just how much you miss his precious boy, huh? Which would be weird, if that were the case. That’s not the case, right? That’s not just the case, he assumes... But far be it for him to attempt to draw blood from a stone.

“Right…” He hums, pinching between his eyes to try and stall his next words. Because why should he care? And how does he communicate as such politely, calmly, as per the doctors orders? “And— I mean this with no ill intent, mind you,” He’s quick to preface, which is unlike him. Makes him wonder if somehow, someway, spending time at your lonely little farm has indeed helped him. “This is a problem because…?”

Surely you could just call him, right? Meet up with Sam somewhere in town— Hell, even take a weekend away together. Leave him by his lonesome to tend to your chickens and cows and weeds; which he’s gotten rather good at by now, if he does say so himself. It’s tedious work— long and fucking boring work, but: it keeps him busy. And the solitude of most days is appreciated, even if he’d miss the odd quip or two from the sidelines of you. And yet still, here you pout before him in the living room of your old farmhouse. The book he was reading now laying face down on the page you’d interrupted him at, saved for later because you suddenly seek his resolution?

He’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t at least a little happy to be relied upon, in some small way. Evident from how difficult it is for him to suppress a small smile at the way you sigh and squirm on the chair beside the couch he rests on. Flopped down on it earlier like a sad little cat.

You know what you’re doing, and he can hardly be mad at you for tugging on his heartstrings like that. Like knows like and all that.

Which is why he’s so suspicious of your intentions right now, silently sizing you up as you act as innocence incarnate. He’d like to hope that he knows you better by now— and there it is again. The hope you drag up his throat.

“Because, well… Because you’re here, Sam’s busy with his friends and all that, and um… I guess I’m just feeling a little lonely?”

Posed towards him as if it were a question for him to answer, instead of the mere statement he was hoping for.

But deep down, he does want to help you out. Something about how scratching his back has him wanting to scratch yours too— you’ve helped him calm down a little by allowing him entry to your farm, so the least he could do is help cheer you up just a bit tonight, right? It’s only fair.

And he’d like to at least be on good terms with his son’s future wife, even if it goes against every fibre of his being in the meantime.

So, with a slap of his knees he readies himself for standing up. But also, he uses the sound to draw your attention back on him instead of your sad lonely thoughts about his son, regarding you with a tense smile. Forced upon his lips in an attempt to appear friendly, to not have you worried over the sudden sound.

When Jodi was down and depressed, he recalled something that always helped her feel better, even if just a little. “Why dont’cha uh… Get all dressed up or somethin’ anyway? Like y’were still goin’ on a date tonight.” He mumbles, the awkward tension of the night filling his lungs with every steady breath he takes, because he doesn’t wanna come across as anything other than fatherly— and he worries that he’s failing for some reason. Like a gnawing itch in the pit of his stomach, something he can’t quite place with his limited vocabulary every time he compares you to his wife. “Girls like you like that sorta thing, right?” He clarifies himself, trying to quell the all of a sudden anxious energy tight in his chest; he’s fearful of an expected reprimand. Not that he considers you a threat, but you’ve annoyed him enough tonight and he’d like to go back to reading his book, truth be told. Forget all about his comparisons once and for all, maybe.

“Might make ya feel a bit better if y’get all pretty or something…” He trails off to himself, rubbing at the back of his neck absentmindedly whilst straying from your gaze.

“Are you insinuating that I’m not, at this present moment, currently, pretty?” You bite back with such an impish lilt to your voice that he can’t help but to bark laughter back in response. An instinctual action, tumbling from his lips before he has a chance to catch it— if he even wanted to in the first place. Because for as much as it’s simply a natural reaction to your quick witted tongue, it’s also a warning. Don’t fucking push it, young lady.

“I’m afraid m’not at liberty to say.” He holds his hands up in his defence, and finally, he looks at you with his confession. Some small part of him secretly hoping to communicate his true answer behind sleepy eyes. Course, it’s not as simple as that. Nothing in life ever fucking is if your name is Kent, but he tries regardless. Really stares you down as if to make you feel ashamed for bantering with him in such a tempting way, but nonetheless, you continue with a pretty smile. As expected at this point.

See, he wants to seethe at you. Told ya it’d help, as even the mere idea of dressing up has you smiling again. Or, as the intrusive worm in his mind that so often pops up when you’re around frantically exclaims, what if it’s him you’re smiling at? At his see through jokes? At the implication that he does, in fact, find you pretty right now.

Mercifully, you steal the moment away from him, and he’s all too grateful to not have to dwell on the selfish thought much longer.

“You’re right,” You stand up with a clap, and he almost lets a sigh of relief slip past his lips. “Just cause Sam isn’t here doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun, right?”

“Right,” He nods at you, though really, he’d say just about anything to get you away and out of his sight— in fear over what he might mumble out if you were to stick around for much longer. Words he hasn’t said in a long time, words meant for someone other than you. “Go on, git.” He lightly, and playfully, scolds you. Swatting away the vision of your happy smiles and excited giggles with a flick of his wrist, only to suppress a chuckle of his own when he hears your bedroom door click shut.

He hasn’t felt so… So… What’s the word…

Giddy, perhaps? Happy, to put it plainly? In spite of the nagging bother you often present him, it’s been a while since he’s felt something so lighthearted and pleasant. He needn’t give a name to it, he thinks to himself. Only, this is what’s supposed to happen, right? He’s meant to feel this way— it’s what Jodi wanted in the first place. For him to relax, to joke around a little, to smile more often.

And the way you so easily bounce back from utter sadness over such trivial matters is, dare he say it… Inspiring in a sense. Makes him want to try a little harder to better himself, if only to see you making that pretty expression again, and—

“God, give it a rest, Kent…” he mutters under his breath, fully leaning back on the couch to spread his legs out a little more to try and regain comfort upon your exit, grumbling away to himself to try and get you out of his mind. He even attempts to pick up where he left off with his book, turning it face up to find his place in the paragraph again and over, and over, and over again, he re-reads the same few sentences. Trying to focus, to take in the information presented before him— to think of anything other than you.

But it’s harmless, right? Innocuous fun—  he’s just wondering about what outfit you might be picking for the night. Curious over how you might dress up for the so called date night with his son. A twinge in his chest hoping that you’ll dress up real nice— for no reason other than Sam deserves the best, and Kent won’t settle for anything less for his son. Right…?

And your outfits thus far have been nice. Real nice, like that time in the barn when you were too idiotic to accept his help in the first place. You’ve since learnt better, haven’t you? Huffing away to yourself in such a bad mood, coming through to the living room to seek his help out before anyone else. Dummy, he bets you didn’t even think about calling Sam yourself, right? No, not when Kent’s just in the next room, available for all your complaining needs. And as annoying it is to sit through your childish actions, he must admit that it does feel good to be needed to an extent again, as opposed to being pushed aside by his family thus far, cast to the farm under the guise of it somehow bettering him.

He hates how the echo of their words are starting to ring true in his head. Farm life is nice like how Jodi had elaborated on last week. And he’s starting to understand intimately why Sam had scowled at him so much the night of his arrival at your sweet little abode.

If things were different, he’s sure as fuck that he wouldn’t want to leave you alone either.

Which he also hates, mind you. Cannot fucking stand the thoughts you manage to conjure up in his weary mind, lamenting over such stupid things such as what you might be wearing tonight. Loathes to toss and turn the image of you in various dresses he’s seen Jodi wear on similar date nights when he was younger, when the impact of war didn’t weigh so heavily on his mind and she still wanted him around. And he’s just confusing wires in his mind, surely… All he’d like to do is extend thanks for helping him calm down since living on the farm, right? He just—

“Keeeeent—” he hears your voice call out to him, muffled from behind the wall that separates him from you, and he can only grumble discontent back at nothing at all. Book tossed aside with the amount of care he holds for his own wellbeing—pages crumpled under the imprecise throw, something for him to be frustrated at later—as he stands to heed your insidious call. Like moth to a flame; how utterly detestable.

“Coming—!” He yells back soon after, an exasperated sigh following as he stretches out his old and tired back and thighs: farm work is hard work, he’s come to understand.

He knocks twice upon reaching your door, as every gentleman should. Because even if you’ve specifically asked after him, there are boundaries to respect, as annoying as they are. Rules he must follow to regain normalcy to his otherwise disrupted life, right? And at least he’s trying, you should be thankful for that. It’s more than he’d managed when first arriving back home to the valley…

He’s not a bad man, he’s just not exactly nice. A little rough around the edges, a bit sharp thanks to the life he’s thus led. But you’ve helped soften him up, he can no longer deny his actions.

“All good?” He speaks to the door, once again knocking against it with impatience stretching across his knuckles when you fail to respond to his first few.

“Y-Yeah!” You stutter back to him, and his brows furrow in brief confusion as to why you’ve called his name then. To which, you answer rather promptly behind your previous words with: “Actually, uh… No, not really,” and he can already pick up on your nervousness behind the hidden giggle you let out afterwards. “It’s… I mean, can you just come in?”

He pauses for a moment, considering his circumstances. There aren’t very many good reasons as to why you’d require him in your room right now, and, in fact, he’s thus yet never set foot into the space you share with his son this whole trip. Like a forbidden barrier he’s unsure as to why he’s unwilling to cross, opening and closing his mouth a few times to try and sort through the appropriate questions in his racing mind.

And he wonders what sort of outfit you’ve got on again.

“You sure?” He questions you from behind the door, lips pressed almost completely to it to make up for how much lower his voice grows with his thoughts. But you’re an adult, in spite of the sheer immaturity you exhibit on occasion— it’s probably not your fault. You’ve still got a lot of life to live that he’s already done and seen before, but you’re capable enough of making your own decisions, surely. He at least respects you that much.

“Yup! I’m dressed, promise!”

That’s all the confirmation you need to offer before he’s placing a rough hand on the door handle to your bedroom, gripping it tighter than any other handle in your home, and turning it ever so slowly like a fucking… peeping tom or something, peeking from around the slit his slow actions cause into your secret room with careful caution, until he inevitably has to widen the gap to allow himself access and— huh.

It’s certainly cleaner than his boys’ room back home, more appropriately decorated—if a little too much for his liking, but it’s better than none—and well… Comfortable. Homey, even, as a nice scent surrounds him upon closing the door behind himself with an inaudible gasp. Kept to himself in an attempt to keep friendly appearances up; he’s been doing so well tonight, hasn’t he? Putting up with your inane talk and stupid problems, even coming after you called, like a fucking dog.

And there that annoyance rears its ugly head again. Suddenly unsure as to why he’s even bothered to heed your call, and if he even wants to be sharing the same space as his son does with you. He’s only just gotten used to exploring the rest of the old farmhouse without ever feeling Sam’s presence, but he notices a tossed aside shirt from his son laying on a chair, tucked away into the corner of the room. And it spoils his mood about as much as the shirt stains the otherwise pretty scene.

Which is a shame, because the second he decides to steel himself with a deep inhale to look at you, his frustration only grows.

If this is what you usually wear on date nights with his son, well, he can certainly understand Sam’s intentions well. Deep to the core, even. Like father like son, he’s always appreciated the classic look above anything else. And though he genuinely believes that every outfit you’ve worn since his arrival to the farm has suited you perfectly fine, tonight’s choice takes the cake. Forces him to exhale shakily, eyes unfocused as he’s uncertain as to where he can look, even as your back is turned to him to showcase your nape like it were obscene.

And his hands grow sweaty at the sight alone, a trickle running down his forehead for him to furrow at again. It’s annoying to react so honestly like this, to a mere girl, too. His tacky palms clenched together as he does his best to follow old orders.

Calm, cool, collected.

“Um, hi…” You disturb his thoughts with a smile, which he can fucking hear, because he’s spent enough time around you by now to pick up on small details like that. Calm. “I dunno if you can see but, uh, I think…” And despite staring straight down at the floor, ignoring your desperate call for his attention, he can hear you shuffling and shifting around to try and point something out to him, but something within him clings onto the vain hope of avoidance. Cool. “I think the zip is stuck… Can you help, please?” Duh, he thinks to himself. There’s no other reason as to why you’d require his existence in your room besides to help with your stuck zip. But his chest tightens with something, a mix of relief and disapproval, something sticky and sweet and unnecessary, he decides. Stay collected, Kent.

And as a means to stall, he coughs into the space left between, wetting his lips in sheer frustration as if doing so would somehow help him escape the current situation he now finds himself in. But it’s not all bad, really! Because when he once again returns his gaze to your bare back, he’s forced to accept that yeah. You look real pretty tonight. More so than any other night he’s spent on the farm, and it’s so easy to pretend that you’ve dressed up for him instead, and not some imaginary play pretend date with his son.

God, he perishes the thought to be honest with you. Cannot fucking stand to think about it any longer, so he opts to instead roll his eyes in the safety of your back, and walks steadily towards you. One heavy foot at a time, hyper aware of his every step and sigh as he inches closer, and closer, until he’s face to face with your caught zip and he can’t help but to smirk a little at how downright helpless you are.

It’s so tiny, it’s no wonder you’re having trouble with it. And ordinarily, he’d assume Sam would be right where he’s currently standing, ready and willing and eager to help just as much as he is. And the thought sickens him. Turns upsettingly in his stomach as he sizes the zip up next to his much larger, rougher hand, and he has to stop just short of brushing his knuckles along your spine. Not that he particularly had meant to, but something within him begs to. Like an internal alarm, blaring red alert, halt—! Like he were doing something wrong, crossing a boundary he shouldn’t even think about, let alone act out.

But again, you’re an adult, and you did ask him for his help. And it’s not like he’s actually doing anything wrong, right? He’s just helping zip you up, while you cling to the front of the dress fabric tight to your chest, else it’d fall down and— oh, right. You’ve neglected to wear a bra, which again…! Is totally normal, as he’s seen his wife wear dresses that require no bra before, but isn’t this at least a little weird given that he’s standing where Sam should be, in your shared room, late at night no less—

“Ready?” He asks you once, because he doesn’t have it within him to ask again. Holding onto his breath as if to focus intently on the fact that he’s just helping. There’s nothing more to it, no ulterior motives tonight as he hovers above the pesky zip with sweaty palms.

“Mhm, go ahead.” You respond back, quick and cool. And the sound of your steadfast affirmation is enough to calm him down somewhat, because if you don’t care about how tonight might be misconstrued by other parties, then why should he care, right?

And yet something within him still hangs on. Beats gently, in a slow rhythm. Like a throbbing headache, only in his chest.

His hand lowers to catch your zip, his other free hand coming up to pull tight tension against the caught part of the dress, and with one swift and final tug, he’s able to easily pull the two apart. Leaving you free from the trap of your own doing, and walking right into it himself.

Once making sure you’re steady enough from his rather harsh tug, which he immediately and quietly apologises for—he wasn’t aware that a farmer such as yourself would be so fragile, or perhaps he’s just unaware of his own strength?—he makes sure to help pull the tab all the way up to the top for you. Letting you once and for all let go of your chest now that the dress is properly in place and finally, he can take a step back to admire his work and effort.

“Let’s see then,” He hums softly, a little startled at the tone he carries with his words, but he’s far too frazzled to try and make sense of it tonight, unable to offer it his full attention when you much too eagerly turn around for him to showcase the cute number you’ve picked out for tonights fake date. And for as much as he thinks you look stunning in the little black dress, sleek and fitted so nicely to your form that he has to look down at your feet more than twice to stop himself from staring, he’d like to see it in action too. Give it—and you—the appreciation it deserves, seeing as Sam isn’t around to do so tonight, and: he hopes that if he gives in to you just a bit more, maybe you’ll sufficiently leave him alone for the rest of the night. Let him mull over the events of the night in privacy. “Give us a spin, yeah?”

And Sam must have taught you well, because you happily oblige the moment the words leave his mouth. Which is more than he’s experienced thus far, so he can’t avoid the smile that tugs on his lips when you do, in fact, spin around in a circle for him. Showcasing every pretty inch of the dress, and how it flows so sweetly on your body, curving in all the right places as the memory of his position in the barn flashes across his mind again. Prompting him to fold his arms across his chest in defence of himself— he’s just looking. Appreciating that which he should, he bargains with himself. There’s nothing wrong with having a look, especially considering that you’re practically family at this point.

Ouch, there’s a pang of pain in his heart at the thought.

“So…” You smile at him, all bright and wide and— it’s troubling, actually. Has his heart in a squeeze, as if momentarily stunned by just how happy you look when all dressed up with nowhere to go. And he realise that he might be just a tad jealous over how normal you appear right now, taking in the appreciation he offers like a glass half full, when his remains half empty. “What do you think? Nice, right?”

“Yeah,” He admits honestly with a suppressed smirk. “S’nice all right. Good choice, think Sam’ll love it.”

You tut back at him and he’s taken aback at the sound. Not from upset, but from a tint of pride.

“I wasn’t asking if Sam likes it.”

“Yeah,” He looks at anything other than you, once more rubbing at the back of his neck to try and rid the anxious energy that coils in his tummy. Because he understands intimately what you’re getting at, but he’s absolutely fucking certain that you don’t mean it in the way he’s currently understanding it. So he fumbles for an answer, anything to get you off his case for now, before rushing out a quick “Yeah I know, kid. Told ya s’pretty. What more d’ya want?”

That, thankfully, fulfils your seeking of approval for now. Because he understands that you’re likely only seeking the approval of your soon to be husband’s father, and that he shouldn’t expect or even want anything else.

He’s just getting a little lost in farm life, he assures himself. The comfort of healing away from home, the fantasy of the vacation. He just needs to get through to the end of the week without giving in to his selfish tendencies and then everything will be better. It’ll all be better and he’ll return home and forget all about how nice and simple farm life was to him, and the comforting space of a break you so graciously offer him. And, fuck, he needs to get out of here, he thinks. Before he starts to actually miss the stupid fucking smile on your stupid fucking face.

“Hold on,” You mumble to yourself, clearly distracted as you search around your room for something he’s yet to be privy to. “Go back out and wait a few minutes, I have another dress to show you!”

Oh, it’s going to be a long night of longing.

[d-strangedad]

I came home to my poor baby girl crying on her bed, face down in her pillow. “What’s wrong, my sad little princess?” I said to you. “My boyfriend dumped me. He said I was just a cock tease and wasn’t worth his time.” I sat down on your bed next to you, watching your tears run down your puffy face. “Have you seen what you wear? You kind of are.” You gave me a shocked look. “That doesn’t help at all, dad! BWAAAA!” “Well maybe it’s time for daddy to show you what being a cock tease is a bad idea.” I rubbed my down your back and rested it on your cute little butt that was barely covered by a mini skirt. “What’s that supposed to mean? Why’s your hand on my butt?” You bawled. “Acting like you want to attract boys but not give them what they want will only leave you alone, desperate and childless as an adult. I didn’t bring you into this world to be miserable until you die. I’ll show you like I showed your sister. You know how much happier she has become. Dad will show you. It’s my job.”

I slid my hand up your skirt and squeezed that cute little butt while you gave me a worried look. “Just lie there and do what I say and you will be all the better for it.” You tried to grab my hand and said “I don’t think this is right, dad.” “Sure it is, silly. You just let your father do his thing. You’ll get it. Just relax.” I grabbed your hand that tried to shoo me away and placed it on my hard-on over my pants. “See? This is what you do to men.” “Gross, dad!” You tried to pull your hand away but I kept it there. “It’s only gross because you don’t know any better. That’s what I’m here to do, show you better. Now just do as I say and you’ll be fine. Trust me.” I squeezed your butt to where your cheeks spread and I saw your little thong. I put my thumb under the thing string and pulled up on it and moved it around, making the front rub and add pressure on your pussy. “Please, daddy…” you whimpered and spread your legs a bit. “Yes, please daddy. That’s the idea” I answered. I slid your hand into my pants and you pressed your face into the pillow to hide your embarrassment but didn’t fight me.

I licked my other thumb and ran that hand down your ass and under the thong to touch your flushed pussy and rubbed on the lips until they parted and pushed in a bit, causing you to grunt and lift your ass a bit. It got really wet and you squeezed my cock letting out a quick gasp as I spread your cheeks wider and pushed more of my thumb in, wiggling it around some. “See? Look how needy you are. It feels good, doesn’t it?” I saw you nod in your pillow and you slowly slid your hand up and down my shaft. I moved my hands up and pulled your undies down as you lifted enough to let me get them down, then I went back to your ass and spread it again, then leaned down and ran my tongue up your crack. “Mmm. You sure taste needy and delicious. Why wouldn’t you want this?” I went back down and stuck my tongue between your lips and licked a few times. “Oh! Oooh!” You muffled and pushed your ass back, jerking my dick harder.

I sucked your cunt for a few more moments the sat up and leaned in to your ear. “Now I need you to grab your ass and keep it open for me. It’s time to show you what your body is so needy for.” You pulled you hand out of my pants and replaced mine with yours, holding that cute little ass open. I stared at your weeping hole as I got up and unzipped myself. After my pants were off, I got on your bed and straddled your legs. I tapped your ass with my ten inch cock and ran it up and down a few times, getting some hard breaths and a quick moan from your throat. “Daddy, that felt kind of big. Like a red bull can.” I laughed. “What, are you worried? You can handle it. Stop acting like you aren’t ready. You can take it.” I pressed up against your lips and your little cunt opened up. “See? Your body is hungry for it. It’s already trying to suck me in.” I pressed forward, feeling your pussy struggle to allow the head in before it popped in followed by another inch. “AAAAH!” You howled. I pushed more in as I leaned down over you. I got a little more that half in before I bumped your cervix. “Now we can have some fun.” I growled in your ear.

I grabbed the hair on the back of your head, pulling it back so I could wrap my other hand around your throat and started to slowly pump in and out of your wet, needy cunt. “Fuck yes, sweetie. You are so very tight.” I said as I nibbled your ear, then I started pulling you onto me as I fucked into your trembling body. All you could get out was a few shortened gasps and moans, with the occasional “Oh, fuck oh, fu-uck!” as I plowed your insides in an attempt to reshape your guts to accommodate my raging dick. “Fuck baby girl! I’m going to cum! You about to get what you didn’t know you’ve been craving! Here it comes, princess!” I started cumming and buried my cock as deep as it would go and held it to the mouth of your twitching womb as I heard and felt you cum around my shaft, milking me so hard. We were both panting and your eyes were bugging out with your mouth open, even after I let go of your hair and throat. “Mmmm, you were a very good girl for me today, punkin. Tomorrow, if you want to learn some more, I expect you to be waiting at the front door on your knees when I get home. OK, missy?” You didn’t say anything, just continued to pant and hold your ass open as I got up, put my pants on and left.

Guess what I saw when I came home from work the next day?

[rocco-ko]

Hualian as the last true romance of our age…

I stopped watching western media at some point. And you know, it wasn’t because of it’s gradually decreasing quality over the past few years, no. It’s because of the creators trying so hard to make everything seem too „smartassISh” and too realistic. I overheard once that the romance is dead in Hollywood, and it’s surely true.

I’m going to share my probably controversial opinion, and I just want to let you know that it wasn’t meant to hurt anyone’s feelings in any way. This is just that little moment to uncover this lowly one’s love for TGCF.

Now let’s get back to… modern love, shall we?

The society turned it into a generic case study a long time ago. You’ve got a relationship problem? Let’s start with the „Toxicity check”. If your bond doesn’t appear to be tOxIc (whatever is that supposed to mean), go get the magic wand called „cOmMuniCAtIoN”. It will surely deal with everything else. But what if the relationships do happen to be tOxIc… (oh no). Well… good luck, babe, because even the heaven official’s blessing won’t ever help you.

Please, don’t get me wrong, I am not here trying to say that we should stop communicating our thoughts and needs with our partners. What I truly believe is that communication won’t give us that desirable connection if there’s no affinity between our souls. Unfortunately, we turned love into a set of tips to follow, a smartass plan. And with a plan to follow comes an effort, a work to do. Just look around and within, everything that we do is work. Do you really want a relationship that leaves you mentally exhausted as well? Loving someone is easy. At least to me…

„ ….That kind of affinity can only come by chance; it can’t be begged for. And whether that bond should live on is three parts fate and seven parts courage!”

How about the „embarrassing” words Xie Lian told little Hong Hong-er all these years ago? „If you don’t know the meaning to your life, then make me that meaning, and use me as the reason to live”. Weird and probably disturbing… but only because I have never read anything like this before! In truth, it is so freaking wonderful! Sometimes people are way too damaged to keep living on their own. XL with his special ability to „read” people grasped this. Rather than relying on empty promises like „eVeRYtHing Is goInG tO be AlRighT”, he gave HC something real and powerful. In a world where everyone keeps telling us to „get up” evetytime we get hurt again and again, to stop playing a victim card… we have a prince telling his little devotee to live for him… „Although brave, it’s foolish.” “Although foolish, it’s brave.” :)

Just like Hualian relationship.

Idealistic and naive? Yup. Totally obsessed with one another? More than anyone else! Co-dependent? Also yes. So what? I’ve been alone for my whole adult life. Find me somebody to live for, to become a better person for them and to put all of my devotion into worshipping their body and soul! I don’t need the relationships that are hard work. I will set for something way better – unconditional acceptance, trust and a lot of fondness. I know a love like this is real. One god and one ghost have already found it.

„The one standing in infinite glory is you; the one fallen from grace is also you. What matters is ‘you’ and not the state of you.”

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

Hear me out Jofoes with a Reader whose stand that can temporarily bring people from the dead or Jofoes and how they treat Reader when they are sick? Since you needed some requests/ideas related to them. There you go, i can try to come up with more ideas if you want!

I am HEARING you out and I like I like I like. Gonna go with sick reader~

Jofoes x sick reader

Content: some relationship power imbalance and mean behavior, dating/married/undefined but romantic depending on character

Characters: DIO, Kars, Yoshikage Kira, Diavolo, Enrico Pucci, Funny Valentine

DIO: He can’t catch anything from you because he’s not human anymore but…you’re boring when you’re sick and miserable and only want to lay around in bed all day recovering. It was funny at first, watching you whine and sniffle and ask for his attention, but after a day he’s ready for you to be back to normal.

He’s definitely not a caretaker and will not be playing your bedside nurse. At most he will make Vanilla Ice tend to your needs, and only if you’re Really sick, but otherwise he’s not gonna dote on you.

You better hurry up and heal. He’s growing bored of you when you can’t do anything but sleep and complain about not feeling well.

Don’t expect him to spend much time with you like this, and even though he can’t get sick from you he won’t be spending his day with you because he finds your sniffling and coughing annoying and distracting. He tells you that you’re not allowed to get sick again for the entire extent of your relationship with him. You’re really not sure how you’re supposed to make that happen…

But you’ll try-

Kars: He also can’t get ill from any of your human illnesses…but he will take you getting sick as a perfect opportunity to once again observe the frailty of humans, and tease you a bit for your weakness.

You’re not sure if he’s trying to get in your head or just playing with you when he pulls your sick, sorry self into his lap and begins telling you about how he’s never been sick and wants to know if he should be concerned for your life while you battle the common cold. You can try to match his sass, but you interrupt yourself with a pathetic cough.

Ugh. He thinks it’s So funny. Your body is trying to heal itself, and yet you look and feel miserable…how ridiculous.

He’s not going to be a doting and caring partner, but he will spend some time watching over you and observing your condition. Not so much a silent guardian watching over you, and more so a haughty bully teasing you with his arrogant gaze. When you’re feeling especially clingy due to your sickness, he’ll lay your head in his lap and talk to you.

You should feel honored he’s spending time with you, especially now that you’re even weaker than usual. Fortunately, he finds you entertaining, so he’s going to make sure you’re safe for a while yet.

Yoshikage Kira: He’s a bit annoyed when you get sick, because if it’s bad enough he has to take a few days off work and take care of you. And he’ll be even more upset if you get him sick too, so he takes care not to catch whatever you’ve got.

He greatly dislikes the interruption to his routine, but since he has no choice, he will adjust to sleeping on the couch for a few nights so you can keep all your sickness to yourself in the bedroom.

He’ll tend to you, making you soup and keeping track of your medicines for you, but sometimes he doesn’t hide how irritated he is, especially if you stay sick for a while. As soon as you’re able to get out of bed and get stuff for yourself he’s back to work, leaving you to fend for yourself.

But he’s still paying attention, making sure you’re taking proper care of yourself and getting better. His mood will improve as your health does, and once you’re back to normal, he’ll be back to normal too.

He understands that getting sick is just a normal part of life, but please, try not to get sick often. It’s frustrating to have to tend to a needy spouse for a few days when he could be focusing on other things.

Diavolo: He’s a bit annoyed at you, like you chose to get sick just to hinder him for a week. He can’t move you around as easily when you’re too ill to leave bed for long, so he’ll begrudgingly tend to you.

But he’s not a gentle man, prone to impatience and frustration…so he’ll try for maybe half a day before deciding to just let Doppio handle you until you’re less miserable and easier for his fragile nerves to deal with.

Doppio’s…fine. He’ll just get you whatever you request, and chat with you a bit if you really want. Your health is a priority.

The Boss would like you back to normal as soon as possible. Staying in one place too long makes him agitated, so hurry up or he’s gonna give you a hard time.

His example of that is pacing around your bed and nagging you to take your medicine and get over your sickness. And he doesn’t talk very gently to you ever, but it’s especially stressful when you’re sick and he Still cannot take it easy on you.

He’s so damn selfish, sheesh-

Enrico Pucci: He doesn’t feel like catching whatever you have, but does feel that sense of duty to ensure your recovery is comfortable. He’ll try to be outwardly patient with you, but you can tell from his mannerisms that he thinks he has something better he could be doing than tending to a needy, sick spouse.

He’ll make sure you have what you need to be okay stuck in bed for a whole day. Water, healthy snacks, medicines and painkillers…and if you really need anything else that you can’t get yourself for whatever reason…then just call him. He’ll be a little irritated if he has to abandon whatever he’s doing at Green Dolphin Street Prison just to tend to you…

But he knows you can’t help it. And it’s not like it’ll last forever. So he’ll put up with it for now, but please recover soon. He’s not used to you needing this much attention.

Funny Valentine: It’s super easy for him to deal with you when you’re sick, because he can just bring some alternate universe versions of himself to tend to you while he carries on as usual.

He’s not worried about you, and he’ll only check on you when he begins to notice your absence. Such as when he’s been working on paperwork for a while and you haven’t checked on him, since you’re recovering in bed.

He gets bored taking a break from you while you’re sick. He liked you because you were interesting…an escape from stuffy offices and irritating politicians breathing down his neck all the time…

Since he doesn’t have to worry about getting sick, he’ll give up on using this opportunity to be more productive and instead try once to spend some time with you while you’re healing. But like he suspected, you’re boring when you just sleep all day and complain about feeling bad in the few moments you are awake. You won’t be seeing the real Funny often when you’re being“boring”, which he openly calls you when you’re sick.

Unfortunately for him, making alternate versions of himself take care of you made you grow real tired of seeing his face, so by the time you’re feeling better you’re already planning a nice long vacation that he’s not invited on.

-

I’m so serious when I say Diavolo would be SO annoying lol. And Valentine. And Kars. Annoying men, smh.

[salsflore]

[princessefemmelesbian]

Maybe I’m just being dramatic but it does legitimately scare and sadden me to see that a lot of transandrophobia truthers are literally just…young boys. Like, actual children. Like you’re not even old enough to vote yet and you have your whole life ahead of you and yet you are being manipulated into joining an mra group that hates trans women with a passion and thinks that men are oppressed in society for being men, and constantly uses Black men as their talking point in order to sound diverse and inclusive, meanwhile they’re also appropriating and misusing terminology specifically created by Black women to talk about our own oppression in order to get their misandry point across…to say nothing of the fact that the largest people in this group(including but not limited to its creator!) have misogynistic rape/detrans kinks centered specifically around preying on lesbians and trans women and this is something that is normalized and defended by the vast majority of transandrophobia truthers, or at least defended viciously by every single transandrodork that I’ve ever encountered who argued with me(a lesbian!!!) that actually there’s nothing wrong with getting off to the corrective rape of women because two consenting adults can do whatever they want in the bedroom(yeah right)! Not to mention I have yet to come across a transandrophobia truther who wasn’t also a raging die-hard Zionist.

And that’s why it disturbs me so much to see young trans boys jumping onto this transmisogynistic hate train like you guys realize these men don’t have your best interests at heart, right? They’re only going to manipulate you into being a sexist entitled asshat who shuns and bullies the trans women in your community and sees them as oppressing you. Like I know you’re still in middle/high school but you can still think for yourselves, you can choose to be better than this, you can choose to actually learn about feminism and realize that it’s not actually misandry that oppresses you, it’s transphobia. Misandry doesn’t suddenly become real because you slap a trans paint over it that’s not how it works that’s not how intersectionality works that’s not how any of this shit works. There are better trans men to talk to about trans issues who know that the patriarchy is real and don’t shit on trans women in order to speak out about trans topics, so go seek them out, okay? You absolutely do not have to listen to shit that the “male supremacists but trans” group of lowlives has to say. Hell, tell them to fuck off instead! Please, I promise you that there are much better options, there are ALWAYS better options, and you still have time to escape before they fully radicalize you into basically being an incel. There will ALWAYS be another way. ❤️