#but like. it really has come so far to where it started it's been a great way to teach myself a million and one new php things

[peachesofteal]

Like Real People Do previous + masterlist Simon Riley/female reader - hospital au CW: none just prickly Simon

“What the fuck is this?”

You glance at the photo. It’s your patient from yesterday in his crib, except there’s a teddy bear stuffed against one of the rails, next to his face. Fuck. 

“I don’t know. That wasn’t there when I left. I would have removed it.” His eyes drill into you, fire blazing in them, hot enough you’re sure it will burn you to a crisp. 

“Do we need to go over the SOP for toys in cribs?” 

“No.” You bite out, looking over his shoulder to focus on the wall. It’s not that parents do it intentionally, they just don’t know. They don’t think about the fact that soft toys, plush toys, can carry bacteria since they can’t be wiped down. You can’t fault someone for wanting their child to have something of comfort. “It must have happened after I left, like I said.” 

“Well it didn’t.” You want to push back. You want to tell him again, that it didn’t happen on your watch. That you’re not stupid or careless or not paying attention like he so clearly thinks, but you don’t. You know how it will go. 

“I’m sorry.” His jaw clenches, lip curling like you disgust him. 

“You’re sorry.” The air is being sucked from this room, the walls trying to go with it, closing in on all sides. “Keona seems to think you’re doing an excellent job, but I’m starting to think she’s just covering for you.” The accolade he gave you last week fades into oblivion, panic taking its place. You can’t lose this job. You can’t. 

“It’s a transition. I’m learning as fast as I can.” Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. He rises from his chair, coming around his desk to lean against it, thick legs stretched out towards where you’re standing, arms crossed over his chest. It could be considered a casual stance, but on him it’s anything but. He lords over you, terrifying and dominant, ready to pick you apart. 

“You need to figure out if this is the place for you before I do.” 

“It is. I can do it.” You rush out, desperate to reassure him. It’s a crack, a very small one, and you scramble to stuff it up, plaster over it to reinforce the wall it’s trying to crumble. “I can do it.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” 

You stare at the fancy lotion for too long. 

Before, you would have chucked it in your cart no problem. Twice even, one for home and one for your work locker. 

But now, your entire existence is built around a budget that’s calculated down to the dime. 

And that budget really does not have wiggle room for a twenty dollar bottle of lotion. 

Still- 

You toss it in your cart. A mistake. An irresponsible indulgence. Something you absolutely should not purchase, but the girl buried so far beneath who she is now, the one who was once reckless and wild and free, she wants that lotion. She wants it bad. She wants a relief, a reprieve, a little treat for the hell that this week has been. 

You really, really wish you hadn’t listened to her. 

“Wait… what?” 

“Sorry, the tag was incorrect.” You stare at the bag of cherries unbelieving. They were the last thing on the belt, bringing your total to a whopping one hundred and forty dollars. Forty dollars over the budget that was already twenty dollars over. 

“Okay.” Thank god for small miracles, there’s no one in line behind you to watch your shame unfold like a car crash in slow motion. 

“Do you still want them?” You do. Riley loves them. She asked for them specifically. She eats them raw from a bowl until her fingers are stained. She feeds them to the mares even though you tell her a million times not to. 

“I mean… you’re saying this bag of cherries is twenty dollars?” The clerk’s smile is sad. 

“They are twenty one dollars and fourteen cents.” The lights in the grocery store suddenly seem too bright, and the noise, the beeping and the intercom and the chattering is too loud. Too much. It’s all too much. Everything. This weight will crush you. Your vision tunnels until there’s nothing else, just you and this cashier and your stupidity. “Miss? Do you still want them?” 

“Yes, sorry. I want them.” She rings them up, total flashing on the reader in front of you. You sigh as you tap your card- 

and then freeze when it makes that dreaded sound. 

The “you’re a fucking idiot if you think you’re buying this bottle of lotion” sound. The clerk is looking at you with sympathy now. Camaraderie. 

“Maybe it was a bad read. Try again?” She tries keeps her voice down, bless her, but she’s also older than dirt so it doesn’t do much. You try your card again against your better judgement. Same noise. Same sinking feeling. You must have made an error somewhere, screwed up the math. 

“Do you have another card dear?” You swallow and shake your head. 

“No, I don’t. I’ll… can we take the lotion off?” This is your fault. Your self indulgence, the little devil sitting on your shoulder who told you to pick that stupid bottle of lotion up and put it in your cart. 

You’re not that girl anymore. You’re Riley’s, and you’re sure as shit not picking it over her cherries. Lesson learned.

“Take the lotion off?” She repeats, you’re assuming to make sure she got it right before she starts pressing buttons on the screen, and you nod. Force a smile. It’s fake but they’re the best shields. “Do you want to run back and grab a cheaper one?” Insult to injury. 

“No, I’m okay, thanks.” Your tunnel vision finally widens when the new total pops up, and your chest loosens with relief. 

For a second. 

Until you see Doctor Riley. Standing in the other line just over your cashier’s shoulder. 

Staring at you, head just barely cocked in consideration. 

Oh my fucking god. 

You lock eyes and freeze, a deer in headlights, a woman tied to the tracks. It lasts for a second and then you look away, silently praying for a tornado to come by and rip the roof off this place, carry you off. 

No such luck. 

Instead, you go through the mortifying motions of loading your cart up with the bags, casually tracking him from the corner of your eye. He finishes before you, thank god, and you stall at the end of the checkout lines until he’s fully out of sight, beelining to the truck lest you get caught in some awful, awkward small talk or worse, more eye contact. 

Great. 

“The British are coming.” 

It’s the long standing joke. Started spreading after they got here, though Doctor MacTavish apparently throws a fit over it, considering he’s not British at all. 

They all showed up together too, an already forged unit, strong alliance to one another that stretches across the hospital. There’s history there, a lot of it, but you worked with John for a while and he was pretty tight lipped. No one ever pushed him, but you and others can’t deny the curiosity. There’s nothing a hospital loves more than gossip. 

“Where?” You still eat with the ED. There’s always at least someone on break at the same time as you, and you indulge in the comfort of your friends. It’s not that you dislike anyone in the NICU, you don’t. They’re all lovely, it’s just the team in the ED knows you. They supported you when you stumbled, when you fell, when you went through hell and came out on the other side. They knew you before, and those precious pieces are long gone. The ED is your last tether to the girl who wants to buy lotion, who rode recklessly and screwed around. 

Olivia jerks her head towards the double doors on the other side of the cafeteria. 

You hope for Price. Instead, you get Garrick and your walking nightmare. “Fuck.” 

“God he’s so hot.” You bristle. It comes out of nowhere, strikes you like lightning until you look over and realize she’s staring at Doctor Garrick and not Doctor Riley. The reaction is nonsensical, and instead of trying to diagnose it, you move on. The two of you reach the end of the line, and Clara behind the counter gives you a big, genuine smile. 

“Hey honey. How’s that baby?” 

“Not a baby anymore, that’s for sure.” She asks this every time. It’s sweet. “How are your grandkids?” 

“Oh you know. Terrors.” You snort. 

“I know your pain.” You wait for Olivia, who clears her throat when she makes it back to your side. 

“Is it just me or… is Doctor Riley staring at you?”  Heat floods your cheeks. 

“It’s not just you. He does that.” You don’t look. The embarrassment from the last time you saw him, the grocery store fiasco this weekend, is still stagnant in your brain, taking up way too much space. She raises an eyebrow. 

“I’ve never seen someone so scary, and hot at the same time. It’s like the fear makes it better.” You swallow that feeling again, and nod. 

“I saw him without a shirt on like two weeks ago.” She squeaks. Just the memory of the bulk of him, the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, the well carried layer of fat on his belly covered in hair makes your stomach swoop. 

“You what?!” 

“Yeah I had to wake him up. Needed him at bedside. He’s... huge. Built like a bear, I bet he could take one. And he has a full sleeve.” She gives you a look, and you give her one back. Mischief and malice. “Don’t.” 

“I’m just saying… how long has it been for you? Since before Riley?” 

“Olivia, come on. You know I don’t have time. And even if I did, you’d never catch me sleeping with a provider. Especially him. He’s a dick, and he hates me.” It’s not like you have anything against it, you don’t. You don’t judge. It’s just not for you. There are happy endings sure, but they’re rare, and it’s not worth the headache. Olivia however, is an equal opportunity employer. She sniffs. 

“Don’t knock it until you try it.” 

“I won’t be trying it.” 

You could cry. 

You could. 

You haven’t done it so long and it would be well within your right today, though you won’t. Even if you wanted to, your automatic response is to hold your tears back no matter what, no matter how, and this is no different. 

You spot Mabel on the hill right away. She’s the only one who strays from the pasture when the gate gets loose, always taking off towards the highest point on the property, probably so she can look down on her kingdom. 

It doesn’t help that she hates Blue, your horse, and as soon as you get close, she bares her teeth. 

“We know, we know. You’re in charge. Come on lady.” You reach for her halter, but she side steps away from you, jerking backwards. “Mabel. Stop.” You squeeze Blue with your thighs, urging her forward, closer, and reach again, snagging your fingers into the side of the halter. She tries to pull away again, but you hold her firm. She won’t follow Blue back because following any other horse or even human is beneath her, but if she realizes you’re not going to be giving up, she’ll high tail it back to the barn. You’ve got a good grip, now you just need to wait until she gets the picture. You lift your face to the pink streaked sky. “You know, it would have been a lot easier on me if you hadn’t spoiled the shit out of her.” You chastise the clouds and give them a dirty look. “It’s like I’m still getting bullied by you through your god damn horse.” Mabel snorts, and you glare at her. “Don’t start with me. You’re worth tens of thousands of dollars. I could have sold you.” It’s an empty threat. You’d rather lay down and be trampled. 

She decides she’s had enough and pulls ahead, intention clear, and trots off towards the barn. 

For a minute, a brief, hazy minute, she’s not alone. 

Your sister is there, turned around in the saddle, laughing and telling you to hurry up. The sunset is painting her in a rainbow of pink and coral and orange, glowing on her face, saddle squeaking under her pregnant belly. Mabel’s gait is smooth, smoother than it’s ever been, like it has been for months, since she started to show. You’re convinced she knows, instinctively. One mother to another. 

“Come on crazy Daisy.” She moves Mabel into a canter, and you grit your teeth. 

“Tess,” you’re about to tell her for the seventeenth time that she’s supposed to be taking it easy, but she cuts you off. 

“I’m fine. Hurry up. I’m hungry and Liam is making mac and cheese.” She looks over her shoulder one last time, smile bright, so bright it could blind you, a nearly perfect mirror of your own, and you roll your eyes. 

“You’re the worst.” She laughs. 

“But you love me.” 

The minute passes. It slips through your fingers and you swallow, once, twice, three times. 

You could cry. 

You could. 

But you can’t. You have a little girl back at the house who doesn’t need her aunt fucking crying every time shit gets hard or sad or both. You have a responsibility, and that responsibility depends on you to be strong, to be in control, to take care of her and make sure she’s safe, healthy, happy. 

So you are. 

And that’s all there is to it. 

[bxnfire]

Stereo Love

Synopsis: You’re determined to get over Suguru, and Suguru’s determined to never let you. Amongst annual vacations, unresolved tension, and one hell of a view, what could go wrong? Come to Mykonos and find out!

Content/Warnings: MDNI! Smut, p in v, fingering, cunnilingus, blowjob, handjobs, public nudity, m! masturbation, edging, teasing, friends-to-lovers, yearning, soo much tension, mutual pining, fluff, slight angst, vacation, Shoko and Gojo betting on your future.

Wc: 9k

A/N: The images are from pinterest. I can’t take credit for them. Check out other amazing works and the place that inspired me to make this fic here at @lily-bisque’s summer bash collab!

Suguru is many things. A tattoo artist, a music lover, a sweet talker, a witty man, a softie at heart, and for the longest time, perhaps since he drew your favorite flower after your crush rejected you to lift your spirits up back in high school, or was it in middle school when he got your favorite snack after you completely bombed a test? You’ve had the stupidest crush on him. You've loved him for so long, all the memories have become a blur, you can no longer remember when he did what, but what you do remember is that even at the ripe age of 13 Suguru has known how to sweep you off your feet.

Maybe that’s why no one else has ever stood a chance.

You’ve tried. God, have you tried. But every relationship since him has been doomed before it began. They all paled in comparison: too soft, too cocky, too dull. Too not Suguru. And maybe they knew it. Maybe they all saw the look in your eyes when his name popped up on your phone or heard the way your voice changed when you talked about him.

You’ve told yourself you’d get over him. You meant it, too. But then he sends you one of those effortless selfies, or calls you just to hear your voice, or keeps his promise to go on vacation with you every year. And suddenly, all that resolve evaporates like mist off the ocean.

What you don’t realize is that Suguru’s just as far gone as you, maybe worse.

It's stupid really, he has no clue as to why you haven't realized that he has so many memory cards for his digital camera purely because he cannot bring himself to delete anything where you're in. There's so many photos and videos of you just being silly, one of you sleeping on his couch, another of you running away from Satoru after he realized you stole his mochi, even one of you petting a cat on the street.

Unbeknownst to you, you inspire the tattoos he's become so known for, which is quite funny because Suguru fears one day you'll have the bright idea of visiting his shop, he wouldn't know what to do if you noticed your favorite flower on different styles on the walls, your birthday on roman numerals, samples of fonts which say your name, middle name, and/or last name, and in a hidden crook of his studio, your eyes.

It sucks having to miss you so much, since you only see each other once a year, but on the bright side, you also don't get to see the fool you've made of him.

Since college, you knew you'd be apart from each other most of your time, as Suguru pursued his dream of owning his own shop in Tokyo whereas your aspirations took you somewhere else. You both have always been very supportive of each other, but at the same time, you're so stuck on each other that you made a pact to go on vacation for 2 weeks every year, taking turns on choosing the spot, and this year it was Suguru's turn to choose.

📩 Suguuu <3: have you checked your email yet songbird?

📩 my muse: SUGURU SHUT THE FUCK UP

📩 my muse: YOU DID NOT

📩 my muse: MYKONOS?

📩 Suguuu <3: surprise surprise

He marks the days like a countdown, two weeks where he gets to have you close, but never close enough. Where he watches you fall in love with the world and aches knowing you’ll never look at him the same way. It’s his favorite part of the year, and also the hardest. Because no matter how far you go together, he always ends up right where he started: still loving you, still silent, and still too much of a coward to ruin what you've built for so long.

You step off the plane, the salty Mykonos breeze kissing your cheeks, and it hits you: this is going to be dangerous. Not because of the cliffs or the scooters or the cocktails you’ve already mentally committed to drinking by the dozen—but because Suguru looks like that in a white button-up and linen pants. He pushes his sunglasses up his nose and smiles at you with that same familiar softness that’s been ruining your dating life since you were 13.

“This place is already ten times better with you in it,” he says casually, grabbing your suitcase like it’s second nature.

You don’t respond. You can’t. Your brain has momentarily stopped functioning.

Choosing to just giggle as a response to avoid any awkward, mumbled response, you pick up your phone to double-check the address of the hotel you had chosen. It took a while, but you reached an agreement with Suguru: if he paid for the tickets, you would pay for the stay.

Since he had gone all out with the location as was, you decided to level the playing field by choosing a suite with a private pool, big ass beds, and the most beautiful view of the beach.

“Songbird, you sure this is our room?” Suguru asks, curious, but also excited?

“‘Course Sugu, why wouldn’t it be?” You ask oblivious to what he was looking at, too busy contemplating at the pool.

“Well, there’s just one bed, it’s huge, but one bed nonetheless,” he says, his lips curving in a dangerous smile.

“Oh.”

“Oh sounds right.” He chuckled, looking at your mortified expression.

“No wonder the lady who checked us in kept treating us like a couple, and you didn’t even correct her!” You realize, jokingly putting the blame on him.

“Would you have wanted me to?” He asks, his purple hues locking your own.

You didn’t have it in you to respond directly, and the loud beating of your heart wouldn’t have let your mind come up with a good answer anyway, so you just opted for saying, “I could sleep in the hammock?”

“Fuck no.”

“So then?”

“If anyone’s sleeping on a hammock it’s me,” he says in a tone that suggests he won’t be swayed otherwise. “But I was thinking of just sharing the bed instead? It’s big enough, you’d probably need an Uber to get to the other side anyway.”

“Okay dummie,” you giggle, “pillow fort it is.”

“Don’t think you could stay away from me in your sleep? You flatter me,” he teased.

“I really couldn’t, you’re just so humble and handsome,” you play along, trying your damned best to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

“If only you truly meant that,” he mumbled.

“What’d you say?” You ask, not having heard him right.

“That you better not snore, songbird.”

“YOU better not snore,” you replied giggling.

“And if I do?” He asks.

“Then I’d have to do this,” you say, and he stands there clueless as to why you’re moving around in silence. Poor Suguru only remembered you were having this conversation by the pool after you had pushed him in, clothes and all.

As he resurged from the water, he just looks at you and smirks, his snake-bites shining in the bright afternoon. You knew he was up to no good, but you sort of felt guilty for pushing him in, so when he extends his hand towards you, you don’t hesitate to take it. Should’ve known you’d be drenched the next second.

As you swim back to the surface, you’re startled to find Suguru so close to you. It should’ve been obvious; he pulled you in, so of course you’d be close. You’ve been pining for this man for years on end, and every year you tell yourself it’s going to be the last, but when he pulls shit like this it’s easy to forget your top new year’s resolution for the past 12 years: to get over Suguru. But he doesn’t help! It’s not easy to get over your best friend if he’s your dream man incarnated, specially when he looks so fucking good with wet hair and a look of mischief in his eyes, with his lips merely an inch away from yours.

He noticed you staring, and it was driving him insane. It took every bit of his (very strong mind you) resolve to not kiss you right there and then and potentially ruin a friendship of over a decade. So, to stop it from going further he just splashed water at your face and started a water fight. He had hoped he’d be able to contain his feelings until the right time, but seeing as he gets worked up so easily even if you’re not trying to seduce him lets him know it’ll be harder than he thought.

About 2 hours later you both finally stopped trying to get back at each other and decided to go out for dinner. You took an awful long shower, which gave Suguru time to rent a bike for your stay, as he remembered how much you loved to ride it with him back when you were in college.

“Songbird! You done in there or are you trying to pluck all your feathers?” He called out teasingly, he knew how much you hated to be rushed, and he had a dirty little liking for working you up.

“Gentle reminder that I’m not a man and can’t serve without proper preparation,” you yelled back, going back to retouching your makeup.

“I’m not even going to comment on that,” he responds, realizing that you truly didn’t know how beautiful he found you, no makeup or prep at all. He’d love to argue with you about it, but admitting to stroking his fat cock for 2 hours straight after he’d seen you with the tiniest shorts and a sweatshirt (one you stole from him by the way) ready to go to bed a year ago wasn’t probably the best argument. But you couldn’t blame him right? After walking around Berlin he was physically and mentally exhausted, so he couldn’t really think better than to just imagine how nice it would be to get to see you like that every time as you walked to your shared bed before he could rearrange your guts goodnight, it’d make you both sleep better!

He was ready to go down that rabbit hole of a memory, but you snapped him away from his thoughts as you finally walked out of the bathroom with the prettiest dress he’s ever seen. Maybe that’s a vague description of your clothes, but you made everything look fucking great, he started to think you’d even look good with a trash bag.

“Staring much?” You ask, basking in his attention and quiet praise.

“I have every right to have a staring problem too you know,” he replies, referring to your little mishap at the pool.

“Oh shut up.”

He chuckles, and for the pure sake of annoying you, he texts you what he was going to say.

📩 Suguuu <3: come outside

“You do realize I’m right next to you right?”

📩 Suguuu <3: you told me to shut up

📩 Suguuu <3: who am i to say no to you?

“You’re so dumb,” you say as you hurry outside, trying your best to hide your blush from him.

You hear him laugh behind you, and you’re about to keep fighting him when you see a red Kawasaki Ninja, and all of your college memories flooded. You couldn’t conceal your smile as it all came back to you, and he takes this chance to speak up.

“You liking our sweet ride for these next 2 weeks?”

“This is fucking amazing Suguru, thank you,” you say as you look at him with the sweetest smile, and you’ve made him melt once again for this evening.

“Let’s get going then, Mykonos awaits!” And with that, you two go into the night looking for trouble, which in itself was scary to think about because it surely felt dangerous to be on this ride with Suguru, and not because he likes to speed, but because being this close to him, getting to wrap your arms around him and press your head on his shoulder, trying your damned best not to succumb to the intoxicating smell of his, made you wish you were riding him instead.

Unluckily for him, you've failed to notice the raging hard-on he sports every night you've gone out for a ride, he chalks it up to his ability to choose bottoms that make it easier to hide, but it really is just the mere fact that you both end up so flustered after those that you don't look at each other much past stolen glances the first couple of minutes, which gives Suguru the perfect chance to run straight to the bathroom to... decompress!

It’s been 1 week in Mykonos and you’ve both fucking loved it. Apart from all those times you’ve come awfully close to kissing or confessing, and ignoring all the damn tension, it’s been great. You spend your days strolling through markets or landmarks, then come back to the suite to hop in the pool and the end the day by clubbing somewhere, it is Mykonos's whole thing for a reason.

Today was a little different though. You were feeling the impulsivity that could only come from days being away from your reality, being with Suguru, the man that made anything and everything seem possible, and of course, the unspoken agreement of vacation, and even if the saying names Vegas, you're in Mykonos aren't ya?

“We should go to a nude beach today,” you say as you bite your koulouri.

Suguru nearly chokes on his yogurt. “A w-what?” He asks, looking at you with wide eyes.

“A nude beach! Wouldn't it be so liberating? And you know I've always wanted to,” you say with the sweetest smile you can muster, acting as if you wouldn't also be a mess if you saw him naked.

“Well, if there's nothing else you'd rather do,” he gives in, trying to think of what the fuck he'd do if he gets hard, it's already bad always making sure he's up before you to hide his morning wood, but a nude beach? God knows he couldn't even cover it up with both of his hands if he tried.

“Not at all,” you smile as you watch him get up to get ready, “I looove you.”

“Seems like you're trying to kill me,” he says with an honesty you weren't expecting at all.

“How so?” You ask innocently.

“You're gonna be the death of me, remember that.”

Shit, you remember other things too. The other night you two had a little too much wine, and while Suguru is usually suave and calculated when he's sober, when he's drunk you really get to see why him and Satoru are such good friends, it makes you see that they're both fairly unhinged, to put it some way.

Sure, in different ways, but unhinged all the same. At least, that's the best word you could find to describe what it was like to hear from your best friend's pretty lips that he’d eat you alive if you let him.

He said it so casually, so slurred and sweet, like it wasn’t the kind of thing that would replay in your mind every time he looked at you a second too long. Like it wasn’t going to haunt you now, while you’re both about to strip down in public like it’s just another Thursday.

You don’t think he remembers. He laughed right after, laid his head on your lap and started telling you how the stars in Mykonos looked fake, like they were too pretty to be real, just like you. But you remember. You remember everything.

Now, as you stand on a rocky path down to the beach, your sundress fluttering in the breeze and Suguru beside you, trying to act nonchalant while adjusting the strap of his backpack for the fifth time, you feel the tension tighten. Not in a dramatic, movie-scene way—no, it’s worse than that. It’s subtle. Controlled. His silence is louder than any confession.

“I googled it,” you say suddenly, trying to fill the silence. “The beach. Apparently it’s, like, super secluded.”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Secluded is good. We like secluded.”

You hum in response. “Means no one will see if I trip and fall flat on my ass.”

He chuckles. “But I would see though, that’s more than enough.”

A few minutes later, you reach the sand—white, soft, hot beneath your feet. Suguru sets down your things and stretches, his shirt lifting just enough to expose a sliver of skin and the bottom edge of a tattoo you don’t recognize. Your eyes catch on it a second too long.

“What’s that one?” you ask, pointing to it before you can stop yourself.

He freezes. Then glances down. “Ah. That one’s… new.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Of what?”

He shrugs. “Something that reminds me of you.”

And before you can press further, he takes his shirt of fully and it takes you a moment to register what the fuck you're looking at. As if it wasn't already hard not to stare at his muscular back, slutty waist, and broad shoulders, now you have to deal with looking at all of that and your favorite flower on his lower back.

Yeah, right where your hands are when he lays his head on your lap and wants you to comfort him. And you do so by just hearing him out and caressing his lower back, good to know. Good to know what the tattoo was.

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, right before that part of his body could be covered up by the water he glanced back at you with a smirk, locking eyes for a second too long. Enough to put you in a trance that didn't even let you realize you had been staring at that damn direction for too fucking long.

“So you dragged me here to just sit by the shore with your clothes on?” He yelled, as he was fairly deep in the water.

“You didn't put up too much of a fight anyway,” you replied.

“Because I thought it would be even humiliation but you're sitting there like a princess while I'm completely naked.”

Before you could even process what you were doing, you took your shirt off, and put up a fucking show for him, it was only fair right? If he had you blushing every other sentence, you could fluster him by letting him see what he's allegedly been wanting to eat.

And fuck, you just made him hungrier after that.

You managed to swim and put the tension behind a barrier, even if it was fragile, and you two found a cove not too far from where your things were at.

The cove is half-shaded, half-glowing with the soft shimmer of the Aegean sun. The rocks cradle the space like it was made just for two idiots in denial, and the water here is calmer, like it knows something’s about to happen.

You float lazily beside him, your arms brushing every so often under the surface. If you didn’t know better, you’d think the ocean was trying to make you touch him on purpose.

“You're quiet,” Suguru says, voice low and a little breathless from the swim.

You shrug. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“That tattoo,” you say without looking at him, even though you can feel him looking at you.

He hums. “Knew you’d notice.”

You flick water at him. “You put it where my hands always are. Kind of hard not to.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that fills your lungs heavier than the sea.

“I put it there because that’s where you always are,” he says, so casually you almost miss it.

You blink, heart stuttering. “What?”

But he doesn’t answer. He swims a little closer, hands finding the edge of the rock behind you, his body suddenly close enough to cage you in without touching.

“Can I tell you something?” he murmurs, voice low, unreadable.

You nod.

“I lied the other night. When I said you were gonna be the death of me.”

Your breath hitches. “Oh?”

“I meant to say you already are.”

You can’t decide what happens first, your pulse skyrocketing, your stomach dropping, or the burning desire to kiss him so hard you forget every reason you told yourself you couldn’t.

But his lips are right there, and you’re both naked, half-drenched, and you’re fully ruined for anyone else—and you’re starting to think he might be too.

You swallow hard, not from nerves, but because it’s suddenly too quiet. The air shifts, the world narrows. His hands are still braced behind you, his body close enough that you feel the heat of him through the water, your knees occasionally brushing under the surface, sending jolts straight to your core.

“You can’t just say shit like that,” you whisper, trying to sound unaffected and missing the mark completely.

“Why not?” he murmurs, his eyes searching yours like he’s looking for the line between brave and stupid, safe and honest.

“Because,” you say, voice a little shaky now. “Because I don’t know what you mean.”

He lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah, you do.”

You try to look away, but his voice drags your gaze back.

“I meant it, y’know,” he says. “The tattoo. The flower.”

“Suguru—”

He leans in just slightly, not close enough to touch, but close enough that your heart forgets how to beat properly.

“Every time you touch me there, it grounds me,” he admits, quieter now. “Even when I’m barely holding it together. Even when I want things I shouldn’t.”

Your breath catches. “Things like?”

He doesn’t say it. Instead, he lets the moment stretch.

The sun catches on the water between you. He looks devastating like this—dripping, golden, pupils blown just a little too wide to blame on the sunlight.

But then, as if he senses you need an escape route, he gives you a smirk, tipping his head back and letting the tension almost break.

“You still owe me for dragging me out here alone,” he says, voice back to playful, but his eyes? Still fixed, still dark, still hungry.

“Oh?” you manage, breathless. “And what exactly do I owe you?”

He shrugs, but it’s mocking. “Dunno yet. But I’m sure I’ll think of something by tonight.”

And with that, he pushes off the rock and swims a few feet away, leaving you stewing in the heat he left behind, mouth slightly parted, heart absolutely wrecked.

Coming back to the suite was something else. Sure, it was already bad having to share a bed with the man you've loved for so long, but today was just rough. Your glances seemed to last a little longer, if you walk past each other you're so awfully aware of your skin touching, so much so it feels electric.

For his “get back” he ended up taking you to a club, but this time he had laid out an outfit for you to put on: a cute little purple dress along with some silver heels.

“Suguru what the hell are you planning on doing?” You ask, trying to suppress your giddiness.

“Clubbing,” he says walking into your shared room with his fit on, and to your surprise he was wearing a button-down shirt matching your dress, alongside silver accessories to match your shoes.

He loves watching you dance, you look so happy and carefree, but he'd also be lying if he said that was all there was to it. He loved seeing you flaunt your curves without a care in the world, and even if he knows better than that, he likes to imagine that you're putting up a show just for him. So, why not let the Greeks think that you were his and only his?

“And is there a reason to be matching?” You ask.

“Yeah, it'll be easier to find each other if we're wearing the same color,” he says just to instantly realize how stupid that sounded.

“Like we're on a summer camp?” You giggle.

“Yeah. A summer camp, but now we won't have to give up or phones or try to hide the booze,” he chuckles.

So, you're off to the club. It's not the first time you're clubbing in this trip, but tonight is just different. After learning about his tattoo earlier and being the closest you've ever been to actually kissing him the tension is through the roof, and you'd think a club would be stimulating enough to let your mind focus somewhere else, but something about those colored flashing lights, his easy smile and his luscious hair going everywhere along his moves gave you goosebumps. It surely didn't help that now he was using every excuse to flaunt the tattoo he'd done an amazing job of hiding up until earlier.

The club is alive. Bass thrumming through your chest, lights flashing pink and violet like they’re syncing with your heartbeat. You’ve danced before, plenty of times. But never like this. Never with his eyes on you like this.

You weren’t expecting them to play it — the familiar swirl of ikaeotiotiko rising like smoke through the haze of the night. The DJ must’ve been Greek. Or brave. Either way, the mood shifts, the crowd parting slightly as people start forming loose circles, clapping into the rhythm, shoes sliding against the floor with practiced ease.

You’re mid-laugh when Suguru’s hand slides around your waist.

“Thought you didn’t dance,” you tease, breathless.

“I don’t,” he says, but he doesn’t let go.

The circle opens around you, and somehow you’re pulled in, your hands brushing against others, your body keeping time with the rising tempo. You spin once, then again, feet moving instinctively. The music builds. Quick.

You feel him again before you see him. Suguru at your back, steady and grounded while the world moves in rhythm around you. He doesn't grab you outright, but his hand returns to your waist like muscle memory.

When someone reaches out to join hands with you again, he steps closer.

“She’s with me,” Suguru says. Casual. Almost bored.

But you know better. His voice is strained honey, the smoothness so fake you know it's just trying to feign calm. His fingers tighten at your side, not enough to hurt, but enough to speak volumes.

You move faster. The music demands it. The steps get looser, sweat slicking your skin, your dress hitching a little higher with every spin. You’re glowing with it, the dance, the music, the heat — and you lean back into him, letting your hips graze his.

Suguru doesn’t back away. If anything, he braces you.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmurs into your ear, the beat thrumming through your chests as one. His mouth is so close to your skin, it feels like a kiss.

You smile without looking at him. “Maybe I like the burn.”

The music’s lifting now — that final run, that fast-breath, foot-stomping energy unique to ikaeotiotiko — and you let go. Let your body trust the rhythm. Let yourself press flush against him as the circle breaks into wild joy. But Suguru? He stays still behind you, like stone, like an anchor, his hand sliding lower now.

“Careful,” he breathes, “If you keep dancing like that, I’ll forget where we are.”

“Then maybe you should.”

That pause, thick with want, thick with years of unsaid things, lingers between you longer than the last note of the song. Even as the music fades and the next track bleeds in, he stays molded to your back. Possessive. Unmoving. Burned in.

You turn your head just enough to glance at him. “Possessive much?”

“Can you blame me?” he says, and it’s so honest, so fast, it makes your pulse skip.

The DJ switches to something darker, deeper. The kind of song that slows the room down and pulls bodies closer. Your hands find his shoulders, his settle on your hips. It’s instinct now.

You shouldn’t be doing this. But you also should’ve stopped a long time ago.

Your noses nearly brush as he leans in like he’s going to say something. But he doesn’t. His gaze flicks down to your lips, then back up.

You can’t breathe.

“Say something,” you whisper, voice almost drowned out by the music.

He swallows hard. “I’m trying really fucking hard not to ruin everything right now.”

The way he says it, so raw and vulnerable, sends your heart crashing into your ribs. You want to ask why not ruin it? what if it’s already ruined? what if we’ve been lying to ourselves this whole damn time? But you’re trying to see if he'll cave in, but unfortunately your patience is dangerously close to boiling over.

So you smile instead. Force a little laugh. “You think dancing with me is going to ruin everything?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “Wanting more will.”

At this point you're fucking fed up, the tattoo, the side comments, and now to top it off the fucking possessiveness. Your heart couldn't handle that much.

“Stop playing with me. You keep talking so sweetly to me and I know you're a sweet person but this has gotten so out of hand. You keep saying I'm the death of you, that I calm you in ways no one does, and you just rile me up so fucking much. It hurts Suguru, to have wanted to for so long and to keep wanting you and all you do is play around. Honestly I've kept quiet for the sake of our friendship, but it costs me too fucking much, and I can't take it anymore,” you confess, tears threatening to spill over.

Before you could think logically, you let your pride take over and ran out into the rain because it seemed like a better option than to let the man who's controlled your feelings for so long watch you cry over him.

Your inner turmoil doesn't let you realize that he was chasing you the whole way.

“Y/n wait! Fuck, come here,” he says out of breath.

“Haven't you had enough this past decade? What else do you want from me?!” You ask, looking at him through your tears.

“You didn't let me reply,” he says so easily, as if he wasn't holding you as you broke down, as if you both weren't getting completely drenched by the rain. “I have always loved you. Insanely so. You've always plagued my every thought, been the muse to all the art I've made, the force behind every one of my efforts, my partner in crime, my favorite voice to wake up to, the last person I want to see before I fall asleep.”

His hands cup your face like you might slip away if he doesn’t hold on tight enough, but his touch is gentle. Careful. Like he knows how badly you’ve been hurting and hates himself for being part of it.

“I never said anything because I didn’t want to lose you. Not to distance, not to time, not to something I said too early or too late. I’ve had so many chances, and I ruined every one of them by keeping my mouth shut.”

You’re crying harder now, but you’re not backing away. You're just there, in his hands, trying to catch your breath as his confession keeps unraveling.

“I wanted to say something a hundred times on this trip. I almost kissed you on the bike, when you leaned into me and I forgot how to think. And again on the beach. And at the cove. And right now, I am so close to doing it I can’t even breathe.”

You blink up at him through the rain. “Then do it.”

Suguru pauses just long enough to make sure you mean it, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“Please,” you whisper.

And he kisses you like he’s been waiting to. Not careful anymore, not calculated. Just full of every second, every day, every year he’s spent loving you in silence. You melt into him, fingers curling in his shirt, finally holding him like you’ve dreamed of doing a thousand times.

When you part, both of you breathless, soaked, and shaking with adrenaline, he rests his forehead against yours.

“No more waiting,” he murmurs. “I’m yours, okay? I’ve always been yours. I've even got a mark of it.”

You laugh softly. “About time, idiot.”

He grins. “I’ll take that.”

Needless to say, you don't take too long to get on going to the suite. It should've been a quicker trip, but with Suguru slamming you into walls every 5 minutes and kissing you like a man starved it made a 10min walk into a 40min one, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't play into every bit of it.

By the time you make it into your room, your skin is on fire, not even the droplets of water clinging to it can do anything to calm the burning sensation down. It makes you act as though coming in contact with his skin with every inch of yours might ease it, but it only makes it worse.

Suguru’s not holding up any better. Years of longing are pouring out through his lips, tongue, hands, cock, everywhere. He’s all over you, kissing your neck as struggles not to whimper, hands busy trying to take your drenched clothes off as he doesn’t let you an inch away from him while he guides you towards the bed.

“So have you thought about it?” He asks, his lips one inch away from yours as he holds both of your arms above you with just one hand.

“Suguru I haven’t thought of anything that wasn’t you since we got off the plane,” you reply breathlessly.

“I’m talking about my offer, or should I say request?”

“And what would that be?” You reply smiling, kissing his neck, feeling it vibrate as he chuckles.

“That I’d eat you if you’d let me,” he says, eyes now fully locked on yours.

“YOU REMEMBER THAT?” You ask startled, fully convinced you were the only one who kept that night alive through your memory.

“I remember everything songbird, so well that I don’t recall there being an answer.” He pauses just to look at you, and as he inches close enough where you can feel his breath on your lips he speaks up again. “So, can I?”

You don’t feel like replying verbally, so you opted for smashing your lips into his. Kissing him felt so right, far above the feeling you got from anyone else even fucking you. This kiss alone made you wish he took all of your firsts, and with how nervous he’s making you, it almost feels like you’re a virgin again. Close enough right?

He understood perfectly. His hands started going south, roaming through your abdomen and navel, getting a feel of all the skin he’s only ever allowed himself to look at. As he tries to stop his mind from going overdrive so he can please you the way he’s always dreamed of, he places wet kisses from your neck to your collarbone, sneaking in some bites and hickeys to pave down his newfound territory.

“F-fuck Suguru,” you moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“That’s it songbird, don’t hold back. You’ve starved me long enough,” he says as he finally reaches your breasts. He takes one into his mouth, outlining your sensitive nub, as he moves one of his hands towards your other breast, taking your nipple between his thumb and index finger, rotating it back and forth, the pressure and friction taking your soul out your body.

You feel yourself grinding into him, and he’s so big. So damn big, it’s obscene to even look at the tent in his pants, and you’re insatiable. You’re grinding on his drenched boxers, whether there was more moisture from your own dripping cunt or the pouring rain you didn’t know, but it doesn’t matter because either way it makes the fabric cling to him so deliciously, and it made your back and forth motion so much better.

Every roll of your hips sends a jolt through him, his grip tightening on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You hear his breath catch, low and sharp, just before he mutters something guttural against your skin — something you can’t even catch, but it makes your thighs tremble.

Somehow, he gets harder, and you feel his cock pulsate through the thin layer of cloth between you. You whimper loud, and he takes that as encouragement to keep roaming further. His hand finds its way to your wet cunt and starts taping it, quick enough to make you ache for him but not hard enough to ease your want.

“Are you really fucking teasing me after making me wait years for this moment?” You manage to get out, so overwhelmed by your physical state and emotions.

“If anything you kept me waiting this long, and for that fact alone I should be given a reward don’t you think? I want it to last forever,” he breathed out before circling your entrance, toying with your dripping pussy as you arched your back for him.

“S-sugu,” you moaned, desperate for more.

Your plea — that broken little whisper of his name — makes something primal flash in his eyes. Suguru’s jaw flexes, and his breath stutters against your neck as he finally presses two fingers against your folds, sliding them through the mess you’ve made of yourself. He’s slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of having you this way: spread out, soaking, and absolutely wrecked just from the friction and his mouth.

“You’ve got no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” he growls, voice ragged. “You, desperate like this… begging me. Needing me.”

You can’t think. Can’t speak. Every nerve ending in your body is screaming for more, but he’s still just barely touching you, the pads of his fingers brushing your entrance, teasing you open but never pushing in. He knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s cruel.

“Then stop thinking,” you gasp, hips rocking up into his hand. “Just do it.”

He chuckles, low and dangerous. “So bossy when you’re this fucked out.”

And just when you’re about to snap — right on the verge of clawing at his shoulders and dragging him under you — he finally slides his fingers inside, slow and deep. It steals the air from your lungs, and your body tightens around him like he belongs there, like you’ve been waiting your whole life for this.

“I told you I’d make it worth the wait,” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear as he curls his fingers just right. “Now be a good girl and take it.”

Even if it's just 2 fingers it takes you to a whole other world. Suguru has always had a sixth sense for what you need and desire, and it doesn't surprise you that it translated over to bed. It takes him less than 30 seconds to find your sweet spot, and once he realized it he abuses it so deliciously.

"K-keep going Suguru," you breathe.

"That's my girl," he says as he keeps working you up. He loves to be in control, and he does it almost well enough that he's rutting into the bed, trying to find the friction you were giving him earlier in the mattress, and he thinks you wouldn't notice... but you did.

You don't know where you find the strength, but you manage to flip you guys over so you're on top of him now, and you're feeling like returning the favor. So before he can even guess what you're about to do, you take the hand he was just fingering you with and suck your slick off his fingers, then you take your tongue out and start dragging it from his chest all the way down to his waist without taking your eyes away from his, as he watches you hungrily through lidded eyes.

You waste no time in putting your hands to work, so fucking slowly. You drag your fingertips down his torso like you’re tracing a path you already know by heart — over the hard planes of his stomach, the twitch of his hips when you get too close, then back up just to hear the frustration in his breath.

“You’re really gonna tease me now?” he mutters.

You don’t answer, just smirk, letting your lips follow the trail your tongue blazed moments ago. Every inch of him tastes like salt and rain and something only he could ever smell like, so familiar and addictive.

When you finally reach the waistband of his boxers, you pause. Just enough to make him twitch. Just enough to watch the way his jaw tightens.

You glance up at him through your lashes. “If I kept you waiting all this time, don’t you think I should take my time making it up to you?”

He lets out a strangled groan, and his hand flies up like he’s going to grab something, but then he stops himself. Lets you stay in control.

That alone makes you ache.

You press a kiss right below his navel, slow and intentional. Then you hook your fingers into the waistband and drag it down, inch by agonizing inch, until he’s fully exposed and twitching against his stomach.

“Fuck,” he hisses, voice cracking as you wrap your fingers around the base of him, your thumb brushing the bead of precum at the tip.

You lean in, mouth barely grazing him, breath hot and teasing. “I want to see how much you can take before you lose it.”

"You're signing up for a long night then Songbird," he says, not even bothering trying to conceal how worked up he is.

Your adrenaline is going overdrive, and even as you’re trying your damned best to get it together to put on one hell of a show, your resolve is crumbling quicker than you’d like it to. You’re toying with his cock so painfully, licking his tip as you stroke him with one hand and cup his balls with the other, allowing yourself to revel on how hot, moist his dick is, and above all, how delicious his veins feel on your palm alone. If it was intoxicating here how bad was it going to be when he was actually inside you?

“S-shit,” he pants, giving in to the pleasure.

You wanted to keep him waiting, but his honeyed voice sounded so pretty breaking down for you, you decided you’d give him a reward! Instead of continuing to tease him, you actually took him in your mouth, and it was a delight to both of you. Feeling him twitch and keep leaking in your mouth made your cunt impossibly wetter, but you tried not to pay that much mind to focus on your task.

Having one hand free now, you opted for using it to caress your favorite flower inked on his back, the gesture making him buck violently into your mouth. You gagged, but that only made him more eager to take you. It truly didn’t take you much to turn your “reward” into further torture, the funniest part is that you didn’t realize it at all.

“This is g-gonna be so f-fucking embarrassing for me if I l-let you keep going,” he moans out. “Let me t-taste you instead.”

You intended on continuing sucking him off, but he pulled that same stunt you did, so you found yourself on your back once again at his mercy, and the glint in his purple hues told you you were going to get ruined for everyone else, now in a whole different area.

He dove right in your pussy as if you were the only oasis in the desert he had walked on for days. He was nothing short of calculated and intentional, but only Suguru could be those things while at the same time being desperate and so fucking hungry. He was lapping at your cunt as his nose pressed on your clit, the pressure making you cry out in pleasure.

“Suguru! F-fuck, don’t stop,” you moan.

He chuckles and the vibrations go straight to your core.

“Since you’re being so good for me, and taste so fucking delicious, I’ll give you a little gift,” he says, taking his tongue out your cunt just to softly blow on it, making you shiver, then put it around your clit and get his fingers back in it again.

To say you’re moaning would be quite offensive. You were screaming at this point, certain that everyone on the hill could hear Suguru’s name being yelled at the top of your lungs. Even taking all of this into account you were holding it up quite well, his skilled tongue along with his fingers at the same time is no fucking joke, adding on to the fact that your body’s been waiting for this for years.

And in just a moment you start feeling it, that pressure begging to be released pooling inside of you, and he feels it too, he knows he’s driving you to the edge.

“You want to cum pretty?” He asks mockingly, as if it wasn’t tearing him apart as much as it did you.

You nod frantically, unable to form a coherent sentence in the state he’s put you in.

“Shit baby, I can’t hear you. Guess you can wait a little hmm? You’ll get another chance to cum, don’t worry.” The fucker smiled as he said that repositioning himself so that he was centered right at your entrance.

Testing your patience, he started dragging his hard length through your folds back and forth, driving you both insane by feeling your cunt up with just his leaky, pretty red tip, overstimulated beyond belief with such brief touches.

“Always knew you were quite the tease but didn’t know you were a masochist Sugu,” you said impatiently, wondering just what you’d have to do to get him to put it in already.

“You really don’t know me at all, but don’t worry, you will soon enough,” he says, and before you can answer he goes balls deep in only one thrust, making you scream out his name once again at the sudden (but not unwelcome) intrusion.

“You feel so fucking good,” he says breathlessly, locking eyes with you as he locks you in a mating press.

You feel him hit all of your sweet spots without fail, as if he had mapped you out long before he even got to this point, all his thrusts erratic but never unintentional, he was determined to make sure you lost your mind just as much as him.

You can’t breathe, can’t think, the stretch of him inside you is overwhelming — thick, deep, perfect — and all you can do is hold on as he fucks you like he’s trying to brand himself into your cervix.

Your legs are folded tight to your chest, and he’s so deep it feels like he’s rearranging you. Every slam of his hips makes you cry out, makes your body arch against him, and when his fingers find your clit, rubbing tight and fast, and your vision blurs.

“S-Sugu, f-fuck! I-I,” you don’t even know what you’re trying to say. You can’t get it out.

“I know, baby. I know,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours, his pace somehow rougher and sweeter all at once. “Let go for me.”

And it’s all you need.

You shatter.

The orgasm tears through you like lightning, loud and blinding, your whole body trembling as you clutch at his shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. And he doesn’t stop; he keeps moving through it, keeps dragging every last drop of pleasure out of you until you’re gasping for air and moaning into his mouth.

“Fuck— you’re squeezing me so tight,” he chokes, hips stuttering now, losing rhythm, chasing his own end.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down into a kiss, sloppy and desperate, as he finally lets go, burying himself deep with a guttural moan and spilling inside you in thick, pulsing waves.

For a moment, everything’s still. Just the sound of your uneven breaths, the weight of him on you, the rain still faintly tapping against the window outside.

Then he exhales a laugh, soft and wrecked, nuzzling into your neck.

“Guess we made up for lost time, huh?”

You smile, still dazed. “You think that was making up for it?”

His eyes flicker open, dark and gleaming.

“Right. Round two, then.”

And with that, it is safe to say you did not get any sleep that night.

The rays of the sun woke you up, and as your eyes adjusted to the lighting, you took a look at your surroundings, delighted to find you and Sugu’s body tangled up to the point where you couldn’t tell when your body ended and his started. You felt him flutter awake too, looking up at you with the most lovesick smile you’ve seen in all your life.

“You sleep good Songbird?” He asks in his raspy morning voice, sounding so fucking sexy.

“Best sleep I’ve had in years. You?”

“I think I’m doomed,” he confesses, as he grabs a strand of your hair to play with it.

“What do you mean?” You ask, growing concerned.

“I doubt that after tonight there is a way I’ll be able to get any sleep without you by my side,” he declares, so easily, as if he wasn’t accelerating your heartbeat with merely some words.

“You’re so silly,” you giggle, relaxing at his cheesy confession.

“I’m just being honest,” he says, caressing your face. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything,” you say, feeling how much you mean it.

“Can we please keep this going outside of Mykonos? I know I may have rushed it, but believe me when I say I meant every word I said out in the rain. I don’t want us to be a hook up, just a vacation thing. I genuinely want to wake up like this every day, getting to see your beautiful face and hearing your voice first thing in the morning. It would kill me to have done this and to go back and pretend like you’re not the love of my life and like I haven’t realized it yet,” he says without missing a single beat.

You reach up and place your hand over his, the one still cradling your cheek with such gentleness you know he means every word he just said.

“I don’t want to pretend either,” you whisper, voice barely steady. “I want this… all of it. You.”

The smile that spreads across his face is slow and devastating, the kind of smile that says finally.

“Good,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Then it’s settled. Mykonos was just the start.”

You nod, melting into his chest as he pulls you in tighter, the warmth of his body grounding you even as your heart soars.

And as the Aegean sunlight filters through the curtains and the sea murmurs softly outside, you fall asleep once again wrapped in his arms — no longer wondering what comes next, but knowing that whatever it is, you’ll be in it together.

Meanwhile, somewhere in Tokyo there are two close friends of yours arguing, which isn't surprising, but to think that it was about the two of you made it hilarious.

“Shoko I'm telling you, I know Suguru better than anyone, that fucker will keep pining after her like a lovesick ghost. You said the same thing about their trip to Berlin last year, why do you think this one would be any different?” Satoru asks, getting into yet another bet he fully expects to win.

“Because I just feel it, nothing screams more romance than a getaway at Mykonos of all places. Besides, this is the first trip where they've only had one bed to sleep in,” she explains, believing more and more in her conclusions as she gets the words out.

“Not buying it. It would take a life or death situation for him to cave in,” he says stubbornly. “But since you're so certain, it wouldn't hurt to bet on it, right?”

“You have no problem in reminding how little you care about your money huh?” She says, more than willing to give in once again, her pride taking over her better judgement.

“Just recognizing an opportunity when I see it,” he shrugs.

“Fine, ¥14,450 they'll come back a couple.”

“You're so on Shoko,” he says, grinning as they shake hands.

Needless to say, after you two came back and had diner with those two to update them on all, Satoru not only lost his ¥14,450, but also his pride, especially when Suguru kissed you right in front of them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Shoko sipped her drink smugly. “Told you. Mykonos equals love.”

Satoru groaned dramatically, slumping back in his chair. “Unbelievable. All it took was Mediterranean air and a single bed? You folded faster than Go Fish.”

Suguru just smirked, arm lazily draped around your shoulders. “You won't understand me until you're in my spot, Satoru.”

“You shut your traitor mouth,” Satoru muttered, pushing his plate away like the betrayal had ruined his appetite.

“You’re just mad because you lost,” you grinned.

“I’m mad because now I owe her money and I know she'll spend it on some wine she won't even share,” he said, gesturing to Shoko, who just raised her glass in victory.

“Correct,” she said. “And it’ll be imported.”

The night ended with Satoru dramatically Venmoing Shoko under the transaction label “This won't happen again.”

And you? You leaned against Suguru’s shoulder, already planning the next trip — two tickets, one bed, and no intentions of ever holding back.

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

I truly can’t get enough of how quietly but fiercely protective Taissa is of Natalie. I would go as far as to say that Tai shows the most genuine, untainted care and empathy for Nat out of any other character on the show. Tai gives Natalie a lot of shit, but it always feels a lot more like the exasperated concern you would hear from an older sister.

Tai is the only character so far to recognize the impact of Nat’s home life before the crash (“Her dad, at home…Horror show”). She consistently pulls Nat back on her feet after her relapses and toxic stints with Travis and pays for Nat’s rehab on multiple occasions. Taissa is the first person Nat thinks of to call when she gets arrested. In Nat’s time as leader in the wilderness, Taissa appears to be her right hand man, the primary person she entrusted to offer her guidance and direction (“Don’t forget what happened to Jackie”). Even Tai’s opposition to Nat’s leadership feels more like concern that Nat can’t handle the burden that has been placed on her than actual hostility. Tai has a uniquely deep understanding of Nat. She sees Natalie’s full picture, not just her addiction and self-destruction, but the damage underneath, the why behind everything she does.

It means so much to me that Tai starts tearing up during her interrogation of Nat in the Coach Ben trial. These aren’t just tears of anger, they’re tears of disappointment and betrayal. They come from a place of deep care and admiration for Nat. Tai is genuinely hurt by the realization that Nat has been lying to her and, in her eyes, endangering the group’s safety. This whole interaction between the two of them, both with angry tears in their eyes, really feels like an argument between siblings. This is about a personal breach of trust, and Tai feeling let down by Nat.

In the aftermath of Coach Ben’s death, when Nat stumbles out bloodied, Tai’s first instinct is to check if she’s hurt.

When Shauna threatens to kill Nat, Tai is the first one to step in to protect her. She steps right in front of where Nat is kneeling on the ground, blocking Shauna’s path to her with no hesitation. Even though she doesn’t agree with Nat’s decision to kill Coach, she is ready to go head-to-head with Shauna to defend her.

There’s a solid constancy in the way Tai shows up for Nat that’s rare in her other dynamics. It’s not loud or showy, but it’s steady, and it’s real. There is something so familial about the way these two interact. Underneath all of Tai’s logic and control is someone who loves Natalie like family, and who can’t help but try, again and again, to keep her safe.

[clourey]

˗ˏˋ BESTOW UPON ME , YOUR BEAUTIFUL WISDOM ! ࿐ྂ

synopsis ; phainon wanted nothing more than to be with you, but if there is one thing his journey has taught him, it is that he isn’t allowed to wish for anything. so, it falls upon you to convince him otherwise.

featuring ; gender-neutral reader & phainon

contains ; angst w/ comfort, there may be typos/errors (didn’t thoroughly proofread </3)

the first lesson phainon had learnt as a chrysos heir was that the luxury of placing his needs before anyone else’s was not one he had, not even for a moment. to shoulder the burden of the cruel fate that had been plunged upon amphoreus, he had to be selfless to an unrelenting degree.

as a result, on some gloomy night, in his melancholic lonesome, his thoughts begin to drift. he wonders, is his destiny as a hero just a tale of unending sacrifices? will salvation come at the cost of everything dear to him? would the new dawn, the amphoreus after rebirth, even feel like home? is this journey of the flame-chase just a utopian dream?

“no.” phainon shakes his head, bunching nothing in his fists, “i can’t disappoint everyone like this.”

for the predetermined saviour, freedom was never within his reach. it was an illusion he had deceived himself into believing. alas, despite his efforts to refocus, to remind himself of his duty, yearning was a part of human nature that refused riddance almost zealously.

and what was it that the hero of amphoreus, the chrysos heir bound for greatness, yearned for? something grand, surely. perhaps power, unconditional respect, or even wealth? nothing would seem too avaricious for someone of his standing.

this—this is where phainon had learnt his second lesson. his longing craved for you.

“phai?” a familiar voice beckons, forcing the white-haired man’s back to straighten in alertness.

“(name)?”

the shrill sound of the door causes the both of you to cringe, but when your eyes meet, phainon's expression melts into something closely resembling fondness.

"i was looking for you."

your voice is so mellow, phainon thinks he doesn't deserve this. you really shouldn’t be gentle with him, lest he start expecting that of you in a world that never gives him what he wants.

“and why is that? you missed me too much, did you?” he teases, lifting his arm from the stone railing of his balcony.

“i did.”

there is a thumping in his chest, one he has tried to deny countless times. you answer him so earnestly, as if you aren’t aware that he’s only jesting.

this is a common occurrence; he often tries to gauge how you feel about him under the guise of his sportive antics, hoping in secret that you counter him with such an apathetic remark that it elicits an audible cracking of his fragile heart. he needs it—an implicit rejection that will give him a final push, and the feelings he isn’t sure are normal will have a reason to flee as far away from him as possible.

phainon blinks in succession, each time his gaze lands on a different corner of his room. his lips part to say something, but nothing comes out.

i missed you too, he wants to respond. although he’s unsure if that would sound too desperate—a reflection of all that he’s worked so hard to hold back. in a singular instant, one sentence would communicate everything that he shouldn’t.

instead, he opts to offer you a smile of acknowledgment before he turns to admire the stars that adorn the sky.

“can i join you?”

you ask, but you don’t wait for the affirmative reply you know you would receive. you’ve always been like that. right by his side, without conditions—you expect nothing of him and give him everything.

phainon glances at your face from the corner of his eye (despite the love he harbours for his motherland, he would much rather look at you), something akin to sadness swirls in his irises.

a fear of regret makes his body feel numb, his breath stuttering. he shifts uncomfortably, the movement not going unnoticed by you.

“if.. if something’s on your mind, i’m willing to listen.” you whisper.

phainon looks at you in contemplation, sighing in defeat as a tense minute passes.

“of course you are,” his lips curl upwards bitterly.

somewhere, in distant echoes of an ideal present that wasn’t accomplished, you would be able to hear the faint laughs of cerces and mnestia, laced with something between mirth and adoration. the deliverer was to be graced with beautiful wisdom, full of love.

phainon’s hands reach for your hips, effortlessly lifting you and placing you snuggly on the railing that was previously supporting your body as you leaned against it. you yelp, the suddenness throwing you off-guard that you don’t even realise phainon has already secured you in his arms.

“phainon!”

your intentions of rebuking the man responsible for your current disposition are quickly dispelled when you see his visage, dressed with a rue that you had never witnessed.

uneasiness pools in your stomach, prompting you to call his name again, softer this time.

“phainon?”

he focuses on your partly exposed shoulders, grazing his thumb over the fabric that covers your hips. he bites his tongue, something at the back of his head screaming that this is wrong.

unbeknownst to you, you reassure him otherwise. your right hand rises from your side, guiding his head to lie on your shoulder, whilst your other hand finds his arm that is possessively wrapped around your waist. you rub his skin in a comforting back and forth motion, his muscles flexing under your touch as his grip grows tighter.

“is it.. is it stupid of me to want more of this?” phainon ponders openly.

“no—no, why would would it be?” you inquire; a subtle dive into what is plaguing his mind.

“i’ve—” he pauses, cherishing the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe, wondering if the words that leave his mouth next would ruin this already fleeting moment.

“i’ve sacrificed everything endlessly,” he buries his face deeper, hiding, “i have lost so much, (name), i’m beginning to lose count.”

he hesitates, but the way you stroke his hair encourages him to continue.

“my family, my comrades, my friends—and now,” he inhales, “the world itself seems to be on the brink of destruction.”

his forceful chuckle does little to veil the truth of his emotions.

“i’m starting to think i’ll go mad, you know.”

you feel a wetness on your shoulders, it pains you. it takes every bit of your strength to not envelop phainon in a crushing hug, should it disrupt the flow of this conversation that might not ever reoccur.

“i must be cursed,” he hiccups, “everything i have wanted has been snatched from me so violently; i must be cursed.”

“i fear that if i hold you like this for a second longer, i’ll lose you too.”

something clicks in your head, discerning his troubles that weigh heavy. your pupils dilate accordingly, and the corners of your lips stretch.

phainon’s breathing hitches when your digits cease to card through his hair, accepting with resignation that this is the end.

this is it, he thinks, then why does he feel a warmth on his cheeks that contradicts his assessment?

against his reluctance, he lifts his head. there’s tear-streaks across his countenance, you note—albeit not without a sharp ache striking some intangible part of you. the manner in which he stares at you mirrors a plea, like he is begging you.

you lean forward, and he mimics your action until his bangs are tickling your forehead. his finger twitches as you shepherd them to cradle your face.

you’re so close, in a way that is different—more intimate—from your former embrace. the heat from your bodies mingle, creating an atmosphere that tests phainon’s ability to control himself.

“you’re holding me right now, phainon,” you press further against his palm, “have i disappeared?”

“no,” his vision starts to blur, “no.”

he sounds relieved, shutting his eyes and letting his forehead collide with yours. transparent beads of respite soon emerge, the pad of your thumb brushing them away without complaint.

“you’re allowed to want things, your desires aren’t a curse. not to me, not to anyone.”

you plant a chaste kiss along phainon’s jaw, as if to seal your words in an unspoken promise.

“please, be selfish.”

thus, the third lesson undid the teachings of the first.

[farfromharry]

Summary: A late night swim with Lando ends up in an admission of feelings that were a long time coming

lando norris x reader

w/c 1565

A vacation with friends were usually some of your favourite moments. You didn’t always get to see them as often as you would have liked. So when someone suggested a group trip to some island somewhere, you were up for it. But tonight, things just didn’t feel right. The first couple days had been nice, fun and relaxing. By day 4 you were burnt out. The constant presence of other people has drained you in a way you should have really anticipated. Maybe leaving your safe cocoon of your bedroom had been a bad idea after all. You just needed a little ‘you’ time.

At some point, when no one was looking and everyone was laughing, you slipped out. There was a pool outside that you had found yourself drawn to for the last few days. It was nice out there, with the view and the peace. 

You didn’t end up being alone for long. 

“Thought I might find you out here.”

You smiled into your knees. If there was one person that was going to find you out here, it was always going to be him. Some of your friends had mentioned the possibility of Lando joining at some point when the race weekend was over. Max didn’t think he would, what with how busy his schedule was. He would probably want to relax on his own. And then he’d seen the pictures, saw you there smiling and knew he couldn’t stay away. He didn’t see you anywhere near as much as he would like to. 

He came and sat beside you without a word. Any normal person would have asked if you wanted company. Sitting out here surely meant you wanted to be alone. Lando’s company was different. It didn’t feel like you were trying to put on an act. You could be yourself with him and there was no judgement. He knew things worked both ways. 

For a while you both sat quietly. Simply being. 

It was you who ended up being the first to break the silence. “Everything was just getting a little too loud in there. Needed to breathe.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” He got it. A little too well actually. His whole life was a little too loud. He knew what it was like to be forced to socialise when it was the very last thing he wanted to do. Sometimes it’s important to take a break for yourself.

A sigh. He could tell it was one of relief. You didn’t need to pretend now. 

It was so nice to be around someone that just got you. “Missed you.” You remembered a time when you used to go to all his races. Back when he first started in F1 you were his number one cheerleader. Then life and work got in the way. Now it just wasn’t realistic. You wished you got to spend more time with him, but he was far too busy living his crazy lifestyle. And you would never make him feel bad for living his life. 

Your words created a flutter of something in his chest. “Missed you more.” That was the complete truth. There was something he felt when hanging out with you that he didn’t ever feel with someone else. You completed a part of him he was unaware was incomplete. 

Eventually Lando got tired of sitting still, something he did often. He got to his feet, pulling his hoodie over his head. Your brow furrowed. It wasn’t exactly boiling, so you had no idea why he was taking off his layers. It didn’t stop where you thought it was going to. Next came his shirt, then his joggers and finally his socks. Only when he stood there in nothing but his underwear did you have some idea what he was about to do. 

He noticed you eyeing him. Obviously he couldn’t just let it go. “What, you want the boxers off as well?”

You managed a laugh, a very nervous one at that, but your cheeks burned nonetheless. It wasn’t exactly something you hadn’t ever thought about. His flirting caught you off guard a lot though. He enjoyed every second of it. 

With a yell, he took off running, taking a dive into the crystal clear water below. 

“What are you doing?” The laugh that slipped out was completely involuntary. All your previous emotions were quickly replaced by bubbling laughter. 

He emerged from the water with a cheeky grin, shaking the water out of his hair like a dog. You rolled your eyes, splashing him back. It didn’t phase him. He simply shoved his hair out of his eyes and continued looking at you with a menacing look. He was up to something. 

In response to your question, he shrugged his shoulders. “Taking a dip. It’s nice in here. You should join me.” He waved his arms in the water, keeping himself afloat, but his eyes were permanently locked on you.

Considering you had come out here to get away from the chaos inside, you didn’t seem to hesitate when he wanted you to join him. He was transfixed when you pulled off your shirt. It filled you with a sense of power you didn’t know you could feel. With anyone else you would have hated the attention, but you were hopelessly gone for this one. You didn’t want him to ever stop looking at you.

Your shorts came off next. He whistled. You rolled your eyes.

A split second was all it took for you to make the decision to go through with it. Your choice of dive was a cannonball. Something to make the biggest splash possible just to bother him. 

Swimming in your underwear with the man you were in love with was freeing in a way you didn’t expect. There was more laughter from you in the past 10 minutes than you’d had all holiday. It was the effect he had on you.

At some point he’d stopped messing around, his eyes softening when he looked at you. The look he was giving you was too inviting to turn down.

You were the one to swim into his arms. 

There had always been some kind of unspoken thing between you. Things were easy with him. They felt right. But it was unclear to both of them why they had never acted on it. Maybe he didn’t want to drag you into his crazy world, the one that included hate and expectations, not to mention the lack of privacy. Maybe you didn’t feel like you belonged in his world. You weren’t a celebrity, or someone who wanted all that attention. You were just you and you liked it like that. But you also like Lando. And you like Lando a whole lot more than any of those other things.

With your arms around his neck, his own took your waist, keeping you pressed close to him. His head tucked into your neck allowing you to card your fingers through his soggy curls. You felt his breath against your skin as he sighed with content. For a short period of time, you just held each other. 

The first kiss to your skin caught you by surprise. His lips against your neck. It was a foreign feeling, though one you could get used to; would rather like to get used to. When you didn’t immediately push him away or react with disgust, he kept going. Another kiss to your jaw, the corner of your mouth. Then he wanted your permission. 

His eyes flickered between yours and your lips, silently asking the question. It was a wonder he couldn’t hear your heartbeat. His nose brushed against yours, thumb tracing your cheekbone. He wanted you to know this was more than just a random act of lust. “I think I love you,” he whispered. There was no ‘think’ about it really. He was just scared of rejection if he bared his heart. 

A breath left your lips. Your heart was pounding. Oddly, you were still at ease. Where you thought a million and one things would be running around in your head, it was quiet up there. You had been unknowingly waiting for this admission. “I know I do. Now, please kiss me.”

Who was he to say no?

Your lips met in a kiss that had been coming for years. 6 years worth of affection poured into one single act. It was overwhelming. It was almost enough to bring you to tears. You never knew you needed Lando like this. Now that you had him, you didn’t think you could ever go back to the unspoken feelings from before. 

If it weren’t for oxygen, you would have kissed him for hours on end. He couldn’t resist stealing one more kiss though. 

The kiss had been coming for so long that it didn’t need to be addressed. So neither of you spoke about it. He focused on something else instead. “They’re totally watching us, right now,” he muttered. How he knew, you had no idea. Maybe he felt their eyes on them.

Your head turned, looking right at the sliding glass doors where your friends were in fact all standing there, watching. They scattered as soon as they knew they’d been caught, pretending they hadn’t done anything. You laughed. Nothing was going to spoil the bubble you were in.

[grimsonandclover]

I can’t ever pass up the chance to spread mrta!artrick. I think it’d be interesting to see how the other acts when one of them gets a girlfriend or even just another best friend

Jealousy, Jealousy [patrick zweig] [art donaldson]

Art gets a new friend. Patrick gets a new "girlfriend". There are no good, clean shirts.

[sfw] [864 words]

⚠︎ Something simple and short to get me out of my writing slump. Not terribly proofread, not terribly great. MRTA Atrick, Art is jealous of Patrick, Patrick is jealous of Art, tension and underlying feelings, stuffed animals, canonically pushed together beds, dirty shirt piles, teenage boys

"Dude, where the fuck..."

Art throws another shirt out of his drawer to the floor with frustration, sighing and pushing back the wet curls on his forehead. "Where the fuck are all my nice shirts?" He turns, eyeing Patrick at his desk accusingly. Patrick, completely absorbed with his texts, only offers a mumbled response.

"Check The Pile."

"Check the—? Patrick, what the hell, man!" Art turns to the corner of their room now called The Pile, or more accurately, their version of a laundry basket minus the basket. It's the last thing Art wants to dig through right now. "You wore them? All of them?"

"Yeah, all two of them." Patrick spares Art a single mocking glance from his phone before another little ring comes from it, and he goes straight back to texting. "Remember I had that thing with Juliette last week," that 'thing' being her brother's Bar Mitzvah, "and then she wanted to go to Olive Garden yesterday."

Juliette this, Julie that. Art stands shirtless in the middle of the room, anger bubbling in his veins. Patrick, that little shit. He has clothes of his own. "You have clothes of your-" Art grabs one of the stuffed animals on his nightstand, launching it at Patrick's head, "-own!"

Patrick can't even let out a full grunt before getting distracted again by a text. It's Juliette; they've been going back and forth about plans for tonight. He smiles to himself, looking up at Art. "I think Julie is gonna finally, you know."

The blonde groans, flopping backwards on the bed. Patrick kicks his feet up on the desk they share, leaning the desk chair dangerously far backwards. "You've been saying that for weeks now, fucking creep."

"I'm really sure this time. What do you need a nice shirt for anyway? You're not getting any."

Thanks for the reminder, Art wants to say. Instead, he throws another stuffed animal at Patrick, this one on his bed, who had kept the first one on his lap before the second knocked it off. He plays idly with the ears of a bunny Art got at a fair as a kid, now sitting alone with him as the first bear stares up at him from the floor. "Connor just got his fake, and he wants to sneak out and go to a bar downtown tonight. Maybe I could get some if I didn't have to go wearing a fucking," Art gestures to one of the shirts hanging off the dresser, " 'I Love Tig Bitties' shirt or—"

"—That's a prized possession, and you know it. Wait, Connor—?"

"—or the shirt I stole from my dad that screams I'm a balding fifty-year-old with a marriage on the rocks. And yeah, Connor."

Patrick almost pouts but bites his bottom lip instead, turning to look out the window the desk faces. He pulls the ear until he feels a bit of the old thread tear open, and then stops immediately. Muttering a curse under his breath, he hugs the plush close so Art can't tell. "Connor's a dick."

"Connor's a dick, yeah, but so are you."

"But he's, like," Patrick was going to say he's a bigger dick, but then he looks down at the bunny. His phone beeps with another text, but he doesn't check this time. "Why don't I come with then? You shit yourself every time you face a bouncer."

Art, who's started picking at a hangnail on his big toe, turns his head to Patrick again. "I thought you were gonna 'you know' with Julie." The name comes out painfully and mockingly, and he makes a face with it. Art doesn't even get it; she's nothing like the girls Patrick normally goes for. She's— god forbid he admit this to anyone but himself— nice. Patrick responds with a casual shrug, like he hasn't been building this up for himself since he met Julie two months ago.

"What time are you guys going out? Maybe I can make it."

"Eight. Connor wanted to get something to eat before we try the bar, and I wanted time to go somewhere else if the place sucks."

Patrick chews on his lip some more. "Oh. Alright." Art continues picking at the nail. Patrick looks to the fallen bear for a moment. It's quiet for a bit. Another beep.

His fingers fiddle with a loose thread at the seam where the ear was attached to the bunny's head. It was cheaply made, it's old, it's Art's. Most nights, though, this bunny in particular gets pushed to Patrick's bed in the middle of the night. Or maybe he grabs it. If you asked him, it's always the former. The bear always sits alone on the nightstand, untouched.

Patrick picks up his phone again to check the text and Art sighs, rolling backwards off the bed and grabbing a random t-shirt from his clean ones. "I'm gonna see if Connor has something I can borrow." Art doesn't even consider borrowing from Patrick. The door closes behind him, and Patrick stares at the letters on the screen. For some reason, they don't feel as exciting as they would have fifteen minutes ago.

"excited for 2nite <3"

[kidokear]

I have this Ultrakill AU sitting in my docs for a while and I already have so many WIPs to focus on, so I decided to just share what I have.

I call it "Mechanical Acolyte AU"

In this AU, V1 was never reactivated after their decommissioning, never made it out of the facility where they were created, let alone to Hell.

Instead it was Gabriel who went up to Earth- out of curiosity, nostalgia, to mourn, or any other reason- and find himself exploring the ruins of humanity and their war efforts, judging and studying them.

He ended up in the vault that houses V1, drawn to it because it looked the most intact. Found them, and when they didn't move to attack, he approached. This is the closest he'd been to an intact machine. There is no visible damage, but it was obvious the it was non functional. Perhaps unfinished?

Somehow, he activates- something. Noise and lights, and he is on guard, waiting for the now lit up machine to do something.

It did not move.

After spending a good while under the yellow light of V1's optic, Gabriel decided that they're not a threat, that they're too broken to be, and continued his exploration/walk. He only has limited time here, after all.

Sometime later he realizes that he is being followed, and immediately turn to confront whatever it was only to recognize the machine he saw earlier.

Gabriel attacks and a fight starts. The thing surprised him with how agile and fast it was. Between that and how it can parry his attacks back at him, he was barely about to land a hit. It took him off guard because he did not expect a machine of all things to be able to handle even a fraction of his power. He got curious and started to gradually increase the ‘difficulty’ wanting to see how far can take this before the machine breaks or stops or something.

He eventually notices that the machine wasn’t striking anywhere fatal or incredibly damaging. At first he assumed it was because it lacked weapons, but as the battle continued he come to realize that it was deliberate avoidance (the machine could parry his attacks after all and it could throw things with precise accuracy and deadly force) and yet never once did it try to actively kill him (granted, he was doing something similar but he had reason and curiosity, what would make an object do the same?)

For Gabriel it is both infuriating ins exhilarating. This did not feel like a simple short fight or an the removal of an nuisance. If he was being honest with himself, it felt more like an ever changing spar. It has been so long since Gabriel spared with someone who could keep up- or at all, really- and it was- it was almost fun.

And that thought freezes him for a second because he is not supposed to think of battels here in such a manner, especially not with a machine.

There are many ways this could go from here, and I haven't decided yet. I just know that it end with Gabriel realizing that V1 has no intention to kill him, which confuses him further. Then, somehow, he realizes that V1 listens to his commands, but not like a machine, like a solider.

And here we are, the main idea. V1 thinks of Gabriel as commanding officer. As far as they were concerned that was a sparing season.

Now Gabriel has this Machine that follows him and his orders, standing at the ready like the soldier they are. And Gabriel who is intrigued- and lonely, but he would rather eat his own swords' than to admit it at this point- decides that they are useful enough to keep around.

As time goes on, Gabriel begins to see the life within and V1 starts to learn what it is like to be a person. 

There it is. There is the AU.

[storiesoflilies]

there is always only a few inches between you and certain death.

the thought is cruel in its simplicity.

it keeps you up during a night that isn’t really a night, but you know you should be sleeping anyway. you press up against the thick glass, feel its cold and unfeeling protectiveness on your fingertips, marveling at how you will never be so close as you are now to touching everything and nothing all at once.

your forehead dips in a hushed reverence, and you are quiet in your vigil of the universe that birthed you.

and astronaut!suguru is there too.

you can feel him before you see him.

it is something in the way that he moves, splicing through weightlessness like had been born within it. suguru is something otherworldly. you feel like he was never from the same earth you were. more like somewhere deep into the galaxy stretching out beyond your fingers, in between a supernova, amidst in a milky ocean of lavender stars.

you don’t say anything as he drifts closer, and neither does he.

there is no need to.

out of all your crew, you and suguru are the quietest by nature. you both understood the fragility of a fleeting silence. it is very hard to find true silence, because there is your mother earth who floats beneath your feet, who yearns for you to come home. and even though her screams are silenced because you have traveled so far into the vacuum of space that you cannot hope to ever hear her, it still reverberates through your bones. it reminds you that you are in fact still human, and not a weightless being unaware of its own existence. so, to be able to achieve something that dulls that constant hum in the back of your mind was precious.

you know suguru understands it.

he is next to you now.

it was a mystery to you as to why he was not the captain on this mission.

not that astronaut!satoru didn’t deserve it, he did. he was the best of them all, the strongest. but it was suguru who could look at a person and just know them. the way he could map the constellations in their moles and scars, see every strand of hair that held every memory and thought and feeling. everybody on board gravitated to him, seeking solace in him when the sheer emptiness of space became too much.

because suguru feels like home.

like your mother earth.

to you, at least.

so, you don’t mind the fact that he is in your space right now, because he always knew how to share things. always softly, spiritually. you both watch the vast expanse of space rolling out before your eyes. his hand shifts almost imperceptibly closer to yours. you like to think you can feel its warmth seeping into yours.

it is such a small gesture.

but it grounds you.

makes you remember that you are solid and whole. it is easy to forget who you are and what you are so far away from earth. even if you can still see the swirling clouds and typhoons from your ship, or watch the sun rise and dip behind her curves. countries and borders do not mean anything to you here. in a way, time doesn’t either. it is an elastic band, stretching at the start of a cycle, slacking towards the end. minutes feel like hours, and seconds collapse into a single heartbeat. the stars do not tell you anything either. they have burned through the rise and fall of the ancients, and will continue to long after your mission is over.

a blink of the cosmic eye of the universe.

inhale, exhale.

in, out.

suguru’s breathing has synchronized with yours. another perfectly human rhythm with its own life that is different to anything else aboard. you don’t know if he does it on purpose or not. you don’t understand him as much as you wanted to. suguru is so different to satoru, who bounces off the walls with a restless energy during their downtime like he just cannot stop moving. satoru consumes the space, filling it out with blues and reds and purples, but suguru seeks the edges. the leftover spaces that are still black and white.

you guess that is how he exists so perfectly with satoru.

maybe that is where he finds you too.

you turn your head slightly, catching his profile. his violet eyes are fixed on something beyond the scope of your comprehension. you’ve seen that look on suguru before. it’s the same look he gets when he’s studying the ships data, or calculating course correction. absolute attention, clinical focus.

and he’s looking at you now.

something in his expression makes your breath catch in your throat.

what does he see about you that you cannot? can he see your blood vessels weakening, your bones becoming soft and brittle as the space that you love is in fact killing you faster? does he also notice that your face has started to swell, and that you cannot think as fast as you used to? you try to swallow against the lump in your throat, but the air is too dry, your tongue far too heavy.

suguru notices.

of course he does.

he softens his gaze, and murmurs, “you’re not sleeping.”

you laugh, a cracked and broken little thing.

“neither are you.”

the words become particles that drift off into the air vents, lost and recycled inside the ship’s steady hum. you let the silence settle between you again so that it feels less like drowning and more like floating. suguru must have been watching you for days, logging your changes into the catalogue in his brain. you used to think he’d been trained for this, how to mould himself to be what other people needed him to be.

but you know it’s just him.

your hand stays where it is on the rail, but his moves closer so that your thumbs are just about to touch. there is no pressure for you to close the gap, there never is. it is an invitation between two people who have said what they needed to without words, who have always known it.

you let your eyes flutter close.

a quiet surrender.

“is it selfish of me to still love it?”

it.

being here – in this place. is it selfish to love the universe, to continue to hover between the stars that are killing you?

suguru doesn’t miss a beat.

“no.”

he would never call it selfish. suguru understands that some things are worth the cost. something like a martyr does. for the first time in days, the glass doesn’t feel so cold under your fingers. you open your eyes, drawn to him like a magnet. suguru doesn’t look away. he is holding the weight of this vastness with you, steady and sure, still breathing alongside you like you are tethered together. if you so happen to drift, if you break your vigil, suguru will be there.

holding it for you both.

the station hums around you, a fragile and artificial cradle in a universe that does not care if you live or die.

you think that maybe you will sleep tonight.

just for a little while.

-•-

you can buy me a chai latter or order a commission via my ko-fi page <3

©storiesoflilies 2025, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[the-daughter-of-a-wolf]

THE OLD GUARD 2 THOUGHTS AS I AM HAVING THEM AAAA

LITERALLY NOTHING BUT SPOILERS PROCEED WITH CAUTION!!

I have never been more anxious about hitting play on a movie in my life

I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH AWOOOOO

the violence feels a lot more cartoony than in the first one

like sure, there were gratuitous gore shots in that one as well, but they feel... idk, more goofy and over the top here

also I get starting on an action sequence, but the extreme violence against a horde of random guards feels a lot harder to justify when you don't really know the stakes. like yeah sure guns bad, but so bad that you have to very violently murder this many people over it?? maybe I've just gotten soft in my old age

man I am worried about the Uma Thurman plot. I am very anti-adding new (old) immortals at this point, but I hope they explain it in a satisfying way later on

QUYNH AAAA OOOOWWWW WAUGHH

me chanting to myself with tears in my eyes when Joe asks for some space: "I WANT THEM TO HAVE ARCS AND CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT! I WANT THEM TO HAVE ARCS AND CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!"

OMGGGG OKAY THAT'S A GOOD DEVELOPMENT. OUCH. AWOO. YES.

like okay yay Tuah I don't mind him, but how are you just rewriting the immortals lore now?? also why would Copley's discoveries change Andy's mind if Tuah was already doing the same thing??? raaahhhh!!!!

also you'd think this whole Discord situation would've come up in conversation between Tuah and Andy before now like hello???? something you might need to know?!

Godddd Andy and Nile make me feral!!! Also if they don't acknowledge Andy and Quynh romantically I'm throwing my laptop off the balcony

OOHHHH that glimpse of historical Nicky and Joe has me screamingggg

I'm actually really happy so far with how Andy and Quynh's reunion is being handled!

ohhh how I wish I gave a shit about the Discord plotline. but alas. I really don't

NOOOO YOU'RE KIDDING ME. please don't explain the becoming mortal thing. please don't. that's so fucking stupid. also how convenient that there are these very specific legends about this very secret thing that only applies to a very few specific humans and that almost no one knows about! this is the lamest shit I've ever heard

oh Booker my sweet baby angel ;___;

Booker trying to wingman Andy into fixing things with Quynh HEEEELLLL YEAH.

OH SHIT THIS IS JUICY!!! Booker using Nile to try to become mortal???? OUGH OW OUCH WAUGH OWWW. I mean that sucks and is so cruel to Nile, but. JUICY. (also unrelatedly, goddd Nile is so fucking hot!!!)

J U I C Y !!!!! AAAAAAAA!!!!

FUCK ME UP NICKY ALRIGHT 😭😭😭😭

THIS IMMORTALITY TRANSFER IS THE STUPIDEST SHIT I'VE HEARD IN MY LIFE!!! SO NOW IT'S A GAME OF HOT POTATO????? jesus christ

ALSO DOES THIS NOT NEGATE THE WHOLE DISCUSSION THEY HAD ABOUT STUFF MEANING MORE WHEN YOU ONLY HAVE LIMITED TIME????

Oh I am BIG MAD about Booker's death. That's a real mean stunt to pull on Andy.

Also can we talk about how this is a giant retcon??? ANDY HEALED FROM WHEN NILE STABBED HER, DIDN'T SHE? Like, the first time she noticed her wound not healing was after the church fight? she would've noticed much sooner if Nile's stab wound hadn't healed. so it wasn't a case of "the first wound inflicted by the newest mortal takes away the healing", right? or am I tripping. but either way that's so fucking stupid.

it would've been much much juicier for Quynh to realise Andy's not immortal than the other way around.

god Andy is hot in this movie. the lesbian mullet. awooga awooga.

dude as anyone who knows anything about consent can tell you, consent given under torture is not consent! it's never going to be "fReELy gIVeN" if you torture them to do it! dumbass.

WHAT THE

WHAT

WHAT

WHAT

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING MEEEEE?????????

THAT'S WHERE IT ENDS???

I'M SORRY?????

dude you're lying to me

THAT'S...

I'm legit speechless.

THAT'S NOT EVEN SEQUEL BAIT, THAT'S AN UNFINISHED MOVIE! WHERE'S THE FUCKING REST OF IT?!?!?!?!

IT TOOK YOU FIVE YEARS TO GET THIS SEQUEL OUT AND YOU DECIDED TO LEAVE THE CONCLUSION TO THE NEXT MOVIE???? WHAT IS HAPPENING??? YOU'RE NOT GETTING A THIRD MOVIE YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!!! SO THIS IS WHERE IT ENDS????

I am gobsmacked.

did not see that coming

0/10. fuck you.

(EDIT: okay I hit "post" the second I was done so that ended a bit harshly so I will amend that there was a lot to like about this, as I hopefully brought up in my notes! I loved all the interactions between the main crew, most of the Booker stuff was handled really nicely, and I liked a lot of the things they did with Quynh's return. but that final curveball really shat on my enjoyment of this movie big time. so it's not actually a flat 0/10, but my god it sure was not a well-made movie, was it. OOF.)

[nightcrews]

Pussy Whisperer

Chapter 2: A Homegrown Sex Tape

Chapter 1

✦　✦　✦　✦　✦

✦　✦　✦　✦　✦

Soap x Reader

NSFW | Romance | Miscommunication

Word Count: 4,790

Rating: Explicit

Status: Ongoing

You get some unsavory texts from an ex. Johnny has a few solutions.

Additional Tags/Warnings:

Rough sex | Filming/Recorded Sex | Dirty Talk | Possessiveness | Misogynistic Terms | Jealousy | Come in Mouth

••• ▰▰▰ SECURE CHANNEL OPEN ▰▰▰ •••

“What in the blazes is goin’ on over there?”

You groan, having hoped the incessant vibrating of your phone might slip past the well tuned ears of your SpecOps Scot. It had been going off the entire time he’d blown your back out, paused just enough to give you the illusion that it was over, and then promptly started back up just as Johnny was cuddling his sweaty body to yours.

“Nothing.” You say, and it must be just a little too bitter, because Johnny is frowning suspiciously at you.

“Really? Cause it’s been goin’ off since I got here, lass.” He props himself up on an elbow, resting his head against his palm, “If ye need to take it—”

“It’s seriously nothing, Johnny.” You roll onto your back so that you’re nestled against his front. To emphasize how wrong you are, it buzzes again.

He arches an eyebrow.

You sigh, grabbing your phone to peek at the lock screen and confirm who’s been blowing up your phone for the last hour and a half, “Okay, fine. It’s an old ex of mine, okay? No big deal.”

Immediately Johnny’s face scrunches, “The fuck’s he want?”

“To meet up.”

“So he’s textin’ ye the fuckin’ bible at ten pm?” Johnny’s voice is just a little bit higher than usual, and you do your best not to smile about it.

“He’s very persistent.” You say, “Always has been.”

“How recent of an ex is he?”

“It’s been a couple years. He just moved to the city and wants to get together.”

“Are ye? Gettin’ together?” Johnny asks nonchalantly, eyes trained on the spot where his fingers pick at a loose string in your comforter. He’s the portrait of feigned disinterest.

“Wouldn’t be your business if we did.” You say, if only to see what kind of reaction you’d get.

“No.” Johnny’s eyes slide over to yours, “But meetin’ up with an ex is a whole lot different than meetin’ up with a fuck buddy.”

“How?”

“A fuck buddy doesn’t mean much. An ex, though, could mean ye gettin’ back together.”

You snort, incapable of holding it in, “Trust me, Johnny, I am not getting back with this one. Your fuck buddy position is safe.”

“Ye say tha’ now, bonnie, but wha’ happens when he comes back a braw handsome lad? Sweeps ye off yer feet like a gentleman, and puts me te shame.” Johnny asks, eyebrows risen.

“Johnny,” You grin and put a hand to his chest, “Barry is so far from a gentleman it’s not even funny. And I don’t know if you know this, but being special forces is extremely hot. Like, big dick energy hot.”

“Obviously.” Johnny huffs.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” You say with a slap to his chest, grinning from ear to ear as the tips of his own turn red, “You are!”

“Jealous of wha’ exactly?” He raises his eyebrows again, “Accordin’ to ye, Barry isnae much te look at, and I have a big dick. So.”

“I said you had big dick energy. Not that you had a big dick.”

“Oi, I seem te recall ye sayin’ I did a few minutes ago!”

You feel yourself blush even as you laugh with him, Fuck Johnny, your dick is so big, feels so fucking good, ringing in both of your ears.

Your phone buzzes again, and Johnny snatches it out of your grip before you can pull it away. You don’t mind, there’s nothing to keep from him, but you still hesitantly watch his face as it unlocks your phone.

“What’re ye doin’ beautiful.” He reads after scrolling some, “I’m jus’ sittin’ in my new flat havin’ a beer, thinkin aboot ye. A romantic.” He waggles his eyebrows, “Have ye thought aboot meetin’ up, fer old time’s sake.”

“Nope.” You say, popping your lips on the P.

“Ah’d love te meet up with ye. Take ye te dinner sometime. Are ye there, beautiful. Don’ leave me hangin’. Hello. Just tryna have a beer with the one tha’ got away. Christ, put the poor bastard outta his misery, this is painful.” Johnny says with a grimace, then continues, “Answer me. Where are ye. Probably fuckin’ someone else aren’t ye. I’m tryna treat ye right, and yer probably screwin some douchebag with a tiny dick. Bitch.”

“There’s the Barry I know and hate.” You say in mock fondness.

“Fer someone tryna get back with the one tha’ got away, he’s not helpin’ his case any.” Johnny glances down sidelong at you, “He treat ye like this when you were goin’ steady?”

“More or less. Basically he’s just a shitty person.”

Johnny hums, blue eyes glowing in the illumination from your phone. Slowly a mischievous smile curls at his lips, and your stomach dips, “Wanna make ‘im jealous?”

You squint your eyes suspiciously at him, but can’t help but smile with him, “I should say no, but what do you have in mind?”

He snakes the arm propping his head up underneath you, pulling you so that your back is pressed to his chest. The phone switches to the hand whose arm is under your head, and he opens the camera to switch it to front facing before taking a picture.

In it, you can only see part of his face—one of his cobalt eyes, a cut of his sharp jaw dotted with stubble, and not even half of the smirk hidden in your hair. Veins pop in the arm underneath you, and the other wraps around you to grab your breast over the thin sheet draped over you both. Your knuckles are covering your mouth, but your eyes are alight with the way Johnny makes you feel—attractive, sexy, happy—and you want to feel this way forever. But only with him.

He attaches the photo to a text and types Actually, a douchebag with a huge dick, but…

“Eh?” Johnny asks with a grin, arching an eyebrow.

“No we shouldn’t.” You say, but it sounds so halfhearted that it’s not even funny. The picture is hot, and part of you goes warm at the thought that you have it on your phone to look at whenever you wanted now. Pictures of and with Johnny are very few and far between, for obvious reasons, so when you get one, you cling to it.

“Okay, then we won’t.” Johnny says, but doesn’t move to delete the text.

You reach out to grab the phone, and with a sudden burst of courage, hit send on the photo as you do. Johnny gasps lightly, looking at you hesitantly like you were going to be upset with yourself. You grin at him instead, shrugging, and say, “Oops.”

“You cheeky, sly little thing, bonnie.” He says, pulling you into him further to kiss your temple. Your phone buzzes, and Johnny laughs, “What’s he say, what’s he say?”

“Are you serious. Good to see you’re still a slut like always. You have a good guy sitting right here and you’re gonna fuck some loser.” You read, grinning at the end, “You are kind of a loser, Johnny.”

“Lass, ye just said I was a smoke show fer bein’ SpecOps, don’t even.”

“The smokiest of shows, Johnny.” You say, which has him grinning with a light blush to his cheeks, and your phone goes off again, “Bet he doesn’t make you come. You probably fake it like you did with me.”

“Did he…” Johnny laughs in the Loud Scottish way he does when something is particularly funny to him, “Did he just admit te never gettin’ ye off?”

“He did, yes.”

“What a fuckin’ dobber. And ye dated this dafty?”

“I was young and dumb!”

Johnny laughs, squeezing you in his embrace, “Wanna make him even more jealous?”

“Now what?” You ask skeptically, twisting in his arms to face him.

“Well,” Johnny smirks, giving you a quick peck to your lips, “we send him a little home video.”

“Like what, us fucking?” You ask, voice going up an octave, “Like a sex tape?”

“Yeah, show ‘im how to properly get ye off since he doesn’t seem to know how.” Johnny says with a glint to his eyes, somewhat mad looking.

“That’s mean, Johnny.”

“Have ye seen the way he’s speakin’ to ye? He deserves it.”

The phone buzzes again, and you hold it up to read, “No one will ever fuck you as good as I did. Not even him. You lost your virginity to me. You’ll always be mine.”

Johnny hums at that, and you can actually see his eyes go dark, amused grin turning to one just a bit more sinister. More possessive. Like a man who’d just heard something that he really, really did not like.

You also feel yourself bristle at the texts, a sick feeling, not quite nausea, creeping into your stomach. How dare Barry insinuate some sort of claim over you after so many years. You knew he was most likely drunk-courageous, but to have the audacity to say you were still his?

Absolutely not.

“You can go another round?” You ask.

Johnny chuckles, the possessive craze still in his eyes, “Lass, I’ve been hard since we took the photo.”

To emphasize, he grinds his erection into your thighs, and you shake your head at him with a smile, “I will never understand how you have so much stamina.”

“Adrenaline from my job, hen.”

“Let’s do it.” You say, “Send him a video.”

“Ye sure? I don’ wan’ ye to do it jus’ cause I said somethin’.” Johnny says, eyebrows furrowed.

“I was going to say no before. But then he said I was still his, and that is not going to fly with me.” You say, kicking a leg up over his hip, “So I’d like to show him I’m not his anymore.”

“I can definitely help with tha’, hen.” Johnny breathes, eyes dipping down to your lips. He ducks his head, mouth parting as it meets yours to let his tongue curl into it. He twists his upper body to cover you, hand skimming up to twine in your hair and cup your cheek. His kiss is hard, frantic, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was laying a claim of his own.

Your head spins with the way his lips mold to yours, tongue sliding hot and wet with your own. The feel and smell of his breath, of him, screws up your stomach, flutters the heart in your chest. You don’t want this kiss to end, don't want his rough hands to stop touching you, don’t want him to wake in the morning and leave to a far away country, to whatever danger lies waiting for him.

But he breaks away from you, and you resist the urge to chase after one more. For a moment he stares down at you with a look you’d never seen in him before. Reverence, heat, possession, and something else. Obsession? Addiction? Affection? You weren’t sure, but your heart beats faster all the same.

You almost tell him right then and there, how much your heart calls to him. How affected you are by him and him alone, that just his presence makes you feel alive. How he’d ruined you for anyone else by only ever asking you to be yourself.

How much you fucking loved him.

He sits up, though, and the charged moment between a look and bitten back words is gone, leaving you hollow in a way that you’d cry about when he left in the morning. But for now you watch him prop your phone up on your headboard, camera switched to front facing again so you could see the both of you.

Johnny turns off the main lights, leaving the little strip behind your headboard to serve as illumination for the video. He changes the color to pink, bathing you both in a glow that’s not so harsh as red, but perfect to set the right mood.

“How ye wanna do it?” Johnny asks, crawling over top of you as you rest on your stomach. His cock rests between the pillow of your ass, hot and twitching as his breath tickles your ear, “Wan’ me te eat ye out for him?”

“No.” You say, looking at him through the camera, “I want you to fuck me and make me come. He never could do it, and I never even tried to fake one. He never noticed.”

Johnny huffs a laugh against your neck, sending goosebumps down your arms, “I can do that.”

Your head swims at his attention, tilting to the side as his lips brush up the side of your neck to your ear, tongue tracing the shell, “You gonna hit record?”

He hums, reaching up to tap the red record button. Instantly your stomach twists, and your mind goes blank on what to do next. You’d never done something like this—make a filthy video just to get back at someone. Make a filthy video at all. In a way it seemed so taboo, but with Johnny it just seemed…fun.

Your eyes flutter closed as his teeth bite at your earlobe, and then he’s straightening to pull your hips up so that your bottom half is propped up on your knees.

Johnny takes the camera from its perch, and you look back to watch as he holds it up to record the way his cock rubs against your ass, fingers guiding it through your slit to get the head of it wet. Deep down you know it’s a power play, Johnny showing off his size after it was called into question, as if he needed to be worried. He hums, slapping his dick against your ass a few times before nudging it at your hole.

“Ye wan’ my cock—?” He asks, your name slipping like velvet over his accent.

“Yes, Johnny.” You sigh, “Give it to me.”

“Good girl.” He says, and you bite your lip at the praise. You moan as he pushes into you, and with Johnny’s theatrics, you know that the camera is capturing every inch of him sliding into you, stretching you around his cock with slick noises coming from your pussy, “Fuckin’ beautiful, ain’t it Barry?”

You clench around him as he continues to fill you, the possessive tone and cockiness to Johnny’s words satisfying some distant, smug part of you.

He groans when he’s fully inside, leaning forward to put the phone back in its original spot on your headboard. His fingers find your chin, turning your head and tipping it up to kiss him. When he pulls away he mumbles, “Now look at the camera real nice fer him, bonnie,” against your lips.

You turn your face to your phone, watching the way it twists as Johnny pulls out to the head of his cock, only to push his hips forward slowly and deliberately into you, before picking up speed. It was strange, seeing yourself react to the way Johnny’s thrusting into you. Distantly you think maybe you should feel embarrassed about the way your mouth falls open as you moan, or your eyebrows knit together when he strokes your g-spot with his cock, but in the moment, you can’t find it in you to care.

Johnny is giving soft moans behind you, gripping your shoulders to drive his dick into you with leverage, and you can tell he’s putting on a show. He isn’t one to deny himself the pleasure of being vocal, but usually he has to build up to it, let it come to him naturally. At the moment, he’s nowhere close to coming, at least not with his track record of fucking you, so you know he’s doing it for the video’s sake.

So you decide that if he’s going to put on a show, you will too. You arch your back, looking up at the camera through half lidded eyes and slightly parted lips, hair falling over your face just right. You smile, rocking your hips back to meet Johnny’s thrusts.

His head falls back as you do, and he lets out a pleased groan, “Fuck me, bonnie, yer so fuckin’ hot. Fuckin’ me like that.”

You hum, “You like that, Johnny?”

His answering hum is nearly a growl as it rumbles his chest, and he leans down to bite your shoulder, running his tongue over the smarting skin. You tip your head to see his eyes flick up to the camera, before his hand reaches between your legs and his fingers rub at your clit.

You gasp in earnest, welcoming the cool air on your back as he rises back up, continuing to fuck himself into your pussy and finger you. His thrusts are harder now, faster, and the sound of his thighs and balls slapping your skin must sound nothing short of pornographic.

“Barry says yer his, lass.” Johnny pants, the hand not fingering your clit pressing you down against the bed between your shoulder blades, “Is tha’ true?”

“No Johnny.” You whine, the feeling of his cock stretching you open while his fingers pleasure you bringing tears to your eyes. Perhaps it’s because of the circumstances—filming yourself being fucked by Johnny to send to another man—that everything feels so good. Or maybe it’s the way Johnny’s jealousy bleeds through his indifference, a natural part of him wanting to puff its chest at the attention of another man, that has you feeling slightly giddy with the prospect. Either way, there’s something different with the way he’s fucking you and the way you’re taking it, and you cling to the notion that maybe it isn’t all just for show.

“No, yer not, are ye lass?” He says, cock hitting you deep, “Cause ye belong te someone else, yeah?”

You shutter, something hot coiling low in your gut as you say, “Yes.”

“Who?” Johnny asks, thrust rocking your body forward, “Tell him who ye belong to.”

“You, Johnny.” You moan, desperately wishing it were true and not just for the camera, “I belong to you.”

“Tha’s righ’. All fuckin’ mine.” He says, almost a growl, the sound of it piercing through your gut right to the spot his fingers are playing with, “Ye’re mine, aren’t ye, lass?”

“Shit—yeah, Johnny, I’m yours.” You gasp, “I’m yours.”

“Who makes ye come now?”

“You, Johnny.”

“Who fucks ye the way ye need to be fucked?”

“Fuck.” You feel the tears slide down your cheeks as his hand flicks your clit faster, cock burying itself in your guts every time he grinds in, “You, Johnny. You fuck me so good.”

“That’s right.” He says raggedly, nearly out of breath as sweat falls from his forehead onto your back, “Me and no one fuckin’ else.”

“No.” You choke on your saliva, hands bunching in the sheets in front of you, “Only you.”

“Aye, ‘n ye love my cock, don’t ye?”

“Johnny.” You whine, unable to stop yourself from trying to grind into his hand as it slows its pace and teases you, holding you back from the edge of your orgasm.

“Don’t ye, lass?” He repeats, hips slowing too, the drag of his cock in your pussy downright blissful.

“Yes, fuck, Johnny, it’s the best I’ve ever had.” You say, more tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Damn righ’ it is. And whose cock are ye gonna come on tonight?” He asks, pulling your head up by your hair to face the camera.

“Yours, Johnny. Please, please, I can’t fucking take it anymore.” You cry, not caring how pitiful you may or may not sound, “Just let me come. I wanna come for you so so bad, please.”

“Hear tha’, Barry?” Johnny says, groaning softly as you clench harder around him, “Because I know ye never did when it was you fuckin’ her. Now listen how good she sounds when she actually comes.”

His fingers speed up on your swollen clit again, pressing firmly against it as he pounds his dick into you. You gasp, and then his name is falling from your mouth with a slew of curses as your orgasm finally tears through you, blinding you behind your closed eyelids. You feel your eyes roll back in your head, whole body trembling as he continues to fuck you through it.

“That’s right—” He says your name, and it goes straight between your legs, “Come on my cock. Ye look like a fuckin’ dream right now.”

“Holy fuck.” You pant as the last of the trembles stop, light headed and limp, “Johnny, that was—”

But then he’s coming, too, head tipped back as he groans your name. His fingers are leaving definite bruises on your hips, and you wince slightly at how tight he’s holding you. His hips stutter into you, cock throbbing as he empties himself deep in your pussy.

Wasting no time, he pulls out and hooks his arms underneath yours, hoisting you upright to bare you fully to the camera. He bites your shoulder again, one hand roughly gripping your breast, the other delving between your legs where his come is dripping down your thighs.

His middle finger slides between your pussy, coating itself with his come, and brings it up to your lips. You open your mouth in a daze, allowing his finger to press against your tongue, and close your lips around it to suck. You can taste him, hot and salty, as you swallow, holding his dark gaze through the lens of the camera as you do. He pulls his finger out of your mouth and tips your head toward his, tongue dipping in before your lips even press together. It slides against yours, licking the taste of himself from your mouth with a soft groan.

Your head falls back onto his shoulder, and you gaze up at him in wonder. How is it possible that he can hold so much power over you, and make you feel just as powerful all the same? How can he be so beautiful even with his mohawk disheveled and swept across his forehead, face flushed, slick with sweat. How can one man be this perfect?

He looks away from you after a beat, in which you nearly spill your guts out again, and smiles at the camera, “Never fuckin’ text her again, Barry.”

And he stops the video, sending it to the thread of texts you’d left unanswered. If he also sends it to himself, you pretend not to notice.

“Think we got the point across?” He asks with a grin, plopping down onto his side of the bed with a groan.

You snort, climbing out of bed to head to your en suite, grabbing a washcloth to clean your thighs off with, “I think you took that personally.”

“No one gets te call ye a slut but me, hen.” He calls, “And ye shouldn’t take that shite either.”

“A simple block would have probably sufficed.” You say with a smile, wandering back in to climb into bed next to him.

Johnny scoffs, “But this was more fun.”

“You’re just happy you got another round out of me.”

“Ah’m gonna be gone for a few weeks again, ye canna blame me.” He says, putting a hand to his chest.

“When do you leave?”

“In the mornin’.” He answers, slinging an arm across your middle to massage your hip, “Price says it’s gonna be a long one. Few weeks at best, couple months at worst. Also says it might be rough.”

You trace your fingers along his toned forearm, “You be careful, Johnny.”

“Ah’m always careful.”

You shoot him a look out of the corner of your eye.

“Okay, usually I’m careful. But if they tell me to blow some shite up, I canna help myself.” He smiles fondly, “Ye ever see a building demolished by C4?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“It’s right fuckin’ beau’iful. The most beautiful thing ye’ll ever see.” He flashes you a sheepish grin, “Besides you, o’course.”

You shake your head and slap his shoulder, feeling yourself blush under his glowing gaze. The same one that had just been dark with desire, taking you from behind while he claimed you from another man, but not as his own. Not really.

“Ye know I dinnae mean all that stuff I was sayin’, right?” He asks after a moment, as if reading your mind. You hum in question, and he explains, “Ye know, sayin’ ye were mine and only mine an’ all tha’. It was just fer the video, ye know?”

“Oh yeah,” You wave your hand dismissively despite the way it feels like he’d just taken a knife to your heart, letting it wilt away, “no I know. No worries, Johnny.”

“It’s just, I ken ye don’ want any commitment righ’ now, so I dinnae want ye gettin’ the wrong idea or anything. Unless, ye—” He cuts himself off with a confused look, as if he wasn’t sure if he’d just said what he did, and continues as if he hadn’t, “Yeah. No wrong ideas.”

“We should get some sleep.” You say, rolling onto your side so he can’t see the way your eyes water, “You have to leave early in the morning.”

“Aye.” He kisses your shoulder as he usually does, pulling you to his chest and nuzzling against you.

Your phone vibrates once, and you both perk up. There’s one text from Barry.

You’re fucking a dude with a MOHAWK?!?!

✦　✦　✦　✦　✦

“Stay safe, Johnny.” You say later that night, the early hours of the morning still dark and still.

He stands in your entryway, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and puts his hands on your hips, “As safe as I can be, hen.”

You pull him into a sudden hug, arms tight around his back as your face buries into the crook of his neck. You breathe deeply, willing yourself to remember the way he smells—like laundry detergent and just a little sweaty from earlier; like cinnamon and spice and home.

“Hey.” He says softly, “Dinnae forget I got the whole 141 with me. They got my back just as much as I have theirs.”

“I know.” You say, struggling to let go.

“Dinnae worry yer pretty head, lass.” He says, leaning away from you so you don’t have to, “I’ll be back in no time. Dinnae ye let some other poor bastard come an’ steal my place now, though.”

“You’re the one always telling me I can sleep with other dudes.” You say with a huff.

“Aye, an’ I mean it.” He says, looking just slightly like he really doesn’t, “But no one gets te steal my spot as yer favorite.”

You smile, “Never.”

He leans down and kisses you slow, letting his lips linger longer against yours, keeping his tongue to himself. One hand stays on your hip, keeping you close to him, the other twines in the hair at the back of your head. Your own bunch in the fabric of his hoodie, clinging to him like it would make him stay.

Johnny breaks away from you, leaning his forehead against yours and slotting your noses together, whispering, “I gotta go, lass.”

You nod, swallowing hard.

He tips down to kiss you again, “I’ll see ye again.”

“Promise?”

There’s a slight pause, and he sighs, “I canna do that, lass.”

Your throat burns at the implication, but you refuse to cry. You’re not supposed to cry when your fuck buddy leaves. Even if he’s going off to danger you can’t even dream of.

“Well.” You take his face between your hands, stroking your thumbs over his cheeks, “I’ll keep your favorite coffee stocked, then.”

That look is back on his face, the one from earlier, and you still can’t decipher it. It makes you warm, your heart fluttering an unhealthy amount.

When he leans down this time, he presses a kiss to your forehead, “See ye, lass.”

He steps through the door before you can answer, and you watch it close behind him before you finally break down. Tears stream down your face, and you rest your back against the door, sliding down until you’re sitting on the floor, covering your mouth in case he’s not fully down the hall yet.

Watching him leave is getting harder and harder. Knowing you love him and not telling him, that any mission could take that away from you, is also getting harder.

But Johnny doesn’t want what you do, made it clear earlier that night. If you spilled your heart to him, wouldn’t it just scare him away? The thought makes you sick, and so you deal with what you have, so long as it means you have it.

Even if it tears you apart little by little.

••• ▰▰▰ SECURE CHANNEL CLOSED ▰▰▰ •••

For this and more, come check me out on AO3 under nightcrew! I love chatting with everyone! ☺️

[mehrfh]

Misogyny, huh????

So, it is Misogyny to call out ‘love’ whose basis is treachery, dishonesty and scars left by the betrayal? Shisui only needed to be a man to showcase how quickly people would have flipped on that ‘ship'...

Moreover, hardly care who ships whom, I care about narrative distortion and thinking somehow Jinshi, who appears in every volume, is comparable in potential and meaning to someone who largely disappears...And somehow the character would have been a better choice over a man who rewrote half of his kingdom's rules in both political and personal sphere for a woman...

Lastly, KnH is what it is because of its exemplary, complex and intriguing women and female characters....They are badass and formidable and memorable...KnH/TAD would hardly be what it is had it not been for its female-orientation...And Shisui was definitely a complex and tragically beautiful character...And who knows MaoMao and Shisui meet in future (which most likely will be) and I bet it would be interesting...But having said this she did not deserve to be raised at level of a heroine or main character at the expense of others, plain and simple...Narrative has worked, and will work, without her...The fact that Shisui actually kind of becomes a reason MaoMao comes to even become wary of her relationship with women in terms of safety is conveniently ignored...She struggles with Yao and Enen and even gets bitterly reminded of Shisui's betrayal when she thinks Chue betrayed her in that particular sequence of Western arc II...So this is not something that is talked about by the ‘misogyny' folks as how much difficult it becomes MaoMao to trust even female friendships again...

Also, legion of complex, beautiful and intriguing characters waiting to be adapted by manga and anime are far too fabulous and important for me to miss Shisui, I am sorry...So, it will take me even more of developing a blind spot, or worse being in denial, that somehow she was indispensable to the narrative or to MaoMao, and that she had potential to become like Jinshi for her... I have problem with this view not from a shipping context (ship whoever you want, heck I might start shipping Jinshi and Rikuson) but I have a huge problem when people start to IMPOSE their interpretation/ship on the narrative.... And tend to diminish a pivotal character like Jinshi or suggest somehow Shisui and Jinshi's love for MaoMao is same... Well, no, you do not lie to people you love, put their lives at stake for your grand plan (or performance) or reveal everything to them in the heart of rebellion... So, as I said in the beginning of this post, would have been fun to see acts of Shisui being committed by a man and you would have seen the same people talking about misogyny using feminism to discredit the same ‘beloved' ship... Also, given sometimes Jinshi is deemed as toxic for way low level of dangerous behaviors (and rightfully so) and dismissed as a perfect partner for MaoMao, having a manipulating, traumatised, betraying character being painted as love interest is sure the way to understand what kind of healthy love folks want to promote! Hardly an excuse to criticise one person's language of love, while eulogising another's despite both being teenagers caught up in family politics....As I said earlier, may a Love like Shisui's never find me where all I am left with is regret, scars, angst and sense of uncertainty as to what we meant to each other...

Ending this by saying I love Shisui and poetry of her character, her bond with MaoMao and wholeheartedly empathise with her difficult circumstances but, as a reader of 16+ LNs, no way she was with MaoMao what Jinshi had been or became...MaoMao, no matter how much Shisui cared about her, was more or less, a prop in her grand performance (whom she tried to protect by first bringing her to the centre of crisis)... You don't do that to a friend, let alone someone you love... Everyone suffers in the KnH, some have really, really terrible stories, like Rikuson and Chue...While I am completely on-board with humanising the obnoxious villains (prev Emperor, Shisou) and view morality of good or bad actions with a subjective lens (Anshi), what I am against is someone's tragic story becoming an excuse of raising the character to an unwarranted pedestal who gambled on dangerous probables and betrayed a friend (Shisui), and then go on and impose it on the narrative, especially when far less manipulative and less dangerous behavior tends to pull Jinshi down from a pedestal....Also, Jinshi is put on a pedestal not because he is perfect but because he has the ability to see the wrong of his acts and courage to actively change himself for better and courage to actively go against everything that tends to harm those he cherishes, you don't see everyday a crown prince jumping in front of a bullet to save a random soldier... I love Jinshi because in spite of him being deemed as perfect, sometimes too perfect, he knows his limitations/flaws, acknowledges them and remains honest with those he loves and changes what he needs to! It is his acceptance about himself as a flawed human being despite the reverence and importance associated with his station that makes him such a forever favorite character...

[mariacallous]

Per that article about court defeats, I do think the left needs a real strategy to deal with how public opinion is regressing on trans issues. We don’t need to give in, but we do need to find a way to talk to these people. We can’t just insist that if you are a true ally, you would already know, which for one, makes it seem like we have something to hide. The fact that I’ve seen people on here who get mad at both trans people and clearly pro-trans cis people for saying something like “gender socialization exists” and who throw a tantrum and say “no you’re terf socialized!” without offering any real arguments (because they don’t have any) — no wonder we can’t convince anyone else!

On the other hand I wonder how much of this is just an issue of the nature of social media at amplifying everyone everywhere all at once. We have some examples of specific past civil rights movements that were very disciplined, like the 1950s-60s black civil rights movement in the U.S., but it’s not like there haven’t always been extreme opinions in every movement. I was online in queer spaces during the late 00s/early 10s, I saw the people claiming that marriage equality wasn’t radical enough and real queers don’t want “straight” things like marriage. It’s not like they didn’t exist or had NO platform. There were also more legitimate criticisms that say HRC wasn’t standing up enough for trans rights. Was the marriage equality movement really better at keeping radicals “in their place” or was it just easier to control the message before Twitter was everywhere? I also fundamentally don’t believe that just being in a marginalized group means you’re obligated to advocate for yourself all the time if you don’t want to — and I think beford social media, it was easier too for people to make online spaces where they wouldn’t be forced into that role or feel forced into it. (Starting with that pre social media, it was a lot less expected to reveal all that info about yourself upfront. You could be on, say, a Pokemon forum and talking to a trans person or gay person or Muslim and wouldn’t know it because it just hadn’t come up.) And I do think movements also need radicals to hold people’s feet to the fire and to press the movement itself to ensure it keeps moving forward. It’s just that moderates are better at the game of convincing others.

So what do we do about this? Also, the far right is just as if not more Extremely Online and uninterested in moderating their views. So are, specifically with trans issues, TERFs. All of us on here have seen them shown their asses in terms of falling for other regressive messaging for instance. So how is the right and the anti trans movement in general better at keeping that from reflecting on their movement as a whole — even when it honestly should? Why isn’t JD Vance as tarred by the Nazis he openly pals along with, but Harris has to answer for shit she never said? Why does trans rights movements have to answer for “extreme” beliefs and actions that are often coming from teenagers, so no wonder they are bad at and often uninterested in convincing people and so on — but the openly deranged behavior of so many grown-ass-adult public transphobes even of the JAQ ilk doesn’t seem to touch their movement?

I don't really have anything to say or add because I think you hit on a lot of the things I've been thinking about and debating.

I also think we need to ground it in tangible/material elements - I'm thinking of Jules Gill-Peterson's writings and comments here. Less about queer or trans joy and more in health care and access, in psychology and so forth. I think that's one of the biggest challenges - for too many people, their perception of trans issues and trans rights is about pronouns and clothes, and the right and other transphobes gleefully seizes on it. I'm not saying that's right, but I am saying that it needs to be anchored in things to reinforce why treatments and care and legal resources are needed, etc.

I also think we need to be more direct and honest about the connections to feminism and misogyny, and we need to bridge that gap, because so much is also tied up in the feminist/manosphere backlash. Feminism and trans rights are not in conflict with each other and the more we can support and build both of these movements, the better for all.

[leavesonthetrees]

Don’t Think I Have The Facilities For That (According to Plan Pt.2)

Summary - Where do Hobbit babies come from? No one can decide. Also Frodo successfully obtains Papa #2

A/N - Sorry this is so long but I didn’t really want to break it into 3 parts. I feel like this isn’t my best work but I really wanted to finish this little story (it also took ages to write). Please enjoy a bagginshield smooch.

It takes them only about 5 months to make the trip from The Shire to Erebor this time, probably because Bilbo only has to keep track of himself and a 9-year-old who alternates between over-excited to exhausted and bored. It also helps that they aren’t locked up in Mirkwood’s dungeons for a few weeks because someone isn’t telling the king there to do something rather unsavoury. Still, it’s lovely to catch up with Lord Elrond who is enchanted by Frodo and his incessant curiosity about the world as well as Beorn who similarly takes a shine to him. They do unfortunately take a brief sojourn in the halls of King Thranduil but as guests this time with Thranduil himself side-eyeing them constantly.

As the leaves shift from soothing greens to vibrant oranges, they find themselves approaching the grand gates of Erebor, in far less disrepair than Bilbo last saw them. The trek up the hill is a little much for poor Frodo and he’s sat on Bilbo’s hip with his head tucked under Bilbo’s chin. Bilbo privately thanks Yavanna for all the adventuring they’d had to do on the way here or his poor muscles wouldn’t be up to it.

“Frodo, we’re here.” He murmurs to a half-asleep little boy and promptly flings his head back to avoid the near broken noise as Frodo shoots up like he’s been struck by lightning; he’s immediately wiggling to be put down.

“We’re here! We’re here!” Frodo crows delightedly.

“Mister Boggins!” Comes from atop the battlements, Kili leaning over so far that Bilbo worried he would topple over the wall. Fili is right behind him, half exasperated with his brother and holding onto the back of his tunic, the other half thrilled to see him. Bilbo chuckles and waves up to them then takes Frodo’s hand, marvelling as they trudge between the magnificent arch of the gates. Within minutes Fili is down to meet them, lifting Bilbo off his feet with the force of his embrace and Bilbo swears he can hear his ribs creak.

“Oof! Hello Fili, where’s your brother?” Bilbo pats Fili’s shoulders to be put down, all of Frodo’s earlier excitement and bravery gone as he hides behind Bilbo, small hands fisted in the fabric of his coat.

“Gone to tell the rest of them. There’ll be a feast tonight in honour of your return.” Fili gives Bilbo a strong enough pat on the shoulder that his knees nearly buckle.

“It’s good to see you, Bilbo.” Fili loops his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and starts leading him into the mountain, already talking about the repairs and what’s happened in the years Bilbo has been gone.

“Ah Fili, before we go further, I must introduce you to someone.” Bilbo interrupts, stopping him. He gently pulls a shy Frodo from behind him who’s still gripping the edge of Bilbo’s coat like a lifeline.

“This is my son, Frodo Baggins.”

A million and one thoughts shoot through Fili’s head, it would be light speed but unfortunately, while he’s smart, Fili is not the sharpest tool in the shed so it’s more at donkey speed. There’s a good couple of seconds in which Fili just stands there staring at Frodo with his mouth agape. Blue eyes, black hair, oh yeah this is Thorin’s kid. How did that happen? Fili doesn’t know, maybe some strange hobbit magic.

“Fili?” Bilbo asked, mildly concerned.

“Hmm? Oh yes, hello Frodo, I’m Fili, Crown Prince of Erebor.” Is he still Crown Prince? If Thorin has a direct descendant then little Frodo here might be next in line. His musings are broken by said next potential ruler of Erebor clearing his throat and saying in a shaky, quiet voice.

“F-Frodo Baggins, at your service.” Bilbo beams with pride and pats Frodo’s shoulder.

“Good lad.”

Bilbo tries to initiate conversation between himself and Fili on the way up into the mountain but Fili seems to be stuck in his own head. Privately Bilbo thinks this is very strange but it wouldn’t be polite to mention it. Luckily, he’s not as polite as he once was.

“Is everything alright? You’d normally be chatting away to me at speeds where I might suspect you’re trying to talk my ear off. You’re very quiet.”

“Hmm? Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Fili brushes off the concern and that is the end of that.

Fili briefly shows them the markets and they all peek into the throne room where Thorin is sitting in a heavy-looking ornate crown, the weight of responsibility looking heavy on his shoulders. Bilbo can hear a dwarf lord complaining about a dispute over something trivial. Frodo peers around Bilbo’s leg.

“Who’s that Papa?”

“That sweetheart, is King Thorin of Erebor.” Bilbo ruffles Frodo’s curls as Frodo gasps in excitement.

“Mister Thorin from your stories?” Bilbo chuckles at that.

“Yes, that’s Mister Thorin.” Frodo narrows his eyes slightly, Papa 2 is in sight.

Dinner that night is the biggest feast little Frodo has ever seen, even bigger than the Yule Festival Feast in The Great Smials. Papa piles his plate and his own high with lots of different foods. Frodo isn’t quite sure about the rabbit but he really likes the roasted boar. Mister Thorin isn’t there yet but there are plenty of other dwarves to coo over him. In particular, Dori has already taken Frodo’s measurements to make him a little tunic. Frodo stifles a yawn but it’s too late because Papa has already seen.

“I think it’s bedtime for little pebbles.” Bilbo stands and scoops Frodo from his chair.

“No! It’s not bedtime! I’m not tired!” Frodo cries, tears gathering in his eyes as he prepares to gear up for a tantrum. Bilbo frowns, Frodo hasn’t gotten upset like this since Lotho said some very unkind things about Bilbo and Frodo’s parents. He puts Frodo back in his chair and kneels in front of him, soothingly rubbing Frodo’s shoulders.

“What on earth’s the matter Frodo? Why don’t you want to go to bed?”

Frodo sniffles, tears slipping down his cheeks.

“I want to meet Mister Thorin.” Bilbo’s expression softens and he presses a gentle kiss to Frodo’s forehead.

“You may meet him in the morning. Don’t you want to be more awake to meet him and spend more time with him?” Frodo nods and wipes at his eyes.

“Okay, Papa. Can I still have a bedtime story?” Bilbo picks him up and settles him on his hip.

“Of course pebble. Do you wanna say goodnight?”

At that moment, the doors swing open and an exhausted-looking Thorin walks in, dressed in a comfortable tunic and trousers rather than his royal regalia. Frodo gasps and pats Bilbo’s chest excitedly, whispering loudly.

“Papa! It’s Mister Thorin!”

“So it is pebble, want to say hi?” All of a sudden Frodo feels very nervous, what if prospective Papa doesn’t like him? He shakes his head and buries his face in Bilbo’s neck. Bilbo just smiles, fond yet exasperated.

“Hello Thorin, good to see you again. I’ll be back in a bit, just got to put this one to bed.” Thorin just nods, looks dumbstruck, something unreadable passes through his eyes and he just goes to sit at the table, half collapsing into his chair.

Bilbo carries Frodo out and the doors close behind him. As soon as the door clicks the room practically explodes.

“Uncle! You didn’t tell us we had a cousin!”

“Yeah, how could you keep that from us? Is he going to be king next then?” Fili and Kili interrogate, looking a mixture of ecstatic and betrayed.

“Nay lad, hobbits cannae do that. Bilbo obviously got married and had a child.” Dwalin crows across the table.

“But Bilbo said all the ladies in the Shire were just after his small or smial or whatever.” Bofur wisely points out.

“Yeah, they might have strange hobbit magic. Right Ori?” Kili turns to Ori, who for his part shrinks back in his chair.

“I-I think I did read something once about cabbage patch hobbit babies?” Ori stammers, eyes darting around the table.

“See, I told you!” Kili yells victoriously.

“Absurd,” Balin argues. “Bilbo must’ve gotten married, the boy is full hobbit not half dwarf. Honestly cabbage patch hobbits, never heard anything more ridiculous.”

“Aye, but Bilbo would’ve invited us if he’d gotten married wouldn’t he?” Gloin points out. Balin just gives him a flat look.

“He also would’ve brought his wife.” Nori adds, fiddling with his knives.

“Enough!” Thorin thunders and knocks back the goblet of wine in front of him.

“Either way, it appears Master Baggins has moved on with his life. Without us.” The ‘without me’ is unspoken but heard by everyone. His voice is hoarse and his eyes (not very) mysteriously red.

Breakfast is a strangely tense affair, Bilbo picks at his eggs while Frodo doesn’t seem to notice as he shovels down 3 pieces of toast. After Bilbo had returned from putting Frodo to bed last night, Thorin had already gone to bed and the rest engaged him in suspiciously surface-level conversation until Bilbo called it a night as well. Fili and Kili are in deep conversation, whispering in Khudzul and looking between Bilbo, Frodo and Thorin. Balin looks exhausted and mildly pissed off while Thorin looks like Thranduil pissed on his breakfast.

“Morning all.” Bilbo looks up and has to do a double-take as another version of Thorin walks in but something is different. Bilbo gets to his feet to shake the newcomers' hand.

“Good Morning, Bilbo Baggins at your service.”

The new dwarrowdam eyes his hand before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Thank you for looking after my boys, all of them.” She pulls back and holds his shoulders, scanning him up and down.

“Princess Dís, Daughter of Thráin at yours.”

Frodo stands on his chair to get a better look at the new lady. Dís notices him immediately, bending slightly to be on eye level.

“And who are you darling?” Frodo thinks about ducking and hiding under the table but Papa gives him an encouraging look and he puffs out his chest, chin up and sticks his hand out straight (hopefully she ignores the slight tremble to it).

“Frodo Baggins, at your service.”

Dís raises an elegant eyebrow, eyes flicking between Bilbo and Frodo.

“Frodo is my adoptive son,” Bilbo explains, putting his arm around Frodo proudly.

“Adoptive?!” Kili blurts and part of Fili’s breakfast spits across the table, barely missing Nori who immediately throws a forkful of eggs back at him in retribution which rather hits Bifur. Within seconds, there is an all-out food war. Bilbo yoinks Frodo under the table to shield him, Dís ducking down with them.

“How old are you Frodo?” She asked kindly as sauce splatters down the chair behind them.

“I’m 9!” Frodo exclaims excitedly.

“About 5 or 6 in human years,” Bilbo adds, casually pulling Frodo closer as the sound of a fork being stabbed into the table comes just to the right of Frodo’s head.

“I’ve got a mummy and daddy but Papa says they’re with Yavanna now,” Frodo explains solemnly. Dís gives him a tender smile.

“Yes they are sweetheart, I’m sure they think of you every day.”

“You think so?” Frodo asks hopefully, eyes sparkling and a little moist.

“I know it.” Dís squeezes the tiny little hand.

From under the table, they can see legs shuffling around to defensive stances Bilbo recognises from his training with Dwalin; except one. Thorin remains still in his chair, evidently not joining in but not stopping it either. Frodo frowns and navigates his way through booted feet which are still slightly unsettling for him, too heavy and restrictive, no respectable hobbit wears shoes. He pops up between Thorin’s knees.

“Hello, Mister Thorin,” Frodo whispers, tugging on his tunic for good measure. Thorin glances down, looking a little confused. Something flickers in his eyes which Frodo doesn’t recognise but he gathers his courage and soldiers on.

“Papa told me about you in my bedtime stories and he always smiles when he thinks about you and…and…” Frodo blushes and looks away, twisting his shirt in his hands.

“And?” Thorin asks softly before subtly looking around and sliding under the table with Frodo. He might be rather upset that Bilbo doesn’t love him anymore but that is not the fault of this child.

“You can tell me.”

“I need a second Papa.” Frodo blurts out, eyes wide. But he’s started now and there’s no stopping him.

“All the other faunts have a mummy and a daddy but it doesn’t really matter to me because I’ve got a Papa. But I think Papa really likes you and I would quite like 2 Papas. Also, Lotho Sackville-Baggins said his dad could beat up Papa and if I’ve got 2 Papas then his dad definitely can’t win! Please can you kiss Papa and all the yucky stuff so I can have 2 Papas? But I need a new name for you because Mister Thorin is really long and I can’t call you Papa because you’d both be called Papa and that won’t work.” Frodo appears to have developed a speech impediment called needing to breathe.

Thorin sits there, mouth open in shock before he starts laughing. Not the controlled laughter befitting a king but outright guffaws. Bilbo who had heard the entire thing from a few feet away is crimson and once he’s gathered his wits, he scrambles to get over to them.

“Frodo Baggins! I taught you better than that! Where on Yavanna’s green earth are your manners?” He scolds, and Frodo’s eyes immediately fill with tears as he visibly crumples in on himself. Thorin is moving before he thinks about it, scooping Frodo into his arms, cradling the small child to his chest and stroking his hair.

“I’d be honoured to be your Papa but I think I’ve got to ask your Papa first though.”

Bilbo blinks dumbfounded, if he could get any redder, he would have.

“Wha-…”

“Bilbo,” Thorin says in an earnest way, he’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. “Please may I kiss you?”

Frodo looks at Bilbo, absolutely delighted. Bilbo looks between them, unsure for a moment but his heart takes over from his head.

“You may.” The kiss is soft, tender but chaste after all Frodo is right there. Bilbo’s heart feels like it’s going to explode right out of his chest, fireworks going off in his head and his ears ringing. Thorin’s lips are soft and warm against his own and something feels like it just clicks into place; similar to placing the last piece of a puzzle down, where it was always meant to be. When they pull back, Bilbo always knew Thorin’s eyes were beautiful but by the gods, the heavens themselves could not compare to how wonderful they are up close.

“We will discuss a formal courtship later, provided that is what you desire?” Thorin whispers as he pulls back, hot breath moving Bilbo’s curls. Bilbo just nods dumbly, stunned, sheer euphoria coursing through his veins.

Kili pops his head beneath the table.

“So he’s not your son then? You didn’t birth him with hobbit magic?”

Bilbo just gives him a funny look and shakes his head.

“Don’t think I have the facilities for that.”

Kili looks disappointed but sauce is dripping down his face and into his nose so he clearly has bigger things to worry about.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🪷max please!!!

500 for 🪷:

---

Hmm. Interesting. Eddie supposes that is true. He wonders if she’ll have more complicated feelings about it when she has more time to process. She had been a complication in Eddie’s mind, when he started to realize more about himself and where his attraction did and didn’t lie. He supposes, for now, he’ll accept this. It could be far worse.

“Thank you,” he says. 

He’ll be prepared for any hard feelings to come. 

Shannon offers him a tiny, gracious smile. Like she can see how hard this must have been for him. On a day where she must feel like she’s losing her mind, where he knows she’s overwhelmed and upset, he’s not sure where she summoned the empathy from.

“Uh, but to answer your question, no,” Eddie says. “I don’t think Buck will mind. Something weird is happening, and he likes solving mysteries, so…”

“Buck?” Shannon asks. “Your friend? That’s who you married?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, frowning. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” she says. “Yeah, just… Sorry. Surprising.”

“He’s not going to turn you away,” Eddie assures her. “Why don’t you both come back with me? There’s no space for you here, anyway, Shannon.”

“It’s very spacious,” Chris mutters. 

“It won’t scare your daughter?” Shannon asks, eyes flickering over to Chris. 

Eddie shakes his head. “No more than this morning.”

“What does that mean?” Chris asks.

“Josie is the one who found Bobby,” Eddie explains. “She and Buck were on a hike and… She found him.”

Christopher’s expression drops. “Is she okay?”

Eddie nods. “We were all a little freaked out, but she’s fine.”

He thinks, anyway. He hopes.

Shannon sighs. “Okay. I’ll come. Uh, I think it’ll be awkward, but you’re right… There’s a lot to figure out.”

Eddie exhales, relieved. 

“We’ll get through it,” he promises. “We’ll figure it all out.”

The truth is, he doesn’t know. He really doesn’t know that with any degree of certainty. He knows he’ll try, but nothing beyond that. Tomorrow, she and Bobby could be gone. Who’s to say? 

If he’s honest with himself, he just wants them all together. If they’re going to lose Shannon again, Chris can’t be alone with that. He won’t let that happen. 

Whatever happens here, it could be healing for Christopher. Or it could shatter him. And if it’s going to be the latter, then Eddie will be waiting to shield him. 

Buck

By the time Eddie texts Buck to tell him that everything is alright with Chris, that Shannon is in fact alive and seemingly okay, and that he needs to bring her back to the house, things have improved with Bobby. His talk with Athena really lifted his spirits. He’s even spent some time talking to May. He seems less afraid. Less anxious. Obviously, his life is still entirely up in the air and unexplainable, but at least he’ll have his wife again soon. 

[unholykrow-writes]

I don't think I'm ever going to get the energy to write the whole fic out, so here is the main plotline for the Isekai into Deltarune I came up with.

art included

Main Storyline:

MC wakes up in Hometown and must find a way to survive until she can convince sans to help her find a way back home. Sans has trouble believing her until she mentions Dr. Gaster, who he used to work for until he went nuts and disappeared, leading to his LAB being shut down and everyone being laid off. MC shows him what she believes is Gasters bunker but admits she doesn't know for certain, and neither knows how to open it.

Sans eventually asks her to tell him what she knows, and MC proceeds to word vomit anything she thinks might be useful. Afterwards, after Sans mulls over everything he's been told and what he can gather from context, he agrees to try and figure out how to get her back home if she can work the shop while he does. At some point Sans and MC breaks into Gasters bunker and discovers the research he was doing on The Void and The Dark World, and Sans' disappears in his research.

Two weeks of MC running the grocery store and Sans' disappearing in his research goes by and Papyrus gets fed up and demands that she do something about it. Agreeing, she and Papyrus go down to the bunker to pull him out and make him rest. This acts as a catalyst for Sans finally burning out from non-stop research, and he feels guilty about it, and admits as much to MC. MC tells him not to worry about it, that the research isn't going anywhere. He passes out shortly after that, and MC debates on whether or not she wants to tell him how she thinks she arrived to hometown. In the end, she decides not to, not wanting to worry Sans' about what she could be returning to.

The next day, the two hang out in his bedroom while there's a nasty storm raging outside, and Sans' goes over what he has learned so far, and that he thinks he's getting close to figuring out how to send her home, he just needs to start making schematics for a portal, and then goes on a small tangent on Dark Fountains and how he believes he can harness one to create a tunnel through the void to send her back to her home universe. He then goes on to demonstrate how he believes a Dark Fountain just as the power goes out, leading him to accidentally creating a real dark fountain.

The two fall into the Dark World based on his bedroom, which is heavily spaced themed, and very quickly MC is snatched up by the "Boss", Astroleer, who is an astronomy wizard made out of wispy dark matter. He's very excited to have MC, and treats her more like a royal guest than a prisoner, reflecting that Sans' might like her more than he's willing to let on. Sans' needs to make his way through Outer Rim to the center where Astroleer's astronomy tower is located in order to rescue her and leave the dark world. Sans' successfully rescues her from Astroleer's tea party and the two make it back through outer rim to the Light world just as the storm begins to calm down and the power comes back on.

The two become closer after their little adventure and Sans' softens towards MC, and decides to tell her how he feels about her. MC reciprocates but expresses concern about growing closer now that Sans has an idea on how to send her back. He tells her that the machine is going to take a while to build, and there's nothing stopping them from being very good friends with benefits while he's building it. Montage of Sans building the machine broken up by them making out in the bunker, at some point Sans leaves a mating bite at the curve of her neck.

Sans finally finishes the machine, and the two stare at it while it activates. They say goodbye, and MC walks through.

Then the world resets.

And Sans remembers.

Subplots:

Gaster shows up around MC when its really dark and pseudo adopts her

Papyrus works as the mascot at ICE-E'S and absolutely hates it but also loves it at the same time

MC giving Asgore a hard time about his free pickles but makes a sign about free pickle friday's

MC witnessing the Divorce Drama between Asgore and Toriel and downing an entire bucket of popcorn while they argue at the grocery store

Art:

Astroleer, MC ref, Sans' dark world outfit, Sans and MC landing in Outer Rim

Notes:

I had an idea that this was a prequel leading into Dusts' timeline and that they would meet again in the future when the different au's converged. From his POV it would be a slice of life trying to win her heart, from her POV its an anti-harem fic where the other variants don't like her very much because of some BS their human roommate keeps telling them about her, and also Dust likes her so she must be sketchy.

Shenanigans ensue.

[winterhawkkisses]

I am the "what WIP would you finish in a blink if you could" anon and THAT was the WIP I was thinking of when I asked the question! It lives in my head even though I think you only posted the concept, or maybe even a snippet? (This is the one where barely-literate Clint saw something about reading to dogs and didn't realize it was a program for kids, right?)

It is!

I mean, I'm pretty sure that's the only one of any significance I really shared - the Victorian-ish murder mystery one has only been seen by a couple of people, I think.

The dog reading WIP is 15 pages long, and has been 15 pages long since 2023. I love it deeply, and every time I open it I feel claustrophobic because of how far it is from what is in my head, and how far it is from done, and I re-read the half-finished sentence at the end and scowl and close it again.

Possibly I should delete that whole scene and start again from a bit that worked, but it's like there's this superstition in my head that if I remove words they'll never be replaced.

I have yet to find a way to be normal around writing. I'm hoping when I'm not living out of one room I can dedicate some space to it, physically and mentally, and actually look at building a habit that will work to squeeze some words out of me (blood, stone) but right now there are so many steps involved in writing - tidying, switching around laptops, opening different documents and trying to squeeze them on one screen - that by the time I'm ready to go the urge has gone.

Anyway, here's Wonderwall a snippet because it delights me that you still remember this thing:

It was a week of little disasters. 

He spilled his coffee all over himself three mornings in a row, one of the dogs chewed up his Crocs, a fox got into the neighbour's chickens and she called him over to help get rid of the evidence before her kids woke up. Mice dug their way inside one of the bins out back of the shelter and he had to toss a bunch of the food. 

Nothing big, nothing catastrophic, but sure as hell enough to get under his skin; it didn't help that he felt like his head was tugged up by strings every time the door buzzed, always letting in someone who wasn't Clint. 

By Friday he had a nettle-stung temper and a glower to match, perched on a tall stool behind the counter and hunched over the keyboard of the ancient desktop computer like a gargoyle. Steve had promised him Starbucks going on an hour ago, but Bucky was betting he'd got himself caught up talking to Sam, new at the station and apparently something like the second coming. Undercaffeinated, overtired and tortured by goddamn accounts, Bucky was pretty sure he couldn't be held accountable for snarling when the door buzzed open again. 

"...I could come back?" 

Bucky jerked upright, shoving his hair out of his face, and almost fell, grabbing the counter just before the stool tipped off the two legs he'd been balancing it on. Clint was standing in the doorway, blocking out most of the early afternoon sun, silhouetted and somehow still sheepish against the light. 

"Shit," said Bucky. "Hey." 

Clint lifted a hand, half-hearted, and when he edged forward enough for Bucky to actually get a look at his face he was frowning. 

"Is this a bad time?" 

"This is a bad day," Bucky said, and stabbed viciously at the keyboard to get the damned screen to lock. "At the end of a shitty week, and I'm just about ready to run away to the - hey, is the circus hiring?" 

There was a flicker across Clint's expression - a moment of something unpleasant twisting his mouth. 

"You wouldn't like it," was all he said. 

He was dressed much the same as he had been the other day, although the Carson's shirt had been switched out for a threadbare white one with a purple target dead centre. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, and Bucky felt his mouth easing into a smile as he watched him. 

"You wanna meet the dogs?"

There was a chorus of barking as Bucky pushed open the door, and Clint grinned like Bucky was offering him the world on a plate. The back room was large and divided up with chicken wire and picket fences, and it looked a little more like a kindergarten than a dog shelter, chewed plastic toys and playground equipment offering plenty in the way of entertainment. 

"There's a pool outside," Bucky told Clint, who was looking like a kid at a toy store window, looking like he was used to being told that he's not allowed to touch. Bucky leaned over and grabbed Priscilla by the scruff of her neck, her tiny paws scrabbling until he deposited her into Clint's arms. "Plus a whole bunch of tunnels, a jungle gym. We back up onto the woods so volunteers can take them walking, and we're organising a rota for local schools to come in for reading." 

"It's amazing," Clint said, Priscilla closing her eyes in bliss as he scratched behind her ears and under her chin, his big hand dwarfing her but still impossibly gentle. Bucky cleared his throat.