#for good i���d want to take it and stick around just long enough to hear how much they’ll cry about it before i fuck off

[loveinhawkins]

Barely ten minutes into the hike from Skull Rock to Lover’s Lake, Dustin heaves a sigh like he’s the most long suffering person in the world to ever exist. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Henderson, what?”

“I’m bored.”

“God, you’re such a whiner. No, you—you’re like a little kid on a road trip, like, are we there yet?”

Behind them, Max and Lucas snort in almost perfect unison.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Eddie’s lips twitch into the faint semblance of a smile. It’s very quick, blink and you miss it, before he turns sombre again, looking down at the forest floor. Steve can’t blame the guy; he can’t imagine that he has all that much to smile about.

“I just meant,” Dustin says, “that we could use some entertainment.” He jerks his head meaningfully at Eddie—who thankfully still has his head down so he can’t witness this tremendous lack of subtlety—and mouths, You know, a distraction.

“And I’m the entertainment guy,” Steve says flatly.

“Well, we’ve gotta keep you around for some reason,” Lucas pipes up.

Steve turns around, walks backwards so he can point warningly at him. “Thin ice, Sinclair.”

But it’s all for show, and he keeps walking backwards, pretends to trip on a tree root and narrowly avoid a pratfall. Max actually giggles at that, which is a victory in and of itself, but Eddie’s looking down at his feet.

Hmm.

“If I wanted slapstick, I would’ve called Charlie Chaplin,” Dustin says.

“He’s dead,” Max points out.

Dustin quickly draws a hand over his neck, Cut it out. Which—yeah, that’s fair. Don’t want the conversation straying into stuff that’s too close to… everything.

“So you want education instead?” Steve says. “I think I can remember how to identify, like, some trees and shit from—”

“Forget Lover’s Lake,” Dustin says, “I’m walking you straight into a retirement home.”

Steve opens his mouth, ready to play up his outrage, and then he hears a very soft chuckle from the side. Eddie.

Steve catches Dustin’s eye, winks briefly in reassurance. Nice work.

“Oh, sorry, is that not entertaining enough for you?” Steve turns so he’s front facing again, kicking a few stray twigs as he thinks. “Uh… ooh, did I tell you about the affair? At work?”

“Someone’s having an affair at Family Video?” Lucas says, sounding disgusted.

Max cackles. “The scandal! At a family establishment, no less.”

Dustin points at her. “See, this is why you should play D&D!” he says, annoyingly sing-song. “You’ve got a flair for words.”

“How about I stick my flair right up your—”

“Uh, okay,” Eddie interrupts suddenly. “I need details.”

Aha, Steve thinks, smug. Got you.

“Fire away, Munson.”

“Did someone, like, confess to you while you were ringing them up?”

Steve scoffs. “No, it was—” He cups his mouth, calls, “Hey, Rob?”

Up ahead, Robin and Nancy turn.

“What?”

“The affair shift.”

“Oh!” Robin whacks Nancy on the arm in her enthusiasm. “This is such a good one. Okay, so am I gonna be her or—?”

“No!” Steve says. “You’ve gotta be me, you can’t do her voice right.”

“Ugh, fine, fine. Wait, I need to get into character.”

Robin makes a show of ruffling her hair, and Steve doesn’t even roll his eyes, can only grin as he hears Eddie cough a much stronger laugh into his elbow.

“Nance, count us in,” Robin says.

Nancy looks a mixture of surprised and amused. It only takes a moment of hesitance before she mimes holding a slate, mouths counting down. “Action!”

And they’re off.

It’s probably so stupid, Steve thinks, to be this loud right now, but he can’t bring himself to care—not when he can hear raucous laughter from all directions: Robin captures his flustered, wide-eyed look, while he dramatically re-enacts a woman storming into the store, demanding to see her husband’s account.

And he thinks Eddie actually laughs the loudest when he gets to the reveal: that said account was full of romantic movies the married couple had never seen together.

“Not one,” Steve echoes—and not to brag, but with this delivery? Juilliard, eat your heart out. “Not. One!”

The kids dissolve into more giggles; Robin fights to stay in character as Nancy jokingly calls, “And, scene!”

And Eddie throws back his head, and laughs and laughs.

Happiness is a good look on him, Steve thinks.

They all quieten eventually, but a lightness in mood still remains, as the kids huddle off together—“Hey, shitheads, not too far!” Steve says, far from the first time—and Eddie sidles up, fleetingly knocks their shoulders together.

“Steve Harrington. Who would’ve thought it, huh?”

“Thought what?”

Steve glances over at him, suddenly struck by the fact that the sun will go down soon; and he doesn’t really need to know what Mordor is to know that he’d rather not get there. That he’d rather freeze time, so they could all just walk in the woods forever.

Eddie shrugs. “You’re a good storyteller.” His eyes are soft, like that isn’t all that he’s saying. Like he’s saying Thank you.

Steve shrugs back. “I’m a man of many talents,” he says.

Eddie chuckles, and this time his smile doesn’t fade away.

Steve allows himself a moment or two to admire the scenery, and if that means looking less at the way the sun still shines through the gaps in the branches, and more the way that it illuminates Eddie’s lingering smile, well…

Well, so what?

Right now, we’re happy, Steve finds himself thinking.

They can stay in the Shire for a little while longer.

[risuola]

Please hear me out!

i’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I wanted to write it myself but I can’t write for shit 😭 Here’s my idea, reader (she/her) is close friends with Satoru and Suguru. She takes Suguru’s place instead, and Suguru ends up not going insane, and decides to stick around in Jujutsu High. But because the reader takes his place in this story, she spirals and abandons the idea of being morally good. (She’s a sensitive softie at heart 🥹 the cruel reality of being a sorcerer really took a toll on her). She commits so many crimes that the higher ups urge the strongest duo to finally execute her after dismissing her for nearly a decade. She dies in their hands, and doesn’t get a proper burial. Kenjaku takes her body and uses it as vessel. When Shibuya arc finally unfolds, she shows up right in front of Satoru and Suguru, alive and well. Soon reveals that it’s Kenjaku who has full control of her body. Of course their guilts eats them alive, and the reader (more like kenjaku) rubs salt on their wounds by taunting them about how she’s a great vessel and also a waste that she had to die so soon.

LOST CAUSE — F. READER x GOJO SATORU + GETO SUGURU, but there’s no romance whatsoever, guest appearance of Kenjaku

cw: an au where SatoSugu have another close friend; spoilers for Hidden Inventory/Premature Death arc and the very beginning of Shibuya arc, so much angst and the usual that comes with JJK – blood, hurt, tears and depression : D also, possibly inaccurate references to the original plot, reader's death — 5,5k words

a/n: I’m hearing you out dear! Thank you for the conception, it certainly fulfilled my need to write long and angsty <3

It was stupid. All of it was stupid. Why? Which decisions led you to where you now stood, all of your mind and body filled with devastation as you stilled in time – above the piles of little corpses, disfigured and permanently contorted in a grimace of dread and suffering. A stench of blood and burned bodies irritated your nostrils, your eyes were teary from all the smoke that still was filling the air and as you looked down at your hands, they were covered in blood and purple goo. Sticky. Repulsive. And the screams. In the dead silence of your surroundings, your head was still filled with an echo of those, who were now dead at your feet. Those, who you were unable to save. The imagery of them running, begging, dying carved itself into your mind. Why were you here, again?

* * *

“Hey, y/n, you’ve lost some weight. Are you alright?”, Satoru asked, playing with pencil that just a moment ago he asked you to throw at him. A showcase of his new skills, the techniques he’s been perfecting for the last year after encountering Toji Fushiguro. You forced a smile, squinting from the blinding sun of the summer at its peak.

“Yeah, sure,” you replied, patting Suguru’s shoulder, because his attentive eyes were scanning you already for any sign of disorder; you could hear his analytic brain cranking up, his golden pupils drilling holes in your head. “I’m good, it’s just too hot you know?”

“Wanna go grab some ice cream later?”

“Always.” No, you didn’t wanna go grab ice cream with them. You didn’t wanna grab anything with anyone for that matter and already you had come up with some half-baked excuse to sell later to your two best friends.

You, Shoko, Gojo and Geto were all in the same year in Jujutsu high. You joined them a little late, but quickly found yourself inside the love triangle with the two boys. You called it love, but it truly was nothing more than just a bonding friendship that you wished will last forever; a really close one and you couldn’t imagine your world without their chaos. They were like brothers to you, the ones you’ve never had and Ieiri was like a sister, but she was smart enough to keep her distance from the mess of SatoSugu. You were not as bright in that matter, but for two years, you couldn’t appreciate enough the yin and yang that they created, the casual bickers and deep talks late at night, the cuddles and pinches, the pats and smacks, the tears and laughs, sleepovers, sleepless nights and everything between. You loved them, you couldn’t think of your future without them.

That’s until not that long ago. Few months, maybe. You felt like you’ve been spiraling slowly into something that could only be named depression, because if not that, then what else? Why would you randomly tear up nowadays, zoning out completely in the midst of sentences. Why would you spend nights, blankly staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping, isolating yourself from your friends more and more? And why would you still hear that? The screams, the pleads of hysteric, the soul-tearing sounds of pain and frighten that you’ve been carrying inside your brain since that one mission.

Everything went wrong then, and you were alone. Shoko stayed at the campus, working her way towards becoming a doctor and you, Satoru and Suguru were assigned only to solo missions since the plasma vessel failure. You were strong, it was stated that your year was exceptional, that all of you have a chance to become special grades soon, but you hated that. Being strong came with a burden that you were not ready to take, and when you realized that, most of it was already heaving on your shoulders.

When you got to that school, it was already too late and it wasn’t your fault. You rushed there as soon as you were assigned with the job, but when you dropped the curtain and looked at the building, there was already smoke coming from the window holes, that some time earlier had glass in them. And when you kicked your way inside the little indoor sports arena, the view struck you in ways you couldn’t possibly prepare yourself for and certainly, you couldn’t process it as well. The school was primary, those people were just kids, but the curses pay no mind to age of their victims. This one was particularly playful – or rather, eagerly violent – spreading hellfire around, burning these children alive one by one, causing chaos, suffering and bloodshed. When you finished exorcising it, it was over. For the curse, for your job and for the lives of all of those children. None survived. Not even one.

Not always we can save everyone, Suguru always told you, rationalizing the sacrifices sorcerers have to make and you tried to repeat that in your head when you got out. You tried to play it over the screams, but eventually, the soft tone of your friend’s voice got lost in the catastrophic cacophony of sorrow, sizzling skin and burning death. And that, maybe wouldn’t be enough for you to lose your mind. Maybe you could recover from that, but soon after the incident you witnessed the group of people that stood behind the assault. A band of grown humans, men and women, who were convinced some of those children were possessed by devils or some other shit, so in all hypocrisy known to race, they hired a curse user to fight fire with fire. Quite literally. Those people were so blinded by their fear of unknown that they sacrificed lives of dozens of little children, they shattered so many innocent lives only because they believed in something absurd. And then, they tried to push the blame on you, on sorcerers despite the fact they hired one to do the dirty job. And then, they killed the user, fearing him too. When you’ve got to see the body of a sorcerer that you’ve never got to meet, or at least you thought so, you realized that probably, you wouldn’t recognize him anyway. You’ve seen corpses barely reminiscing of humans, twisted and broken as curses often chose the most petrifying, violent ways of killing, but this? This was something you’ve never seen before – a cruel, ruthless exhibition of pure hate, evidence of deliberate torture, the picture painted in stabs, burns and bruises. All of which, caused by people, who frankly, showed no remorse nor regret as their faces were painted in pride, origin of which you failed to notice.

Those humans. Used jujutsu to commit mass murder only to blame it on your people and kill them. Animals. No. Worse. Much worse.

“Y/n, please, let’s talk it through,” Suguru tried to reason, as you stood up against the two of your friends, in the middle of Shibuya’s scramble crossing. People were passing next to the three of you, unbothered by the way your worlds were colliding right here, in the busiest part of Tokyo. People didn’t care of others, they wouldn’t react if someone next to them would get stabbed to death, only caring about their own shoes to not get them stained in the dirt of blood.

“Don’t be stupid, it’s not who you are,” Satoru raised his tone, but all you felt was nothing. The emotions you’ve seen on his face were real, you knew it. Satoru wears his heart on his shoulder, he pours everything he feels into the words he aims at people that are close to his soul, and you were no exception, but at this moment, you felt nothing. “I know you couldn’t do that.”

“Couldn’t I?”, you asked, thinking back on the last Friday, during which you executed those same people that used jujutsu sorcerers to wipe the floors of that primary school. To wipe the blood and burned bodies. You remember how they knelt before you, how the women cried begging for their lives, yelping that they have children, families and yet, those same children and families were nowhere in their mind when they ordered a mass murder in the primary school. “And why would that be exactly? Because you two think so?”

“Y/n, I get it,” Geto stepped forward, but stopped as you glanced at him. “I really do. You know me, we talked about it. It was hard for me too after Riko, I know what you’re going through.”

“I know Suguru.”

“I thought you keep his side, y/n,” Gojo threw his hands in the air, helplessly trying to find the words to dress his mind with. “I thought you believe in doing good with your powers. That people won’t understand so we shouldn’t look at them and just do what we do. Wasn’t that what you’ve told me?”

“I did, yes,” you gave it a nod and exhaled. “But it changed. Yes, they won’t understand. Anything that they can’t comprehend is pure evil for them and yet they believe in such absurd like gods. They will use us to do their dirty works and then blame us for it, because they cannot understand a single thing. And then, they will kill us, one by one and we, the strongest, cannot do nothing about it. We’ll have to go through life through the corpses of our friends. People don’t deserve what we do for them.”

“Y/n, please, let’s talk about it. Let’s get back to school-“ Geto tried, but you cut him off.

“You two, get back to school. I know I have a sentence already, there’s no point for me to get back there only to get executed. And frankly, I don’t want to get back there, to take part in what they teach us is right when we die for those people. We give our lives for them and they have no idea,” you said, taking a step back. You could tell the lights will soon switch. “Look around, Satoru, Suguru. They crawl around us unaware of our sacrifice and yet, even if they are so fragile a single blow can kill them, they think we deserve to be killed. I’m not gonna take part in this anymore. I’m sorry.”

“We can’t let you go, you know that, we-“

“Then attack me. I’m sure any of you can take me down. I’d rather die by your hands, than on a job of protecting them.”

You turned your back on them, and Satoru raised his hand, pointing at your silhouette, blue already on his mind as his cursed energy gathered in front of his fingers. Suguru’s curses sprawled out of their dimension, but none of them pursued with the attack, unable to do that. They couldn’t kill you. You were too dear to them. They loved you too much to take your life like this. So they let you go, and soon enough, they lost the sight of you in the crowd.

* * *

Nine years. It's been almost a decade and many things changed. You changed your ways completely, making a point of protecting sorcerers from people, even if that meant killing them, but care for humans was something you’ve lost many years ago, having it slowly replaced by disgust. Your once soft heart turned hard and dark and all the good in you vanished as you time after time solidified your beliefs that humans are simply not worth saving, therefore there was no need to keep them alive the moment they became useless. Over those years, you used those people to your benefit, raising money and gathering intel and then, the second their use to you has become nonexistent, so were them. Blood burned permanent stains on your hands but screams of hurt didn’t phase you at all. Have you become a monster? You might have. But for the lives of sorcerers, it was worth it.

It’s been almost a decade since you’ve been dismissed from jujutsu community for crimes, that over those years piled up rapidly and during this time, both Satoru and Suguru tried to stay out of this, whilst Yaga turned a blind eye to the corrupted path one of his students went down by. The now principal felt responsible for not doing enough, for not saying enough, for not noticing soon enough and though the rest of his students, now teachers in Jujutsu high told him that some things were inevitable, it wasn’t that easy to switch off the thinking. Same went for both the strongest, but for years, they waited in hopes for something to change.

That was until you killed someone seemingly important. A politician of sorts, high government pawn that you learned was funding a unit of so-called sorcerer killers, ones that modelled after Toji Fushiguro in cold blood were meant to take down a menace that jujutsu users were, as if it was them who were the ones to fear. Opposite to little no-one’s deaths, this one was loud, this one was medial and this one, Yaga couldn’t let slip. So, an order was given.

Kill on sight.

Almost ten years, and yet Satoru still couldn’t believe what happened. Whilst young, the three of you were almost inseparable and you, out of the whole group, were the most sensitive person he knew. You were soft and full of smiles, kind above all else and yet, you were strong enough to hold back the tears he knew were threatening to roll down your cheeks on many occasions. You were soothing, an oasis that was easily able to turn any darkness into light, and what Satoru couldn’t forgive himself was that once that same darkness started devouring you, he didn’t notice. Too focused on his own missions, on lighthearted shenanigans, on perfecting his usage of limitless and six eyes, he had no idea about your state of mind and when he realized, you have already been sentenced. Suguru didn’t notice either. Or maybe didn’t want to notice, because you talked through many nights about the doubts you both had. He knew about the utter devastation that was slowly consuming your soul but hoped you’ll overcome it, because you always were a sunshine, and a sunshine couldn’t die down to shadows. Turned out, this shadow was pitch black and no light made its way through it.

“Y/n,” they called you and the beautiful music that their voices created brought back memories of your youth. Ten years, almost, had passed since you’ve seen your best friends the last time, and with curiosity sparkling through your system, you turned to face them.

“Satoru, Suguru,” addressing them, your lips curved up slightly in a manner of soft joy. Your heart fluttered at the sight; your pulse raised just as it would for person who’s just seen the love of their life. “Long time no see.”

“It’s not as pleasurable as we would like it to be, y/n,” Suguru sighed and you took a moment to absorb the view.

Both of them changed. Suguru, still tall and broad, seemingly even buffier than he was before stood there with his hair now longer and partially knotted and partially left loose on his back. His facial features sharpened, jaw got more edge to it, eyes turned more narrow and focused, but still, some softness remained from what you remembered and probably he would seem even more familiar if not for the tough expression he had going on. Satoru, right next to him, became even taller. His white hair was now pointing up, kept by a white wrap that completely covered his eyes – something that he probably adapted during the time of usage of his six eyes. Not much of his face you could see, but with ease you noticed his features matured. Both were dressed in uniforms that you could only tie to their unbreakable bond with Jujutsu high.

“You’re now teachers, the two of you, huh?”, you asked, smiling softly, but keeping their moves in mind. “I’ve heard this year’s students are exceptional, now it makes sense. Good they have such amazing senseis.”

“You could have been one of the teachers too,” Gojo snapped.

“How could I teach anyone something I don’t believe in?” a chuckle rumbled deep in your chest as you thought of the image. Abstraction of it made you amused. “How’s Shoko? Is she a doctor now?

“She is,” Geto muttered, unsure why is he answering your questions. “Yaga is the principal.”

“Oh, is he? Look at him, climbing up that ladder,” you laughed, “so, it’s on his orders that you two are here?”

“You killed a fucking politician, y/n,” Satoru spoke, sounding calm but you could tell his blood was boiling. Both of his hands hidden in his pockets were visibly clenched in fists and even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew his brows were furrowed. “Almost a decade we allowed you to do whatever you tried to do, but this time, higher ups stepped in. The sentence is decided, we cannot let you pursue your goals further.”

“And why are you both here? I’m sure just one amazing special grade would be enough,” there was a certain amount of poison in your words, though it wasn’t directed at your friends and both of them knew it. “Are the higher ups so desperate to get me off the board because it’s them who give green lights to those assholes that kill us? Did you know that that pathetic politician I’ve killed was in midst of creating an army of little Toji Fushiguros? How do you think he even knew about the dude, huh?”

“An army of Toji?”

“Yeah, remember that guy, that cut both of you into slices? Yea, that one. And who’s giving away the cursed tools to said army? Well, it’s not me and I assume not any of you as well.”

 “Y/n,” Suguru made his way to the side in what seemed like an attempt on surrounding you, because in that same moment, Satoru began shifting to the other side. “I agree with you. People don’t deserve what we do. But no one else can do it. You’re killing those whom we swore to protect.”

“Tell me, Suguru… how many bodies of our friends did Shoko cut open?” you asked and the question made the dark-haired man tsk. It was the truth that hurt the most, he hated how precisely it hit the spot. “How many of our allies were spread across her metal table after Haibara was there? Well, half of Haibara?”

“That’s not the point,” Satoru scoffed and with an exhale, he raised his hand up to loosen up the bandages around his eyes. “We die just as people die. Sorcerers are not above death. You know that, right?”

“We’re not above that, but we are above people and we risk our lives, which we just like them have only one of, for them. And they fuckingstep on it. If I have to pick who’s gonna die from a curse, why would I pick a sorcerer, when a loss of a mere human will be much less tangible than the loss of one of us?”

“Because they cannot protect themselves from curses, and we can.” Geto replied and in a whiff, you felt the appearance of his curses around him. Both him and Gojo were getting ready for a fight, so you had to get ready as well.

“But can we really protect ourselves from them?”, you glared back at him; your tone calm but laced with icicles that pierced through Suguru’s mind as he struggled to see you inside of you.

All of the softness he had always equated you with dissolved into something he couldn’t quite place. Image of you killing someone just for the sake of killing somehow couldn’t materialize inside his mind and it pained him, breaking his heart to think that he will be the reason of your death. And it’s true that probably, just one of them would be enough for that fight, but there was no way they would be able to chose and no one else could do it. You were the strongest, you grew into a special grade quickly after leaving and your technique proved to have no flaws or holes. You were a threat above abilities of others, stepping down only to the two of your friends, if not being equal to them.

“Let’s do it quickly, Suguru,” Satoru sighed, tucking his wraps into one of his pockets.

“Oh, where’s your playful attitude, Satoru?”, you teased, but somehow it hurt you as well. It was your friend you were talking to. Both of them, that came here to kill you and only way for you to get out of it was to kill them.

And killing them, turned out, you couldn’t do. Even hurting them came with difficulty not physically, but mentally. But you fought them both at the same time, keeping a defensive stance, searching for an opening to vanish. From them, you wished to run away, to not make them take the burden of your death because you could see it in their eyes, you were just as dear to them still, as they were to you. But they left you no opening to run away, so you fought. Using everything you’ve got to immobilize them, because instead of taking their lives, that would give you more time.

The way you stood against them, with your cursed technique of energy manipulation, it gave them the hardest time since Toji, and considering they were both taking part in the fight now, ten years after and significantly stronger, just showed how much work you’ve put into your own development. And with pride you noticed, how strong both of your friends became as well. You countered all of their attacks, slashed away the curses and blocked the blues and reds, albeit it really was a matter of time and you knew that. And so, you pushed through, materializing in your hands weapons made from pure, solidified cursed energy, using swords and needles and creating armor around your body that effectively, shielded you from any attack. Your weapon was different from cursed tools. It was made only from energy, strong and unbendable, changing shapes and forms as you deemed it necessary, allowing you to use it in close combat and on long distances. Any curses Suguru summoned stood no chance against what you wielded, but the sheer amount of them was just short of overwhelming you. On top of that, Satoru’s constant offensive, his fists saturated in limitless abilities, the sheer strength of both bodies that were attacking you, slowly rendered you weaker. And it didn’t surprise you.

The end has come when one of the curses stopped you mid-way, engaging in a fight that distracted you enough for a hollow purple to reach your body. The blast threw you away as your body pierced through three buildings straight, through thick concrete bocks and hard steel reinforcements like it was tearing through wet paper and it’s only thanks to the full body coverage of your cursed technique, that it didn’t kill you on the spot. But it hurt. All of your body felt broken once you finally stopped, back pressed against the wall that still cracked underneath the impact of your frame hitting it. Blood covered your vision and a cough shook your body with painful wave overtaking your entire nervous system.

“So that’s the infamous hollow purple, huh?”, you muttered, leaning your head back against the cold solid behind you. There wasn’t much in your body that wouldn’t be fractured at least, you could tell without a mistake that your heart was still beating only because of the cursed energy that still circled throughout your frame.

Both men appeared in front of you, jumping from above – Suguru coming from one of his flying curses and Satoru, probably just teleported here.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” Gojo whispered, squatting in front of you and Geto followed his motion to level his vision with yours.

“’ts alright, ‘toru,” you muttered, feeling the dizziness taking the best of you. After the hit you took, you were certain not even a genius like Shoko could save you. “Sugu… both so strong.”

Exchanging a quick glance, both sorcerers sat down, on your sides, paying no mind to the puddle of blood underneath you. They took your hands, so small in comparison to theirs, now red and wounded severely, but the pain you couldn’t feel much of anymore.

“I’m sorry I didn’t take this mission for you. Back in our days. It was meant to be mine, but I was training,” Satoru confessed, squeezing lightly the fractured bones in your palm, reminiscing of the day that was the beginning of your end. The elementary. That day engraved itself in his memory as one of many days that seemingly mattered nothing. Yaga told him about the issue, the curse and fire in school for the youngest, but he brushed it off, focusing all of his mind on perfecting the last touches of his technique. He still remembers how sensei was mumbling profanities, but couldn’t care less because he was that close from teleporting.

“’ts okay, ‘toru.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there either,” Suguru added, his voice barely a whisper as you leaned your head against his shoulder, desperate to ease the heaviness. What Geto remembered from the day in question was that he had an issue with his own technique. Little difficulty, as he was absorbing one of the special grade curses he just caught. It wasn’t severe, it wasn’t even that important, he could have fix this on another time and take the god damn mission, but instead, he declined. “I thought if I don’t take the job, Satoru will, but turned out, it got to you.”

“Sugu, ‘ts ok.”

“Remember how we used to sneak out the dorms to get ice cream in the middle of the night?”, Satoru changed the topic completely – a defensive mechanism to lighten up the mood, to prevent him from crying. And you hummed in response, lowering your heavy lids.

“And how Satoru got drunk after three sips of a beer? That’s when we all knew he’s the lightest head in the history,” Suguru added and faded images of how Gojo discovered that he cannot drink to save his life rushed to the front of your mind.

You had no idea how long it took, was it few minutes or merely few seconds, but you listened to both men rambling above your head, reminiscing of your school days and everything that you did together. Of every prank you witnessed that they took on poor first years, of every little mischief and menace they performed, following Satoru’s lead, because it’s always him who stood tall in the name of chaos. You were humming softer and softer, quieter and quieter.

Until you were not.

“And then we put those cupcakes in Nanami’s bed and-“

“Satoru,” Geto cut him softly, looking down at your stilled frame. At your frozen chest and softened features, sensing no more heartbeat. And Gojo turned his eyes towards you as well, taking in the last picture of you, who he loved as his little sister, even though there was no age gap between you and him. And then they both cried in silence, spending another hour with your dead body before gathering you and taking home.

* * *

October 31, 2018

21:18

Only word that could describe what was happening in Shibuya at this moment would be chaos. Pure disorder, people frightened and running, some unconscious on the ground and some other hiding from what was happening in the Shibuya station. Most of them couldn’t see it but felt the terror, saw the blood, smelled the death in the middle of which, two men were standing.

Both Satoru and Suguru, when they came down here to fight whatever the hell was attacking people, couldn’t move; their heads void of any logical thoughts as memories rushed to the fronts of their minds. Stunned to the core and frozen, they looked into the eyes of the person in front of them, distrusting their own vision. The person that wore the familiar look of you, the energy of you and what seemed like – the same cursed technique, and voice, and face, and hair, and everything. Not one thing betrayed trickery or deception as there you stood, facing them both with a smile on your face – one of those soft ones that had melted their hearts on the spot a decade before. Your features relaxed, genuine, borderline joyous as you breathed the air around them once again.

“What…?”, Suguru snapped first, forcing his own body to move and smacking his friend’s shoulder. “How?”

“Who the hell are you…?”, Satoru whispered, voice stuck in his throat as all of the information that his senses were receiving contradicted with what his soul was telling him.

“Aah? It’s been few months, but do you not recognize me anymore?”, your voice flew through your mouth, the very same gentle and bright tone they used to fall asleep to. “It’s hurting my feelings.”

“Cut it,” Gojo snapped, now putting more pressure on his vocal cords, a groan escaping his throat in effect. “Cut the bullshit, you’re not her. You cannot be her. Y/n is-“

“Dead? Yeah, that purple really messed me up,” you chuckled, shrugging your shoulders slightly and stepping forward. “I have to admit, restoring the body wasn’t the easiest of all.”

“Reveal yourself,” Geto took the defensive stance, ready to pursue with attack if needed and his curses floating behind him on standby. “You’re not fooling us.”

“Ah, how stubborn,” another laugh brightened your face, only now more menacing, more teasing as your dainty fingers reached up to gather the lose hair out of your forehead, revealing a line of thin stitches across your skin there. “See, you really did me a favor by burying her body oh-so traditionally. Isn’t that the procedure to burn every deceased sorcerer?” your mouth was moving, spilling the words interlaced with taunt as the, what looked like, thread was pulled out of the horizontal line above your eyebrows and soon after, grabbed by the hair, the top of your head was lifted, revealing the terrifying image of a brain. With mouth of its own.

“What did you do to her?!”

“Oh, I just took what you two threw away,” you replied, slowly putting the upper skull part down on its place, matching the lines as the thread went through the holes by itself, securing the head together. “And I have to thank you for your little sentiment. If not for that, I wouldn’t have my perfect vessel. Ah, but it’s sad, isn’t it? Such a young, pretty girl had to die so early, and more so, killed by her own best friends. What a waste to jujutsu community, don’t you think?”

Both the boys stood there in shock, guilt eating them alive as the salt and acid was being rubbed into the wounds that just opened. The scabs of the past were ripped away, revealing the gushing pain and Satoru growled in anger, realizing that once again, he might have been responsible for what happened to you. This time, Suguru kept up with him in terms of fury, feeling his own blood boiling in his veins, unable to watch your body being possessed like this, used like a toy.

“Y/n, I know you’re there-“ Gojo called, but got stopped quickly by another pilfering laugh.

“Oh, but she’s not. Her soul is long gone and dead. You made sure to have her soul dead, and you have to know I nearly teared up reviewing her memories when I took the body. Such a poignant story, oh, so heartbreaking.” The teasing had no end as more and more poisonous venom spilled through your mouth, contradicting the carefree and joyful tone of your voice.

“What makes you believe that even if you take her body, you can win here? We’ve defeated her already,” Suguru narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, you’ve won but that’s because she let you two won. Wasn’t that surprising how easily you finished her? A special grade? How she didn’t even try to dodge the hollow purple, like the little curse that she was fighting with was really that much of a struggle? Oh, don’t be silly, you two. It wouldn’t be that easy if she tried.”

“We won’t let you-“

“You must understand your situation. What you’re standing in is a special grade cursed object. A prison realm, and to say it simply, you’ve already lost,” you pointed at the floor, from where the four corners of a cube stretched into a mass of flesh, with an eye – giant and bleeding, staring at its target, as the next stage of sealing began before either of sorcerers reacted. “And what’s more interesting, the prison realm can seal only one person at the time, but with the incredible technique of my current host, I was able to fuel its capacity to two occupants, by manipulating the cursed energy it used. Marvelous!”

The cursed object began enveloping both men, rendering them helpless and immobile, as their cursed energy became unavailable for their use.

“We’ll save you, y/n, you hear me?”, Satoru yelled in unison with his friend and the lone tear rolled down your face, before your hand reached up wiping it in amusement.

“Gate close.”

[laviechuchu]

Omfgffggff I js found u through the nerd guy fic and I'm obsessed!!!

Ik we are all not so sane here so,,,

If I can request a silly rebellious reader and stepdad punishing the reader for hanging out with good for nothing guy friends with skimpy outfits

:3 Thanks!!! ( You don't need to do ... this is straight up crazy ik lol )

Author’s note: AHH HELLOOO IM SO HAPPY!!! AND OFC SORRY FOR MAKING YOU WAIT!

Content below: use of y/n, AFAB reader, brat taming, punishment, use of nicknames such as babygirl, pet, cheating?, stepcest, minor writing smut, bratty reader, cigars, reader is 18+, dubcon.

Proceed to read..

“Ugh i told you, pick me up tomorrow. My stepdad is coming and i wanna act long enough so i can take some money from him. Then you and cain and me can have some fun! You bring the alcohol!” You giggle as you lay down in your very pink and girly room. The teddy bear your stepfather gave you for your birthday just slumping onto your pillows

You giggle as your best friend starts to ramble about how fun tomorrow will be and starts to ask the real questions “your stepdad is hot! Not gonna lie, i mean! Hes a silver fox!” She squeals as you gag “yuck no! Live with him for a day and you’ll see how controlling and bossy he is” you mumble.

The laptop was still on video call as you roll around on your bed. You sigh as suddenly you hear a doorbell “shit! Be right back!” You yell and slam your laptop closed.

Your feet scramble to the door and open the wood separating you and your money machine.

“Daddy! Welcome home” you giggle and hug him. Ugh disgusting…he smells like his cologne and smoke. He looks at you with disinterest and lets out a low hum. His eyes looking at your perked nipples from your lack of bra.

“Have you been studying? As i told you? I gave you two weeks” he says, pulling away from the hug. What the fuck? Does he have a stick up his ass or something?

Oh yeah about that “ah… yup!” You say with a lopsided grin, batting your eyelashes at the older man. He seems to see right through you but you dont really care, all you need is a few hours and his money and then you can meet your friends-

“Yeah? Ill be testing you tonight.” He says bluntly and starts to head to the kitchen to get dinner for himself.

“Well… im heading out cain and nicole” you say, a little more happily then you mean to. He takes out a cigar and looks at you dead in the eyes. “No.” He states bluntly “wearing a skirt that short? Thigh highs? And what is this..” he comes closer to you your chest almost just almost reaching his. He pinches at your left nipple “a flimsy piece of cloth, that you little ones call a top.”

You yelp and cover your chest “why the hell were you looking?”

“Im your father, and you are not going out like that, with your so called boyfriend who only wants you for your body” he states. Grabbing the back of your top like a cat would.

He goes to his office and throws you on the chair and locks the door

“Question one, look at the fucking paper. A, B, C or D?” He loosens his tie and undoes his pants. Sitting you on his lap “the faster you finish the faster ill let you go” he says putting his cigar down.

“Fuck! I dont know? B?” You say, you feel something warm against your cunt. You unconsciously grind on the feeling “bad girl” he says as he pulls your panties aside and shoves the tip inside. You feel the slight burn and you tear up. Sick motherfucker is gonna rape you?

He grabs your waist and shoves everything inside in one go. No lube no nothing. Just raw fucking cock.

You yell and cry “fuck you! You sick piece of shit” you attempt to get off his lap when he pushes you on your chest. His heavy balls against your clit.

“Its okay babygirl.. you dont need to use your smooth brain anymore” he whispers in your ear. Slowly moving in and out of you “you can be my personal pet from now on” his fingers gently rubbing circles on your clit. You moan gently, your eyes tearing up at the smell of your stepdad the one you used to love but now.. you’re not sure anymore

“Daddy…d-daddy” you mumble dumbly, his cock slipping in and out of you. Your feet barely touch the floor “im sorry baby, this is your punishment” he says before his pace becomes faster and faster. You squeal and try to hold on to him. Your pussy squelches and pulses. Your ass connecting to his hips.

“D-daddy!” You cry. The swirls on your clit becoming faster yet precise “becoming a dumb little girl already? Poor thing… must have been so pent up” he coos, your brain is turning into mush as your legs shake from the pounding. Your cunny fluttering around him, be groans “ah fuck…”

His hand that was once on your clit, now on your nipple. Tweaking them just painful enough for you to keep your sanity in check. “Need a new piercing on your nipples now. Maybe my initials?” He teases.

“I-im gonna cum” you manage to mumble out. The wet skin slapping is making your brain fuzzy “daddy.. i need your cum” you say your tongue lolling out, awaiting his tongue.

He smirks at your now dumb form and gives a few more thrusts but pulls out at the last second.

“Maybe after you get the questions right” he says his gentle smile making you feel warmer.

(SORRY THIS IS BAD ILL WORK ON IT BETTER SOON ENOUGH, I WAS MEANT TO PUT THIS IS DRAFTS BUT ACCIDENTALLY POSTED IT)

[goingmerryfics]

hello there :D i just saw the requests and could I request Eustass Kid and Killer for mute s/o?

Mute/Selectively Mute S/O w/ Kid & Killer

Content: Gender neutral reader, SFW content

Notes* Thanks for your request! I wanted to make this inclusive for both ends- those who know sign language due to their muteness and those who don’t and may just be selectively mute due to anxiety or otherwise. These two are some really interesting characters for this prompt, so I’m really happy to write it and I hope you enjoy it!

Kid

When you and Kid first met, he hated how you never answered anyone ‘properly’

He didn’t pay very close attention to you because you weren’t a bother, nor were you someone very spectacular in his eyes

You stayed out of his way, you did your tasks, and you kicked ass

He’d watch you interact with others and felt it was very one-sided. 

People would ask you questions and you’d simply answer with a nod, a shake of your head, a shrug, or a note on a piece of paper

Or if you know sign, you would speak to Killer this way and he would translate

He didn’t understand why you wouldn’t just speak 

Until Killer explained how you couldn’t

Kid’s immediate thoughts were that you just needed to get over being so ‘scared’ of everyone. If you were going to be a pirate, especially one on his crew, you couldn’t be a little coward

For someone who has anxiety, he really knows nothing about it

But for someone who literally could not speak because of an accident or just birth circumstances, he’d understand that way quicker

Either way, he’d avoid speaking to you, thinking that if he did it would only anger him to not be able to talk to you in the traditional sense. But then he started sitting in on conversations that included you, and he softened

You were so… Sweet. You were kind to everyone and, not surprisingly, a good listener

Then he actually started talking to you

He would keep all the little slips of paper that you wrote him when a yes or no wasn’t a sufficient answer

Flipping through them behind the closed door of his room, thinking about your smile, cursing as his heart pounded in his chest

It graduated to flirting, and around the time when the two of you became an item publicly enough for the ship to know about it, he started asking Killer to teach him sign, too

One day he surprised you by clumsily signing that you were ‘his favorite idiot’

It made you laugh, and you signed back a thanks to him with a few tears in your eyes

It takes him a while to get good enough to translate like Killer does, but he can get the jist of what you’re saying 

Quickly sticks up for you if anyone makes rude comments (Similar to what he would have said back in the beginning)

If you have the ability to, eventually you begin to verbally speak to him in private and he’s so excited about it

The first time you spoke out loud to him, it was a ‘good night’ as you were about to leave his room to head to bed. He’d stopped in the middle of brushing his teeth and stared at you, and you had to laugh at how he looked

Eyes wide, toothpaste foam dripping out of his mouth

He pulls you into private rooms all the time after that if it means he can hear your pretty voice

Killer

Unlike Kid, it doesn’t take Killer long at all to figure out your situation and why you won’t speak to others.

Whether or not you use sign, Killer understands it and will be happy to translate for you to the others, which means you two end up paired up a lot, since he is one of the only people on the ship who you feel really understands you

But he really likes when it’s just you two. It feels special

You two will stay up late just talking in his room, well into the night, with only a small light on so he can still see your hands or notes

Despite never speaking a word, it’s like you two never have an end to the things you want to talk about with each other- which means that you two get very close very quickly

Truly a strangers to friends to lovers trope here

You begin to feel comfortable with him very fast, which leads the both of you to getting more and more openly affectionate with each other. Leaning on each other, giving hugs, etc

The thought of you two dating doesn’t come until other crew members point out how sweet on each other you are and asks the pair of you if you’re dating

The two of you share a look, and Killer answers, ‘Yes’ while you nod at the same time

You’re assigned as dating now, but it’s not different from before

If you’re able to, one day you work up the courage and comfortability to verbally speak to him

You planned this beforehand and had chickened out a few times, but you knew that he didn’t care whether you ever spoke to him or not. You would do this when it felt right

So when you’re sitting behind him and braiding his hair while he sits quietly, enjoying the feeling of your fingers in his hair, you lean over and tell him you love him for the first time

He gasps audibly, waits for you to tie his hair and then turns to face you and cup your cheeks

He quickly tells you he loves you too

In return for you opening up to him and just because he’s been wanting to, he takes off and leaves his mask off to the side

His eyes are gorgeous, and of course you tell him that

He asks for permission to kiss you

As soon as he gets the confirmation, he’s on you like a fly on honey, kissing you all over

[xoxochb]

Hey Prue, congrats on 500 followers!!

I also wanted to say that I am a mutual in case you don’t know. I just don’t interact much because I am not used to it. I hope you don’t mind 🫶

Confession d‘amour for Connor Stoll - 🎆 (I want a kiss scene 🙏)

Have a great day!

⋆·˚ ༘ * new year’s day

warnings: none

pairing: connor stoll x fem! reader

event request list

every new year’s eve the remaining campers staying year round would throw a party for the new year. tons of fireworks and alcohol snuck in to camp (thank you mr. d!). like usual you would go with connor who was eager to show you the fireworks he had set up with travis. however this year he mentioned ‘special fireworks’ which he kept private for the most part, all you knew was he had to bribe the hephaestus campers to make them

you waited on the dock- the ‘perfect spot’ to watch the special fireworks as connor had said. as dark as it was your glow stick bracelets were enough light for the whole camp. how long had it been? it was probably only ten minutes since connor left to set up the fireworks but soon enough he would be back to watch his special fireworks with you. waiting and waiting for five more minutes until you hear your favorite voice,

“miss me?”

the very boy that occupies your thoughts stands beside you. is it normal for your heart to be beating this fast?

“you wish”

your bright smile gives you away- yes, you did miss him the fifteen minutes he was gone. but unbeknownst to you connor felt the same way whenever you parted from him no matter how long

you would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous for your special fireworks because with connor stoll that could mean anything. maybe he was plotting to kill you? or could he be sincere, doing something nice for you?

you watch the sky, any moment would be the reveal of the anticipation fireworks. connor steps closer to you, arms brushing and he speaks,

“can I ask you something?”

“of course you can”

“you know how we always spend new year’s eve together?”

you nod and he takes this as a signal to continue. you’re unsure if that’s a good idea since he’s practically shaking

“well I really like you- not just on new year’s eve, every day. and if you don’t feel the same this might be really awkward but I was wondering-”

“of course I will”

“I didn’t ask anything?”

“you were going to ask if we could kiss when the clock strikes twelve”

“how’d-”

“travis”

“of course” he mutters “you don’t have to if you don’t feel the same way, I won’t mind”

yes he will. if you said no he would have cried himself to sleep

“I really like you too, idiot”

on perfect timing you hear shouts of counting down. 10, 9, 8, 7…

connor was sure when your arms wrapped around his neck he could’ve died happy, right there, right then. he places his hands on your waist, and when you kiss him he goes into a lovesick daze. the remaining seconds end quickly and you hear cheers in the distance. enamored with each other you fail to realize the heart-shaped fireworks in your favorite color going off behind you

[archivedzeke]

STREAMER GETS FINGERED ! kenma kozume

warnings ! top m! reader , trans character (afab) , nsfw , fingering , voyeurism , exhibition , squirting , daddy kink , slight spanking

★ . . . “ keep your fucking hips up. " your hand came into contact with kenma's face , his head whipping to the side from the force of the slap as a sharp whine left his lips from the sting.

your long fingers were buried deep inside kenma's pink cunt , his legs spread wide just for you as you moved both your middle and ring finger in and out of him slowly , watching him suck them back in with minimal ease. such a fucking whore.

the black haired man could only hold his legs open and move his hips down against your fingers for better friction. thighs quaking as he asked you to give him more , make him cum.

kenma was propped onto his back , arms wrapped under the backside of his knees to keep his legs in the air. his streaming camera which was usually facing his gaming chair was pointed toward the bed , zoomed in on his dripping cunt.

" look at his pretty little pussy , taking my fingers so well. he's leaking everywhere. you like being shown off like this don't you bitch ? "

he nodded his head obediently , toes curling in ecstasy , " yes daddy. i l-luh-love it ! "

the poor boys legs were shaking and a bit sore , being forced to sit still as you had your way with him - antagonizing him with the slow movement of your fingers. he just wanted to cum.

you pump them in and out of him quickly , spurring on gasps and high-pitched moans. his pussy fluttered around your fingers , head rolling to the side but not once did he drop his legs.

" pluh-please daddy. . . ngh-oh fuck! " his slick juices seeping out and coating your fingers to the knuckle , the excess sticking to his thighs.

" are you going to cum baby? you've been so greedy , pussy swallowing my fingers. i'm sure our little viewers would love for you to cum like this " you placed a kiss on his ass cheek and smirked at the camera. slowing your fingers to hear the loud wet slick sounds that cause him embarrassment.

as if getting fingered on the live stream was not enough. kenma’s clit throbbed , twitching for stimulation. he’s been good, doing as you say and letting you pull orgasm after orgasm out of him.

" d-deeper! fuck. . . push them deeper " he let his words trail off into a gentle groan. pushing his ass back in time for you to push your fingers further into his cunt. “yes . . ah! like that daddy ! ”

there was a split second of shock as kenma's back arched off the bed with a girlish moan , thick cream gushing from his sloppy folds as he tried his hardest to pull away. " whoa baby , was that it? did i find your spot? "

you teased him to no end , stimulating the spongey area while rubbing gentle circles on his throbbing clit. kenma's broken garbled language had your thick cock begging for release.

but of course , you could deal with that after you've made him cum again from your fingers. it didn’t take him long , he was already at his peak again. but this time he felt different , wetter.

his clit twitched underneath your thumb and his pussy walls clenched around your fingers , spasming with wetness and heat before kenma's eyes crossed and a loud sob of pleasure left his throat. body going rigid and legs tensing in air.

clear liquid spurting from his cunt , and his hold on his leg going weak as his body went limp. but you leaned over to catch some of his release on your tongue with a giggle.

" you made such a mess ken ! look at that ! ”

pulling your fingers away from his used pussy and spreading his folds, you glanced at the camera with a smile, bringing your other hand down on the fat of his ass before gripping the flesh.

kenma panted , mewled , and giggled. the orgasm leaving him in an almost braindead state. if he was this way with your fingers , he was going to be even better with your cock buried in his cunt.

𝗰𝘃𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘇𝗲𝗸𝗲™

[oonajaeadira]

Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 3: Autumn

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV)/ Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. Sheep farmer, easy-going but confident and self-sufficient. Likes to sing, not a great cook. Childhood friend of Maria. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T for now

Warnings: Angst. Canon-typical tragedy (not main characters). Childbirth. A few names that may twist a knife.

Summary: You give Joel a lot to think about.

A/N: Set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although I claim the right to steal ideas and bits of cannon from the second game if I want to for plot reasons later.

It takes a lot to gain Joel's trust, and even longer to tame him. Thanks for sticking it out this long. We're finally shifting into acceptance mode.

“No, they do not make you look old. They make you look like Joel Miller in glasses. Just like the last five pairs. These are distinguished.”

“Looks like something my old man would have worn.”

“Your dad must have been a stunner. Assume the position. Bottom line.”

Turning him by his shoulders, you square Joel up to the line on the floor across from the eye chart at the back of the Jackson commissary.

“P…E Z O L C…F…T D.”

You pass him a handwritten note. “Good. Now use the bottom half of the lenses to read this one. Do it without squinting.”

Taking the paper, he squints. You pull on his arm to distance it correctly and he stops. He stares at the paper for a while. You might be concerned at the pause if he wasn’t taking a comically elongated time, breathing out hard through his nose, his jaw ticking left to right, feigning decisions, trying not to laugh. “Gimme a pencil.”

Without taking your eyes off him, you reach over to the counter and snag a pencil out of a cup and hand it to him, watch his eyebrows lift, his head shake, and give another dramatic sigh as he marks the paper before handing both the note and the pencil back over to you.

Joel Miller, will you go to the harvest dance with me? [x] yes or [ ] no.

“I don’t think these are gonna work,” he points to the black frames on his face. “Can’t read a damn thing. Not one damn word–” He can’t even make it through the sentence without cracking a smile, and only fully laughs when you playfully punch him in the arm.

“I’ll have you know this is a binding contract whether you can see it or not,” you join him in the tease, fanning the note in his face. “Just how blind are you???”

“Well, maybe I was working up to asking you the same question so…I guess not as blind as you seem to think.”

This slowly melts your laughter down to a smile. “Working up to it? What’s there to work up to? You mean… Did you…not want to?”

When his own smile fades, you realize too late that maybe he didn’t.

While you and Joel have fallen into a close friendship over the past few months, sometimes that’s all it really seems to be. There are moments that come close to something more–an arm draped over the back of your chair–or perhaps across your shoulders–as you stand in the back yard watching the fireflies, always a ready hand to help you up from a chair or the ground. If the two of you are ever in the same room, he’s always near, keeping you on his left where he can hear you. It took a while, but both Joel and Ellie have just stopped knocking when they come by, treating your house as they do Maria and Tommy’s–like family.

There are times he smiles in that way where his eyes shimmer and you think he’s coming around to falling for you. But he never pushes for more and you are beginning to wonder if he even wants that. After all, you’d learned from Tommy what life in a QZ can do to a person….and that’s on top of all the years the brothers spent surviving in some of the most violent and criminal ways possible.

Sometimes when you all sit out on Maria’s porch after dinner and watch the sunset together, he might take your hand in one of his–big, warm, roughened but gentle. And it’s at those times you almost forget about how he’d used it in the past. Almost.

With his bare hands, Tommy had said. Just come up behind ‘em and squeeze.

It takes time to become someone else. You always knew you’d need patience.

You just never braced yourself for something….a little less than affection.

“Listen, Songbird,” he sighs, his jaw shifting hard to one side. “I don’t want you to think–”

“Oh yeah, lookin’ goooooood,” Ellie’s opinion precedes your notice of her entrance. “Hey there, professor. I was looking for a book on relativity. Any suggestions?”

Pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose, he ignores her sass and turns instead to the commissary register to mark down the inventory he’s taking. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Maria?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, picking up an earthenware mug from a shelf and admiring the owl painted on it. “Her water broke. Baby’s coming. Can I claim this mug?”

“What??” Your body jerks, ready to run, but just barely holding back, shifting all the dismay you were just collecting and using it to power a new anxiety.

Joel’s head whips around, the glasses staying mercifully in place. “What are you doin’ looking for us? Go get Dr. Johnson!”

“Unclench yourself, my good sir. I already did. Went to her–” she says to him and then winks to you,”-- and Willa, thank you very much. You two didn’t tell me where you were going, you think I’m dumb enough to spend time hunting you down first? I’d be looking up and down Main forever. Have been. Almost went out back to see if you were eating spaghetti in the alley with one long noodle between you. Baby’s probably already here by now, jeez.” She spins on her heel, tapping the mug with a finger. “I’m taking this, thanks.”

Joel exchanges a look with you, the former conversation shoved roughly aside for a new concern. “I’ll register it and grab a few other necessaries. You go.”

This is no time to pick up the dropped dialogue but… maybe…should you stay and help? Oh. It takes a second to click that you can leave it to him. You don’t have to tell the man what’s needed for a new baby…after all, he knows more than you. Even if it was a whole other life or two ago.

And with a nod, you shelve your feelings for one more day and jog out the door to catch up with Ellie.

_____

Willa’s just walking out the door by the time you get to Maria and Tommy’s.

“You’re going?”

“For now,” she nods, working her shoes back onto her feet. “She’s got a while to go. It looks like it will be a pretty straightforward labor.”

“Did Dr. Johnson have anything to say?”

Her exhale tests high for irritation. “She’s upstairs. Why not go ask her yourself.”

“Wait. Willa. Did she send you away? I didn’t want to call her, but Joel thought–”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m going to go take a nap so I can get through the night. But she’s using up all the air in the room and what Maria needs is to rest as much as she can and let it come. A good midwife would know that. Too bad the medical authority in this town is a gastroenterologist and not an obstetrician. It’s a baby and she’s treating it like an obstructed bowel.” Muttering something further about obstructions and matters of the bowel in regards to Dr. Johnson, Willa pats you on the shoulder before making her exit. “Maria can have water for a couple more hours, then sips only. Make sure she eats something.”

Upstairs you find your old friend in full concentration mode–laying on her bed, eyes closed, breathing hard, forehead smooth but glistening–as she awaits the next contraction. Tommy’s curled up next to her, holding one of her hands, his forehead to her temple, matching her breath for breath.

Her other hand is being held aloft as the good Doctor checks her pulse. “Family only,” she condescends as you enter the room.

“Good idea,” you say, plonking down at the end of the bed with enough of a bounce that Maria opens her eyes and glares from behind her belly. When you point to her swollen feet and let your eyebrows request consent, she nods, shuts her eyes, and focuses back on the process as you take a foot onto your lap and start to massage.

Maria groans in contentment and Dr. Johnson takes it for discomfort. Turning to you, her silvery hair pulled back into a tight braid, her frown causes her jowls to deepen. “I really must insist that you clear the room. The fewer distractions she has, the better things are going to go for her.”

You pull your stockinged feet up onto the bed. “Is that how it was when you had kids?”

“I never had children,” the doctor snaps.

“I see. Well, Maria said she was gonna freak out if I wasn’t here, so it seems now we’ve got ourselves a conundrum between what the doctor says and the patient wants. But, seeing as how this is her second child and she is very much my family, I think I’m going with her wishes on this. I never got to meet the first one; I’m sure as hell not gonna miss a minute of my new godchild.”

“Who said you were going to be the godmother?” Maria grumbles.

“I did. It’s your own fault. You left the position open and nature abhors a vacuum, so I’m gonna plug my old ass into that hole.”

“You are mixing so many metaphors there. Where’s–nnnnn,” her face becomes a wall of teeth as the contraction hits, her body a live wire as you and Tommy move to soothe. It takes a good minute for her breathing to slow enough to ask, “Where’s…Willa?”

“She says she’ll check back in tonight. You’ll probably be at this awhile.”

“Well, then, if you’ve got your magic healing woman then I’m not really needed here,” Dr. Johnson’s smile only travels halfway up her face. “Blood pressure’s doing well, no signs of abnormality. I’m sure you’ll be just fine. If you need me, you know where to find me. Just send the foul-mouthed girl again. Certainly with a set of lungs like that, she can easily wake me up in a matter of minutes.”

Nobody stops the good doctor on her way out and the train of her passive-aggressive, attention-seeking attitude trails behind her.

“She means well,” Tommy answers your scathing look.

“Your wife didn’t ask for her.”

“My wife’s never been through labor without drugs before. And she’s older now. I just…” his eyes soften on her with concern as he leans in and presses a kiss to Maria’s forehead, “I just want her to be okay.”

“She’s Maria. Of course she will be.”

The subject groans with a minor cramp. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here and go make me a taco. I’m starving.”

She’s less than thrilled with the berries you bring instead– “water and fiber now, carbs later” –but is placated with you reading her to sleep from one of her favorite Amy Tan novels. Every now and then she wakes up with a contraction, but a little soothe in your voice and she’s out again.

After a few hours, Tommy goes to nap in a spare room and Willa returns with a bag full of clean linens, ready to take over, sending you out to get your own nap in.

It’s quiet downstairs, the setting sun throwing long shadows through the western windows, mixing with a few faint rainbows still filtering through the leaded stained glass over the door.

Maria’s not far from you in age. If there were still doctors in hospitals, they’d call her pregnancy not just geriatric, but advanced geriatric. Even with all the medicine that used to be available, she and the baby would still be under the care of several wary eyes. If they both make it, they’ll have beaten the odds. If they don’t–

Slumping down on the couch and pouring yourself over it–just to put your feet up and your head down for a second…just a second–you push worry out of your orbit. This isn’t a world to worry in anymore. What comes comes. All you can do is what you can do. Maria is strong. Tommy loves her. Willa’s capable. The baby’s on time. Everything’s going to be fine.

It has to be.

It hurts too much to consider an alternative.

_____

When your eyes open again, the house is dark and quiet, the sun long since set.

Although, not so quiet when your stomach growls. Nor so dark either, as you notice a faint glow coming from the kitchen.

A simple investigation leads you to a tea candle burning in a jar on the countertop, next to a scrap of paper with your name scrawled on it and a plate covered in a linen dishcloth, under which you discover a flatbread sandwich.

One look at the handwriting and you can imagine Joel coming by to check up on things only to find you asleep on the couch. There was no gentle-but-possibly-disruptive blanket-covering, no “thought you could use something to eat” beside your name on the note. Nothing but reverent candlelight and one word to let anyone who found the plate know for whom it was intended, no requests or commands, just a quiet devotion, a simple offering to a sleeping idol to be taken or left as you chose.

If he doesn’t want you to fall any harder for him, he’s doing a terrible job.

_____

The final labor comes the following morning, Tommy holding one of Maria’s hands and you the other–both of you gritting your teeth as her grip leaves bruises–and Willa holding the soles of Maria’s feet, giving her something to push against.

Joel’s been tasked with guarding the door to the house since Maria’s taken to screaming with each push–not in pain, but in ferocity–and the neighbors have been coming around in concern. He’s quick to turn them around and send them on their way and you’ve gathered from Ellie’s reports that they seemed offended until she started volunteering the information that Willa is upstairs helping out. Then everyone readily accepts that all is well and being taken care of.

But Maria, she’s the real star of the show here. Yes, she’s in pain, and yes, she’s tired and weeping–no tears, dehydrated–but she’s nothing if not a fighter. She wouldn’t be in Jackson without that being true. And, frankly, Jackson wouldn’t be Jackson if it weren’t true either.

When it’s all done and the delivery miraculously comes off without a hitch, when Willa checks the baby boy over and finds him responsive and healthy, ties him off and hands him over to Tommy, taking her leave to go wash up and rest, the room is eerily quiet.

“Hello, little man. I’m your dad,” Tommy whispers, on the edge of tears but too tired to cry as he sits next to Maria and shares the bundle with her, the two of them staring down in awe at the tiny new human. “I’m your dad, and this is your beautiful, strong, fantastic mamma. And your auntie’s here too and we’re all damn happy to meet you. Welcome home.”

Maria smiles wide, the pain already fading to memory, an unnecessary detail she’s gonna leave behind her in exchange for exponentially better days ahead.

“Good job, you three.” Adding to the kiss count on Maria’s head, you start to pick up some discarded towels and sheets, preparing to leave the new family to rest. “Did you finally agree on a name?”

“Oh, I think I settled early on,” Maria sighs, completely in love. “Riley.”

You hum in satisfaction. “Nice. Where’d that one come from?”

“Ellie suggested it and it just hit me right. It’s a good name for a boy or girl, but mostly I liked it because it’s a fighting name. All riled up and ready to go.”

“Sounds like trouble.”

Maria snorts. “Oh, I’m sure. After all, he is a Miller.”

“Damn right,” Tommy whispers, bestowing his legacy.

It’s an easy decision to make, your vow of silence. You’ll never let them know you feared losing her. Not when there’s more now to protect, more to love.

There's been enough fear. It isn't worth your time.

_____

Over the next week and change, a routine easily emerges. You make yourself available during the day for any needs–help with cooking, diaper washing, or just rocking Riley while Maria has a bath or Tommy needs a nap. After school, Ellie comes by and adds two more hands, truly turning childrearing into a village affair. Joel’s the last to add to the party after the sun starts getting low and construction on the new district slows down for the day, earlier if it’s his day for patrol. Every night is family dinner night now and sometimes Riley’s actually awake enough to join them.

Ellie can’t get enough of her new little friend. If she’s got empty hands she willingly fills them with baby, either rocking him or laying him on a cushion to watch him watching her. She’s not had a lot of experience with babies or newborns other than the lambs, but she’s a quick learner. It’s just one more thing that this harder world has deprived her of. Babies were few and far between in the QZ and Ellie seems bound and determined to make up for lost time, not wanting to miss an instant of growth or change.

Joel, on the other hand, is more stoic. If he was hard of hearing before, it almost completely disappears when Riley’s in the crook of his arm. He can’t help but be captivated by his new nephew and you catch a fond smile creeping along his cheek now and then, but there’s always something a little sad behind it, and when the light catches a glimmer off the face of his broken wristwatch, it’s not hard to guess what he’s thinking.

It’s during one of these moments when Maria’s napping and Ellie and Tommy are out in the yard, that you finish up the dishes and plop yourself down on the couch next to Joel.

“Your arm tired? Want me to take him?”

“No. I’m fine,” he says quietly, trying not to wake the boy. But the silence is more for himself than the baby–Riley sleeps hard. For now.

You simply draw a knee up onto the couch and lean your elbow against the back cushion, watching them, chin in hand.

“Where’s Ellie?” he finally asks.

“Enough leaves are down. Tommy’s out back showing her how to make a leaf pile. And what to do with it.”

He chuckles, knowing exactly what’s proper and good to do with leaf piles. “We used to have a big maple out back when we were kids. Dad spent hours raking and nothing he could say or do could keep us from demolishing his work. Whip our hides and we'd be back out there the next day making a mess.”

“Well, at least lawn maintenance isn’t such a priority anymore, right? Just think of all the leaf piles this one’s gonna get. Let the destruction commence.”

“Yeah.” It’s slow and subtle, but the light slowly leaks from him, a twilight descending over his brow. “I guess there’s still a few pleasures to be had for kids in this world.”

This is why he’s always so contemplative with Riley. Worrying. Taking everything he’s seen and experienced and piling them onto one little baby, doing the parent thing, hoping that they’ll have a better life…but doubting that it could ever happen.

“There’s always going to be something, Joel. If the world hadn’t gone to hell, there’d still be car accidents and kidnappers and war in some far off country and the capitalist job market. A kid has every chance to have a good life in this time as in any other. And even if it isn’t in the world we remember, this one has you and me and all of us in it to look after one little boy who gets to live a life. Isn’t that what’s great?”

“Is it?” He finally turns to you. “You think it’s a good idea to bring a kid into this disaster?”

His eyes lay bare the puncture you’ve made in him, his sorrow and apprehension starting to vent, and it seems he hopes you can patch the hole because god knows his hands are full and not steady enough to handle the delicate procedure.

“Hey. Kids are going to happen, Joel. People are still going to find each other and fall in love and I hate to break it to you, but babies are sometimes a consequence of that. Biology’s a hell of a thing. But just because it’s not the world we knew as kids doesn’t mean it’s not worth living in. In fact, Ellie and Riley are going to do better than us, because they were born into it. They’ll have all of this kind of living in their bones from birth and don’t have to take twenty years to relearn it all. Or use up twenty years living life with regret.”

You expect him not to take that well, but he surprises you, softens, and turns back to the baby, his eyes skipping to his watch.

Maria told you once that sometimes she’s glad that Kevin died. He was still young–only 3 and a half–but he would have remembered. He would have held trauma. Back then, a lot of the little ones were lost, either to hunger or to attack…they didn’t know enough to be quiet.

Sarah on the other hand…. Joel didn’t know it, but Tommy had said once that Sarah would have never made it in this world. Too good. Trusting. Gentle. She would have been taken advantage of or become severely damaged by the shift coming in her formative years. Children are resilient, but a teenager’s psyche could be a difficult thing.

“Still not a good idea,” he mumbles. “But he’s here now.”

“Thank god. Maria needed another man in her life to boss around.”

He’s not budged by your joke. Instead, he side-eyes you, hits you with a cynical question, trying to knock you off your rosy pedestal. “If you’re so happy about kids, why don’t you have any of your own?”

You shrug. “Got sheep. What. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what.”

“Not every woman wants kids, Mr. Man. Even if they like them a whole lot.”

“Biology’s a hell of a thing.”

Catching his not-so-clever info gathering, you smirk. “I had other things to concentrate on. And in the meantime, the factory had blessedly closed down.”

He can’t help the instinct that makes him truly assess you now. “You’re not old enough for that.”

You chuckle. “I’m starting to think what you don’t know about women could fill a few books, Joel Miller. You let me know when you’re ready to brush up.”

It’s at this point that Ellie calls in from the porch, telling Joel to “get your flat ass out here! Tommy says you’re a champion leaf-piler!”

“Goddammit,” he hisses as Riley starts to stir.

“Go on,” you smile, holding your arms out for the baby. “I’ve got him. We’ll need to wake his mamma up so he can eat soon anyway. Go on outside and play with the other kids. Be home before dark.”

_____

A few nights later, you’re making assessment in a full-length mirror on the inside of a closet door in a room in your house you very barely use. When was the last time you really had a look at yourself? And when was the last time you wore a dress?

Sure, it’s a fall dress, fine-knit by Addie as a gift for bringing her on as a Roostling so many years ago. You keep it for special occasions, which means you get to wear it maybe once a year. The wool is undyed, so the natural oat goes well with your brown leather work boots. Unfortunately, shoes are at a premium, so having a second pair just for fancy isn’t really a thing anymore. Doesn’t matter. The weather’s been a bit wet and the streets a bit muddy. Boots’ll do you just fine.

But you haven’t worn your hair like this in ages. Freshly washed and let to dry rather than set back or under a bandanna for utilitarian purposes, you almost forgot what it looked like natural like this.

You almost forgot that you could actually clean up quite pretty. Huh. Imagine forgetting a thing like that.

The knock at the front door’s expected. Even though Ellie and Joel come and go as they please, tonight you knew he’d do the polite thing and knock. The comfortable part of you wants to call down and tell him to just come in. But the hopeful part of you knows that this is his way of making an effort. Of taking a step your way.

“You sure?” you’d asked Maria earlier in the afternoon. “You’re gonna be okay for the night?”

“It’s a dance, not a trip to the moon. And Ellie’s here. We’ll have fun.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, clearly not happy about diaper changing duty, but smiling through it. “Please. Go. Get him out of the house. The later he comes home the better. Bonus points if he’s not back until morning.”

“Jesus, Ellie.”

Maria only smirked in full agreement.

He’s waiting on your porch when you open the door, one thumb tucked into his belt, the other holding onto a porch pillar as he examines the sole of one boot.

“You step in something?”

“Shit, I hope not. I just cleaned these. I thought–” but of course he stops when he looks up and sees you. Joel himself doesn’t have a lot of extra clothes, and is dressed in a clean dark flannel and jeans, nothing you haven’t seen before–although tucked in this time–his hair is still wet and slicked back, exposing more of the gray.

Your getup, however, is a new sight for him, and he’s struck enough to let it show on his face. So you give him a twirl, let the dress swing a bit. “Get your fill, I only bring this out like once a year. You’ve earned it this time.”

The smile is subtle, but it’s there, along with the tiniest of nods.

It’s not a long walk to the mess hall, but on your way you both determine that Joel’s definitely stepped in something, and yes, it’s still worth holding his hand. Horses are gonna horse and stepping in crap is an everyday occurrence when you live around animals at the end of the world. He seems grateful and maybe a bit chagrined, but neither does he seem ready to let you go.

The mess hall’s brightly lit; several jack-o-lanterns carved by the town’s kids adorn the long tables which spill out into the street to make room for the buffet and the dancefloor inside. A good portion of the town is out tonight and mingling under the canopy of string lights.

Addie and Goldie are the first to find you and greet you, the former admiring her own handiwork on your dress–even if she’s much improved over the years–and the latter pushing mugs of warm cider at you and Joel. Willa, it seems, took to the Roost short after Riley’s birth, always opting to take solitary watch during big gatherings and celebrations. But she did help with the decorations and is responsible for a good portion of the cornbread on the banquet table. When they start asking questions about the baby, Joel politely excuses himself, muttering something about getting you a plate.

“And how’re you doing?” Goldie asks, nodding after Joel. “I didn’t think that grump would warm up to anyone, but I suppose you’re tenacious enough when you want someone. I don’t blame you. Grey Fox indeed. If I was twenty years older, we’d have to share.”

“Yeah, he’s coming around.”

“Didn’t think you’d ever take up with anyone again. I heard Ellie had a run-in with the lye.”

A sudden lump rises, nothing you can’t swallow down. “She’s fine. And so am I. Maybe I'm a little lonely is all. Maybe I got a type. Here’s to hoping I’m wrong where it counts!” You smile wide, clinking your mug with Goldie’s and drink deep, chasing away whatever guilt rudely decided to come calling.

Tonight’s supposed to be happy. Tonight’s your night with Joel. Just you and him. No family, no interruptions. The past is the past. And this night is easily the first of many.

Soon enough you catch him waving you down at one of the tables and join him for dinner.

“Figured you weren’t picky, so I got you some of everything.”

“Hells bells, Foxy. Were you planning on dancing with me at all tonight? Because I won’t be able to move if I eat all of this.”

At least he swallows what he’s chewing so he can answer you between forkfuls. “Don’t worry. I’ll eat what you don’t.”

“Then how are you gonna dance?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t plan on gettin’ rowdy. Not with these knees.”

“Oh my god, you old man. Did you really come here with me just to sit and eat? There’s a band playing. And they’re good. You’re not gonna dance with me?”

“To be honest,” he says, straining above the chatter spilling out of the hall and taking another bite of chicken, getting it mostly down before continuing with a pained squint, “I was never good at it. One of those ‘stand around with a beer and watch the band play’ kinda guys. But a pretty girl wanted me to slow dance, I could do that. More swaying than anything.”

“Well I guess that’s something to look forward to then.”

“Good thing you’re easy to please.”

It’s another hour sitting at the communal table, the night settling in and the fiddle and guitar music rolling out from inside the hall. A few friends come by to visit, Missy Tippett makes her way to Joel’s right side to flirt and he pretends to hear her, answering all questions with a “yep” even if they aren’t yes or no queries and you do your best not to laugh. True to his word, Joel takes on the leavings of your meal–nearly half the plate–while you chat with folks, and he rises beautifully to the challenge. Without having to scrape and scramble in the QZ or starving out in the wilds, he’s put on weight since the spring, just enough to fill out his hollowed cheeks and pleasantly soften down his belly. He keeps active with the construction enough that he’s putting away more fuel than storage, but it’s good to see him enjoying the harvest.

You’re mid-conversation with one of Willa’s brothers when Joel taps a knuckle on your elbow. Turning to find him with his chin in his hand, he points inside of the mess hall where a slow song just started, an old Buddy Holly tune, True Love Waits. The time has come then. Like the worn shoe that he is, he gets up and re-tucks his shirt as you excuse yourself and then let him lead you inside to the dance floor.

He’s an old-schooler, guiding you close around your waist and taking your hand in one of his.

In all the time Joel and Ellie have been in Jackson what you’ve felt toward him was a strong pull, a crush, an attraction. It’s been years since you felt drawn to someone like this. But it isn’t until this moment that you actually register the ramp up and learn that your species of butterflies don’t really seem to reside in your belly, but behind your sternum. The tip of your nose and chin tingle with the proximity to his, his breath warm and apple-scented, his flannel smelling of soap and being dried in the sun. His hand fits perfectly at your lower back and your arm was made to curve up and around his sturdy, ample shoulder.

It’s that feeling where you can’t seem to look him in the eye for more than a fraction of a second for fear of losing control, and so you focus on his chin instead, yearning to land your lips there.

It takes most of the song to realize he’s doing the same with the top of your head.

You should say something; it feels odd not to be poking fun somehow. But then, you can’t think of a damn thing to say now that you’re exactly where you’ve been wanting to be all these many months. Well, nothing witty anyway.

“It’s been forever since I slow danced with anyone.”

“Out of choice, I assume,” he answers after a while. “Seems odd you being here so long and not spoken for.”

“Not everyone has to be paired up for life to be worth living.”

“Maybe not. But it looks like you want to and I’m not sure how anyone says no to you if you set your sights. You’re damn persistent.”

The song ends and you break to applaud, ready to quip back. But there’s a look on his face, and expression that you’re not able to categorize in the context of this moment, only that it looks like he might want to leave or be alone.

“Joel, I’m sorry if I pushed you. I know you’re still settling in. I didn’t mean to–”

But the next song starts up, sweet and slow–You Belong To Me–and he doesn’t give you a chance to finish. He just pulls you in close, tucking your head against his shoulder under his jaw, taking your hand again and holding it against himself.

“I’m settled,” is all he says as you sway.

Determination. That’s the expression. A commitment laced with lingering sadness or fear.

And that’s okay, you think. After everything he’s been through, that’s okay. As long as he wants to be here with me, everything’s going to be okay.

At the end of the song he peels away, and while the expression has softened, it still remains.

You reach for his hand. “You wanna walk?”

He nods. You let him lead.

Outside in the crisp autumn night air, he doesn’t take the direct path to your house, instead, he ambles slowly down another road, toward Maria and Tommy’s place.

Joel’s a thinker. He’s got things to say but needs to put them in order in his head first. So you let him organize while you walk slowly beside him, the light and the pretty violin ballad fading behind you. It takes a little longer than you expect and you’re almost to the house when he finally speaks.

“I’m not good at this.”

“You say that like there’s one right way. Like I’m expecting something out of you.”

It’s obviously not what he expected you to say. “But you are.”

“Okay, maybe. But I’m also willing to meet you where you are.”

“No, that’s not what…” he breathes out hard, frustrated that his thoughts are getting out of order, but you wait. “You should be…expecting…something. You should want me to…reciprocate.”

“I do want that, but I can’t force you and I know it.” You amble on, watch his jaw tick. “Joel, I’m crazy about you and I’d love nothing more than for you to feel the same way about me. It’s been a long time since I felt that way about someone. But I know it’s different for you. I know you were more recently attached, and for a long time–”

“It wasn’t like that. Well…wasn't like this, anyway.”

You follow him silently past Maria and Tommy’s place–dark, everyone asleep–and take a turn that will eventually lead you to your own house. A block goes by before he finds his next words.

“Tess and I…our lives…we were…rough with each other. Cared for each other, but we were hard. We had to keep on our toes, couldn’t let feelings get in the way or make mistakes. But all that…stuff… We had each other physically but we kept a lot at arm’s length. Like a survival mode. Conserving our energy for things that kept us alive. Safe.”

“I think I understand. Tommy said–”

“Tommy didn’t understand shit. He thought I was using Tess. But he was wrong.” Even if he’s keeping his voice even, his eyes cold, you can see his fist clenching and unclenching out of the corner of your eye. “I…I needed her and didn’t know it. She was right there and I should have… told her so. That’s what I think I’m saying. I don’t have any practice in anything that isn’t just surviving. And I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”

“Are you pulling a ‘you deserve better’ on me?”

Another look of surprise. Again, you’ve thrown him for a loop.

“Because I do deserve better. You’re right. I do deserve to be loved and to be adored and to be happy. But so do you. Most of us do. Doesn’t mean everyone’s gonna get it. Sounds like you spent the last decade and change denying it for yourself and to someone else. But at least you had someone. At least you knew where you stood. Me, on the other hand…I spent the last decade remembering something like that and wishing it would come back, knowing it wouldn’t, and beating off any chance of having it again like a damn fool. Maria ever tell you about Troy?”

His headshake is subtle, but his look of concern not so much. You decide to let it roll off you just as you had with everyone else in the past ten years.

“Figures. Tommy’s got a big mouth but Maria’s always kept her trap shut when it’s not her story to tell.

“Troy was my...husband. We were married for three really good years. He was a refugee, like you. Came through from Seattle QZ with his sister. Ash was a wild one, loved the sheep. She was the last trainee we had before Ellie came out. She had a habit of wandering though, hopping the barrier for berries and honey and just to run free in the woods without a care in the world. Almost cut her off from going out to the Meadow, but Troy spoiled her, took her side in most things. His only weakness. Damn, I loved that stupid man so much.”

Coming up to your house, you take a seat on the steps, not ready to go inside yet. As you continue, Joel follows your lead and ends up beside you.

“You ever wonder why Maria and I don’t live on top of one another? Troy and I lived in the house next door. Once he died, I couldn’t bear to live there anymore.”

The breeze picks up and you give it a minute to die down. Joel’s voice pushes through your silence just above a whisper. “What happened?”

“Troy and Ash were out at the meadow and they weren’t answering the check-ins. So Willa and I went out there with the patrol. Right away we see almost the whole herd gathered in one lay. Not like them unless they’re protecting a sick or injured one. And that’s what they were doing, all huddled around the hole.

“Can’t say for certain how it went down, but from the looks of things, Ash got herself bit, nearly took off her forearm. Back then the area wasn’t so cleared out and Ash liked to play her chances outside the barriers as I’ve said. Must have scrambled back in and come looking for Troy or he brought her back thinking he could fix it and found out he was wrong. He blew her face clean off. He must have dug the hole and put her in it. Covered it with lye. Got in there with her. Shot himself.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Bodies were in pretty rough shape when we found ‘em.” The stars are bright tonight as you blink back tears in the dark. “I shouldn’t have let her go out there. I thought he would get her to take it seriously. I should have pushed. But. They were so close and I also know that I couldn’t ask him to choose my wants over hers. And in the end it looks like he wouldn’t have picked mine anyway.”

The power from the dam is being conserved for the harvest dance tonight, so the streetlamps are dark on your row. But the moon’s bright enough to catch Joel watching you, reassessing you.

“I’m very, very capable of deserving love, Joel. And I’m capable of giving it with my whole, stupid heart. I remember what the world used to be, and how it turned on a dime and how we all lost everything we were and had. And when I met Troy I thought that love could fix it. Nope. It doesn’t fix it. The past doesn’t go away. But it’s nice to have someone to walk through the better days with. To choose to live in the present and make it brighter.”

As if the world is an underscore to your story, one last, lonely cricket interrupts the silence, a holdout for the season, waiting a little too late to find itself a mate and a home.

“I’m a murderer, Songbird.”

It’s a simple statement.

“I know you are.”

“Just so you know. Just so you know what you’re getting into.”

Now it’s your turn to gather your thoughts. “We’re all a pile of our many selves. Who we were, who we choose to be going forward, how we see ourselves, how others see us. It’s all there, always will be. All of us a little broken. Fractured. But it doesn’t have to be just one thing forever. There’s no mark of Cain here. Just making choices every day to be the person you want to be. You find your people and you take care of them as best you can, and they do the same for you. You slip up, you start over tomorrow.”

And now it’s his turn to blink up at the night sky.

“You did what you had to do, Joel, we all did. We all had to revise the moral manual for a minute. Nice thing about Jackson these days is that there’s nothing you have to do. You can just do what you want, what makes you feel whole and alive. And if that’s something different every day, then that’s your choice. You say you’re not good at this, but you are. You danced with me. Walked with me. Listened. You’re just as good as you have to be and if you want to be better at it then you just...try again. You get unlimited tries.”

His expression is muddled in shadow, his face turned out of the light and focused on you.

Suddenly tired, you stand up and walk up the stairs to the door. “I had a nice time tonight, Foxy. The best. Even if it ended on a downer.”

“That’s my fault.”

“No. It’s nobody’s fault, it’s just what life is now sometimes. Will I see you tomorrow?”

He’s slow about it, but he climbs the last few steps to the porch. You were wrong about the solitary cricket; there’s still a few still pushing the limits, challenging the first frost, singing to the moonlight.

Reaching out, letting his fingertips trail your arm all the way down, he captures your hand to keep you still and moves in, slow and quiet.

When he finally kisses you, it’s a tentative declaration, a promise of what he can give right here, right now; his kiss lingers in apology, showing you in every way that he has trouble letting go, unpracticed in being tender, but he’s willing to try.

Finally.

Every second lingered is worth the wait, only because you can feel that it won’t be the last.

“Guess I shouldn’t put off until tomorrow what I can start on today then,” he says when he steps back.

“That's a real good start.”

There’s not much more to say as he makes his way down the steps off into the night and toward his own house. No need. No expectations. There’s always tomorrow.

And since Joel’s come to town, it seems like every tomorrow’s usually been better than the yesterday before.

_____

You’ve been sitting on Maria’s couch knitting a sweater in the chilly morning sun for at least a good hour when Ellie comes down from upstairs.

“Oh hey, you’re here,” she says, throwing herself down on the floor by your feet and beginning to paw through your basket.

“I am. Didn’t have any plans today, thought I’d come and be on hand. How’s Riley?”

“Down for one of many naps. He’s growing so fast already.” Finding a full spindle in your stash, she begins unwinding it and forming it into a neat ball with practiced hands.

“That’s what babies do. He’ll be walking and talking before you know it.”

“We should bring him out to see the sheep when he’s walking.”

“We’ve got a corral of milkers in town he can visit. Probably not a great idea taking kids out of town. You’ll see when he’s up and about. Little kids like get away from you and hear themselves scream. Hard to keep safe if you’re dumb and loud.”

“Oh. Right.” She’s silent a while, slowly building her yarn ball.

“Something you wanna ask me? It’s not like you to volunteer to help with this part.”

There’s a certain way Ellie chews her lip and scrunches it at the same time. “I was thinking of asking you…if I could stay behind next time you go out to the Roost.”

That makes you chuckle. “Riley’s a little more fascinating than the sheep right now, huh. What. You thought I’d be mad?”

“No, just…I do like being out there. But I also feel like I can help here. For now. And I know you’re skipping your weeks to be here and I thought if I stayed you could go and then there’s still enough of us around….”

“The sheep are in good hands, they can wait. I’m in no hurry and I don’t mind being here. But I appreciate it.”

The yarn’s coming to an end, the ball in her hands reaching a pleasing softball size. “Can I ask you a favor then?”

“Of course.”

“Tommy went out to the reconstruction site and left his lunch and Maria asked me to bring it to him so he doesn’t come home for it and wake her or the baby.”

“But you wanna stay here.”

“Yeah.”

“Good timing.” Smiling and finishing up your row, you tuck the needles and sweater into the basket. “It’s a nice, dry day for a walk and I’ve been meaning to go see that sector. Tell you what. Eye for an eye. I go out there, you ball up all those spindles while I’m gone. Don't undo my knitting."

What the autumn sun is lacking in warmth, Ellie makes up for it with that spark of unbridled joy. “Fuck yeah, deal!”

_____

Swinging a bundle bag full of Tommy’s lunch and other sundries, you walk out to the old north edge of town. The wall’s come down here, another one erected a handful of blocks beyond, re-civilization slowly sweeping and expanding out as the need arises. The houses are in varying stages of disrepair, repair, and some have come down to use for scrap. Your elementary teacher’s house is still here, getting a spiff-up treatment and you’re remembering Mrs. Erstine and her roses fondly when there’s a sharp whistle and call of your name.

Joel’s walking down the block toward you with an easy smile and you return it as he nears. It’s been a couple of weeks since the harvest dance and you haven’t seen each other much outside of family dinners and scattered evenings at Maria and Tommy’s’. Between the rush to get some of these homes fit for winter and you helping out with all the canning and preserving down at the mess hall, a twilight trio on the porch with Ellie here and there has been your scant means of together time.

“What’s brought you up this way? Everything okay?” He’s good enough to bend his neck a little so you can meet his patchy cheek in a kiss.

“Tommy forgot his lunch and Maria wants to spare him a trip.” You hold up the bag. “And I brought treats for you too.”

His finger hooks the bag, trying to peek in. “Really.”

“Nah ah, not until you take me to your leader.”

“My leader,” he scoffs, turning and leading you up the street. “Ain’t nothin’ he can do I don’t have to come up after him and fix.”

“Speaking of fixing, we could use new shingles at the Roost. It’s been wet and I’ve heard there’s a leak.”

“Yeah? When you going out next? I’ll go out with you.”

Turning onto a more wooded road, you both follow the sound of hammers. “Well, Goldie’s up there now and I usually take after her. I suppose I could go next week before the rains really start up.”

“Next week then.”

As you approach a beautiful A-frame home, Tommy’s over to one side at a couple of sawhorses, measuring out a beam. Joel calls out to his brother with the same whistle he gave you.

“It’ll be just you and me,” you say. “Ellie wants to stay home with Riley.”

Joel’s head whips around. “What?”

“Hey there, ma’am-o-jam, what brings you up here? Everything alright?” Just like his brother.

“Yeah, all’s well. You forgot your lunch and my legs needed a stretch.”

“Oh shit,” he grins. “I was just starting to get hungry. Thanks.”

“No problem.” You gesture to the house. “This is really beautiful. It’s like a bigger version of the Roost.”

“It’s nothin’ like the Roost. It’s on the ground.” Tommy smiles as you swat at him. “We’ve started with all the houses that need the least amount of help, tearing down the ones that need the most to fix ‘em up. This one had a lot of protection from the elements–the sun and the snow–from all these pines around it. All the windows still in place. Mostly just had to clear out a couple of overgrowths in the basement–probably the previous owners gone to seed. But it’s all good treated hardwood. Good bones. It’ll stand another century or two.”

A small, involuntary shiver passes through you at the casual mention of dead infected. “Did you burn them? The previous owners.”

Your reaction doesn't escape Joel’s notice. “Did it myself. There were a few in this section. It’s okay. They were long gone. Dry as a bone. It’s safe here.”

He’s earned a smile, even if it’s a sad one. “That’s good. They must have loved this house, to want to stay here, even when they didn’t know any better. Can’t blame ‘em. Anyway,” you go through your bag, lifting out a small parcel and handing the rest to Tommy, “here you go. But this is yours,” offering the parcel to Joel but then snatching it away as he reaches for it, “only if you promise to be honest and tell me if you like it or not.”

Joel’s eyes light up when he opens the package. “Holy shit; is that…pecan pie?”

And Tommy winks as he takes his lunch and walks back toward the house.

“Heard it was your favorite.” You can’t help but laugh at his big dumb grin. “Don’t be too excited! I obviously had to make every substitution. Walnuts for pecans, honey for sugar; it’s not exact, but it should be close enough. Been working on my bakes.”

Taking a bite, he shakes his head in what at first seems like pain but soon reveals itself to be the opposite. “Damn woman. And you only bring me one piece?”

“You’re a carpenter. That’s a triangle obviously cut out of a full circle. You know there’s more where that came from.” It’s a pleasure to watch him lose a battle against another big bite. “I take it you’re happy.”

His mouth full of sticky sweetness but the crow’s feet setting in, all he can do is chew and cock his head, looking you over as if to say, damn right I am.

_____

Joel’s quiet the whole ride to the Roost. It’s easy to guess what’s troubling him. A whole week alone should be exciting, but he’s worrying about expectations again and there hasn’t been much time to talk about it…or he just didn’t want to.

“Meadowlark to Goldfinch.”

“Present.”

“Bringing a Grey Fox in at the north gate.”

“Noted. You brought your own sheets I hope.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Joel’s frown and straightened shoulders as he suddenly loses the sympathetic gait with his horse. “Yup. Both sets. For two beds. Man’s here to work on that roof and I’m only payin’ him in food.”

“Ooof. Poor Joel. He deserves better.”

“Yeah, well I’m working on it. Boiled water last night and I didn’t even burn it.”

The banter seems to have relaxed him back into the saddle sag for the time being, and you keep it up until Goldie has you in her sights.

“I know you like sleeping under the stars, Foxy, but it’s been cold and wet. Bed’s yours. I’ll take the top bunk.”

“Fine,” he grunts.

“And you’re not allowed to go up on the roof unless I’m around to spot you.”

“I can handle it.”

“Oh, I’m sure, but my nerves can’t. And this is my domain. I’m the boss out here.”

This gets you one half serving of smile with a side of eyeroll. “Yes ma’am.”

Once you’re settled in, Joel descends the ladder and starts going through the woodpile, looking for adequate repair material, taking up the axe to split some logs for shingles while you go take a cursory round through the meadows.

The sheep are mostly on the near side by the copse of trees housing the Roost, keeping a tight flock, settled down and facing into the wind. A few bleat as you arrive but none of them skitter, allowing you to pat a couple as they chew cud and to check any for painted marks in case Goldie found one of them sick or lame. Other than one small ram that wants to playfully butt you in the thigh, all seems well. The rest of the flock is mostly down by the river and you take a little time to make some noise and shoo them toward the others before circling back to the Roost….

…which is where you find Joel Miller up on the ladder prying at rotted shingles.

“What the hell did I say, Cinnamon Roll?”

“Hold your britches,” he calls down. “I’m just assessing.”

“How am I supposed to get up there and you got the ladder?”

“Oh now we have a quandary,” he jokes. “What are you gonna do if I don’t let you up?”

“You think I haven’t slept out with the sheep before? I’d have no issue with it but that it’s gonna rain, so maybe you should let me up so I can help and make that repair go faster.”

Coming down and moving the ladder to the balcony drop, he scans the sky with doubts. “What makes you think it’s gonna rain?”

“Because I read sheep.”

“You read sheep.”

“Yeah. They spell it out like a marching band. RAIN. Big letters. Cursive. Could you just–”

The ladder comes sliding down with a thunk and you climb, taking his helping hand as you reach the top.

He smirks. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

All you can do is shake your head and hide your grin. “Don’t you dare. I’m gonna get my gloves.”

As he starts to heft the ladder back up, you go inside and quickly grab a wool hat and a pair of deerhide gloves from your pack. Turning to go back out though, a glint catches your eye near the door.

There’s a new nail in the wall.

With a broken watch hanging from it.

Huh.

This must be the place where he feels like he can be free of it and of the past you gather it represents for him. A special spot for it by the door where he won’t forget it when he leaves, somewhere he can see it if he needs it, but not carry it so much.

It’s a nice piece but for the hole. Well cared for. 2:40. You realize with a little regret that you missed the anniversary, that Outbreak Day no longer registers. Which means you also didn’t–

He doesn’t like to celebrate his birthday, Tommy once said.

It had come and gone without much fuss. But also without any noticeable misery. Railroaded by a new nephew and hard work.

That’s good. He’s not forgetting, just letting it rest. Someday it will be a good day again.

“You gonna get out here and hold this thing or what? You’re the one said rain is coming.”

“Not me. It was the sheep. Hold your britches or get a better belt. I’m coming.”

_____

A gentle roll of thunder wakes you in the night and the Roost is dark as you listen for a moment to the rain pattering against the roof slanting up and over you, inches away. Tuning in, you train your ear for a hard patter, a splotch, any indication that the roof patch didn’t hold, but of course it has. It was mended by Joel Miller himself.

Well, at least it’s dry, but damn, it’s chilly. A glance toward the little iron stove shows you nothing but darkness, which means the fire’s out. As much as it hurts to leave the little nest of warmth you do have, it’s probably better to relight it and warm the place by morning, so down the bunk ladder you go, being as quiet as possible.

Somehow, it's always comforting waking up at night at the Roost. Your house in town is too quiet at night, too full of the possibility of unfamiliar ghosts--of those that lived there, of the society it held, of your own loneliness. At least out here you feel held by the trees and needed by the sheep. There are ghosts buried out there in the meadow, but they're long gone now, part of the land itself, land that was always wild and free and full of the kind of life that wasn't destroyed all at once in one day. Night at the Roost is a quiet comfort, a place of purpose and sisterhood and family. It's full of wooden and woolen things made by hands you know and is welcoming to everyone, including the moonlight and the stars.

It takes a little doing with the wind up and you have to manipulate the flue a bit, but after a few minutes there’s a lovely crackling and smell of pine. Padding over to the chair by the window to snatch the wool blanket there, you stop for a minute to look out at the storm, trying to catch a glimpse of the sheep in a flash of lightning, but there’s not much of that to be had, so you wrap the blanket around yourself and make your way back to the bunk ladder.

“Sheep okay out there?” Joel mumbles in the dimness from his bed, somewhere near your knee.

“They’re fine. Did I wake you up?”

“No. Been listening to the rain a while. You cold?”

“Yeah. Fire went out. You?”

His answer comes in the form of something like a sail in the darkness and it takes a second to realize that he’s holding his blankets open in an invitation. “Come on. You’re gonna let the heat out.”

Sliding into Joel’s warmth is an easy decision to make. And it’s not just the warmth of his sheets, but that he brings the covers around you, pulling you all the way into his chest against his soft old undershirt, tucking you in under his chin, wrapping you up in his whole, woodsmoke-scented self.

Every tension in you simply melts into bliss.

Resting his lips against your forehead, his breath fans gently at your hair. “I could get used to this.”

A long hum rides out on your exhale. “I think I already am.”

“You’re a good woman, you know that?”

“Spoken like a true Texan.”

A long kiss presses into your forehead. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. I’m gonna do my best to be good again, Songbird. Hope I can be what you want.”

“That’s easier than you imagine. You’ve been what I want since you showed up around here, so I’m already quite pleased. Hope I can be what you want.”

A new warmth takes you over as he starts to spread his hand along your back, simply running over your contours, testing out what it’s like to hold someone this way, slowly caressing, lightly squeezing, tucking you in tighter. “You seem to know what I want before I even do. I look forward to finding out what I want next.”

“Well, I have to admit. Your brother tipped me off about the pecan pie.”

He laughs a little as he tips your chin up to meet you in a kiss in the dark. It’s hesitant but hungry; a long time needed and a long time savored.

“Did your sheep say it was supposed to rain all day?”

His hair and beard ruffle softly under your fingertips. “I didn’t ask, but I think it probably will. Sure hope that new roof holds.”

“We could always just stay right here and keep an eye on it.”

“See? You know exactly what you want. We can do that. I’d say that’s a good day’s work.”

His hand splays big and warm on your back, pinning you close for another kiss. “I tend to agree.”

_____

PREVIOUS: SUMMER

WINTER

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

can you write about dave mustaine watching the fem!reader touching herself through a small space in the bedroom door, and then decides to take the reader by surprise and helps her with his big hands?

A/n: I love size differences, maybe because I'm short but just the thought of it even in a domestic sense like cuddling and stuff, I love it. Dave is half a foot taller than me so I very much enjoyed writing this lol

Warnings: Smut, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, squirting, if you think I missed something please let me know otherwise enjoy :3

You had been living with your parents for your whole life, bouncing between jobs but nothing ever seemed to stick. Thankfully, your parents were happy to have you around and understood the situation.

Everyday you would check the newspaper for job openings, you’d walk around town and hand in your resume.

One fateful day you were walking around. You were getting down on yourself pretty hard, all your friends had jobs, some had families. You were trying harder than anyone and it seemed to be getting you nowhere. Of course it just had to start raining.

Without an umbrella your only hope was to find a newspaper stand. There was one nearby and you got a random newspaper to hold over your head as you made your way back home. It wasn’t that far so the paper didn’t get soaked all the way through, you thanked your lucky stars.

You got your shoes off and headed into the kitchen. You fell onto a chair at the dining table and dropped the newspaper onto the table before planting your head beside it, completely drained.

Your mom came over and sat beside you, rubbing your back in a comforting manner. She looked over the newspaper and saw a job citing. “What about this one?” She asked, pointing to the small column asking for a tour manager, someone to help get this band you’ve never heard of what they wanted when they wanted it or something. They were paying a fair price and the criteria seemed easy enough so you gave it a shot and called the number. I man answered, walked you through the interview and like that you were hired.

You’ve now been working with Megadeth, an up and coming thrash metal band, for a few weeks now. You’ve been on tour for a week or two, everything has been going great and you were happy to be with this job. The band was nice, anytime anyone ever gave you any trouble they were right there with you, a group of menacing fellows who weren’t afraid to throw more than a few hits.

You were in your room the night before an early flight. The lead singer of the band had a suit and offered you the spare room because he didn’t want you having to pay for a whole room when he had a perfectly fine empty one, his words. That ‘spare’ room you took was supposed to be the bassists room, for whatever reason he decided to give Dave the whole room.

Whatever the reason you didn’t care all too much, you were more than happy to not have to pay for your own room.

You felt that this was finally working out for you, after all your struggle and hard work you’d finally made something, a good something. While lying in bed you figured you deserved a treat, a reward for doing so good.

You slid your hand under your waistband and into your panties, a nice lacey thing you got for yourself as another treat. Feel good, look good, right?

Your fingers circled your clit and teased your hole. Your body was so hot from the excitement you’d been keeping from it for so long that now every touch just drove you crazy.

Dave’s room was right beside yours, he couldn’t quite hear what you were doing but the walls were thin enough that he could hear you rustling around. There had been times during the tour that you guys had to take a flight, fairy or bus ride through the night and Dave had caught you up at unreasonable hours more than once so he figured it was just that, you couldn’t sleep and were tossing and turning to find a comfortable position that didn’t seem to exist.

He got out of bed and made his way to your room. The door was opened a crack and he could see you moving around on your bed. The way your fingers sunk into your hole, the way your back arched and your legs stretched out. He saw all of that, the way you pleased yourself.

He never planned on admitting it to you, he swears, but he didn’t hire you because of the interview. He hired you because of your voice, he didn’t think a more beautiful voice could exist and he knew your looks would match.

Before the tour started he found himself thinking of you late at night, he’d end up in the same predicament that you were in right now. His underwear bunched around his ankles, legs spread apart as he pumped his hand up and down his shaft.

He was given an opportunity right now as he watched you. He was already hardening in his pants at the idea of helping you get off. Your hands just weren’t cutting it, his hands were bigger, calloused from playing the guitar for years.

He opened the door and let himself in. You immediately went to cover yourself, tugging the blanket over your exposed body as fast as you could but it was far too late.

Dave paid no mind to it and just walked over to the bed as you tried to straighten yourself out. “Davie, I-It’s not what you think, I was just-”

“Shh, just let me help you.” Dave said with a soft smile. He sat beside you on the bed, putting an arm around your shoulder and pulling you to him. He slowly peeled the blanket off of you, revealing your naked body all for him.

Dave moved behind you, letting you lean back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around you. His one hand went to your chest, groping your chest and pinching your nipples while the other went to your cunt.

He toyed with your swollen clit a bit before pushing a finger in you. Your back arched against him and he loved it. He pumped his finger in and out of you, curling inside you and pushing against your gummy walls, searching for that perfect spot that made you see stars. When he found it he made sure to hit it over and over again.

Your mouth fell open in a waterfall of moans. His finger stretched you out more than your own did, the callouses felt so much better as they prodded your sensitive flesh. “Fuck, you’re so pretty.” Dave whispered in your ear. “Just couldn’t get yourself off, could you? Needed help, didn’t you?” You nodded, bucking your hips into his hand.

“Yes! Yes, fuck, yes, please!” You cried, gripping his arm tightly. Dave chuckled at you and stuck another finger into your hole, making your eyes shoot open and roll to the back of your head. Your body shook as it was taken over by climax, one you hadn’t seen coming until it coated your body.

It took you several moments to figure out why Dave was smiling so proudly down at the sheets. It wasn’t until you gained back your composure enough to look and see that you’d squirted all over the hotel mattress, soaking the sheets and comforter. Your eyes widened at the mess but Dave just chuckled. “What a pretty girl.”

[queenofallimagines]

Meguru Bachira with a black s/o

LISTEN!! I picked up the 2 volume of the manga on accident when I went to target and I’m in love w him the man of my dreams!! Not taking blue lock right now bc besides Isagi and kunigami i don’t remember any other characters name or anything about them😅 feel free to talk to me about him tho I have SO many thoughts👀

** can you tell this is just me rambling 💀

Megaru💕:

- this pic gives me butterflies holy shit

- WHEW this man has huge unhinged sunshine energy

- Like giggling and kicking my feet how he’s the happy go lucky character trope (I.e hinata) but they make sure you remember he’s not “soft”

- Like the way y’all be uwuing hinata that is a grown man😐 he was throwing fists the WHOLE SERIES but he don’t know about sex? Bffr

- Anyway he’s definitely a switch but kinda leaning more top? he definitely just wants to fuck he don’t care who’s on top

- He’s so cuddly it’s adorable

- Getting neon yellow nails to match his hair>>>

- Definitely would like to match fits w you when y’all step out

- WOULD GET YOU AN ANKLE BRACELET W HIS INITIALS ON IT SO HE CAN KISS YOUR ANKLE WHEN HE PUTS YOUR LEGS OVER HIS SHOULDERS!!

- Most fashionable couple FR

- Always has to be touching you in some way

- Holding your hand, arm around you, hand in your pockets

- Wants to make sure you’re there and won’t slip away from him

- Imagining him going to meet your family and he’s SWEATING like he knows he’s not everyone’s cup of tea and really doesn’t want to start anything

- “You are good at soccer so you have like + 100 points right now”(watching Latino people watch the football on the Olympics is so scary 😫)

- Imagine your family watching his games😭 embarrassing bc now I’m imagining a room full of dads and uncles glued to the tv and cheering him on like he can hear it💀💀

- “You so skinny you need to eat more!”

- He’s charming your aunties to steal plates from your house

- You get in the car and he has like 3 Tupperwares full of left overs

- Great with kids because they think he’s cool

- he’s breaking they ankles in soccer tho he’s not gunna play nice w kids

- If “play where it’s safe cuz it’s NOT over here” was a person

- Like he can go 0-100 in a millisecond so if someone tries him

- Very “who’s gon beat my ass about it??” Type beat

- People think y’all are so cute bc he’s so smiley and sweet to you

- DEFINITELY says filthy shit in your ear too

- Like he’s cuddly w everyone he likes so you’d be no different but he’s slipping his hands up your shirt

- Number one hype man when you get your hair done

- So extra

- “My baby so cute🥹🥹”

- Box braids are his favorite bc he can put charms and stuff in your hair

- also medium long locs bc imagining him walking up to you and pushing them out your face to see your eyes🥺

- Freak

- Probably sends you links to sex toys and is like

- “👀👀??”

-“I’m a visual learner btw”

- The MOST unserious character in this whole series so far

- His song is rodeo but just the flo Milli verse i WILL NOT ELABORATE!!

- Once he get to doing that thing where he lower his voice just call in sick bc you probably not walking

- Not that he doesn’t care about your pleasure it’s more he’s fucking until HE taps out so your brains can be soup but he’s not done so,,,,hold on?

- If you like me and a few inches shorter than him will be smug about it

- His personality is big enough to count as a size kink but being a little taller makes him get a big head

- Talks you through it the whole time

- Switching back and fourth between degrading and praise so fast it makes your head spin

- “Hm? Don’t tell me my little slut is tapping out? You were begging me so nicely earlier”

- only one who can say babygirl and it not be cringe 🤭

- “be a good boy and spread your legs for me, hm?”

- Really sloppy kisser during sex too

- Will tell you to stick your tongue out for him

- On the rougher side of kinky stuff

- Fucks you like it’s the last time he ever will every time

- Don’t care about getting caught bc either way he’s not stopping

- Probably how you’d end up sleeping w him and Isagi I fear

- Isagi is so sweet and megaru is MEAN

- Isagi trying to go slow and be gentle and Megaru over here pulling your hair calling you a pretty whore

- this man In grey sweatpants would end me

- APART OF THE SHORT KING BIG DICK CREW

- he’s tall by Japanese standards but juuuuust 3cm above average in American height

- he already walks out the shower naked w NO care in the world

- probably walks around the house like that too Ngl

- “I am returning to the natural state of my birth” I will glue your clothes to your body sir :/

- feel like he’s more girth than length like don’t get me wrong he def has a third leg but he’s gunna have to work you open

- “ Oh don’t worry, I’ll make sure it fits”

- Act right dick™️ so don’t push him too far in public

- Definitely a bad influence!! You’re trying to be normal in public and he gives you a look

- Next thing you know he’s on his knees for you in a bathroom or an empty hallway🙄

- In the locker room so many times the rest of his friends already know, and when you two disappear they not stepping foot in there

- Buys you lingerie because he’s your biggest hype man

- When you feel confident you’re the most sexy

- “Mmm you look so good in that cute outfit, you won’t be too mad if I tear it off right?”

- Spreads your legs wide and will make you look in the mirror and watch as he fingers you open

- The type of man who fucks you so good you would get his name tatted on your ass

- Your family actually is probably like “don’t you go corrupting that sweet boy”

- And behind closed doors he’s got his hand holding your hair in a tight fist as he makes himself comfy in your throat

- “Let me hold your hair up for you💕”

- L$D- asap Rocky is also his song

[elliesflower]

i saw you in a dream [5]

summary; you attend ellie's open mic performance. and meet her...roommate.

chapter; 5/? 3.1k words

cw (per chapter); recreational marijuana usage, language

an; hi lol. i love u guys, thank you endlessly for dealing with my slow updating of this story. anyways, i think this may be my favorite chapter yet, please let me know what you think! i love a good cliffhanger ;) (as always, find it on ao3 here)

chapter 4 here

Friday came entirely too quickly—you breezed through your last final exam on Thursday, which left you way too much time to anxiously anticipate your upcoming…event.

“Date!” Dina exclaimed. “Ellie asked you to go because she likes you, it’s practically a date,” she singsonged, twirling a piece of hair around her finger childishly.

“Yes, because I’m sure we’ll have so much time to talk one-on-one and gaze longingly into each other’s eyes in between performances,” you replied sarcastically, continuing to rummage through your closet. “And, you don’t know that she likes me, maybe she just asked me because I was right there.”

“Okay, for someone so smart, sometimes you’re a little stupid,” Dina said, and you shot her the most evil side eye you could manage. “Ellie may or may not like you like that, but she likes you enough to invite you to something that sounds personal and important to her. This is your in! Now, you just have to get flirty.”

“‘Get flirty?’ Do you even know me at all?” You scoffed, turning to face her. “I am, like, the most awkward human being on the planet.”

“Okay, I take it back,” Dina laughed, standing up. “Let’s just focus on finding you an outfit.”

“What the hell do you even wear to an open-mic?” You complained, turning back to continue looking through your closet. 

“You could wear something of mine, if you want,” she suggested.

“Uh, no thank you,” you smiled, pulling out a plain black mock-neck from the depths of your closet, turning around and holding it up to your chest.

“Hey!” Dina gasped. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“No offense, but I don’t really think…whatever look you have going on is the one for me.” It’s not that you didn’t like the way Dina dressed, rather, you really did like it—but expressing yourself through clothing had always been hard for you, sticking to more muted tones, blacks and greys. Dina’s wardrobe was loud and colorful, she always looked so put together, and she never seemed to wear the same thing twice. You admired it, really, but still found yourself gravitating towards more basic clothing.

“Whoever said saying ‘no offense’ actually makes a statement any less offensive needs their ass beat, to be honest,” she replied casually, and you could hear her sorting through hangers in her own closet. “Just try this, at least. It would look nice with that shirt, I promise!” She was shoving a colorful chunky-knit cardigan into your hands before you could protest, and you grimaced. 

“I don’t know Dee,” you held up the sweater, contemplating. “I never wear stuff like this.”

“Just put the damn sweater on and let’s go!” She smiled at you. “Don’t you want good seats?”

You rolled your eyes, but went to look in the mirror nonetheless. “As if there’ll be a fight for front row seats at a college open-mic.”

“Oh perfect,” she sighed exaggeratedly before rummaging in her desk drawer. “Then you agree, you have time to split this with me before we leave?” She held up a small, white tube, and you pursed your lips. 

“Okay, fine,” you gave in, quickly pulling your shirt off over your head before pulling on the black long-sleeve. 

“Just one hit.”

—

You did not, in fact, take just one hit. It was more like four. Or five…or six, or who could keep track, really?

It seemed like a good idea, a little something to take the edge off, maybe soothe the bundle of nerves that had formed in your stomach and in your brain and in your chest at the thought alone of seeing Ellie—god forbid, having to make conversation with her.

And while it did help a little, you hadn’t smoked as much as Dina, so it still felt as though your heartbeat grew louder with each step toward the theater. All that stood between you and Ellie—and, well, a handful of other attendees and performers—was a short corridor. 

“It’ll be okay, just chill out,” Dina tried to subdue you, and her voice was thickened by her intoxication, slower and almost more serious. Her eyes were low as she smiled over at you, bumping into your shoulder softly. 

“Thank you, Dina, because telling someone to chill out always works so well,” you quipped, shaking your head as she led you through the doors. Though, you did try to chill out, as it were, taking a deep breath and sliding the sleeves of the oversized cardigan up your forearms, nervously tugging at the neck of your long sleeve, fidgeting with anything you could think of to distract you from—

“Oh!” You exclaimed as you ran directly into a body around the corner, staggering backwards slightly before someone was gripping your arms, keeping you steady. Your eyes trailed up the body before you were met with—oh god, “Ellie!”

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she laughed melodically, smoothing her hands down your biceps before flashing her teeth at you. The chatter of the other attendees faded into the background as you felt your body heat up under her stare, painfully aware of her hands that were still on your arms. 

You could do nothing but let out an awkward laugh in response, nodding your head as she took her hands away. Dina cleared her throat obnoxiously from behind you and you turned your head to give her a look that you hoped conveyed: please for the love of god save me.

“Hi, I’m Dina by the way, or you probably know me as ‘the roommate,’” she said, sticking out her hand past you for Ellie to shake, and you had to admire her confidence for a second, the way she could unapologetically be herself in any situation. You’d think that from spending so much time with her, some of that confidence would have rubbed off on you, but no, you were still just…you.

“Nice to meet you, Dina,” Ellie smiled, and her voice was laced with honey, rich and slow spilling from her lips. She reached her hand past you to shake Dina’s, and you moved out of the way slightly.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Dina dropped her hand and stood next to you now. You looked over at her in shock, and you hoped the shaking of your head and wide eyes weren’t noticeable. 

“Uh, not so much,” you laughed nervously, trying to subtly kick Dina’s ankle. 

“Wow, you really do have that guitar player look to you,” she ignored you, gesturing to Ellie. “I love the tattoo!”

Your eyes were daggers glaring into the side of Dina’s head, but neither her or Ellie seemed to notice—though it was debatable whether that was good or bad. Ellie chuckled, instinctively looking down at her arm and holding it out as if to show it off. You felt like sinking into the floor, watching her arm flex as she rotated it, skimming her fingers down the length of her forearm, tracing the pattern. 

“Thank you,” she was slightly bashful, despite her eagerness to show off. She caught your eye for a moment and—were her cheeks turning red? It is pretty warm in here with all these bodies…yeah, that’s it. 

“Well, anyways, nice to finally meet you Ellie, I’m gonna go grab a snack,” Dina smiled politely between both you and Ellie, before patting your shoulder and slipping away. Oh god, why would she leave you to talk to her alone?

“I’m so glad you could make it,” she said, and suddenly everything was fading away again. You took a moment to look down at her outfit, trying to be as discreet as possible. She adorned a light blue flannel, cuffed just above her elbows and a pair of dark Levi’s—her hair was pulled back, save for a few pieces that fell loosely around her face, which you noticed she tucked hastily behind her ear when a strand tickled her nose before she said, “I love that sweater, by the way.”

Dina was going to have a field day with that one. 

“Oh, thank you!” You exclaimed, instinctively wrapping your arms around yourself. She smiled at you before continuing. 

“Anyways, I’m up last, so don’t feel like you have to stay for the whole thing, if you get bored or anything,” she explained, pointing at the stage behind her. “I’m just glad you could make it.”

On the inside, you were swooning, your eyes were in the shape of hearts and you wanted to reach out and embrace her—you wanted to smell that warm vanilla musk and the earthy savor of weed, you wanted to tell her you wanted nothing more than to spend all your time with her, know her inside and out, you wanted it all. 

“No, no, I came here for you,” you said instead, making fists around the material of your sweater and smiling at her. “Of course I’ll stay.” 

Ellie’s face flushed again, and you continued to insist it was due to the heat of the room. She glanced behind her, and you followed her gaze to see Dina filling up a plate with what looked like one of everything from the table. 

“I should go get ready,” Ellie mumbled before turning back to you. “Why don’t you go grab some snacks with Dina and I’ll catch you after the show?” She sounded hopeful. You nearly choked. 

“Yes, I’ll be here!” Of course you’ll be here, where the hell else would you be? You mentally face-palmed yourself before she was giving you a smile and disappearing into the crowd. You took a deep breath and made your way to the snack table, where Dina was still loading up. 

“Oh, hey!” She said when she finally saw you. 

“Hey, thanks so much for embarrassing the hell out of me,” you complained, stealing a cheese square off of her plate. 

“Embarrassing you? Please, I was helping you,” she laughed before stuffing a grape into her mouth. “And it kinda worked, didn’t it? I set you up for a nice little chat with your girlfriend.”

“Oh, shut up,” you bumped her shoulder, but you couldn’t fight the warmth that climbed up the back of your neck. “Let’s go grab a seat.”

The acts that preceded Ellie were actually entertaining—a few songs, a poem or two, and a stand-up act that wasn’t…terrible. Not to say it was good but…you know. 

And then the host, who you assumed was Ellie’s roommate, was waltzing back on to the stage as the audience applauded, her short black hair reflecting almost blue in the spotlight. She was eclectic, all mismatched patterns and silver jewelry that hung from her neck and her wrists and her ears. She was funny and vibrant, commanding the attention of everyone in the room every time she stepped onto the stage to introduce the next act. 

“Alright folks, please give a warm welcome to my best friend, the one and only, Ellie Williams!” She tucked her microphone under her arm before clapping, moving out of the way of the small stool that was behind her. Best friend? Ellie had only said she was her roommate. 

But it didn’t matter, because Ellie was walking on to the stage with her guitar in hand, smiling nervously at the crowd. You clapped as loud as you could, trying to reposition your body so that you could see her slightly better over the heads in front of you, though you doubted she could see you from your seat somewhere in the middle row. 

“Uh, good evening, everyone,” Ellie started, positioning herself on the stool and pulling the microphone down to her level. “I’m gonna sing a little song for you guys, if that’s cool.” There was a bit of scattered applause and Dina whooped loudly from beside you. You smacked her with the back of your hand. 

Your heart was beating out of your chest, partly from the excitement at getting to see Ellie perform, and partly from your second-hand stage fright. Even though you weren’t the one performing, you always seemed to absorb the nerves of the performer, just waiting for them to make a mistake, even if you didn’t want them to. You especially wanted this to go well for Ellie, and you bounced your leg nervously as she positioned her guitar in her lap. 

She strummed the first few chords and you nearly had a heart attack.

C, A-minor, F-major. You could probably play those in your sleep, now. 

“Holy shit,” Dina whispered from beside you, and of course, she knew too, from the hours and hours you spent listening to the song, practicing the song, getting taught the song. 

“Did I drive you away?

I know what you'll say

You say, ‘Oh, sing one we know,’

“Dina,” you whispered back, leaning into her, but not being able to peel your eyes away from Ellie. “Is that…?” But you already knew the answer. 

“Dude. She’s so. Into you.”

“But I promise you this

I'll always look out for you

Yeah, that's what I'll do,

You couldn’t help the smile that slowly spread across your face as you leaned back up, watching Ellie lose herself in the song. Suddenly, you were back in her room, the air thick and heavy, watching her sing softly and strum along when she thought you weren’t watching—that little crease between her eyebrows and the dreamy look in her eyes as she sang with the voice of a thousand angels. 

Maybe you had a hard time believing Ellie was into you, but she picked this song knowing you would be here. There was no denying that. 

“La, la, la, la, o-oh

La, la, la, la, o-oh,

The song ended entirely too soon, and she was smiling, standing up and adjusting the microphone back into a higher position. Applause was erupting from every side of you and you clapped as though you were the only person in the room, as if she could see the intensity in which you showed your recognition and your appreciation and your utter giddiness. 

The host was waltzing on stage again before you knew it, and gave Ellie a hug. You ignored the jealous twinge in your heart, for god’s sake you had literally hung out one time, and the applause continued as she thanked everyone for coming, wrapping her arm around Ellie’s waist and requesting one last round of applause for all the performers. You continued clapping, watching Ellie raise her guitar in the air like a glass of champagne for a toast, before the host whispered something in her ear that made her smile. You again ignored the skip of your heart, instead focusing on Dina’s hand gripping your arm. 

“Oh my god, you have to go say something to her, ask her out, something! The suspense is literally killing me,” she whined, pulling you along as the lights slowly turned back on and people shimmied out of the aisles. 

“I can’t just ask her out, it’s not that easy for me,” you replied.. You wished it was easy for you, you wished you could be more like Dina, just walk right up to her and say: I think I really like you, and we should go out sometime. But your anxiety paralyzed you, rendered you completely helpless when it came to love and lust.

“I swear dude, if I have to sit through any more of your pining and love songs I might request a roommate swap,” Dina said, leading you back to the snack table. “She likes you. And if you can’t see that at this point I don’t know what else to say.” You pouted a bit, like a petulant child, crossing your arms over your chest and surveying the room. Before you could even formulate a response, Ellie was emerging from a group of people who had gathered opposite the table. You quickly uncrossed your arms as she caught your eye and made her way toward you. 

“Oh look, who would have guessed,” Dina muttered, popping a grape into her mouth. She smiled exaggeratedly at Ellie before grabbing a handful of crackers. “I’ll leave the two of you to talk,” and you wished so badly you could flip her off without it being obvious. 

“Hey,” Ellie said quietly, and her voice was almost timid--a laughable comparison to barely five minutes ago when she had the entire audience wrapped around her finger. 

“Ellie,” you breathed, shifting your weight from one foot to another. “Your song choice was…inspired,” you said, wrapping an arm across your body. She looked down at her feet, and you wondered if her cheeks would be rosy when she looked back up. 

“Oh, yeah,” she looked up at you now, and you were right. Except, it wasn’t actually that warm in here. “Well, it’s a good song, you know.” Her hand went to the back of her neck, just like it had before, and you wanted to pull it away, to intertwine your fingers and just tell her, just tell her you want to go out, somewhere where she doesn’t have to teach you to play guitar and you can just talk, and mentally map the freckles that littered her face and learn about how she got that scar in her eyebrow and find out if she’d rather go to a tea house or a coffee shop and fuck, you had to ask her, now, before you lost the courage and your mouth was moving before your brain could catch up, 

“Ellie, I was wondering if--” 

“There you are, superstar!” A voice suddenly came from behind her, and you recognized it immediately. The host--or I guess, Ellie’s roommate--oops, wrong again, Ellie’s best friend, was appearing behind her, grabbing onto her shoulder and looking at her with admiration. Ellie seemed surprised to see her, somehow, as she turned to face her, plastering on a smile that looked…forced. 

“Oh, hey,” she replied, before the raven-haired girl was pulling her into a hug. You stood awkwardly as they embraced, looking down at the ground in an attempt to seem casual. Oh god, you couldn’t believe you were actually about to ask Ellie out on a date. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” the girl said abruptly, pulling back as if she’d just noticed your presence. She left an arm around Ellie’s waist, and you noticed the way Ellie suddenly appeared tense. Like, in a bad way. 

You offered the girl a small smile and stuck your hand out politely, giving her your name. She took it and shook firmly, her small hand deceivingly strong. Her eyes were painted with thick, black eyeliner, and they raked up and down your body. You felt like shrinking away under her intimidating stare, averting your eyes after a moment.

“Uh, this is Cat, my roommate,” Ellie said after an awkward pause, giving you a sheepish look. 

“And best friend,” she chimed, pulling her hand away. She leaned into Ellie’s side, resting her head on Ellie’s shoulder and using her free hand to pat her chest. 

“Ellie and I go way back.”

chapter 6 here

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Villain's Coffee Shop part 34

Warnings: rough recovery, bedbound villain

Hero couldn't help the small smile that quirked her lips. That sounded a lot more like the Villain she was used to.

She left to give him a few hours of rest before it was time to give him the next dose of painkillers. Mocha was curled up by his neck when she came back and got the medications ready.

Villain groaned when she gently shook his shoulder to wake him and give him the new injections. He winced when the needle slid into his arm, peering dizzily up at Hero's face. He wasn't looking too good, his face deathly pale..

"How long until you think I'll be able to walk again?" He asked hoarsely.

"When I took you to the hospital the doctor there said it could be months," Hero admitted grimly.

"I don't have that kind of time," Villain sighed heavily. "Especially if Superhero finds me like this to finish me off -- I wouldn't be able to defend myself."

"Maybe we could just try talking to him and get his side of the sto--"

"NO!" Villain shouted hoarsely, and Hero was taken aback by the pure terror that darted across his face. "What will it take to convince you that Superhero isn't your friend?!? Look what he did to me!" He broke off into a bout of wheezing coughs.

"You're right," Hero quickly said, face wrinkling. "Sorry. My mind still compulsively wants to fawn over and believe in the best of him. It's a hard habit to shake."

That seemed to calm Villain down a little. "Has... Has he tried calling you yet since you left?" He asked in a small voice.

Hero shook her head. "I didn't have my phone on me when Mocha got me out. And I haven't been back to the Agency to retrieve it ever since. I've been... kind of too busy saving your life."

Villain heaved a sigh, breath rattling in his lungs. He hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something, and Hero waited patiently for him to find his voice.

"I... actually might have someone I can call to help me," he said cautiously, tone guarded. "They have healing superpowers that accelerates regeneration tenfold. Miracle-worker type. It's the only way I'll be able to function without waiting months to years to physically recover. They could heal me in a day."

Hero's eyes widened. "Why didn't you mention that sooner? That is a perfect idea, and it'll save you a lot of pain too."

Villain didn't look ecstatic about it like she would have expected. "Because... it comes with a hefty price tag," he said slowly. "The person I am referring to does nothing for free. But... I think it's the only workable option. Hard as it is to admit, I'm virtually useless in this state of health. I need my body back -- I need to be able to walk and fight again before Superhero finds me."

Hero tilted her head to the side. "Sounds sketchy, but if you're sure this person can help..."

Villain's gaze darted to a table on the other side of the room. "In that case grab my phone -- password is 'M-U-R-D-E-R'."

Hero gave him a sharp glare as she went and snatched up his phone. "That's seriously your password?"

"I'm a villain. What do you expect?"

"Fair enough..."

Villain guided her to his phone numbers, and to a contact saved as 'anonymous enemy', and Hero hit the call button, letting the phone ring.

"Can you just... set the phone down on speaker and leave for a few minutes while I make the call?" Villain croaked weakly. "I... have to do some negotiating... and I'd rather you not be present to hear my offer."

Hero narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "How would you stop me from sticking around if I say no?"

"...I can't," Villain said flatly, voice monotone. "You know that. Stop being a jerk and weaponizing my current state of weakness. If you won't let me do this alone I'm not making the call. You might as well hang up now before they even pick up. I'll take the long road to recovery instead."

"Wow, it's that serious, eh? You'd rather suffer for months than let me overhear your conversation?" Hero teased playfully, but Villain didn't laugh or smile.

"Yes. It is. It's a devil's bargain, and it is my choice the price I will pay for my contact's help. Knowing you, you'd try to do some sort of self-sacrificing offer and screw things up. I don't want you getting involved in this one."

Hero's gut sank. "What exactly are you offering? You're making it sound like it has some serious value behind it with some sort of grave consequences."

"That's for me to know and you to never find out," Villain muttered. They stared at each other in charged silence, until the phone was answered.

“What do you want?” A grouchy voice snapped.

“Hero. Please. Just let me handle this,” Villain hissed quietly.

Hero hesitated, but eventually caved, setting the phone down on the couch next to Villain’s head.

“If you really think it'll help,” she whispered. “I sure hope you know what you're doing.” She trudged out of the room right as Villain finally began speaking to whoever mystery person he was calling for help.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222

@federthenotsogreat @everynameistakencarrots

[mechformers]

Ma Miles - Ch. 7

3.2k words

Bold letters are spoken in English by the Reader to Quaritch.

Thank you all so much for your absolutely amazing response and kind comments! I'm really so grateful. Each and every comment makes me so incredibly happy, so really; THANK YOU!!

This chapter has a few good bits to it, so extra points to those of you who can recognize the little reference, and to those who realize what Y/n just did in her mind :D

(I see that people are doing taglists and thought that it might be fun, so if you want to be tagged with the updated chapters, please leave your @ myusername in the comments)

Previous chapter | Masterpost | Chapter 8

“You are gentle with him,” You smile up at the demon as he looks down at you from where he has come to a stop beside you. 

“You say that as if you’re surprised, sweetcheeks,” He smirks back, crossing his arms over his chest. 

It’s been a little over two months since you surrendered to the sky people in search of your son. The man standing beside you the very demon you had heard about, yet, not. Every now and then, the cruel man you knew him to be shone through, but when he was with his unit, with your son and you - learning the Na’vi way - he became someone else. Someone genuine. The sign Eywa had shown you all those weeks ago still burned brightly in your mind every time he tried your patience, reminding you that the Great Mother had let this happen for a reason. 

“I am,” You reply honestly, holding his eyes when he looks into yours. 

Nodding thoughtfully, the demon uncrosses his arms, letting them hang by his side as he watches his unit try to follow Spider’s directions on how to ground hermit bud seeds into flour. You’ve been observing them all day, letting them show you what they’ve learned. You’re not surprised when they remember most of what Spider and you taught them, yet a form of pride blossoms inside of you. Looking up at the demon, you can see the same pride reflected on his own face. 

“Hey, old man!” Spider shouts from where he sits with his roller stone, “You’re losing this competition,”

The grin on your son’s face as he teases his - as he teases the demon is blinding. He’s been so happy the past few months, the insecurity he felt over not being Na’vi born, all but melting away as he helped teach the unit how to do the simplest of things. Spider laughed more, smiled more, took charge of teaching and protection without you saying anything. With his new confidence, you let him grow, only gently guiding him from the background whenever he would look back at you for help. 

“Over my dead body, kid,” The demon growls playfully before stomping over to his clumpy, roughly grounded flour. 

The last few weeks, the two of them had teased each other constantly, challenging each other in ridiculous games fit for children. They had both built a bond you wished you would have been able to give Spider from the beginning. Even though you knew that your son lacked nothing in his life, to see him interact with his… Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath before letting out a heavy sigh. When you open them again, the demon looks at you with something aching to genuine worry for you. Smiling at him, you shake your head, halting him on his way up from where he was sitting. 

Turning, you walk around the small makeshift classroom you’ve created over the past few weeks. It’s close to the small waterfall and a spreading of different fruit trees, as well as far off the path where the predators hunt. Above you, you can hear Hawnu calling for you. Your poor Ikran hasn’t left your side since you surrendered yourself, always sticking close by, yet out of sight whenever you were not close. Looking back at the others, you ensure that they’re busy before walking closer to a big enough clearing in the woods. Yipping back at Hawnu, you call to let him know it’s safe to land. It doesn’t take long before his big wings flap over your head and then, he’s finally standing before you once more. Smiling brightly up at him, you put your forehead to his when he bends down, greeting him warmly as you close your eyes. 

“I can’t take you flying, Hawnu,” You start, wrapping your arms around his head. 

Flapping his wings, he chirps at you and you immediately chuckle at him. Stepping back, you make tsaheylu with him. Immediately, you’re flooded with worry and loneliness. It breaks your heart that you’ve allowed him to feel this lonely, so far from his rookery and all that he knows. You’re conveying your regret the best you can, trying to explain to him what kind of situation you’re in when suddenly fear courses through your connection, and Hawnu shrieks, his wings widening threateningly. Turning around, you see the demon standing behind you, eyes wide and his lips parted. 

“Don’t hurt him,” You growl at the demon, standing before Hawnu protectively. 

“I won’t,” The demon replies immediately, his eyes meeting yours as he lifts his hands again. “Haw-nu, right?”

His pronunciation of Hawnu’s name is horrible and you’re unable to hide your nose wrinkling in distaste. Immediately, you feel bad. It’s not his fault for finding the Na’vi language difficult. He’s been learning for two months, and even after years, you still struggle with the English language. Sighing deeply, you reach your hand out for him to take. His surprise is as obvious as yours, but still, he moves forward almost immediately, slowly walking toward you.

“Eyes on me only,” You tell him when his eyes keep flickering from you to Hawnu and back again, making Hawnu breathe anxiously behind you. 

“Yes, ma’am,” He whispers, his tongue poking out to wet his lips as he meets your eyes. 

“Good,” You praise him as he comes within reach, his huge hand hovering above yours for only a few moments before he too gently lays it in yours.

Wrapping your fingers around his warm hand, you gently pull him closer and closer until he’s standing right before you. Hawnu snorts loudly, making the demon lift his head with uncertainty. With your free hand, you gently cup his face, slowly bending his head down until his sharp yellow eyes meet yours again. 

“Breathe,” You whisper, smiling up at him as you can feel his anxiousness through his clenched jaw. 

It takes too long for his pulse to calm down, however. The demon’s curiosity is so evident in his entire being, but he has respect for the Ikran, as he should. Holding eye contact, you bring your joint hand to your chest, taking a deep breath before slowly letting it out again. At first, the demon doesn’t understand. His eyes are wide, his breathing heavy as his jaw clenches harder, swallowing rapidly. You just keep breathing for him until finally, the demon matches his breaths to yours. Taking deep breaths, he slowly lets them out again until his body relaxes.

“He is Hawnu,” You eventually take the hand that rested on your chest and reach it out to hang in the air before Hawnu, waiting for him to step forward. 

It doesn’t take long at all. Through your connection, Hawnu already knows that the demon is more afraid of him than he is of the demon. With a huffed snort, Hawnu steps forward, pushing his muzzle against the demon’s open hand. A strained, huffed laugh comes from him as you watch their interaction closely. The demon is so fascinated, so excited in a way you haven’t seen since the very first time he laid eyes on Hawnu from the helicopter. 

“He’s gorgeous,” The demon drawls, his hand still placed on Hawnu’s muzzle, your Ikran enjoying the contact as he chirps happily. 

“Do you want to ride him?” You don’t know how the words found themselves in your mouth, don’t know if they’re your words or if it’s Hawnu’s wish, but the second you’ve asked the question, the two of them perk up. 

“I’d very much like that, ma’am” The demon’s ears point up with excitement as the corners of his lips lift hopefully. 

“Let your unit know so they do not hurt him,” You smile up at him, watching as his brows furrow immediately. 

“Iron sky, blue one actual,” The demon says, pressing the band around his neck. A second later, a voice replies in his earpiece, “I’m taking a banshee flying. Hold your fire,”

“Lyle,” He says a moment later, waiting for a reply. “Gonna take a ride on Haw-nu,”

Turning back to face you, his ears slowly turning up toward you again, his entire body apprehensive as he waits for you to guide him. Stepping up onto Hawnu’s back, you reach a hand out for the demon to take, helping him balance as he clumsily gets on behind you. Taking his arms, you wrap them around your waist before looking back at him with a grin. 

“Hold on tight,” You say just before Hawnu raises his huge wings, pushing you forcefully from the ground. 

The demon tightens his hold on you, plastering himself to your back, but all you care about is feeling the air blowing through your hair, feeling its pressure on your skin as Hawnu flies faster, his wings flapping loudly as his powerful thrusts shoot you through the air rapidly. You can’t help the happy calls from leaving your lips as you let go of Hawnu’s handle, spreading your arms in the wind. 

“Have you lost your goddamn mind, woman?” The demon shouts frantically over the noise of the wind, leaning forward to reach the handle you just let go of. 

“Relax your body,” You turn your head to look at him, his wide scared eyes making something bubble inside of you. Holding onto his arm still tightly wound around your waist, you grin at him. “Close our eyes and feel Eywa move through your body,”

Leaning your head back, you close your own eyes before letting go of the demon’s arm. To your surprise, he slowly lets go of the handle, his hand snapping back to hold onto your waist for a long while before shakily letting go of you. It’s touch and go for a long while before finally, you can feel the heat of his body behind you, his long arms outstretched as he huffs a chuckle of pride, his wide chest expanding against your back. 

Opening your eyes, you turn your back to look at him. The sunlight bathes him in a warm glow as Hawnu soars over the treetops, taking you further and further away from that wretched gray hole. He almost looked beautiful where he sat, arms outstretched, lips forming a sort of happy smile as he felt Hawnu’s movements and the wind against his body. Reaching out, you put a hand on his knee, watching as the demon’s eyes snap open before he loses balance. Grabbing onto you once more, he has you bent over as his long hand wraps firmly around Hawnu’s handle. 

“We must turn back,” You tell him, noting how his eyebrows furrow. “Eclipse is coming,”

The demon gives you a court nod, but he doesn’t let go of Hawnu’s handle or your waist. As you near the place you left from, you feel a kind of sadness overcome you. Hawnu slows his speed, prolonging the landing for as long as he can, but you know that you have to land if you were to reach Spider in time for the eclipse. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him to take care of himself during the darkness but with the unit around him, bad things could happen if they panicked. Calling to Spider, you hear him reply from below the treetops. 

“Hold tight and lean back,” You turn your head to shout at the demon, crashing into his cheek. 

He nods at you although his face grows darker. You let hawnu know that he can land, asking him to be kind. You’re not surprised when Hawnu delivers his softest landing since Spider was a baby. Still, the demon all but folds you in two as his massive body collapses over yours when Hawnu’s movements come to a stop.

“Mom!” Spider comes rushing through the forest, the unit tightly behind him as they holler at their leader. “Hey, Hawnu,”

Spider runs right up to Hawnu, your Ikran greeting him with a series of chirps, pushing his massive face into Spider’s body, immediately receiving the cuddles he’s searching for. 

“So… Joined the mile-high club, boss?” Lyle smirks, the unit snickering behind him. 

“Shut your piehole, Corporal,” The demon growls as he finally leans back up, sliding off of Hawnu and landing with shaky legs. 

“Yes, Sir,” Lyle straightens, lifting his arm as he puts his hand on his forehead. 

Zoning them out, you lean back up. Taking a moment to pet Hawnu’s neck, you note how his happiness floods through your tsaheylu.  With a wide grin on your face, you silently thank him for letting you fly with the demon, thanking him for holding his no doubt heavy weight. 

“Let me help you down, darling,” The demon steps up to Hawnu, lifting his hand for you to take. 

Staring at it, you don’t know what this means for sky people, but to the Na’vi, this was a part of a courting ritual. Deciding that the demon doesn’t know, you take his offered hand before gently breaking tsaheylu with Hawnu. Turning, you gracefully slide off of his back, intending to land on your feet. Instead, the demon takes hold of your waist, gently lowering you to the ground. 

“Careful, sweetcheeks,” He winks before letting you go, turning back to his unit. “Alright, I reckon we’ll get some more training in before heading back.”

The unit hollers happily, smiles widening as they talk among themselves. They’re so obviously waiting for something and as you turn from Hawnu, you can see their eyes turned onto him, admiring his strong beauty. Of course, they want to ride him too, but right now, the eclipse is nearing and they need to be prepared to use their senses to navigate Pandora at night. 

“Maybe after Eclipse,” You offer them, their smiles only brightening as they bump their fists together. 

Huffing a chuckle to yourself you feel a form of fondness spread through you. They were like a group of teenagers at times, some more than others. Still, you couldn’t help but feel something for the tightly knit unit. Looking up, you see sharp yellow eyes staring back at you. The demon is wearing an expression you don’t recognize, his features soft, yet proud. Ruffling Spider’s hair, you head to the forest, hearing Hawnu lift off from the ground only seconds after Spider joins your side. 

With each passing day, the unit got a better handle on the things you taught them. Their jumping skills had improved enough that they always took the easier way down whenever the Samson dropped you off in the forest for a new day. Out of all of them, the demon had surprised you the most. Even though he still struggled with the Na’vi language, he took to everything else faster than any of the others. He asked questions, allowed himself room for error, never giving up on the task at hand, before trying again. You had come to think of him as a highly intelligent man, one who could have become someone great in another life. 

“Here,” The demon steps up to you, giving you four banshee of paradise seeds. 

Looking up at him with shock, you put the seeds aside as you step up to him, frantically patting him down, looking for any wounds but finding none. 

“Although I appreciate a pretty lady patting me down, I didn’t get caught,” The demon grins, his face all but dripping with pride as he sucks up your reaction. 

“How?” You gawk up at him, watching as he puts his large hands on his hips, a source of comfort to him. 

“Guess we got a pretty good teacher, sweetcheeks,” He drawls before reaching over to the seeds you dropped. Taking one, he lifts it to his mouth, chewing into it. Immediately, you can see his eyes widening at the taste, his gaze finding yours as he chews and swallows. 

Sitting down again, you look up at him, while he happily eats the seed, in disbelief. Of course, you knew that they took to things quickly, but to avoid the poisonous danger of a banshee of paradise. Most Na’vi trained for years to be able to avoid them, and here he was, with only a few hours of lecture, having watched you get to the seeds a handful of times, before going out on his own to get the seeds for you. 

There’s a heavy puff beside you and as you turn your head, you can see the demon having sat down beside you, the rest of the seeds in his hand. He looks at you hopefully, his big palm open as he offers you the seeds. 

“Awaiei, right?” He pronounces it perfectly and he knows it, the smug smile on his face not at all charming. 

“I think you are ready to become Ikran Makto,” You tell him, your voice filled with awe and bewilderment, yet pride over what they have achieved. 

“Well, I’ll be damned, sweetheart,” The smile on his face is almost unnerving where you sit, looking up at him. 

He looks every part the predator that he is, but when you take one of the offered seeds from his hand, hungrily digging into it, it changes into something else. Glancing at him sideways while you eat, he looks pleased, immediately offering you a new seed once you finished your first. By the time the Samson comes around to pick you up again, you’re full and content for what feels like the first time in years. 

Getting to his feet, Quaritch offers you his hand, his tail flicking wildly until you take it and let him help you up. He doesn’t let go of your hand until you’re beside Spider, only then does he turn his back to you. Walking toward his unit, you notice that the large hand that had been holding yours flexed once by his side before relaxing again. Your heart skips a beat when over his shoulder, sharp eyes meet yours. But just like a dream, it is gone in a moment, leaving the faintest of touches behind. 

“Come on, Mom,” Spider pulls your hand, the one still touched by heat from a hand much larger. 

You let yourself be pulled along by your son, getting to the pickup place just as the Samson comes to a stop above you. Spider gets onto your back, like every other day for the past few weeks, but this time around, something feels different when Quaritch lifts you up to wrap your legs around his waist. His touch feels like a brand around you and as the Samson turns back to the base once more, the feeling of his arm around you doesn’t leave. 

It’s still there, your companion through the night, as you lay awake. You needed to focus, needed to remember why you were here. With a new resolve, you joined your son in your nest, smiling gently at the way he softly snored, the days filled with so much excitement he always seemed to fall asleep the second his head hit the nest. Brushing a strand of his hair from his face, you lean forward, kissing his forehead. You would get him out of here, safe and sound.

Chapter 6 | Masterpost | Chapter 8

[capobegone]

The Hashiras’ Starbucks Orders (As told by a barista)

Capo job reveal! During my lovely six months working at Starbucks, I have acquired enough knowledge of my craft to confidently predict people’s orders. Just today, a lady came up who looked like she would order a caramel ribbon crunch five minutes before closing, and she proceeded to do exactly that! Which got me thinking—I love my job, and I love KNY, so why not use this superpower to match the drink to the Hashira?

So, uh, here we are!

Kanroji Mitsuri

-Starting off strong with our pink drink girlie! To be specific, it’s a pink drink with matcha cold foam. One of my coworkers gets some variation of this regularly and says it’s delicious.

-I couldn’t decide between matcha or pink drink for her so we met in the middle!

Kocho Shinobu

-In my heart, I desperately want to give her a Dragon Drink, but we all know that is not what she would get. Perhaps on a special occasion!

-Shinobu is a black brewed coffee type of gal, because it’s fast and efficient and will get her through the day so she can return to her Douma-killing, hospital-running routine! Girlboss!

Iguro Obanai

-We know from canon that Obanai can’t have heavier things without feeling sick, so one sip from Mitsuri’s drink would probably kill him instantly. Enter the light and fresh passion tea! It’s herbal and easy on the palate, which is right up his alley. His Starbucks dates with Mitsuri are officially saved!

-The pup cup is for Kaburamaru :D

Uzui Tengen

-He likes the drinks with long names so it’s extra flashy when the baristas call them out. Therefore, he gets the White Chocolate Macadamia Cream Cold Brew. -Besides, look how pretty that is!! I bet he has one of those bedazzled tumblers for extra flamboyance.

Tomioka Giyuu

-To be honest, I have literally no explanation for this. I thought about him and my brain immediately provided Hazelnut Latte with oat milk. So that’s what he gets.

-It’s warm and comforting which my man definitely needs. Besides the oat milk implies he’s lactose intolerant which is hilarious LMAO rip Giyuu

Shinazugawa Sanemi

-Sanemi strikes me as a pretty down to earth, no-nonsense kind of guy in his day to day. Therefore, he gets a classic Americano. (He’ll get it hot in the winter.)

-Surprisingly, I feel like he would be pretty nice to the baristas. A little gruff, but respectful and would probably tip his change. Unless you fuck with him, so best to just give him his coffee and bid him adieu.

Rengoku Kyojuro

-Alright, alright, I know I’m taking the easy way out on this one. But I genuinely think he would get it because it looks like him and he finds it amusing! It’s popular with his juniors too, so he’d probably get them drinks as well. -I actually had this drink today and it was pretty good, so he would stick around for the bright flavor!

Tokito Muichiro

-I wanted to say London Fog SO BADLY LMAO but let’s be real he’s like fourteen years old. The Vanilla Bean Frappuccino is every child’s favorite, which is valid because it’s fucking delicious.

-One day he would come in and slam a doppio espresso and give all the baristas a heart attack.

Himejima Gyoumei

-Gyoumei definitely strikes me as a warm and cozy drink guy, so he gets a chai tea latte!

-It’s wholesome and delicious. He’ll cry when the baristas give it to him because it’s so good. Often comes by to pick up a drink for Genya because Sanemi refuses to do it himself.

Anyway that concludes my official analysis! Which is totally based in facts and data and not at all conjecture. As always if I missed your skrunkle feel free to infiltrate my ask box or replies! And I wanna hear your ideas too so do tell if you have a different take :D <3

[thatwriterchaotic]

You all wanted a second chapter so here it is.

What Are We?... continued

Summary: After your first time with Daryl, you both have been wanting to go further. But Daryl had been so busy lately with work. Not paying enough attention to you. So you decide to surprise him when he comes home from work.

Pairing: Pre Apocalypse!Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: [18+] dom!Daryl, man handling, jealousy, hickeys, biting, oral, male receiving, throat sex, shower sex, p n v, creampie, unprotected sex, [DON'T DO THAT] scratching, little choking. This is the dirtiest thing I have ever written. You all asked for this-

It almost seemed like he was ignoring you on purpose. Constantly being at work all the time. His job just fired another employee for sketchy activity around the shop. Meaning Daryl had to pick up the slack and take care of it. Yes it made good money, but you also needed your man. Ever since the other night when he ate you out you couldn't stop thinking about him. The way he made you feel. The way his mouth felt on your body. Leaving marks all over as a reminder the next day. You felt yourself ache just thinking about him.

Daryl would be off work here soon. Maybe you could surprise him somehow. That's when you realized that Daryl always took a shower after work. Needing to scrub the sweat and oil off his skin. You had the perfect plan. Just had to wait until he got home. A couple of hours had passed until you heard footsteps on your front porch. Daryl must be home. "Hey baby! Ya home?" Daryl called out to you. Daryl kicked off his boots and threw the car keys into the bowl on the side table. "In here D!" You yelled back to him. Seeing him walk towards you. You smiled and stood up as he pulled you close to him. Your chest pressed up against his. You wrapped your arms around his neck. Practically burying yourself into his chest. "Mmm my girl, missed ya so much" He muttered into your hair not wanting to let go of you.

"Missed you too Daryl, been at work a lot lately" You said softly as you looked up at him. Gently brushing his hair away from his face. He always looked so damn handsome. "I know baby, It won't be long until they hire another guy. I make good money doing this too" Daryl said as he ran his hands up and down your back. His hands on your back made an electrifying feeling go up your spine. "Just want my man home is all" You said as you kissed his cheek. "Now go get cleaned up I'll have dinner done soon" You said trying to get your plan into motion.

Daryl leaned down and pecked your lips sweetly, giving your butt a little love tap as he made his way to the bathroom. You waited a few minutes until you heard the water running. You went up to your bedroom and grabbed some comfortable clothes for Daryl. You set them on the bed as you slowly open the bathroom door. Wanting this to be a surprise. You walked in noticing Daryl didn't hear you come in. You closed the door and started to undress. Throwing your clothes into the hamper. You carefully pulled the shower curtain back and got in. Wrapping your arms around Daryl's waist nuzzling into his back. "Hey baby" You said softly.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt your arms around him. "Jesus girl, gonna give me a heart attack sneaking up on me like that" Daryl said as he turned around to face you. God he looked so damn good. His hair sticking to his forehead from the water rushing down his body. His happy trail that led down to his dick, already half hard. "Sorry baby, I didn't mean to scare you. I just couldn't keep my hands to myself" You said as you moved your hands up his chest. Loving the feeling of his body under your hands. "I can make it up to you" you said as you slowly got down on your knees. He deserved this after all the hard work he's been doing.

"God you look so damn beautiful like that for me girl" You heard Daryl say as he looked down at you. He cupped the side of your face. Just admiring you. You smiled a little before taking his cock into your hands. Gently placing opened mouth kisses to the side of his shaft. You heard a quick inhale from Daryl above. Loving the idea that he was getting turned on just from you. Placing one last kiss on his tip before slowly sucking his cock into your mouth. He tasted like heaven. "Just like that baby, nice and slow for me" Daryl encouraged you as he gently took your hair into his hand. Holding it back for you.

You hummed softly sending vibrations through him as you took more into your mouth. Using your hand to stroke the rest of his dick that couldn't fit into your mouth. You slowly started to bob your head up and down. Keeping your hand with the same rhythm. You kept hearing Daryl whimper and grunt. Happy that you could make him feel good. It wanted you to take more of him. "Just relax for me and open up, I know you can take more of my cock" Daryl said as he looked down at you. You relaxed your mouth and opened up more. As Daryl slowly thrust his cock further down your throat. You placed your hands on his hips as you swirled your tongue around his shaft. Making him groan so deliciously.

"That's a good girl, taking my dick so well" Daryl grunted as he slowly pulled back out and back in. Starting to fuck your throat. You hummed around his cock as you looked up at him with innocent eyes. "Oh don't gimme that look baby, especially when my cocks down your throat" Daryl kept thrusting into your mouth at a steady pace. Hearing him groan and whimper from the pleasure. He was so vocal. You reached down and started to play with yourself. Gently stroking over your clit with your fingers. Daryl started to speed up, fucking your throat so good. You focused on your breathing, letting him take whatever he needed from you.

"Fuck sweetheart, Gonna make me cum with that mouth of yours. Such a dirty fucking slut aren't ya?" Daryl groaned as he slammed into the back of your throat. You let your jaw go slack, drooling all over yourself. You sped up your fingers, pressing down harder on your clit. Your pussy ached for Daryl. Needing him to fuck you good and hard. You moaned around his cock as you slipped two fingers into your cunt. Thrusting them in and out. "Need me to fuck you baby? Need my dick deep inside your pussy?" Daryl said as he looked down at you. Watching you touch yourself. He pulled his cock out of your mouth and made you stand up.

Daryl quickly pinned you against the shower wall. One of his hands on your throat. He gently squeezed the sides not wanting to hurt you. Just enough to make your head feel foggy. "If you want my cock baby, you gotta tell me. Tell me what you want" Daryl said as he looked you in the eyes. You whined and looked back at him. "Please Daryl.. I need you so badly, Please fuck me" You practically begged him. Daryl caved and leaned in kissing you roughly on the lips. Teeth crashing against teeth.

He tapped your leg, making you jump up. Wrapping your legs around his waist. Daryl moved his hand from your throat grabbing underneath your thighs to hold you up. You kept kissing him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Daryl slowly pulled away and started kissing on your neck. Leaving a trail down to your chest. Starting to gently suck and bite, making you moan softly. You loved when he left marks on your body. That's when Daryl found the sweet spot on your chest. He harshly bit down making you almost yelp but God did it feel so good. "C'mon Daryl please baby, I need you really fucking bad. I need your cock" You whined wanting him to do more. Daryl slapped the side of your leg making you wince. "Don't be such a desperate little slut, I'll give it to ya girl" Daryl said into your ear, rubbing his cock in between your slit. The tip of his cock rubbing right against your clit. Making you arch your back. Daryl loved teasing you. Until enough was enough and he needed you too.

Daryl slowly thrusted his cock into your wet pussy. The both of you gasping at the feeling. He went slow at first letting you stretch around him. He took your nipple into his mouth to distract you from the slight pain. Making you moan softly. Running your hands through his wet hair. The water was hot as it rushed down your collided bodies. Daryl sucked on your nipple as he played with the other. You couldn't stop moaning. He was so good with his mouth. "Fuck D, that feel so good" You told him as you looked down at him. He looked so fucking sexy like this. His pupils blow wide with lust. His cheeks a shade of pink. Daryl slowly started to thrust in and out of you. His mouth not leaving your tits. You gently gripped onto his hair, feeling him fuck into your pussy.

Daryl only went harder and harder. Abusing your pussy with his cock. The sounds of skin on skin bounced around the bathroom. Along with your moans. He felt so fucking deep hitting just that right spot. "Mm- Fuck! Faster baby! Please" You moaned out not caring if your neighbors heard you. Daryl jackhammered his cock into you. Moving his hand down to play with your clit. You arched your back more, your nails scratching down Daryl's back. Knowing there would be marks tomorrow. Daryl took your nipple out of his mouth and smirked as he looked at you. You were a total wreck. Your hair was soaking wet and sticking to your skin. Water droplets rolled down your body each time he thrusted up into your pussy. "You look so fucking beautiful, I'm the only one who can see how much of a slut you are for me" Daryl groaned as he leaned in and kissed you on the lips. You moaned into the kiss, starting to move your hips to match with his thrusting. You could feel the band in your stomach start to tighten. You where getting so close. Just needed a little more.

"Only a slut for you, please make me cum. I-I'm so close!" You practically shouted. Daryl groaned and sped up faster, he moved his fingers quicker on your clit. He needed to make you cum first. He was determined too. "C'mon baby, you can do it. Cum for me. Cum on my cock" Daryl encouraged you as he kissed on your neck. You moaned Daryl's name loudly as you came all over his cock. You felt like you were on cloud nine all over again. You moaned loudly as Daryl kept fucking into you. "That's it girl, doing so good for me. So close just a little more" Daryl groaned before he thrusted deep inside you. Cumming into your tight pussy. He panted heavily as you both slowly came down from your highs.

Daryl placed soft kisses all over your face as he rubbed your thighs. You hummed softly still very out of it. Your legs still shaking from your orgasm. Daryl held you close as he slowly set your legs down. "I got you sweetheart, I'll take care of you" Daryl said sweetly as he held you close and got you cleaned up. You loved how sweet Daryl was after. Always taking care of you. The water in the shower started to run cold. Making you whimper. Daryl quickly turned it off and helped you out. Wrapping a towel around you.

You slowly came back down to earth. Feeling the shake leave your legs. "I love you Daryl" You said softly as you looked at him. Daryl smiled and placed a soft and loving kiss on your lips. "I love you too Sunshine, Now c'mon let's get you to bed".

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hey again Sex Witch!

Thank you so much for your help! I’m the gay guy from the other day whose ask re: sexual attraction you’d answered. You really got to the heart of the matter, and I truly appreciate that.

This might sound silly but… Are you sure it’s really not weird, gross or… otherwise wrong of me to just randomly initiate a conversation with someone in a bar like that? I’m sorry - even if the worst that could happen in theory is just a few awkward seconds, a part of me still thinks that an unsolicited “hey I like your necklace” Is too… forward. lol even if there’s a guy in a jockstrap gyrating two yards away.

Again, sorry for the weird asks. And thank you for all your help!!!

hello again, anon! I'm very glad to hear that I could tap into something resonant for you. doing this kind of work without being able to have a proper one-on-one convo means I sometimes I sometimes have to guess at exactly what the best advice for someone will be, but luckily I've been doing this long enough that I've gotten to be a pretty good guesser :)

I'm 100% certain that it's not weird, and certainly not gross, to approach someone that way, as long as what you're saying is appropriate for the context. for instance, I'd broadly advise against walking up to someone who's, say, sitting in a coffee shop minding their own business and opening with "you have a gorgeous mouth, I want to see my dick in it." there are absolutely people out there that it would work on, sure, but you shouldn't assume that, because the potential to guess wrong and become an instant sex pest are wayyyy too high.

but even that's not wrong in every setting! that guy gyrating in a jockstrap probably wouldn't mind someone being a bit sexually forward; indeed, there's a very good chance that he's doing what he's doing specifically to encourage that.

but there's also a HUGE world of other, much less risque ways to open up a conversation. let's talk about your example with a necklace, and complimenting details about someone's appearance in general:

"hey, I really like [aspect of person's appearance.]" many people (wisely) recommend sticking to things that people pick and have control over - for instance, makeup, piercings, jewelry, tattoos, hairstyles, and clothing, rather than focusing on specific facial features or body parts. there are also a lot of ways to take that one further if you want to go for a more substantial conversation, including the following:

"I like that tattoo/piercing, did you get that done around here?" or "I like that [article of clothing], where did you get it?" gives them the option to provide as much or as little information as they like, potentially tell personal stories you can respond to, etc.

alternatively, if there's an identifiable common interest in their outfit: "hey, is that [thing] a reference to [whatever]? I love [whatever]!" great, now you can talk about d&d/comics/a movie/a band/an anime/literally whatever for as long as you want as a way to get to know each other

or, alternatively: "hey, that looks really cool. is it from something?" again, gives them plenty of options about how much they want to respond, which you can play off accordingly, and honestly? letting people explain a thing to you can be VERY fun, not to mention people LOOOOOVE having an excuse to talk about shit they like.

also, hey, if someone is just wearing an outfit that's really fun overall? something that they clearly took effort putting together to look nice? man, they WANT you to compliment that. they want you to compliment that so bad.

"but Makenzie how do you know?" because I dress like a loud-ass fruit 7 days a week. and I'm not doing specifically because I want people to compliment me, duh, I'm doing it because it's fun, but it's nice when people say something kind about my outfit! it's nice to be noticed! the other day I wore a pair of bright pink overalls and a student passing by me stopped to say that seeing them made her happy because pink is her favorite color! that's a great interaction, nothing unpleasant about it! I've also recently dyed my hair a shade of yellow that can be best described as "highlighter," and a LOT of people have been stopping me wherever I go to let me know how much they like it. that's nice! feels good! I also wear a lot of huge earrings, especially when I'm working at events where I get to meet prospective students for the university where I work, because it gives nervous teenagers something easy to start a conversation with! they say "I like your lego mermaid Batman earrings" and I say "thank you, I wear them so gay people will talk to me!" and then they get to say "whoa, I'M gay!" and then we're off to the races.

obviously it's presumptuous to assume people are dressing to be alluring to you specifically, but there are also very few people in the world who will be upset at being told that their hair looks nice and their outfit is cool and you think their tattoos are awesome.

people are also generally pretty stoked to hear something like "you're a really good dancer!" or "that food/drink looks good, what did you order?" or "sorry, but did I hear you talking about x? I love x! what did you think of xyz?"

statistically most people love to think that they have good taste and hate being the one to make a first move, so if you do both of those things you're already off to a GREAT start.

also, another fun reminder: even if complimenting that necklace doesn't lead to a romantic or sexual connection every time, it does serve as good practice for talking to people and makes you someone who gives compliments easily - and hopefully someone who's good at receiving them back, because many people love to repay a compliment immediately in kind! and it's never bad to be known as somebody who's generous with saying nice things :)

just give it a try; I promise you'll like it once you see how warmly people can respond to even casual praise!

[chaxiu]

object impermanence

pairing: iwaizumi hajime x female! reader

summary: a love letter to small towns, and all the other things we outgrow. inspired by "the dry season" by hannah gramson.

⎯⎯⎯

The thing is this: if there’s anything you’re sure of, it’s that Iwaizumi Hajime loves his hometown, small as it is.

He loves the quiet streets, the roads that he’s been walking since he was old enough to take those first steps on his own, face screwed up in extreme concentration in a way that his mother loves to mimic even today. He loves the grandmother around the corner that always tells him Goodness, Hajime-kun, you’re getting so tall, even though he hasn’t grown even a fraction of a centimeter since his second year of high school, much to his dismay and Oikawa’s delight. He loves the konbini next to the school that always keeps his favorite popsicles in stock (the ones that come with two sticks and are perfect for splitting,) even in the heat of summer when everyone and their mother is scrambling to buy anything that’ll keep them cool. He loves his school, his team, and his friends: he loves the foundations he’s built here, the foundation he’s become. He loves his family, and the agedashi tofu that his mother makes for him whenever she thinks he’s done a good job at something or he needs something to cheer him up or she just wants him to know that she loves him.

He loves you: you know this. Have known this, ever since he’d started offering to walk you home from school, ears red, hand scratching the back of his neck as he looked anywhere but at you. You’d grinned at him, then. “Are you gonna look at me at any point the entire way?”

The red had spread to his cheeks. Part of you wanted to reach up and poke them, see if they could get any redder. “Shut up,” he’d said, wrenching his gaze to yours with what looked like some difficulty. “Do you want me to walk you home or not?”

You did, although he didn’t need to know just yet quite how much. Instead, you had grinned at him, shuffling a little closer and letting that stand as your response. 

One day bled into two, then into a week, and before you knew it he was standing in front of you, hands clenched into fists as he yelled into your face: “I like you!”

“I know,” you’d said.

He’d stood there, mouth still half-open, until you decided to take pity on him, reaching up to cup his face in your hands, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping back. He’d reacted almost immediately, grabbing your hands in his and pulling you to him, close enough that your foreheads almost knocked together.

You remember thinking a lot of things. How his eyes were greener than you’d ever noticed, that he smelled like salonpas and clean cotton. Mostly, you remember thinking about how rough his hands were: callused and sturdy, far bigger than your own.

They’d held you so tenderly. Fingers loose around your wrists, palm cupped underneath yours: soft, so soft.

Tonight it’s hard to remember a lot of things about Iwaizumi: the exact way his chin dimples when he grins, or how his voice rasps in the morning without the tinny sound of your phone’s speaker laid over it. You still remember his hands, though. You don’t think you could ever forget. 

A crackling yawn comes through the speakers. “Babe? You there?”

“I’m here,” you say, quiet. “I always am.”

Night for you means morning for him, and Iwaizumi wakes up diligently every week for your scheduled calls, even if it means you get the pleasure of hearing his earth-shattering yawns every five minutes for the entire duration of the call. It’s what both of you signed up for, you know: it’s part and parcel of being in a long-distance relationship. And California to Japan is about as long-distance as it gets: your friends in college, when you tell them about him, all cluck disbelievingly. “So far away,” they all say. “That must be so difficult.”

“I love him,” you always say back. There’s no point in talking about whether or not it’s difficult. What matters is whether or not you’re willing to do it. At least that’s what the two of you had decided, when you sat down and talked it out a month before he was set to leave for California.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he’d said, eyes holding yours steadily. “I want to make us work, do you?”

He’d said your name, cradled in between his tongue and the roof of his mouth like it was the most precious thing he’d ever held, and you knew then you would never forgive yourself if you hadn’t tried.

“Yeah,” you’d said. It had been worth the tightening in your stomach to see the way his face lit up like the sun. “Of course I do, Hajime.”

“Hajime!” comes from the other end of the call, heavily accented and distorted almost beyond repetition. You catch a glimpse of blonde hair on the screen: Iwaizumi’s roommate. All you’ve been able to discern about him is that he’s a beanstalk of a man – long and lanky, with no coordination whatsoever – and is from the south of the U.S., which Iwaizumi tells you is apparently famous only for cowboys and meat. He seems nice enough, from what you can tell; still, hearing Iwaizumi’s first name in his mouth leaves a sour taste in yours.

It’s not like he means anything by it, you know. It’s only a difference in culture: Iwaizumi has told you about how it still shocks him, sometimes, to hear near-strangers call him by his first name. It’s not the same, you want to tell him, but there’s no way to tell him how it makes you feel without sounding ridiculous. That it feels like letting go. That it feels like your hold on him is weakening, somehow.

Back home, it was only his parents and you that regularly called him Hajime. Mattsun and Makki called him Iwaizumi, or Iwa, if they were feeling particularly chummy; Oikawa, of course, stuck with the tried-and-true Iwa-chan. At school, you’d been the only one to call him Hajime, and everyone knew what that meant. Now, everyone does, and it pokes at something tender in you, something you hadn’t even realized could be hurt in the first place.

Iwaizumi swivels around in his chair, saying something in English. You tuck your chin into your forearms, resting on the desk, watching his expression as he barks out a laugh, loud and harsh and your favorite sound in the whole entire world.

The last time he’d come home was almost three months ago, sun-tanned and with even broader shoulders. Still, there was the same familiar press of his hand on your back as he’d gathered you up in a hug. “Missed you,” he’d said, and you’d known that he’d meant it.

“Missed you more,” you’d said, and you’d meant it, too.

The thing is this: you’re absolutely certain that Iwaizumi Hajime loves his small town.

You’re also sure that he’s outgrown that love.

Two months and two weeks ago, you’d bounded up the stairs to his bedroom, hand poised at the doorknob to let yourself in when you heard Iwaizumi’s voice, gruff and irritated as usual but with a thread of tension through it, brittle in a way you’d never heard it before. 

“-- I know it’s a good opportunity,” he’d said. “Utsui Takashi is a legend. I’ve wanted to work with him since forever –”

The person on the other end had cut him off with something you couldn’t hear. Iwaizumi had heaved an enormous sigh. 

“Yes, even though he’s Ushijima’s dad. You know, you’re the only person in the world who’s still holding on to that grudge, I bet. But it would mean that I’d be committed to live in the U.S. for the next five years after I graduate, at least. Maybe more, if they decided to give me a job there. It might mean staying there permanently. And… I’m pretty committed to coming back here.”

Another pause. 

“I know she’d understand, if I told her. But I don’t think I could do that to her. I don’t think I could make her wait for me like that. She deserves more than half a relationship, and I want to give that to her.”

A longer pause, this time, then an irritated growl. “I know I’m losing a good opportunity. I just – I can’t. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay? Utsui-san said I could have time to think about it, anyway. I’ll have plenty of time to figure out how to let him down gently.”

Your hand was shaking, you’d realized with a start, pulling it back to your side. You’d turned and walked straight back out of his house, swiveling at the doorway to rap three times on the frame, letting the sound echo limply through the rooms.

Iwaizumi had come downstairs and grinned at you. “Hey,” he’d said, as if he wasn’t giving up his life for you.

“Hey,” you’d said back, as if you weren’t letting him.

You’d meant to talk to him about it, you really had. But he’d seemed so content in Miyagi, in the same little town you’d both grown up in, the one both of you had known since birth. And a part of you, a selfish part, a larger part than you’d like to admit, had been whispering the entire time: Would this be so bad? He could be happy here. You could make him happy here.

And then he’d left, and now you’re here, sitting at your desk in your childhood bedroom, watching him tip back in his chair dangerously far, laughing so hard you’d probably be able to see his molars if it weren’t for your shitty camera quality.

You’re happy he’s happy. You don’t think you could stop being happy for his happiness. 

There’s just this part of you that wishes he could find that here, still.

But you know contentment isn’t happiness, no matter how desperately the both of you have been trying to pretend it can be. He’s happy there, where he’s constantly challenged, constantly pushed to be better, better, better. Where he gets to chase his own dreams and not be constantly haunted by his what ifs. 

Here, you think you could give him everything you had and it still wouldn’t be enough. 

Iwaizumi would pretend it was, if it came down to it. If you let him. He loves you enough that he would. He’d press a kiss to your forehead before leaving for work in the morning and a longer one to your lips when he came home in the evening. There would be quiet dinners and bland weekends, a soft existence spilling out before you every day.

But there would still be a hunger in him. 

It would be so selfish of you to keep him. You don’t know how to stop wanting him to stay.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi says your name, soft, a fondness in the sound that even bleeds through the screen. His roommate is out of the screen again, accompanied by a bang you assume is the closing of their door. “Is everything all right? You’ve been kinda quiet these past few weeks.”

Your stomach hurts, because of course he noticed, it’s Iwaizumi. You force a smile to your lips, although the muscles in your cheeks tremor with the effort. “Yeah, Hajime. Everything’s okay.”

“You know you can always tell me anything, right?” he asks. You know that if he were here there would be a hand intertwined with yours, or a gentle kiss pressed at the crook of your neck, right where it meets your shoulder.

That’s the problem, though. He’s not here. He can’t be here. You can’t – won’t – make him be here.

“Hajime,” you say, because some days it’s the only thing you have left to say.

He waits, silent. You can just make out the rise and fall of his chest over the pixellated laptop screen.

Coming back here, Iwaizumi had said, back when you had overheard him all those weeks ago. He’d said here, not home. Not coming back home.

“Hajime,” you say again, because you can. “Hajime, I think we should break up.”

A thud, and then Iwaizumi disappears from your vision with a muffled curse. He must’ve tipped back too far in his chair in surprise – you’re always warning him about it, ever since he’d told you about the odd chair that they’d given him in his dorm room, the one that rocks back a little too far – and fallen over. Part of you wants to laugh. The other part of you aches, a little, that this is the last time Iwaizumi will do something stupid with you here to watch it, you here to gently chastise and tease him after.

“Be careful,” you say, almost on reflex, as his head appears back on screen, hair mussed up and face red. “You’re going to crack your skull open someday.”

“I’m not going to – why are we even talking about this right now? You just said you think we should break up.” He takes a seat back in the chair, although he doesn’t tip back this time, you note. 

“You should still be careful,” you say. He’s placed his hands on the desk, where they’re in view of you and the camera, and you can see the way they’re opening and closing hopelessly, as if he’s looking for something he can hold, or something he can hit.

“What the fuck?” he asks, disbelievingly. Then, “Is this a joke?”

“No,” you say. “It’s not a joke, Hajime.”

“Why are you saying my name like that,” Iwaizumi demands. His hands squeeze into fists and stay that way, white-knuckled on the desk. 

“Like what?”

He shakes his head, rough, like he’s trying to get water out of his ears. It’s a familiar gesture, one you’ve seen him do many times before. Some distant part of you wonders if it’s too late to take it all back.

“I don’t fucking know, like – like you’ve given up already. Like you’re letting it go.”

“I’m not giving up,” you lie. “I just think that this will be better for us. In the long run.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Iwaizumi asks.

“I heard you talking,” you rush out. “To Utsui-san. It’s a good offer. I think you should take it. If you don’t mind taking advice from an ex, that is.”

“Is that what this is about?” he asks, then says your name again, so full of something that makes your chest ache. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll turn him down, I’ll come back to Japan. It’s okay, baby. We can still be okay. I love you so much –”

“I love you too,” you say, even though something in your throat is making it so that it hurts to speak. “But – Hajime, I think you love me like you love Miyagi. Or the grandmother who gives us those sweet potatoes in the summer. Or that park that you always take me to, the one with the bugs you say you don’t want to catch but I can tell that you do. Hajime, do you understand me?”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth. Closes it again. “I love all of those things,” he says. “I love you the most. What’s wrong with that?”

“You love us,” you say. “We could make you content. But the offer, Hajime. It would make you so happy to be able to study with him. Really, truly happy.”

He doesn’t contest your words. You’d known he wouldn’t, had half-hoped he might. Instead: “I could still come back after,” he says. “If you were willing to wait for me.”

“You know that’s unfair to ask,” you say. There are tears at the edge of your vision, threatening to spill over. You don’t bother to wipe them away. “Unfair to me, and unfair to you. You have to keep looking forward, Hajime. I think this – all of this – belongs in your past.”

He says your name again, voice cracking, spilling over. 

Iwaizumi Hajime loves his small town. Iwaizumi Hajime loves you. 

Both of those love him enough to let him go.

“Can I change your mind?” he asks, and you shake your head. The action dislodges a few tears, and they run down your cheeks, plopping onto the fabric of your pants and no doubt leaving a stain.

“I love you,” you reply, like an apology, like a goodbye.

“I love you,” he says, like a prayer.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay.”

“Don’t forget to keep taking your vitamins,” he says, voice brittle. “And go to bed early and don’t forget to give yourself breaks and make sure to go for walks, every once in a while, okay? Just to get some fresh air. You can’t forget any of those things just because – just because I won’t be there to remind you.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to say anything back for a minute. “Don’t stress so much,” you say, forcing it out past the lump in your throat. You may never get a chance to tell him again. “I’m sure Utsui-san will recognize how hard you work. You’re going to be incredible, Hajime, do you understand?”

Iwaizumi nods, stiff. His shoulders are shaking.

“Bye, Hajime,” you choke out.

He says your name – just your name – and you nearly fold, nearly give in, nearly buy the next ticket to California just to press your face into the crook of his neck and reassure him that none of it meant anything at all. 

Instead you give a little half-wave, click the button to end the call, and shut the laptop woodenly. Your childhood bedroom has never felt so small, with the peeling posters and the small bed, tucked into a corner, with the knicknacks and stuffed animals cluttering up the shelves someone else must’ve come in and dusted, in your absence. 

Outside, your little town remains quiet. You allow yourself to mourn alongside it.