#funny tactic there bud

[ugly-anarchist]

Me: I've been targeted by people for my perceived masculine traits. I've been told that my high T levels as an intersex person make me inherently more likely to be abusive, aggressive, or assault someone. I call this anti-masculinity because it feels like the most accurate term to describe my experiences and the way they align with what other queer people have also experienced.

Someone, for some reason:

[satorena]

#INTRO2MUNCH101

summ. when suguru “eat it off the bone” geto actually turns out to be suguru “flaps the left lip until she calls it a night” geto, he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about his skills. . . talk about a rude awakening.

cw. explicit content. foul language. fem!reader. college!au. eventual smut (but not in the way you think. . .) mild modern lingo. allusions to music artists. cunningulūs. male masturbation. reader has a belly piercing. she’s also depicted mean by the boys. gojo cameos bc i can’t not mention him. tattoo artist!geto. substance consumption. lowkeyyy self-indulgent reader. 10k wc.

rena's note. this is a spin-off to p power, so i’d suggest reading that first to understand the correlation!

suguru geto is a simple man.

your pleasure is his pleasure. he’s always prided himself on being a pro at the art of cunningulus. honest— he’s always left with swollen lips, a heavily sprayed face and a solid five star ratings at the end of his work. his jaw feels tired out, scalp burning from consistent hair tugs, and his breathing uneven from lack of oxygen. but at the feel of plush thighs squeezing his face and the repetition of his name flowing into the air before getting squirted on, he remembers it’s always worth it.

no pain no gain, right?

wrong.

because here he finds himself, a hefty hour in since he first dove in between your soft legs, and there’s been absolutely no development. sprawled on your back on his sheets, arm slung over your eyes, and your breathing even. you look fucking bored, and his heart is sinking to his ass.

geto will use every trick he has in the book. he’s noticed overtime that girls have different bodies, therefore he needs different tactics to stimulate those bodies. he nips at your puffy bud, sucking on your clit for external pleasure. no use. fine, then he’ll push your thighs up some more for a deeper penetration of his fingers in your cunt— still no use. the only sounds being produced are his mouth slipping against his own saliva at your pussy because he can’t even get you wet enough.

the pit in his stomach grows larger. he wonders if maybe you’re just the silent type? he’s come across those before.

he’s getting nervous out of his mind, so shaky and uncoordinated that his hand slips and meets your lips for the umpteenth time— and only then do you release a guttural groan, the very first sound you’ve made in a long ass time. wait—

“did. . . did you cum?” he pants, pulling his sticky lips away from yours. his face feels moist, blood rushing all in his head and he’s lightheaded. but still, he has to know.

you push yourself up to your elbows, annoyance clear as day. he’s yet to seen this look on a girl after pulling every card known on the table, “yeah. . . to the wrong fucking house.”

oh fuck.

☆ ☆ ☆

he first spotted you chatting it up with your friends on the school’s soccer field, on a random tuesday afternoon, and he’s been hooked on you ever since.

the universe played a funny game, and he realized university truly is a small ass world. amongst your friends, he noticed a familiar face. one he’s been hearing and seeing of one too many times lately, on multiple separate and traumatic occasions— gojo’s girlfriend. suguru found himself bonding with her due to their familiar point of interest— that being gojo— and believes he can now make of her a friend.

geto watches his best friend’s eyes shimmer and he flashes his infamous million dollar smile. he really is obsessed with his girlfriend and she doesn’t even know— and geto finds himself wishing he had somebody he’d be this ecstatic over. must be nice.

“i’m gonna go say hi to my girl real quick,” gojo taps at his shoulder, and geto nods. he’s cool on it, he’ll wait back here until he’s done, or can make his way to his next class depending on whatever gojo and his girlfriend arrange. “you comin’?”

“i’m probably gonna head to our next lecture.” geto voices out, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. he feels gojo peeking over his shoulder, in which he assumes to verify if that would be necessary.

over forty-five minutes. damn it.

“that’s mad pointless, class doesn’t start till more than half an hour,” gojo says, and geto doesn’t see himself waiting around that long for a lecture. no way, “just come— her friends are chill.”

fuck it, he goes. naturally, gojo is all over his girl and her friends expect it. geto does give them a little wave when gojo introduces him. one of the girls mention having heard of him through a friend— something about a failed talking stage. mad federal, and the sheepish chuckle geto offers when you give him an unreadable look makes him want to crawl into a ditch.

so now you think he’s a whore. awesome.

and gojo’s smirk definitely doesn’t help him out. he doesn’t help out at all actually, so enamoured by his girlfriend that he leaves geto to fend for himself against a pack of wolves (read: nosy girls). he replies only when spoken to, nods when necessary and throws in a few “that’s crazy,” to which the girls fail to pick up he’s out of words to say.

well, everyone except you.

you’re quiet. in fact, the whole time, you haven’t said shit to him. you sit back and observe, occasionally typing on your macbook, or reapplying your lip combo. you didn’t have any words to say to him. even when your friends would talk to you, you gave them short answers and went back to listening to whatever was playing in your airpods. he could tell from that small interaction alone, you were the mean one out of your clique.

and fuck if that didn’t make him want you more. there was just something about mean women that made him want to break through their fake ass exteriors and watch them turn all soft and chummy for him.

blame it on his corruption kink.

gojo confirms his thoughts when they’re finally on their way to class. he kissed his girl goodbye and waved off her friends, to which they all (minus you) collectively cooed, “byeee gojooo!” which he found odd, but kept silent. he gave them a small nod before following his best friend.

they’re a few steps in the science building when the words slip before he can help it, ultimately cutting gojo’s rambling off, “yo, who was that girl?”

gojo glances at him before chuckling, “there was like seven of ‘em. which one?”

“the quiet one.”

it throws him off guard when gojo laughs hard. like, really hard. it attracts the attention of bystanders, who give him a crazy look but gojo ignores. as if they’d try to press him about his volume— the two were pretty adored around campus.

geto does find his reaction quite interesting, to which he cocks a brow and offers a chuckle of his own, “what?”

“oh, you definitely mean y/n,” when his laughter dies down, he finally answers. he lifts his shades to his hairline to swipe a tear. “she’s mean as fuck, bro.”

“right?!” geto laughs, tapping at gojo’s shoulder. it only charges gojo’s laughing fit back up, “i could tell from her vibe. she gives off those ‘men ain’t shit’ girlies on twitter. whole time, she’s probably laid up in bed with one.”

“you don’t even knowww,” gojo holds his shoulder and shakes him a bit. geto does in fact know, because he’s dealt with girls like her before. they’re always a good ass time. “she does men dirty. like, absolutely dogs them. heard one phone call too many.”

oh? even better than he expected. she’s probably the type that used to love hard before getting her heart trampled on and decided to seek revenge on all men. like, on some jennifer’s body shit. geto can’t help but smirk, “lemme see for myself. put me on.”

gojo falters in his step. his grip on geto’s shoulders loosen and his expression changes— not by much, but the once lighthearted smile switches to a skeptical one, “you serious?”

geto lets out a soft sigh, shrugging gojo’s hands off his shoulders. “don’t start asking too much. i did a favour for you and your girl, didn’t i?,” well, technically speaking it wasn’t like his comment had been the deciding factor for the two, but it did open gojo’s eyes. “you owe me one.”

“i don’t owe you shit,” gojo laughs, throwing his arm around geto anyways, “buuut you’re my boy and i’m not stingy. i’ll see what i can do, i know you’ve been getting a lil jealous of wifey and i.”

“shut the fuck up.” geto’s chuckles contradict his statement.

from that point on, it’s smooth sailing. gojo texts his girl asking if she’s seeing anybody. they have a little back and forth because his girlfriend assumes he’s asking for himself— which gojo gets all dramatic and throws geto under the bus for free. welp! it all worked out anyway since after he and gojo parted, you’d thought he was fine shyt. judging from your character, he doesn’t exactly take gojo’s words for what they are.

but he’ll take the opening, it’s as good as any.

time to plot.

☆ ☆ ☆

the second encounter was purely coincidental. and simultaneously embarrassing.

see, geto prides himself on his mysterious act— granted he was anything but. people see all that is gojo and automatically assume that geto has to be the cool one. it creates a perfect balance, no?

haven’t people heard of birds of a feather flock together?

so yes, he’s also a nerd. he typically enjoys spending his wednesday afternoons at dice board cafes because why not. it’s a chill, lowkey joint right off campus and not a lot of people gravitate towards, therefore the perfect spot to camp out before his evening lecture.

besides, his buddy choso works there and it gets him discounts. it isn’t the only reason he shows up, but it does help a lot on his pockets. being a student is awful, financially.

geto sips on his choco latte through a straw, browsing through the board games pamphlet as he decides what he’s going to play today. most of these games are pretty pointless if he doesn’t have an opponent, but he likes to think it helps develop his iq. he hears avenoir playing through the cafe and knows choso’s on aux.

who else could be playing this toxic ass shit?

he’s torn choosing between snakes and ladders or chess when he hears chimes at the front door, signalling somebody’s entered the establishment. he doesn’t think much of it, going on about minding his business when he hears choso say your name.

the latte enters the wrong tube and he chokes.

geto collects himself quickly, wiping any stray liquid past his mouth as his head snaps up. you’re propped up against the counter, and though he can’t see your face, he definitely recognizes your build. . . okay, yeah that sounds fucking pervy but if he stalked your page a few times, who’s business is it but his own? it’s not like you’d know. granted, he had got caught up liking one of your older photos but he took the like right back!

he debates on walking up to you. how would that even work without seeming desperate? you’ve been checking out all of his boxes so far— your face, body and attitude (question mark) are all tens. he does want to get to know you— at least be somebody in your life. but damn, why is he overthinking this? all he has to get up there and sweet talk you. he’s done this shit before.

“yo, suguru!”

shit.

purple orbs shift towards where his name was called, and lo and behold, there stands choso. and naturally, you look back to who was summoned, but god— social media does not do your face justice. he last seen you about a week ago, and had nothing but your instagram and his memory to rely on.

he makes his way to the counter and ignores you. doesn’t spare you a glance once— though he stands right at your side and watches you watching him through his peripheral. he nods at choso, “what’s up?”

choso, ever the genius, flicks his eyes between geto and you, before clearing his throat, “shoko just texted— somethin’ about a new client. how’s the studio looking?”

“booked all week,” geto answers truthfully, and he notices you’ve shifted your gaze, “little to no openings. why though?”

choso hums, jolting down online orders into a little notebook, “not even for a special friend?”

geto squints his eyes at that. there isn’t anybody he’d call a special friend that hasn’t already been booked or wouldn’t have his number to squeeze in an appointment. granted, he is a dnd warrior but even his friends know of that quirk of his, “depends. who’s the special friend?”

“me.” and he feels his heart skip a beat. fuck. he tilts his head over to the side, and good lord, your face card gave every girl on campus runs for their money. seriously, your facial features complimented you in a way that told aphrodite— the textbook definition of beauty— to go fuck herself, and hard.

“oh?” geto cocks a brow, and lets his eyes roam up and down your frame. shameless, yes, but he has a reputation to uphold. your rest in face makes his own look like child’s play, “didn’t realize we were on special friends basis.”

you click your tongue, “didn’t realize we were on lurking spam accounts but pretend we don’t exist the next day basis either,” you quip right back, picking at the white bow glued to your acrylics.

sassy. geto chuckles, now fully turning his body around to face you. you match his movements, and he toys with a ring on his middle finger, “guess you got me all figured out,” he pauses, shifting his gaze to choso, who’s already eyeing him. “sounds like you wanted me to reach out.”

“boy please,” you scoff, pausing your nail inspection. you let your hand hang, “you choked earlier because you heard my name. that corny nonchalant act isn’t the flex you’re thinking it is,” a huff escapes your lips, and geto feels blood rushing to his face. “your lurking ass was months deep into my page just a week ago— did you find any men ain’t shit vibes from the photo dump?”

choso stifles a laugh, and when geto looks at him, it dies into a cough. well damn, you really didn’t hold anything back. read him like a book actually— and it doesn’t help that gojo can’t keep his mouth shut for shit. it widens the grin on his face. he thinks he likes you.

“well,” geto smirks, “can’t say i have— means there’s still an opening.”

you furrow your brows, “oh? an opening to what exactly?”

“an appointment, of course,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. his locks are getting in his face, but the messy look always gets him compliments. might as well shoot his shot, “you know. . .” leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, “for a special friend.”

his double entendre definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you. he watches how, despite the mean mugging, there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. you’re squinting just slightly, almost as if you were weighing out the pros and cons. geto won’t break the eye contact first— he’s on a mission. he hopes the tired eyes look will be on his side this time.

tattoo or dick appointment— he would one hundred percent make an opening for you. anything to get his hands on your body.

“are we still talking about the tattoo parlour or . . .”

both you and he turn to choso, who’s watching the situation unfold. just count on him to ruin the mood, whether the obliviousness was feigned or not. choso tightens his brows at the look geto shoots him, “what?”

“i’m gonna head out,” you grab at your handbag, hopping of the seat. nicely played choso. you gather your items and slip them in your purse, sliding a few bucks across the counter. choso grabs the bills and stick them in the tip jar, nodding at her. “catch you in poly sci?”

“if you don’t skip again.” choso snorts and you flip him off, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you turn on your heel and make your way towards the exit, ultimately dismissing geto. that doesn’t feel too nice, he should probably stop that bad habit.

he rises to his feet before he can help it. his hand grabs at your wrist and notices how much smaller it seems in comparaison to his, and he hates the next words that leave his mouth, “what about me?”

you glance down at his hold on you, before looking back up at him, “what about you?” your face says everything your lips haven’t— you’re getting the ick.

he wants to wince. okay, yeah that was corny, “when do i get to see you?”

you drag out a mini hum, your gaze dancing over his silver chain around his collarbone, “dunno. you have my socials so i assume in the next hour.”

he tilts his head to the side, and the pad of his thumb grazes over your smooth skin. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your hand stiffens under his touch, “so if i slide in your dms in the next hour, i can expect an answer?”

a snort leaves your chest, and he can’t tell if it’s a condescending one or an amused one. what he does know, however, is that he’s going to be seeing you sometime soon. you take your hand back into your possession before laying it in the dead centre of his chest, pushing him back just slightly, “i’ll see you around, geto.”

his eyes trail over your figure, every step you take out of the establishment, slightly starstruck by the entirety of you— your boldness. the thrill he was beginning to feel felt like a high. he hasn’t met anybody this entertaining in a while.

“you’re so fucking corny.” he thinks he hears choso insult him from behind. he doesn’t pay him any mind, despite the middle finger that tips towards the ceiling. partynextdoor blasts in the cafe, specifically freak in you, and he hates how he finds himself relating to the lyrics,

room full of beautiful women but he only wants one.

☆ ☆ ☆

“you stalking me, pretty?”

“sure,” you nod your head, raking through the items on the clothing rack. you don’t spare him a single glance, picking a top off the rack and inspecting it, “if stalking means visiting the busiest thrift store on the busiest hour in the busiest city.”

geto lets out a small laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargos. you make him feel like a nuisance, like he’s a pest wasting your time. ironic, seeing as he wasn’t that much of a bother just last night, when you’d been indulging him in your inbox, “of course you’re the thrifting type.”

you pause your actions, price tag in your fingers as you side eye him through locks of your hair, “and you’re not?”

“didn’t mean it in a bad way, sweetheart.” geto shrugs, pulling off a cropped baby tee and bringing towards you. it has sequins sewn in the material, the gems writing out juicy couture. “this would suit you— belly piercing and whatnot.”

the top is cute, there was no denying so. a pretty shade of pink that suited your complexion, but letting his ego inflate bigger than it already was out of the question. he could tell your thought process from the judgmental look you offered, “oh god—you’re one of those fake ass, streetwearing fashionistas, aren’t you?”

geto blinks a few times, before letting out a sincere laugh. he’s been called a multitude of things before, but that one was new, “you got all that from me suggesting you buy this juicy couture tee? don’t all girls fiend over this vintage shit?”

“it’s that corny ass personality of yours,” you grab the shirt, throwing it in your cart. he wants to make a comment on that, but you beat him to the chase, “the phoney nonchalant act, the streetwear, your insta aesthetic— you’re so scripted.”

“my insta aesthetic?” he repeats, and doesn’t miss a step to catch up to you. your hands are back on the handle of your shopping cart, and if the way his elbows bump into your shoulders bothers you, you don’t make point in commenting on it. “who’s the lurker now, hm?”

you roll your eyes, pushing the strolley ahead, “don’t let it get to your big ass head. your feed screams you’re those toxic ass brent faiyaz wannabes,” he watches your fingertips rake through more clothings that pass your way, before you shoot him a glance, “let me guess— he showed on your spotify wrapped.”

his silence speaks volumes, and you click your tongue, “see? scripted.”

“and what about you?” geto counters when you make a pit stop. you pull away from your cart when a denim skirt catches your eye. you lift the skirt up to your eyes, before looking over your shoulder, cocking a brow.

“what about me?”

“the tweet reposts, the song choices for your highlights, the whole spiritual baddie persona,” he presses behind you, his chest meeting your back. he rests his chin atop your head, purple eyes landing on the clothing article that’s lowering in your hold, “if my page gives brent then yours definitely gives jhene.”

you’re mute for a second, and you chuck the skirt into the cart. you pull away from beneath him, spinning on your feet to face him, and you’ve got a scowl on your lips, “what’s wrong with jhene?”

“and you call me the toxic one.” geto pokes at your cheek. you swipe his hand away, and he laughs, “don’t get me wrong though— she makes good music. but let’s not act like she’s all innocent either,” his gaze lowers to your glossy lips, the fullness of the pair hypnotic, “a real freak. should i call you my pussy fairy?”

“do not,” you reply, weaving around him to make your way back to your cart. geto laughs, snatching a few things of the racks before dumping them in your stuff. you give him a deadpanned look and he whistles it off, feigning ignorance. “jhene’s a lovergirl. thought i was part of the men ain’t shit community.”

“you’re not gonna let that go, are you?” geto sighs. he owes gojo another thump in the head.

you roll your eyes, “thank your homeboy for that.”

“two things can be true at once,” geto fiddles with the hem of his jacket. he’s back at walking step by step with you, and you haven’t told him to fuck off yet, so he’s going to milk the opportunity out. “you’re mean but a lovergirl. you hate men but a real freak with them. right or wrong?”

you halter in your steps, and geto’s now a few steps ahead of you, so he looks over his shoulder to meet your bored expression, “i know you’re not trying to read me in the middle of value village.”

“no better time than the present,” he smiles, one that creases a dimple in his cheeks. “come on up— what are you waiting for?”

you stare at him some more, inhaling sharply, “mind you, i never invited you to join me,” you shake your head but comply regardless. cute, looks like you’re enjoying his company more than you’re letting on.

so he graces you his presence some more. he shops along with you, sneaks clothes into your cart when you’re distracted and asks you stupid questions. it’s a good time— to him at least, being able to get to know you some more without interruptions. naturally, you feign that his company is the bane of your existence, but he doesn’t miss the twitch of your lips when he taps his card into the reader at the check out.

hell yeah he’s got money to spend and is willing to show off if it means getting on your good side.

it’s only after he helps you bag your shit into your car, that he realizes this is where the both of you part ways. it annoys him slightly, but he doesn’t need to overstep his boundaries. he closes your trunk and makes his way to the driver’s side, where you’re already buckled up.

he taps at your window and the glass rolls down all the way, to which he leans forward. he’s in your line of sight now and you sigh, tilting your head sideways, “what?”

“do i get a goodbye kiss?” geto teases, honest, the boyish smirk he offers accentuating the playful undertone. the last thing he expects is you shifting in your seat, pushing yourself up and peaking your head out the window.

his smirk drops, brows jumping to his hairline. you’re really fucking close now, and for a split second he thinks you’re actually going to do it. he can see the flecks of colours swimming in your orbs, the tip of your nose bumps into his and your breath fans his cupid’s bow.

fuck, you smell really good. he bets you taste even better. his mouth is running dry, mindlessly darting his tongue out to wet his own lips. he doesn’t realize he’s let himself lean into your space, eyes narrowing on your mouth parting over his.

he’s pulled out of his trance when two fingers press at his forehead and push. he blinks his lashes, snapping back to reality as you sit back into your seat. you look amused— as if you’d played the funniest game right in his face and he’d been the star player.

“i’ll see you around, geto.”

and you drive off.

☆ ☆ ☆

“come back in a few weeks for a checkup. we’ll make sure the healing process is running smoothly. i’ll catch you soon.”

he lets out a tired sigh when the door finally closes, slumping into his seat and shuts his eyes. he’s exhausted— having woken up early for lectures and labs to back to back appointments with clients. this time around, the parlour is always booked and busy. students find it the perfect timing to get tatted to let it heal before showing it off in the summer.

it’s smart for them but idiotic for him. midterms are up, and the only time he has to study is in between appointments. he slides off his gloves and drags his seat towards his desk, redirecting his attention focus towards the blinding screen.

he feels a headache building at his temple, sipping at his iced coffee to keep him energized. contradicting, sure, but you didn’t have the luxury to be a beggar and a chooser when you were a full time student. the parlour he ran resided in his loft apartment, on the second floor. he enjoyed the comfort of his own home, spacious room and wide windows compared to outside stores.

his cat, nanako, purrs at his feet and he feels his heart swell. if there was one weakness he had in this world, it’d be her. he picks her up from the floor, presses her at his rib cage and nuzzles his nose in her fur.

“hi baby,” geto coos, and nanako lets out a sound. he continues to coddle her, fluffing her fur and rubbing at her ears, “it’s been pretty lively in here, hasn’t it? i knowww,” he coos, and as if nanako understands his words, she makes a pitiful sound that slightly shatters his heart.

geto decides to place her on his lap, her company serving plenty of motivation as he rolls back to his desk. he grabs the remote to his built-in speakers, turning the volume higher, before locking back in. exams are full of crap, and words are starting to jumble on his screen— he’s beginning to contemplate if this education shit is even worth the stress.

he’s an hour deep in jolting notes down on his ipad when he hears a knock at his front door. he scrunches his brows and glances at his agenda— he isn’t due for an appointment until another few hours. he sits it out, starting to believe he’d maybe imagined the sound. he knows it isn’t gojo since he’s celebrating an anniversary with his girl, and any other friend would’ve called to let him know they’re outside.

probably some jehovah witness shit, he thinks to himself, fingers hovering over his speaker remote to crank the volume back up. he turns back to his laptop screen, petting nanako mindlessly when his ipad flashes an instagram notification.

yourstruly.yn: open up

he jumps to his feet, chair rolling back. nanako flies to his desk, landing on all fours as she hisses at him for his suddenness. geto grabs her and kisses her ear, “sorry baby,” before sitting her on the floor. she walks off to her mini bean bag right at the foot of his desk, and he senses an attitude coming from her.

damn, he’d forgotten he squeezed you in last night in the midst of his sweet talking. that was truly a stupid move, he was already behind on studying, and because he likes to think with his head instead of his actual head, he’d fall even further behind.

he checks around the flat— picks up stray wrappers and fixes throw pillows, arranges his sheets. he was a clean man for the most part— he had been so distracted with his studies that there wasn’t much to dirty in the first place. his candles had already been lit so he knew the place smelled fine. he’s pretty positive his loft is clean enough to leave a good first impression.

he fixes loose hairs and straightens out his hoodie and sweats. thank fuck he’d showered not too long ago— he’s beginning to understand why his mother was always so insistent on being clean in case of random pop ups.

when he does finally open the door, there you stood. it was pretty chilly outside this time around, so he wasn’t surprised by the harsh wind flowing in and the clutch of your coat in your hold. your nose began reddening, and you sniffled, scowling from the cold.

you’re so cute, he sends you a smile, “hey.”

“hi,” you replied, sniffling again. “you ever planning on letting me in?”

“dunno,” he crosses his arms over his chest. he leans against the doorframe, ignoring the way he was starting to feel the frosty wind setting in his bones, “maybe if you ask nicely.”

you shoot him a deadpanned look, “move.”

“no.” geto smiles, “try again.”

“move, now.” a small pout is starting to form on your lips. he really liked testing your patience, since it always seemed to run low. you must’ve met your match— because geto always had time to fuck around.

“close, but not quite.”

“oh my goddd,” you groan, and that’s when he decides to let up. it really is colder than a bitch outside and he’d already kept you waiting while tidying up. he lets out a chuckle when you turn to the side, “i’m leaving— too damn cold for this.”

“alright, i’m playing,” geto widens the door. you stop your movements and glare at him. he aims an arm towards the inside of his loft, “don’t go, come in.”

you grumble something beneath your breath but comply, walking right past him. he follows behind you, shutting the door close and is immediately greeted back with warmth. you slip your shoes off and place them on the rack, before stepping in further into his apartment.

he slides his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets, catching up to you in the living room. your head is tilted upwards as you inspect the place though you remain in place. he stands beside you, bumping his shoulder into your arm, “so? up to your standards?”

you’re quiet for a while, letting your eyes roam around as the words build in your mind, “it’s typical,” you shrug but don’t elaborate. you’ve been staring at an art piece he’d done first year when he was fried out of his mind. you shift your gaze back to him, “where do i put my shit?”

“you can leave it in my bedroom, if that’s fine.” geto suggests and you nod wordlessly, to which he leads you to the second floor. he’s walking up the stairs and prays he doesn’t fall flat on his face— his socks can be a real bitch sometimes.

you both make it to his bedroom, with you trailing a little behind. he grabs a hanger from his mobile clothing rack, stretching an arm out to you, “i’ll hang your jacket here.”

you slide off the coat from your frame and hand it to him, to which he hangs on the rack. you circle around his bedroom with your tote on your shoulder, while he makes his way back to next to his desk. it’s pretty quiet for the most part, besides the music playing gently in the background.

your gaze lands on the cluttered items on his desk, noticing the half empty cup of coffee, notebooks and ipad on display, “did i catch you at a bad time?”

“honestly? yeah,” geto shrugs, before motioning at your tote bag. you slip it off and hand it to him, to which he sits at his nightstand, “but it’s my fault anyway, i squeezed you in a busy time. you know how exam season gets.”

“i can always reschedule,” you offer, checking your phone screen for the date, “it’s not that deep.”

“i don’t want you to leave,” geto slumps back into his seat and heaves out a sigh. he spins the chair around to catch you giving him a flat look. he leans back in his seat and spreads his thighs, smirking, “would you stay?”

“depends. are you going to be studying?” you quip, crossing your arms back to your chest.

geto ponders on what to say next. it’s not like he doesn’t want to tatt you up, but he really is caught in a bind. he also doesn’t want you to leave— not when he’s been wanting to see you since the last time he’d seen you. does he prioritize his wants or his needs?

he hums, “i’ll do whatever you want me to.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing as you make your way to his nightstand. for a second, he thinks you’re getting ready to leave and a weird feeling of disappointment settles in his gut. instead, you grab the bag and sit on the edge of his bed, pulling out your macbook and crossing your legs.

he smiles at that, “attagirl.”

“corny.” you mumble, chewing on your bottom lip as you begin typing away.

there’s a comfortable silence that fills the room. he’s back to browsing through his lecture notes, noting down valuable information and memorizing terminology. you don’t say anything either, but the sound of your nails typing at your keyboard blends well with his r&b playlist playing. sounds like you’re writing down an essay or report, depending on whatever your major is.

about half an hour into the silence, does he decide to break it. he looks over his shoulder to where you’re settled on his bed, “you good?” he checks up on you, and you let out a burnt out sigh. he knows exactly how you’re feeling.

“i guess,” you huff, twirling your necklace. your eyes are stuck on your screen, brows creasing into a scowl, “this shit is frying my brain though.”

“what are you writing?” he indulges, dropping his apple pen back onto his desk and spins in his seat to face you. maybe he’s also in due of a break— he’d rather be talking to you anyway.

“this crim report,” you answer, picking at your nail, “it’s not exactly hard but mad lengthy. i have to write a ten page report based on this article and how it contradicts societal norms.”

“ten pages?” geto whistles, rubbing at his chin. he’s settled deeper in his seat, naturally manspreading. you’re much better than him, he would’ve given up before even starting— reports were not his thing, “how far are you in?”

“i started this morning,” you hum, “so i’m four pages in.”

geto nods, “and when is it due?”

“tomorrow night.” you push your laptop off your lap. you close the screen shut and stretch out your legs, releasing a breathy moan as you relax your thighs. “i’ll do this shit later— my head’s starting to hurt.”

geto swears he’s never been so in sync in thought. he dismisses the idea of studying the second you had closed your macbook. probably a bad idea but at the moment, he couldn’t care any less, “want some entertainment?”

you cock a brow, “don’t say no stupid shit.”

“twenty one questions,” geto speaks nonetheless and finds himself beaming brightly when you scoff, “can’t a guy want to get to know you better?”

you ease yourself on his bed, slumping into his sheets as you exhale. you shift onto your side— a sinful curve at your side— tucking your knees and lean your head into your palm, “oh fuck off,” a breathless laugh and nanako makes her presence known, hopping right by you in the space between your body and the edge of the bed, “didn’t know you had a cat. she’s cute.”

“how’d you know she was a she?” geto wonders, surprised just slightly by how welcoming nanako was around you. she purred when you stroke at her fur, nuzzling further into your chest. nanako hated everyone— especially gojo, who unironically visited the most.

“instinct,” you shrugged but there’s a faint smile on your lips. not directed towards him, but his baby, “i also have a cat— he’s a fucking menace though.”

that’s one thing in common already, “like mother like son,” geto grins lazily when you flip him off mindlessly, and when you raise nanako in both your hands, he’s ready to warn you she isn’t a big fan of sudden movements— but when she mewls, the same sound she makes when geto brings home a new toy, the words die down in his throat.

he observes you both silently. you cradle nana as if she were a newborn infant, adoring and loving yet simultaneously careful and steadily. you’re cooing, calling her a sweet girl and rubbing at her ear, and nanako accepts you rather easily— too easily.

“woah.” was this those non-sexual turn ons people spoke about? for somebody so mean, you were oddly gentle with pets. he liked that— really liked that, so much that he pulls his phone out and snaps a photo of you two. but of course, because the universe loves to see him fumble, the flash goes off.

your head snaps to the side and he freezes. you narrow your eyes at him, slowly lowering nanako, “did you just—”

“so!” geto cuts you off, chucking his phone back onto his desk. it makes a loud cluttering sound, damn near knocks his drink all over, but ignores it, “my turn. what’s your cat’s name?”

“milo. and don’t cut me off—”

“milo the menace,” he cuts you off regardless, not wanting to have to decipher just what exactly possessed him to do that. he’s never done so, and he wasn’t about to explain why he’d done it just now. deflecting king! “i need to see the little guy. got any pics?”

you huff, extending a hand behind you to find your phone. when you clutch onto the device, you swing your legs off the bedside, always careful with nanako clinging to your lap. you lay her down on the floor, much to her dismay, before making your way towards him.

his eyes are stuck on your body before his mind can tell him to stop. not like it mattered much, your own eyes glued to your phone screen as you searched for the pictures he’d asked. you’ve got a matching tracksuit on— though the hoodie is cropped, thus exposing your navel piercing. he’d always had a thing for those, the pretty good jewel dangling below the button.

it didn’t help that your thong straps sat atop your waist.

he spreads his legs further open, and you stop right in between. for a moment, you’re stuck on your phone, and geto really wants to get those thighs straddling him. you look delectable— he’d pin your knees to your damn ears, sprawled on your back, and eat you out until you pleaded him to stop.

your hair was pulled back into a bun, and from this angle, he spotted scripture at the column of your neck. there was wording inked in arabic, and he made a mental note to ask you what it meant later.

geto leans back into his seat when you fold forwards, and he gets a good whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, tingling his senses in the best way, “found it?”

you nod your head, swiping through your gallery, “yeah, my bad,” you have a folder named ‘mimi’ and as expected, was filled off candid photos of your cat. he pays attention as you slide your finger on your screen, selfies of you both in the morning passing by.

“cute,” he isn’t talking about the cat, and his gaze flicks from the screen to your face. there’s still a considerate amount of space between you both, but he can see your eye colour much clearer this close up. you blink your lashes at him and he smirks, “anything else you wanna show me?”

you sniff, “don’t be gross.”

“i meant of milo,” geto definitely didn’t mean of milo. you cock a brow skeptically, and he mirrors the look, though the smile on his face grows, “what a cute lil thing,” his voice lowers and his words trail off. there’s a beat of a pause for a while, and his gaze falls on the plumpness of your lips, “you gonna let me pet your kitty?”

another beat of silence. you’re staring at his lips, and he wonders what you’re thinking. he can tell you’ve picked up on what he’s laying down (hopefully you in the next few minutes) but he can’t tell what your next move will be.

“depends. . .” a soft whisper, and he feels your breath fanning over his cupid’s bow. you flick your eyes back at him, and he finally understands the whole siren eyes shit. through lidded eyes, your stare is intense— simultaneously pulling him in closer while pushing him back. you’re toying with him, and the hand he slides up from your thigh to your ass is enough fuel. “you any good?”

he brings a second hand to the other ass cheek, and urges you onto his lap. you comply, looping your arms at the back of his neck. he feels your nails grazing at his scalp and he holds back a lethal shudder. your weight feels amazing against him— his hard on poking and making its presence well aware.

“i’d like to think i am,” he knows he is, but playing humble always goes a long way. he lets his hands run over the cup of your ass, trails back up to your hips, and slides a finger beneath the thong strap. when he snaps the material at your skin, your back arches and you press your chest against his own.

“well,” you exhale when he noses into the crook of your neck, right above your tattoo. he’s littering wet kisses at your hot skin, your taste ever so sweet against his tongue. god, you must taste divine. at your jugular, he’s able to imprint your perfume into his mind. “only one way to find out.”

geto hums at that, relishing in the way you moan at a particular suck, and focus on nibbling at that spot once more. you’re tilting your head for easier access, hips grinding against his own for better friction. your hands are soft and cautious— they trail from his nape down to his chest, and further down to his waistband.

he’s on go, ready for whatever timing you’re on. though, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out by the way your fingertip traces right above his pelvis, that you’re both on the same page. he drags his lips from the column of your neck up to your jaw, and stops right above your parted lips.

he has another cocky remark on the tip of his tongue, in typical suguru fashion, but you beat him to the chase, glossy lips pressing against his. the kiss is short and definitely leaves him wanting more when you pull back as soon as you’d leaned in— but you’re a mere centimetre away.

you whisper, not before another kiss, “don’t disappoint me, suguru.”

and he’s never ran into bed so fast.

☆ ☆ ☆

the door slams shut.

he’s left with a painfully hard reminder in his sweats that he fucked up bad. he thinks he dissociated a little between the labia flapping to the coat zipping. it’s only when he notices that instead of hearing lip smacking sounds, he hears bryson tiller’s lame ass (no shade, his ego is simply wounded), that you really left.

fuck.

geto rushes back to his bedroom, the walk of shame up the steps enough to make him want to jump off— as he takes out his phone, immediately goes through his contact list and presses on the name. it rings twice before the call gets picked up.

“yooo!”

“you still busy?” geto asks, voice hoarse as he flops down on the edge of the bed— his now empty bed. damn.

“nah, just dropped off wifey,” gojo replies. he hears music playing faintly in the back, as well as the sounds of honking. he must still be in the car, “why, what’s up?”

“i fucked up.” geto sighs, running a hand over his face.

“oh?” he isn’t surprised to find out gojo’s surprised. he’s still surprised by how the events turned out and it’s barely been ten minutes, let alone five. “say no more, i’m on my way.”

geto hangs up. he throws the phone away, before falling flat onto his bed. he picks up your scent on his sheets, your warmth slowly disappearing— another painful reminder he messed up. where he’s expecting a wet patch of anything on his duvets, he finds nothing. zip. nada.

his eyes fall shut, “shit.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“and that’s pretty much the gist of it all.”

he exhales a cloud of smoke. more silence. geto’s starting to get sick of all this silence. it was radio silence with you and now even more radio silence from gojo. his hand never stops to rub at nanako, who’s been serving as a cuddling partner in this grand moment of crisis. the only person to ever have his back.

so, geto knew that confiding in his best friend this secret of his would be risky for a multitude of reasons. for starters, geto never fucks up. this would be ultimate blackmail content for him, and geto honestly doesn’t blame him. for two, he was just giving gojo shit about never having eaten pussy. that’s just downright humiliating. and for three, he has a girlfriend who he doesn’t keep anything from. on top of that— his girlfriend is friends with the main culprit here.

overall a bad idea. he does it nonetheless, because satoru is his best friend despite it all. he isn’t too shocked when the silence is filled with bellyaching laughter, though.

“wait— i’m cryinggg,” more laughter. gojo’s now kicked his feet off the couch and is doubling forward. his shades bounce off his head and hit the leg of the coffee table. he doesn’t pause his laughing fit one bit, not even when geto throws a throw pillow his way.

it bounces off his big head and geto scoffs, bringing the joint back to his lips, “oh fuck off.”

“my fault man,” gojo apologizes though he doesn’t sound apologetic. he’s leaning forward to grab his shades back, and he’s back to swiping stray tears. “that was a good laugh— shit.”

geto hums at that, extending the blunt towards him,“glad to hear my misery has brought you entertainment.”

“see, you get it!” gojo jokes, welcoming the joint. seems like he got cocky, however, his laughing mood not quite over as he inhales. he quickly chokes on the smoke, which fades back into cackling, “oh shit—”

geto sneers, annoyance quickly rising, “quit fucking around or pass it back.” he was being pissy, yes, but his pride had been curb stomped. and it hadn’t even been an hour ago!

“nah, nah, i’m good,” gojo waves him off, despite his free hand tapping at his chest. he collects himself soon enough, and takes another hit. this time it’s successful. geto lowkey hoped it would get caught in his throat again.

“sooo,” gojo drags out, melting into the couch, “what now.”

“what now?” geto parrots.

“what’s the next move?” gojo elaborates, fingertip tapping at the blunt, and ashes fall into the tray. the end of the stick crumbles in the same way geto’s ego had earlier. “you’re gonna keep letting her think you suck at giving head?”

geto throws his head back and sighs tiredly, “what else is there to do?” he hears the sound of sizzling in the background, “i fumbled bad, bro. you don’t think she already posted about me in her girls’ private story?” more sizzling and exhaling, “i’m the storytime of the day!”

he feels gojo nudge his thigh with his foot. he looks back and the joint is presented to him. he gladly accepts it.

“what even happened?” gojo wonders. and oh boy, if that isn’t the question of the day. geto is still trying to find the answer to that. had it been out of nervousness? had he gotten too cocky? had it been her?

“i honestly wish i could answer that,” geto slips the roach into his mouth. “i didn’t feel nervous until after i realized she wasn’t fazed,” he drags out a hit and ghost inhales, “maybe it was a sign from above— to shut the fuck up sometimes.”

“maybe,” gojo snorts, throwing his legs over geto’s lap. nanako hisses at the intrusion, but the white haired man ignores her, “don’t let yourself go out sad like this. hit her back up— whatever happened to loving challenges?”

“what kind of fucked up ass challenge is this?” geto mumbles, mainly to himself.

“if i was in your shoes— which i’d never be,” because he’s gojo, he feels the need to add, “i’d put my pride aside and talk to her. like no homo shit, but you’re a great eater— yeah, no, i’m taking that back instantly.”

geto looks as horrified as he feels, “quickly, even.”

of course, gojo laughs but proceeds, “the point is, you know you’re good at it. everybody fucks up once in a while— don’t let it define you though. think of it as a minor setback for a major comeback— if you care enough, you’ll put your pride aside and do something about it. if you’re this down about it, then it must mean something to you.”

geto can’t tell anymore whether gojo’s talking about the failed pussy eating attempt or you. regardless, he knows there’s truth to his words. has to be the weed talking.

“and who made you the pussy connoisseur?” geto snorts, pressing the bud of his joint in the tray. it sizzles weakly as he kills it, starting to feel that high course through his veins.

gojo sighs dreamily, “why my lovely lady, of course.”

“looks like she taught you well,” geto relaxes himself into the tight space of the couch, settling nanako on his chest. it’s now his turn to nudge gojo with his foot, his sock-cladded toe digging at his jaw. “woulda never expected this from a rookie just a few months ago.”

“well duh,” gojo swipes his foot away, “i aced that course. got my phD in cunningulusophy and all. even won valedictorian.”

geto laughs, resting his lids. he was starting to feel sleepy, indica will do that to you, “enroll me in whatever class you took— i may need to slut myself out for extra credit. my prof’s a tough nut to bust.”

“intro to munch 101,” gojo nods his head, shutting his eyes close as well. there’s a comfortable silence that fills the air for a while. and despite the fact that his sight manipulated, he could hear the smirk dripping off his tone, “if you ever need a letter of recommendation, i got you— alumni’s honour.”

“oh fuck off,” a mixed harmony of laughter and vibrating chests.

☆ ☆ ☆

fun fact: suguru geto loves showers.

the aroma of cleanliness enhanced by thick fog. the scorching water droplets trickling down his skin, the vulnerability of his nakedness inside these four walls. he strangely feels most at ease, most raw in this moment of solitude.

he’s able to gather himself too. there isn’t much to accomplish in a shower once you’ve gotten rid of the day’s dirt. so, he likes to take the opportunity to think. to think deep and hard.

his mind’s all scrambled up. it’s been about three days since you were last in his apartment, two days since he’d thought about it, and a day since he last seen you (granted it’d been on your story, virtually, but still).

this has been the biggest feat he’s faced in a while. if he recaps it, this is what’s he gotten: he invited you over. you came the next day. he didn’t cater to you the sole reason you came. you didn’t mind. you both studied for a bit. he asked about your cat. you ended up on his lap. he ended up in bed with you. you ended up leaving with a chunk of his dignity.

that didn’t explain shit, but it did remind him of his failure. it reminded him that he’d finally met his match. it reminded him he needs to start backing his shit up. it reminded him of how good you smelled and tasted down there. it reminded him of how pretty you looked.

his cock twitches and he glances down. it also reminds him he never ended up cumming, too engrossed in his anxiety to jerk one out.

he feels as though the glass doors of his shower protect him from reality. he’s hard, though mortified, but still hard. he’d spent a long time (two days) suppressing the memory away, but there was no way to mistaken your taste on his tongue. how sweet you smelled. how soft you felt—

geto fists at his dick before he can help it. his free hand plants at the wall before him, and he works his wrist. he twists at his shaft slowly and closes his eyes— behind his lids are photographic memories of you on his lap. memories of you on his bed. memories of the scent of your panties. memories of your tits in his mouth.

sure, you’d made more sounds off the foreplay for the foreplay— but that didn’t take away how turned on he’d been. how his dick twitched in his boxers. how he’d humped the mattress. how he’d moan in your cunt.

“y/n,” geto moans your name, sinful yet hushed, his hand working faster. his thumb grazes his over slit and his gut drowns in heat. he wants a redo. he deserves a redo— you deserved a redo. “fuckkkk,”

next time, he’ll get it right. and if he doesn’t, then he’ll want to try again and again and again— until it ends with your cunt clenching around his tongue and his face sprayed vigorously in your essence. until your thighs tremble around his face, your hand clawing at his hair and your back arched off his bed. until his name bounces off his walls and echoes so loudly his neighbours complain.

he wants a redo.

he jerks back as he paints the tiles white. the joints in his hand ache, the water from the shower head getting colder. geto pants heavily, chest heaving as his load is released from him. his cum drips from the wall and into the drain at his feet— but his dick is far from well spent. if he spends another hour in the shower, it’s nobody’s business but his own.

suguru geto loves showers.

☆ ☆ ☆

“oh. you actually showed.”

“redo,” geto pants, having sprinted from his apartment. he’d spent the next three days after his shower incident wallowing some more— at some point, it just annoyed him. though slightly underwhelming, he was on his phone in bed a few minutes ago, going through his camera roll when he’d seen that picture he took of you and nanako. his feet guided him to his car before he could help it. choso helped him out with the address.

“redo?” you parrot his words, leaning against your doorframe. you crossed your arms over your chest, and it’s only then he noticed your appearance— flimsy camisole and pink lace panties. fuck, he wants a redo now.

“i want a redo.” geto repeats, but is quickly hit with a gust of wind. he hadn’t brought a jacket with him in the midst of his impulse, and goosebumps were beginning to form at his skin. he shoots his shot, “you ever planning on letting me in?” talk about deja vu.

“dunno,” you play along, eyes narrowing. “maybe if you ask nicely.”

swallow your pride, he hears gojo somewhere in the back of his mind. he shakes that thought off quickly. this desperation had to be bigger than a pride issue— he was ready to get on his knees and beg her to let him in. pride? that had been drained to the sewers the second he busted all over his shower days ago.

“lemme in and i’ll make it up to you,” geto tries instead, taking a step closer, “please?”

that seemed to be the correct answer as you push open the door to your apartment further. you turn your back and geto lets himself drink up your backside— he hadn’t seen it last time but you had dimples sitting right above your perky ass. he watches your hips sway left and right, and even tilt your head back, a smirk etched on your face, “you comin’?”

you will be, “cute.” his lips twitch into a small smile, and closes the door behind him.

☆ ☆ ☆

fool him once? shame on him.

geto doesn’t allow himself to make the same mistakes twice. if one fuck up is enough to tear him down for a week straight then why the hell would he do it again?

you’re sprawled on your back, legs spread with enough space to fit his body in between. his hands plant on either side of your face, his bulge pushed up against your core. he feels your warmth through these layers of clothes, and he rolls his hips greedily, feeling himself already grow addicted. your chin is raised high, lids blown open as you stare at him all doe-eyed.

his brows pinch in the centre of his forehead. that faux look of innocence you’re offering is doing wonders to his dick. your tits sit beautifully beneath your top, arms back on him as you pull him in closer, and he lets himself fall prey to you. for a moment, the tip of his nose bumps into yours, lips ghosting over the other, hips colliding to meet yours.

“mhm, that’s it.” you let out a sigh, throwing your head back into your pillows. there’s an opening to your neck calling his name, and geto wastes no time to latch his lips there. he slips a hand beneath your tank top, fingernails grazing over your skin to creep up to your mounds. he flicks a thumb over the bud and you sigh blissfully again— he then cups the flesh.

he loves the way you squirm when he kisses down your body, “i got you, pretty,” stripped from your cami, his lips leave open mouthed marks all over your skin. from the column of your neck, to your breasts, down your torso and past your navel, “let me take care of you.” the lower he gets, the more intense your rawness reeks— and it’s a damned good smell.

he lands right above your clothed pelvis, and he inhales sharply. he won’t make the same mistake this time, he can feel it. there’s something lingering in the air, something indescribable— but he’s confident he won’t. because when he skips your cunt in favour to pamper your inner thighs, dragging his wet tongue all over erogenous zones, he spots dampening right where your clit would be.

bingo.

your hand cradles his hair, and the other props your body up by the elbow. he glances up at you, cock throbbing against your mattress. your beauty still renders him speechless— runs his throat dry and makes his tongue feel heavy. he doesn’t want to decipher what this means either, and decides to conclude he’s simply thirsty for you.

“suguru,” you call at him. he blinks and the hand in his hair snakes down his neck, and pushes him deeper. his nose nudges at your throbbing clit, and his tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick at the damp material before he can help it. two fingers hook at your panties and push them to the side, revealing glistening folds. your slick drips between your crack and stains your sheets. he thinks he hears his stomach growl a little.

another swipe of his tongue, this time in contact with the raw you, and a breathless moan rips from you, “don’t disappoint me this time.”

and he feasts.

☆ ☆ ☆

gojo’s woken up to a notification from his phone.

it’s still pretty late— or maybe early, and his pretty girlfriend is miles away in lalaland. she snores softly, cuddling into his side, and gojo’s ready to cuss out whoever dares potentially meddle with his girl’s sleep. he’s starting to get grumpy.

when his phone undergoes face recognition, he lowers the brightness immediately. he swipes through his notification center and notices an attachment sent by geto.

now that peeks his interest. he presses on the message.

suguboo: [1 attachment]

suguboo: passed intro2munch101 with an A+ 🫡

gojo can’t help the laugh that leaves him, though is quickly quieted down when he feels stirring at his side.

“well i’ll be damned.”

yes, gojo is obsessed with his girlfriend. also 10k words on geto???

[ghost-proofbaby]

too sweet (astarion ancunin x reader)

"you know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain. pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape. [...] you're too sweet for me."

summary: astarion realizes you're too sweet for him, and he probably shouldn't let this go further than necessary. but, oh, he's going to. isn't he? (based on this request and the song 'too sweet' by hozier <3)

pairing: astarion ancunin x gn!reader

warnings: spoilers for games regarding camp dialogue with astarion, discussion of astarion's past trauma, talks of self-loathing/disgust with sex, vague mentions & allusions to sex having been had, manipulation at it's finest! minors dni.

wc: 2k+

a/n: i just wanted to get inside this man's mind when he drops that fucking line the second time he tries to sleep with us/tav. why does his face fall like that? why?

divider by @firefly-graphics <3

As Astarion observes the rise and fall of your chest in the soft morning light, he can only think one thing: shit. He fucked up. 

And he had spent most of the early hours trying to retrace his steps, trying to decipher exactly where his monumental mistake had begun, but it seemed useless. 

It could have been somewhere between the first and third bottle of wine shared with you last night during festivities, where he’d sweet-talked you to the high Hells until you’d agreed to return to his bedroll in the dead of night. Where he’d made the joke that wasn’t all that funny – the joke that he loved you. Three pretty words tried out on his tongue, and they hadn’t been nearly as light-hearted as he’d wanted them to be. More of an experiment, a quick sip to see if he liked the taste. And he had fucked up, because he did like the taste. He liked the sweetness that stuck to every corner of his mouth as he delivered the sugar-coated lie to you, his entire face falling as a new weight appeared in his chest. 

But perhaps it had been the first night he tasted you – well, your blood, that is. The night he’d awoken from a nightmare of Cazador and in his vulnerability, had chosen you as his victim of yet another experiment. A test to see if he was truly free. One drop of a thinking creature’s blood, that was all he needed. But you’d given more than he’d bargained for, and your cloy ichor had coated his taste buds so addictively, and he had just known that night was only the beginning. It was the first time, but certainly not the last. 

He thinks he could drink in whatever you offered him, and only that, for the rest of his days while still finding some sickly, twisted version of reprieve regardless. Not a drop more than he needed, always vying for more. 

He’d be okay with that type of hunger, that type of yearning, and that might have been his first real mistake. 

Or maybe, just possibly, it had been that very first meeting. Maybe he had doomed himself from the moment he’d pressed a blade to your neck, when he had dragged you to the ground with him and felt all that warmth, all that fear, radiating off of you. So frightful, and you still had offered your help to him when it was all said and done. Perhaps that was when he had well and truly screwed himself over. One simple introduction, void of his usual wine and flowers, and he’d locked himself in for pure trouble. 

Not even the fun kind, at that. What a shame. 

At the end of the day, or rather the beginning of the day as it is now, it doesn’t matter where his threads had started to unravel. All that matters is that they were – every carefully thought out line of his plans had all frayed, all detangled from the bigger picture, all because of you. 

Heart of gold, blood of honey. You were far too sweet for him, and he knew it. 

“Having fun, are you?” 

“I am, it’s hard not to with you.”

You’d taken each of his tactics in stride, hadn’t you? Whereas his face had nearly crumbled beneath the weight of that beautiful lie, insides twisting uncomfortable as the humor had slipped through his fingers, your eyes had only glittered as you bit back a smirk. To so lightly tease him, to banter right back with him, instead of see the truth behind it all. He didn’t know if you were simply that naive or if you were another kindred soul – Perhaps you were finding just as much safety, just as much sanctuary, in whatever dance he’d dragged you into. An entanglement of lies, a blithe facade, a daring smile that whispers come now, play with me. 

And play with him, you had. 

You’d played with him, you’d drank with him, and you’d now slept with him. Twice. 

“You’re up early,” your voice murmurs, silken tone cutting through all his racing thoughts. 

He hadn’t even noticed you had stirred, rousing yourself out from underneath his stolen blankets to peer at him curiously as he perched on the edge of the bedroll. As far from you, and as far from your sweetness, as possible. 

“Oh, you know what they say, my dear,” he chirps, rolling his shoulders as the act wraps him back up. The charismatic charmer. The illusive rogue, trained impeccably to coax you in and secure his safety, “No rest for the wicked.” 

He’d awoken before you last time, too. Had watched the sun rise and enjoyed the warmth of it plastering across his skin long before you’d ever woken up. He half-hopes you’ll be less talkative this time; he half-hopes you’ll try to rope him into whatever discussion you can, if only for a few extra seconds of your attention. 

You were too sweet. Too sugary on his tongue, too soothing in his chest. He shouldn’t entertain you – he shouldn’t let this go further than necessary. 

You hum thoughtfully, the blanket slipping and exposing more of your chest. With the light flickering in from his tent’s entrance, he can easily spot those two scarring dots along your jugular where his fangs fit perfectly, “I don’t know if I’d describe you as wicked, lover.” 

“No?” Roped into discussion, it is. “How would you describe me then?” 

He’s not comfortable in this lighting. He feels feverish beneath your steady stare, the way your eyes take their time as you look over every inch of him. The languid observation has him convinced you’re seeing right through him – your glance can pierce right through all his armor and expose every flaw. You see him for the monster he is, you see him for the bitter soul he’s become, you see him as the unworthy spawn he believes himself to be. 

He almost swears that you even see right through his nice, simple plan at hand, not so easily fooled as he had believed you to be. 

“Charming, certainly,” you suddenly sigh, sitting up and keeping your body mostly covered still with that knitted blanket. He’d only snagged it because the shade of the wool nearly matched your eyes – not that he was paying attention to your eyes, of course, “But then again, you’d have to be to have bedded me twice now, wouldn’t you?” 

“We can always make it thrice,” he banters back, ignoring the bile that builds at the insinuation. But if that’s what it takes – laying on his back over and over again – to guarantee your protection, he’ll do it. He’d do it a thousand times over to keep himself as far away from Cazador’s chokehold as possible, “Does that entice you, love?”

When he turns his body fully, beginning a carefully and calculated crawl up the bed roll, ready to slot his body back between your thighs and encourage you to have his way with him, you stop him. The heel of your foot delicately presses against his chest, your head tilted curiously before you shake it. 

“Who’s the eager pup now, Astarion?” 

He likes the way his name drips off your tongue. Almost as if he might be made of the same sugar and spice as you, the same pure honey flowing through your veins also inhabiting his. You say it like a song, articulate it like the sweetest fruit. 

He shouldn’t like it. It shouldn’t be able to overpower his lingering disgust with himself so easily. 

“It’s hard not to be eager when it comes to you,” he says the line with good practice, beckoning a purr to his tone that had always won over the victims he’d entrap in dark taverns back in the city, “I said the Gods had made you just to ruin me, and I meant it.”

He’d meant it more than he’d realized. It wasn’t just your body that had been sculpted to draw him in – it was everything. Your entire aura, your entire glacé demeanor. All that innocence and all that geniality enticed him more than he could ever admit. You were certainly going to ruin him, so wholly and so entirely. You’d already started to, really. 

You don’t respond at first, and he swears he has you. You’re locked in on his distraction, caught up in his web, just as he needs you to be. One lithe hand lifts to your ankle, cool fingers wrapping around your warm skin as he begins to lower his lips, ready to pepper kisses up your leg. Prepared to offer you his mouth, his body, in return for the one thing he needs. Self-loathing be damned. 

Old habits die hard, right along with pride, and he’s not quite ready to bury either at your grave yet. 

But just as he presses the first chaste kiss to your skin, nearly taken back by how your sweetness still breaks through the salty surface, you’re pulling the limb away from him. Your knee draws back and a disarming smile has risen on your cheeks, eyes glittering at him just as they had the night before. 

“I suppose I’ll have to come find you when everyone is asleep, then.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

What exactly had he been waiting for? You, of course. But had he been waiting for you to find him solely for what had transpired? To explore your portfolios of talents once more, as he had put it? Or had it been for something more… precarious? 

Was he nothing more than a prey, waiting for you to be his demise? 

Had he actually been waiting for this? 

The challenging look in your eyes as they reflected back stars, the warmth of your skin so close to him he nearly melts into you. The upturn of the corners of your mouth, outlining the way you certainly know something that he doesn’t. A look you wear well, a look that shakes his foundations and rattles his bones. 

“As tempting as you are, I’ll have to decline. Duty calls, as they say.” 

Can you see right through him? 

He should be more deflated when you start going through the motions; he should be pouting or overthinking it all as he watches you gather your clothes once more, covering up the few bite marks of his that litter your skin. Every moment you prepare to leave his tent should be one spent overthinking where he’d gone wrong – why didn’t you want him? Was his plan even going to work? 

Were you truly too sweet for him? Would he have been better off trying to romance the likes of Gale for the safety just shy of his grasp now?

He doesn’t, though. For once, his mind is quiet as he watches you patter about. The bile retreats, the disgust fades. For the first time in a very long time, Astarion is leaving this interaction not feeling used. 

Maybe it’s in the way you cheekily snatch one of his shirts as you both pretend he doesn’t notice it, or maybe it’s in the gentle caress of your fingers through his hair as you pass him to pick back up your discarded weapon. Maybe it’s in every shy glance you offer him, or maybe it’s in your ever present grin. 

Watching you leave should worry him, but it only feels like a breath of fresh air. A wind that comes sweeping in with the promise of next time just as you pull back the flap to his tent. 

And he hadn’t realized he’d been waiting patiently for you to turn back to him until you do just this, offering him one final glance that sets him aflame, “Oh, and before I forget – you can feed on me tonight, if you need to.” 

Heart of gold, blood of honey. He couldn’t say no even if he wanted to.

“Then I’ll see your delicious self tonight,” he takes a pause, one big and unnecessary breath filling his chest alongside that warmth you bring to him. The fearless leader, the kindest soul. His most apt nickname for you yet falls off his lips in a content sigh, “My sweet.”

He shouldn’t entertain you – he shouldn’t let this go further than necessary. 

But he’s going to. Gods, he is going to. 

After all, the sweetest fruits always fall from the most forbidden branches, do they not?

[nekrosmos]

I just woke up from a what’s supposed to be a 20 minutes nap but became 3 hours nap after taking my meds today 😂 can barely open my eyes as I type this

Here’s something random Price HC for you to distract you, not proof read so if it has errors my bad:

Price cared for a small plot of plant at the furthest region of the base he was stationed in. It started with one stubborn patch of green which looked half-crushed by careless boots and was barely clinging to life. Price noticed it one morning during his usual patrol. He paused, crouched down, knees cracking and he’s groaning like an old man he is and studied the struggling little plant. “Tough little bugger,” he thinks.

For some reason, he came back afterwards and poured some water on the poor shrub, and then again the next day, and again on the next next day, watching as the plant loses its yellowing green and grow new sprouts.

He could hardly consider this “farming” or “gardening”, but slowly he started getting more stuff for this routine of his. Like a broken mug as a way to scoop the dirt or picking up a random stray’s dung and pat it into the ground as fertilizer.

The men sometimes caught him lingering by the plants, but no one questioned it. They just assumed their captain was doing some sort of “tactical assessment” of the terrain. If anyone noticed the occasional frost-free patch or the odd green shoot looking a little healthier than before, they chalked it up to luck or nature, when actually it has been the Captain who’s been taking care of the plants on that place.

I don’t know where this is going, but I just think it’s funny to imagine Price walking around and going, “wait, have I watered that bugger today” or like imagining him squatting and fussing about some random plants, talking to it like he’s talking to another soldier.

Something something him being tender to the things no one cares about something something…anyways!! Hope this is enough to distract bud, I’ve yet to catch on on you and Jack’s stuff which I will do later or tomorrow myehehe

Oh this is adorable Gomz !!! Love Price talking to a plant like he's talking to his soldiers. Lots of threats. A (gentle) pat on the leaves. He's so proud when the thing starts getting bigger and stronger. Tough bugger alright. Whenever John is annoyed by his superiors or by bureaucracy, he goes outside and takes care of that plant. Beats yelling at some wide-eyed recruits some days.

Maybe this unlocks something in his brain and he starts to enjoy gardening ?? Nik notices and buys him the required tools next time they're on break together. Price has a small house somewhere in England, with a small garden but he always kept it as practical as he could, nothing fancy. Now he's thinking of growing some plants, some veggies, maybe get his own food so Nik can cook him some homemade meal with homegrown vegetable.

It's a nice little hobby he grows to enjoy, takes his mind out of the job for a few hours and makes him spend some energy (which he always has too much of whenever he's not at work.). Nik loves to sit on a garden chair outside and watch him work while enjoying some tea. It's nice to see John take some time off.

[kirbsmakemesmile]

Hey what’s up hello

Dude I’ve been rewatching KRBAY with my bestie bud @dirtyshoes15 and it’s like actually so sad so I’m gonna ramble a bit

In the episode with Kit Cosmos, he thinks Kirby is a monster right and he’s like, “Hah! Guess nightmare never taught this monster guerilla war tactics heh!😂😂” and it actually killed me NIGHTMARE USES GUERILLA WARFARE TACTICS THAT IS REALLY SCARY

The cappies are very ignorant and they have little to no education about their own history. They only have one historian who makes up “theories” but they’re never based on fact and are easily disproven (ep 8). Before episode 8 they said cappies migrated to dreamland, but in episode 8 curio said there were “ancient cappy artifacts” but both can’t happen? Sure there’s stuff from when they migrated but they wouldn’t be ancient?? Again in episode 24 curio completely lies about what the ninja scrolls mean and says they’re to teach ninjas how to do awesome tricks, but the scroll turns out to be some kids report card?? So it just shows how unreliable this guy is and how ignorant and misinformed these people are.

And lastly I wanted to talk about Wolfwrath. So in episode 26 it’s all about Mk, sword, blade, and Wolfwrath. They talk about how they met and yeah, but there’s an interesting shot during the flashbacks. There’s a scene showing the star warriors dead like all over and it’s really sad, and then it pans to Mk running away. Now when Mk later gets hit by wolfwrath and loses consciousness, he doesn’t die, he’s just paralyzed. But he only regains consciousness after Wolfwrath is dead. All the star warriors that were “dead” in that shot were not dead, they were all alive but paralyzed, they died like that dude it’s actually so sad. Nightmare is actually so evil it’s not funny. And so when Mk says that Kirby is their only hope, it’s because he couldn’t defeat Wolfwrath and neither could sword or blade, so that makes the situation super dire and puts all the pressure on Kirby. Not to mention, Kirby doesn’t really understand things yet he’s like a baby so he actually thinks Mk is dead

This is so sad dude if you freaking watch this show and look into it it’s really really sad I’m crying

Anyways I hope you liked my talking I will talk more if I remember other stuff BYE

Here’s a wip for reading

[joannasteez]

lavender based

pairing: roman reigns x black reader summary/warning: you've catered to his bruises long enough he thinks, wanting desperately to have you in his arms. | smut. hints of fluff. minors do not interact. explicit descriptions, 18+ word count: 2k music inspo: comfortable by h.e.r

it was a massage. sure tender hands running into his skin with a deep enough pressure to lull him into the fondest sense of security. a sweet burning incense curling up free and lavender oil smooth over reddened tawny welts and some day old scars. and if he could, he'd reach up, flex his core easy and push his lips up to yours to kiss the pout of them away. but you're determination proceeds any of the more amorous wants plaguing him. a feverish rush simmering through the run of his blood. its a fast sure course through his fingers to the steady hardness between his legs. and you can feel him there, stirring excited, more impatient by the second. it was a massage, but you weren't sure how long he would last.

he's smooth and clever, stains his fingers with the memory of your skin, palm coaxing a throbbing in your spine as it takes the journey to your nape. roman rests on the strength of an elbow. whisper's "c'mere", and revels in the leisure burning brown haze of your eyes. 

he moans, your tongue licking at the seam of his lips till they pass to push against his own. and it's funny, he thinks he has you, as you take to a sloppy kiss. something light and pitchy singing from your throat when he bites. tenses his teeth to tease your bottom lip. he thinks he has you good, stowed away in the hard set of his arms, your breath hurried and impatient when he breaks from you just to rush in again. but its all game and tactic. the slowest dance. 

your nails run a little with pain at their tips, trailing his neck till his own spine throbs in their wake. but nothing feels better than the wrap of them about his throat. barely pressured but your hand there all the same, feeling his pulse, as the other cradles his head. 

a short tug at the root and he's a mess of groans. clawing further into your waist till you're grinding into his lap. 

your lips break but stay just close enough to share breaths. 

you tsk. "this was supposed to be relaxing. your body is still healing"

he hums. falls, bringing you with him into a nest of pillows. palms slipping slow over exposed supple skin, meticulous, till something flares in the brown of his eyes, and then he's clawing in till you're roughed into him further. "you touch me the way you do and expect me to behave". 

your thumb reaches to soothe slow over tempting lips. a sweet caress as the lavender coaxes you to settle further into his embrace. "i just wanna see you better. hate it when you get hurt like this". 

"i'm alright", and you think he's never been so sure of anything. kisses against your fingers, your palm, and then back to your mouth. simple and sweet as he rolls over to continue. tongue and lips working in tandem till you're moaning and melting into the fluff of the sheets. " 'm alright enough to touch you", his tongue curling before it runs flat to lick your at nipple. “taste you”. lips catching to suck gentle. and the feeling is good to him, the bud rolling over easy. more so even when you pull his head in gentle for more, as if you'd ever have to ask. you'd never have to plead even, unless you wanted to. and just after he breaks, he pulls at the bud, teasing with his teeth. "alright enough to hold you". and he finds himself just at the other side, his tongue soothing over wet and more persistent than before. bordering closer and closer to that fine line of feral-ness. 

he hadn't seen you in sometime. constantly on the go, in cars, on planes, from city to city, till he was done, and then after that he was out of country and that distance only made the ache for him worse. and the ache for you just as unbearable. 

so you understand the burden, that wild edge to his touch. pushing and prying at your hot skin, hands ripping at the dainty sodden fabric of your panties. and you smell good, his nose breathing in, followed by the run of his tongue just at that plain of skin where your inner thigh folds. and something like possession corrals in him, forces his mouth to water and his tongue to taste. ardent and masterful, measured, like he's remembering you. a firm wet slip up till he's catching the nub of your clit. and then he remembers, why he aches so much, in hotel rooms across the country and the sea, flits his eyes up to see what a sweet mess he's made of you so far and remembers everything. 

"baby girl, you're beautiful y'know that?" 

he breathes warm over you, and it has you clenching about nothing, his words slipping a silly grin into your lips. "if i didn't, i know now". 

"need you to know it everyday". 

wet kisses at the underside of your thighs, thumbs holding at the bend of your knees till he's back where you need him most. 

and fuck is it perfect. an untainted bliss. his tongue a firm caress as his mouth closes in to suckle. raven hair like a veil as it falls around him. groans harsh. desperate and chest deep, resonating till it rides the course just under your skin. beard rubbing your flesh raw, and your spine throbs again, so much so till an arch fights its way there and you cry. whispered chants, fuck fuck fuck, your nails finding their way to the hair at his nape, tugging but pushing, overwhelmed but needing more. 

your hips roll into his mouth. a slow grind that catches his steady rhythm. 

you sob just slightly, releasing the tightness in your chest, but it seems inefficient when he pushes your legs further apart. breaks only to lay his fat tongue at your slit. the tip curling artful, pushing into a rhythm of gentle strokes against slick walls. a soft savoring as he traps your clit between his thumb and fore finger to remedy the pulsing ache. 

the drive of him is more methodical than not but forever underscored by a ready to burst primal urge. him, the rhythm, it's something dynamic and it shakes you down till you're quivering hard. 

and theres the beginnings of a soreness in your throat. a raspy moan that forces his hips to rut against the sheets. searching for some mild form of relief. 

"mhmm, please rome", a mewl, and it's featherweight, disjointed. surges into his nerves this restless need to see you undone. 

you tremble, a harsh bursting that treks over nerve and skin. a white heat that falls, a rushing in and a pulling away fast. release beating hard and unforgiving into your blood. but still his tongue swipes, along your slit till it flicks its way to the fat of your clit. a slow sweeping roll before he's pulling up and away to kiss wet at your mouth. less measured and lazy. his hair wild, your fingers pulling away fallen strands as you lap at his tongue to have a taste. it makes him rut again, clothed but hard still. painfully so as you continue to lap and suck at his tongue. teeth tensing the seam of his lips the way he does as often as he can.

he grows sloppy in the kiss, seemingly more needy, less attentive to the natural ways he controls the pace. your legs take to wrapping around his waist just as you break from his lips, a thin silky string of spit the only thing connecting raw, kiss swollen mouths. he licks out to take it in, that fine wet connecting string , till its riding the seam of your mouth again, waiting for access. 

and he's huge, strength more fierce than you remember it being, but he's sure to remind you as he pulls up to sit his knees into the bed. a relaxed kneeling position as you wrap secure about him, waiting for more of whatever he has to give you. and he steels his breathing, pushes at the constraints of his underwear till he's free and stiffening more against the cooler air. a single arm holding you up high along his chest and the other pulling hard strokes at his cock. a groaning��"fuck", flowing between the both of you as he teases the dripping head at your clit. 

"missed this", you give him. words falling into the freckles at his cheek as he teases the slick mess of your slit, hands nailing into the fat of your ass, a hard grip, as he grinds your pussy against him. marveling wild at the slipping sensation, a mess and a half of moans, till he's too ravaged to take more teasing done by his own hand. but your at his ear still, whispering. "missed you fucking me". 

" 'm here now", he roughs out. widens the part of his knees. for more stability, more room to take you. 

"mhmm", uncontrolled and sweet from your throat. realizing just what he's doing as he grips his hands tighter before bringing you down for a vicious stroke. 

and the easy slip of you makes his chest huff deep, skin taking a sticky wet mold to his as he digs in and stretches you to take to the hilt, a milder form of a roughing as he feeds hard into you. teetering still on that line where patience ends and primal urges begin, as you cling to him. wet and warm, and so good for him. each down swing he moves your hips into birthing the sweetest lewd smacking at his skin. the hard front of his waist and lap soaked, pelvis hitting just right at the open spread of your slit enough to catch a dragging at your clit. 

and it goes like this for some time, both you stewing in the heat of the day as he lays claim to you once again, after so much time and distance, and you to him, biting at the tough skin of his shoulder for some sort of reprieve from the building tension.

your clit flutters. ready for another release. a small cry, the well of a single tear, and hes nudging firm, catching sweet at the spot that leaves you moaning and breathless. an unshakeable stir in your core, nails tempted to indent the wide set of his back, but your settle for a lazy swing of arms around his neck. not wanting to injure him more than he is already. 

"ahhaa fuck". breath catching with another release. 

a tight drooling spasm against his cock. his hips rutting desperate for more, a firm clench against him again that nearly drives him to swoon. " that pussy gets so messy when you come", he growls.

and you hum, long and weak, flexing against him again. taut enough to stir the coiling in his core. lips taking his into some slow disjointed kiss. molding together till it's broken apart for breath, leaving you to suck and tease at him. 

the sheets grow sodden, more as he ruts his hips and drags deep. digging into you hard, fire in the heat of his hands. fingers pulling, tugging and spreading, slipping lower to cup against the undersides of your thighs to pry your pussy open and over him. a mean growl toughing up out his chest as he fights to keep that steady downward stroke of your hips. 

"you're good for me baby girl", words falling along your skin. "so good". 

he stirs, roughs you into a grind as he comes undone. mumbling and groaning incoherently. curses and praise s that flow natural into a breathy silence. 

he works to still the raging in his chest. breathing into your neck and falling into the smoothening your touch gives the wild shuddering that takes to his nerves.

you fall with him, a gentle bounce as you lay atop him along the sheets. dripping in you still with a growing softness. skin sticky and hot to the touch but sated. air breezy and cool as it curls in, pushing past the sway of curtains. 

he can smell the lavender still on your skin, at the tips of your fingers as he kisses them. folds his fingers into yours, soothing over the patch of skin there. 

it was a massage. something better now. 

[pettypiastri]

my boyfriend's boyfriend

jamie drysdale x fem reader ft. trevor zegras

requested by @corneliaskates: "okay in light of these photos… I’m making you write jamie for me what about like moving in with him but like moving in with him also means moving in with trevor and… chaos ensues"

wc: 2.3k

warnings: blood in the context of undercooked food and also minor injury, reference to Jamie's shoulder injury and doctors offices, swearing, mention of drugs in a medical context, chaos, buffoonary

a/n: just some fun casual writing for a collection of scenes that i think you’d likely see upon moving into the zegras/drysdale household, pls enjoy the chaos! lots of this unhinged behavior we already knew about the 2 of them but a few details came from the recent "The Players Lounge" podcast episodes with jamie and trevor so go listen! (also would the homies wanna see me write for mason mctavish cause i really would love to do so)

Jamie stares blankly at the doctor as he continues to come to. He doesn’t hear the inquisition the doctor made. The first thought on his mind is the only thought he's had since he skated off the ice, his left shoulder in a dead hang: his season is over, there’s no way around it. 

“Mr. Drysdale?” The physician tries to get Jamie’s attention. 

“Yes, umm I’ll be there to help him. I’ve taken time off work.” Jamie turns his head slowly to look at you. He barely registers what you’ve said. He almost wants to ask you to repeat it but he knows he heard you right. The doctor shifts toward you, flipping through the aftercare instructions and various medications Jamie will have to take. You’re collected, attentive, and receptive all the while Jamie’s eyes bore into your profile, trying to understand. He’s still drowning in self-wallowing and frustration and now is trying to parse through the funny sort of feeling in his heart watching you prepare yourself to be a part time caretaker for him. Not only are you here right now, you’ve just admitted out loud, without any previous discussion between the two of you that you are not just willing but going to help him during his recovery?? He feels an intensity to communicate his love and appreciation for you that he’s not used to but ends up manifesting as,

“Will you move in with me?” The door to the exam room has just barely clicked shut from the doctor’s exit. Your spine is rod straight now from where you were previously collecting your purse and coat. Jamie’s always been a fiddler, twitching and messing with loose skin on his finger or the belt loop of your jeans, but now he sits perfectly still as he stares at you. 

“Where’s the big red button, I think they gave you too much of something bud.” Humor always serves as a great deflection tactic for you but Jamie won’t let you off the hook.

“No no, I’m serious. Do you want to move in with me?” Your expression remains slightly standoffish as you draw closer to the bed. As you prop yourself on the hospital bed, you notice his eyes are inviting, stoic: a safe place to land. Lazy fingers reach to soothe Jamie’s uninjured arm. 

“Would you have asked me if you hadn’t torn your shoulder?” Jamie’s nod is emphatic. 

“Yes, it probably just would’ve taken me a bit longer to ask. You still make me nervous-- but like in a good way, in a good way.” Jamie stumbling over his words endears you like nothing else. “I kind of hate being without you, not in a weird codependent way, I just really like who I am when you’re around.” 

Your mind is already made up after Jamie’s unbridled honesty but you still have to ask,

“Shouldn’t you run this by Trev first maybe?” He is a member of the household, though not much of a contributing one. To sell his conviction, Jamie’s eyes don’t leave yours as he reaches for his phone in the back pocket of the jeans he thinks he’s wearing. He gets an awful fright meeting bare skin under the hospital gown. Creasing at the waist with laughter doesn’t hinder you too much as you dig for his phone in your purse. He takes it sheepishly from your grasp. As he dials Trevor’s number, you urge him to put it on speaker phone.

“Jimmy! How high are you, man??”

“Z, Y/N’s gonna move in with us.”

“I thought she already lived here?”

—

Since the moment of Jamie’s injury you’ve been practically inseparable. Surgeon consultations, post op, helping him dress, cooking for him, you’ve truly been there for it all for Jamie. Now that he’s several months post op and regained most all of his range of motion, he’s been eager to pick up some slack. 

“Are they closed?” 

“Jamie my love, yes. I’ve literally had them closed every time you’ve asked in the last 15 minutes.” You sigh, patience thinning at both the frequent reminders and… well… how goddamn slow Jamie’s being. To pass the time, you’ve taken to concocting a game with the yellow spots on the inside of your closed eyelids.

“Dude it’s been fucking hours would you hurry up already?” 

“Trevor, no one asked you.” Jamie snips at his childish best friend. It’s date night tonight and Jamie wanted to cook for you. Trevor decided, because he is cripplingly codependent, that he just had to sit on the living room couch to scroll Instagram. You’ve mentally taken the under on Trevor stealing some of your bread with olive oil within the first five minutes of it being in front of you because ‘Jimmy why didn’t you make any for me too?’

“Okay it's ready, you can open!” Slowly doing as you’re told to readjust to the well lit dining room, you catch Jamie scurrying around to his side of the table. His face holds an adorably pleased expression, you can tell he’s very proud of himself. The spread in front of you is barbequed steak, bread with olive oil, and a green salad; a shockingly balanced meal. A normally restless boy, Jamie vibrates with excitement even more now as he waits for your appraisal. 

“Jamie baby, it looks amazing! Thank you!” Crows' feet emerge to compensate for his smile becoming impossibly wider, yet he’s still a bit shy, bashful after your praise.

“I’d hope so, it took you long enough Jimbo,” the peanut gallery croons again. You don’t even acknowledge Trevor as you begin to saw through your steak… until red liquid begins to pour out… Stunned and surprised, your mouth gapes for a moment, finding the gentlest way to put things.

“Jamie,” drawing out the final vowel, your eyes flick to his. His expression is eager with eyebrows raised in question.

“How long was this steak on the barbeque for?” 

“Like 10 minutes I think? Why?” Jamie pales slightly at your question.

“I think the heat was too high babe.” Jamie observes his steak with a close eye and then oggles yours from across the table before reaching for his knife. 

“What do you mean? You said it looks amazing, I mean look at those char marks!” 

“Jamie baby, it's practically still moo’ing…” Trevor bursts out laughing, his stupid wheeze accompanying Jamie’s panic. As his knife breaches the admittedly lovely crust, bloody liquid pours out of Jamie’s steak as well. The color of his cheeks grows to match that of what's on his plate. Jamie starts to say something but it’s Trevor’s voice you both hear instead.

“Just put it in the microwave.” 

—

The team returned last night from the East coast road trip. You and Jamie have been in denial about Trevor’s return, trying to stretch out the silence with a lazy day on the couch. Trevor however has had other plans.

“Why do I have the least blanket right now? I’m literally the tallest of us three.” 

“Because no one invited you to join?” You shove at Trevor’s toes that are digging into your thigh from how you’re sardine-d on the couch. He whines as you do so, pushing at you back. Harder. “Ow Trevor stop!” 

“What I’m not fucking doing anything!” 

“Guys! I can’t hear what they’re saying!” Jamie bursts, effectively shutting you both up. Trevor glares at you as you snuggle further into Jamie’s chest, Jamie's arm visibly tightening around you. The face you give Trevor is smug. 

“Fine, I’ll just go somewhere else then.” As he stands from the couch he makes an equally childish display of flipping the blanket up and over your head, messing up your hair and covering your eyes.

Jamie coos quietly at you not to say anything or react so you remain calm and settle in to watch the rest of the current episode of Yellowstone with your boyfriend.

A few minutes later when there is a distinct cacophony of falling caps, banging metal doors, and at least a liter container of liquid (hopefully closed) hitting the floor, it’s not hard to tell Trevor has decided to do his laundry. He comes back upstairs acting as if nothing was afoot. 

It’s not until an hour later when Trevor has made the switch to the dryer that you notice something actually might be off. Wafting up from downstairs is a distinct smell of burning. You pause to be sure your nose isn’t confusing something else before voicing your worry.

“Do you smell that?” Jamie sniffs violently enough to be audible. 

“What are you– oh shit!” Jamie moves from behind your back leaving you flopping onto yours from his quickness. “Trevor!!” He shouts while bounding down the stairs. “I told you, you have to clean the lint trap every single time you use the dryer!” His voice grows inaudible the farther downstairs he gets. Trevor peeks his head out from his room. 

“Was he talking to me?” You can’t help but laugh, hands covering your face in disbelief.

“Why are we friends with you?” 

“I’m fucking awesome, duh.”

—

“Okay don’t panic–” Is all you hear before you start to panic. “But umm Z might’ve slipped on the roof…” 

“Tell me you’re joking. Why are you calling me? Oh my god Jamie, call the trainer or something! Is he hurt?” It’s brisk in the shade where you stepped out of your office to answer the incessant calls from your boyfriend. You’re still not off for another hour. 

“I think he’s okay. Definitely tore open his leg but we put some stuff on it. He’s still complaining about it but you know him, he’s always complaining about something so I think he’s okay.” As Jamie finishes, your phone vibrates with a text. “I sent you a picture of it.” The picture reveals a shallow cut about 6 inches long down the front of Trevor’s calf. There’s still remnants of blood around the cut itself and more notably about 12 normal sized bandaids placed like a patchwork quilt over the area of interest. Idiots. “We didn’t wanna get in trouble with the team…” Jamie says softly, decidedly embarrassed.

“I see. Okay well great job with the band aids you guys. I’ll pick some more up on the way home and some other supplies. Why were you up there?” 

“I was playing guitar and Trevor came up to tell me he could do it better and then promptly took it from me.” There’s a pouty lilt to Jamie’s voice that makes you wonder if Trevor’s really the one that got hurt. 

“Did he damage your guitar Jim Jam?” A shiver rakes your body as you’re desperate to get back inside the office.

“No, thank god.” He’s quiet, waiting for your reply. 

“You’re doing great Jamie, it’s really coming along baby.” He chirps a thank you, easily excited by your dismissal of Trevor’s insult. The two of you say your goodbye’s over Trevor’s whining in the background. 

On your way home, as promised, you stop at a drugstore to grab some gauze and larger wraps for Trevor’s ‘injury.’ You send a snarky picture of two contending boxes of Band Aids side by side to Trevor. Your caption ‘Mandalorian or Tangled?’ Something tells you Trevor’s reply is completely serious when your phone lights up with ‘Flynn Rider.’

—

Jamie slips into your shared bathroom as you’re fanning gently at your face. He smiles kindly but doesn’t start a conversation. Instead he reaches for his toothbrush and sets to brushing his teeth. The two of you don’t normally get ready for bed together at the exact same time. Typically one of you is asleep on the couch and being prodded at by the other to come to bed. Well, you normally prod at Jamie while he normally gallantly carries you to bed without disturbing your sleep. As he brushes his teeth, Jamie observes you as his entertainment. He steadies himself with a hip popped against the counter and one foot crossed in front of the other. 

Jamie’s attention does not bother you. Being the type not to speak until prompted, Jamie’s stays silent, his watchful gaze comforting if anything. That is until his lips form a small smile around his toothbrush that begins to grow. Finally you flick your eyes over to him in the mirror and notice toothpaste beginning to trickle down his chin. A drop that was lingering ominously begins to fall so you lurch forward to catch it in the palm of your hand, not wanting to risk the white carpet square Jamie’s standing on. 

“If you keep smiling like that you’re gonna get toothpaste on yourself Jamie. Be careful.” The toothpaste in your palm is flicked into the sink before you promptly rinse your hand. Jamie heeds your warning, deciding it's time for him to rinse as well. After his hands are towel dried he moves to hug you from behind. The smile is still on his face.

“Seriously, what are you smiling about, mister?” A giggle escapes your chest. You feel Jamie’s shrug against your back as you dig for another product in the drawer next to you. 

“Dunno, I’m just so happy you’re here.” Around you, Jamie’s never shied away from honesty and it’s something you’ve always appreciated. The last few months living with Jamie and Trevor has been chaos, hell at times, and insanely stressful but you’ve still found joy in every moment. So you meet Jamie’s honesty with some of your own when you say,

“There’s no place I’d rather be.” 

Later, when the two of you find yourselves curled around each other in bed, under an excessive number of blankets, it’s like Trevor has ESP for when he’s being left out of affections. A knock on the conjoining wall confirms this theory. His voice is muffled but you can still make it out.

“I love you guys.” Jamie chuckles and kisses your forehead, shaking with laughter of your own.

“We love you too Trevor.”

[kojoty]

Delta: Agent York, I would be remiss not to correct your statistical errors here. This could pose a tactical disadvantage if I cannot trust you to make the correct statistical calculations in the field. Simply put, I can compute reasonable decisions based on far more data than you can compute. Therefore--

York: are you still mad that I laughed when you were wrong about who would win the superbowl.

Delta: .

York: I'm not going to not listen to you in the field because it was funny you were wrong once, D, are you kidding me? Shit. We gotta go play poker soon to boost your ego again bud

[crowroboros]

CARL 2 anything left to scrape off walls of this barrel before hitting the baseline facts?

Sorry for taking so long to do this, had a lot going on offline lol.

Okay, Carl round 2. I think in the first Carl post I made, I focused a lot on him narratively and how the plot handles his character so I guess I'll focus on being more casual with this one. Just getting out random thoughts, you know?

Carl and Daxton's friendship was one of the best parts of the vn. I would read an entire story of those two just being best buds after Flynn's route.

I kind of want to know what specific irl games (or their in universe equivalent) Carl is into cause in Route 65 Chase says that Carl is playing a "Japanese Tactics RPG" on his handheld and my mind immediately went to Fire Emblem. And idk I find the idea of the Echo gang knowing about Fire Emblem to be very funny for some reason.

I wish we got a bit more Sydney and Carl flashbacks. Both of them were very close to Flynn and Carl expresses discontent over the lack of answers surrounding Syd's death. I just wonder how close they were and what their friendship was like. Especially considering the shit in TJ's route with the "never have I ever killed somebody" or how Carl wanted to do the treasure hunt to get some closure. It makes it seem like those two were better friends than say Syd and Jenna, but we don't really see any of it.

Speaking of Carl's relationships with different characters, we have to talk about Carl and Flynn right? I'm not into the shipping scene much, but "Flarl" is something I can get behind. This post always jumps to mind when I think of their relationship and it is probably the most compelling piece of Flarl content I've ever seen, official or otherwise. Also I occasionally see the opinion that Flynn/Carl didn't have much hints in the prologue and Carl's route. And I can agree with the prologue, but in the beginning of Carl's route, Flynn and Carl was having an argument over Carl spending time with Chase over Flynn.

Chase rationalizes the "making out" comment and the other remarks between Flynn and Carl as a joke (and on my first reading I did as well) but in retrospect yeah wow there were more hints towards their relationship than I remember.

Also wait Carl isn't an only child right? I might be saying bullshit but I swear he mentions a sister in his route.

He fucking does what

who the hell is she? wait she gets mentioned once and then never again what is going on there?

[dumbistsmartass]

saying something about every hatchetfield production

spoilers, some nonsense, zero consistency with what I talk about, hurriedly written text, and back Cinderella’s Castle, QUICKLY, the kickstarter ends on May 4th. Also I mostly won’t be talking about the message to take away from all of them because I plan to make that another post.

TGWDLM: the catalyst of it all, it set up many fan favorite characters. Also my personal interpretation is that the musical we watch is actually happening in canon and is being put on by Pokky/Paul. Also how much of someone’s personality remain after infection?

Black Friday: it does pretty good as our first (true) intro to the LiBs it works very well. We get more General Macnmara who quickly becomes one of my favs. It also adds a lot of my other favs to the Hatchetverse, Hanna, Lex, Ethan, and Tom

NPMD: probably my favorite of the mainline musicals. I really hate Dirty Girl tho. The musical version of Hatchet Town is better than the OST version. The characters all have really good chemistry. I love Grace as a warning about the consequences of using religion as a fear tactic, when she sinned and wasn’t instantly punished for it she decided to take matters into her own hands and became a bloodthirsty maniac. The fact we got so close to a good ending if Max hadn’t fallen is darkly funny.

Hatchetfield Apeman: I don’t know how to feel about this one, it’s an interesting story but I think shouldn’t have been the first nightmare time story as it set a bad precedent for a lot of people.

Watcher World: I FUCKING LOVE WATCHER WORLD. The horror buildup of “what the fuck is happening here?” was genuinely amazing. The idea of a paranormal amusement part made for the amusement of an elder god id so cool. I feel uncomfortable saying the work “Sniglet”

Forever and always: one of my favs, the mystery of the two Emma’s is amazing, and the twist of which Emma Paul chose is amazing. It does make me wonder tho, is Emma a robot in every timeline? Also im just gonna assume that Tinky is connected to this one.

Time Bastered: another of my favs, the way it connects with FaA and the very clever time travel writing were highlights. The Ted is The Homeless Guy twist is really clever, and the ending is tragic

Jane’s a Car: holy shit my opinions on this one is so mixed. I love the bonding of Becky, Tom, and Tim is so wholesome. I REALLY hate that scene. Also is Jane turned into a car in every universe?

The Witch in the Web: our true into too Webby. Massive lore dumbs sort of weighted it down for me but it was still good.

Honey Queen: god I love this one. The fact that the LiBs aren’t mentioned until the very end was a really good choice. Both Zoey and Linda going to any length to win was some great tension.

Perky’s Buds: I went into this one expecting it to be kinda mid, and I was right but it was on the high end of mid. Ziggy being NB and played by a real NB actor is great! The bird hive mind is genuinely kinda unnerving despite how cute they are. I personally think they should have died, then content on the rooftop with the fire would have been such a good ending, but the police showing up to arrest them packs less of a punch.

Abstinence Camp: again, one of my favs, I fucking love this one and it also has the best Nightmare Timr song. It’s a fun way of exploring the “if you have sex in a horror movie you die” trope. Grace once again gets some sort of power and abuses it.

Daddy: I have mixed feelings, it’s a genuinely interesting plot but it get pretty uncomfortable. The song at the start made me think it would be a more empathetic take on Sherman Young but it definitely fucking wasn’t.

Killer Track: what is there to say? Killer track is actually so fucking amazing, if you will watch anything from this list watch this. I’m saying nothing else

Yellow Jacket: not at all what I was expecting, but it was great! From what I heard I was sort of expecting a high school drama with Pokky doing his bullshit in the background, but I loved this too. Also the ending hurt me.

Workin’ Boys: Pokky strikes again, but I’m not sure why TBH. Motherfucker just decided to fuck with his one most loyal subject and for what?

[moon-0f-m4rs]

im late, hi

CIG AND OTHER MERCS INTERACTION YAYYY

Scout: She'd very much help him prank spy, often. SImmilar age as he is so just 2 lousy children lmao. She also would take from him alot cuz i feel like scout would have lots of silly trinkets and thingys, but outta respect, just the unwanted things for a change from others. Both r yappers so it always results in some idiotic ideas

Solider: She isnt too ecstatic when he spots her. I mean, she never really tries to be careful to not be seen, but when she hears HALT MAGGOT! she rolls her eyes and sighs. She likes to mess with him, but not too badly like she could. Sometimes when she sees hes makin a medal would give him some stuff she has stored, just cuz why not

Pyro: Arson buds. Crafty buds. Buds. She often goes to him for lighters for her cigarettes. Would like to accompany him in battle once but no respawn chip :( Finds tiny pretty things or even bugs if they're not hostile to her and brings them to him. Poses for his drawings. 1# GUEST AT EVERY TEA PARTY. 10/10 friendship.

Demoman: Cig likes to keep him company. Whenever shes bored and theres nothing else to do hes 3rd in list of ppl she goes to. She did try scrumpy from him, brunt her throat, would try again. Most often steals from him cuz shes sure he wouldnt mind, or even notice <33

Heavy: Would sometimes sneak up on him and idk jump from a shelf and land on his shoulder. She finds it funny he gets anxious around tinys as she picked it up from pocket (pocket is canon, i am valve). But shes not doing it like every other day, maybe once a month when she remembers about it. But overall they wouldnt interact that much.

Engineer: Takes things from his workshop alot too, knows hes mad about it, dosent care. Whenever engie sees her, she just says "Shhhh no you didn't" and leaves. If he does catch her, she just starts her yap session which probably results her in just being let go. She doesn't fight him, she just acknowledges him and goes about her way cuz she knows he wouldnt do anything drastic.

Medic: Oohh yeaah thats what we've been waiting forrr!!!!! Their interaction would go like:

cig (stands by an apple): an apple a day keeps the doctor away

medic: i lost my license

cig: oh, L lmao

She would always find a way to escape him. Why? I said so :D Cig is actually so confident about herself she would just sit on a shelf and watch him work, maybe even step into his arm reach willingly and mock him. I feel like that tactic would overtime just have him give up on her entirely lol

so yeah she isnt scared, or hates him, shes there to make fun of him

Sniper: Both don't see eachother often, and honestly, she finds sniper boring. He barely socializes, sleeps outside the base in some van, idk odd guy. One time she was just sitting out in the open like nothing and sniper noticed her, both stared and said nothing, and went their ways.

Spy: oooh.. ooooh... they both DESPISE eachother. Hes the 1# hunter for her ass because of the amount of cigarettes she steals. Whenever hes around or when she just feels his presence, she actually hides. Every now and then she will figure out a way to annoy him more. She actually dares to enter his smoking room and mess in it. Spy is also very annoyed by the fact she has managed to avoid him for so long when hes the worlds greatest spy. Cig likes to point that out alot.

aaah.... im done... i did this in one sitting.......2 am hitting hard.. well, back to drawing now

@bluespace-skull cuz u wanted a tag :D

[cigarette-stealer]

INTRO POST!!

hi im cig, i wil l stteal your thsjng if they're cool

im a borrrower and i live in. RED base or someghing

tags:

#cig talkz

#cig repliez

#cig reblogz

main acc: @moon-0f-m4rs

cig with mercs (copied from main) :

Scout: She'd very much help him prank spy, often. SImmilar age as he is so just 2 lousy children lmao. She also would take from him alot cuz i feel like scout would have lots of silly trinkets and thingys, but outta respect, just the unwanted things for a change from others. Both r yappers so it always results in some idiotic ideas

Solider: She isnt too ecstatic when he spots her. I mean, she never really tries to be careful to not be seen, but when she hears HALT MAGGOT! she rolls her eyes and sighs. She likes to mess with him, but not too badly like she could. Sometimes when she sees hes makin a medal would give him some stuff she has stored, just cuz why not

Pyro: Arson buds. Crafty buds. Buds. She often goes to him for lighters for her cigarettes. Would like to accompany him in battle once but no respawn chip :( Finds tiny pretty things or even bugs if they're not hostile to her and brings them to him. Poses for his drawings. 1# GUEST AT EVERY TEA PARTY. 10/10 friendship

Demoman: Cig likes to keep him company. Whenever shes bored and theres nothing else to do hes 3rd in list of ppl she goes to. She did try scrumpy from him, brunt her throat, would try again. Most often steals from him cuz shes sure he wouldnt mind, or even notice <33

Heavy: Would sometimes sneak up on him and idk jump from a shelf and land on his shoulder. She finds it funny he gets anxious around tinys as she picked it up from pocket (pocket is canon, i am valve). But shes not doing it like every other day, maybe once a month when she remembers about it. But overall they wouldnt interact that much.

Engineer: Takes things from his workshop alot too, knows hes mad about it, dosent care. Whenever engie sees her, she just says "Shhhh no you didn't" and leaves. If he does catch her, she just starts her yap session which probably results her in just being let go. She doesn't fight him, she just acknowledges him and goes about her way cuz she knows he wouldnt do anything drastic.

Medic: Oohh yeaah thats what we've been waiting forrr!!!!! Their interaction would go like:

cig (stands by an apple): an apple a day keeps the doctor away

medic: i lost my license

cig: oh L lmao

She would always find a way to escape him. Why? I said so :D Cig is actually so confident about herself she would just sit on a shelf and watch him work, maybe even step into his arm reach willingly and mock him. I feel like that tactic would overtime just have him give up on her entirely lol

so yeah she isnt scared, or hates him, shes there to make fun of him

Sniper: Both don't see eachother often, and honestly, she finds sniper boring. He barely socializes, sleeps outside the base in some van, idk odd guy. One time she was just sitting out in the open like nothing and sniper noticed her, both stared and said nothing, and went their ways.

Spy: oooh.. ooooh... they both DESPISE eachother. Hes the 1# hunter for her ass because of the amount of cigarettes she steals. Whenever hes around or when she just feels his presence, she actually hides. Every now and then she will figure out a way to annoy him more. She actually dares to enter his smoking room and mess in it. Spy is also very annoyed by the fact she has managed to avoid him for so long when hes the worlds greatest spy. Cig likes to point that out alot.

for referance:

ehehheeee :D

[twodiamondhoes]

AU BATTLE TIME dirges crew vs fallout crew

This isn't one of the 100-500 word ficlet prompts but I cannot stop thinking about how distinct the home court advantages of these two crews are.

If Dirges crew set foot in the Fallout setting they would spontaneously combust because of the radiation poisoning just... present in the air. There was 0 radiation in the air during the 1800s. (there was radiation, obviously, please see the radium girls and uranium glass, but there's a reason we can find forgeries painted after the 1940s with specific tests). The Fallout Crew got frog-boiled, and even the non-radioactive areas have radiation.

But if the Fallout crew ended up in Del Sombra, they would be vaporized the second one of them even sort of made a move towards violence.

So I guess the best answer is, if they both ended up in a completely neutral ground, like some kind of arena a la the M9 v. VM battle oneshot, there would be a couple of really interesting determining factors on either side (More under the cut lol)

On the side of the Dirges Crew we've got their heavy hitters:

Del Sombra/Grian: hindered by the fact that she's more or less trapped in a mortal body and outside of her direct sphere of influence

Jimmy: who's got all of his, uh, Morhua things going on. Can I post about that yet? Probably not actually but oh well.

Scar, and all of the magical buffs he's got from Nick

Pearl, and all of the magical buffs she's got from [VERY REDACTED]

[Redacted] and Tango, but Tango's given up his scythes to Pearl, and is actually mostly mortal at this point. All he's really got going for him is chutzpah and grit (and explosives). [Redacted] can stand his own though.

But shockingly, as you pointed out not too long ago, the biggest dog in this fight is actually False. It really is a "You have rad-x, 275lbs of explosives, and power armor, but we have a False," and none of that will make sense to anyone for a very very long time because I write so so sooooo slowly I'm sorry guys.

But on the Fallout Crew side, their heavy hitters are:

Jimmy: Who was literally engineered in a lab vault to be good at hyper-perceptive and good at combat. Sorry about that semi-constant overstimulation though, bud.

Tango: who now owns 100% of the Powder Ganger's stock of explosives and is only hindered by carrying capacity (200lbs is based on my vague recollection of what the FNV companions can carry lol)

Impulse: and his power armor.

Skizz: and his power armor.

Etho: and, uh, everything that he's got in his silly little bunker in the desert.

Also, Etho's car. (After Wild Life, it is SO funny to me that we gave Etho the Last Working Car in existence. Truly the Boat Boys hit us with that clairvoyance beam. They get to be antagonistic buddies in this au now, I say so.)

Oh, yeah, (<- pretending that I forgot and haven't been chomping at the bit to write about Fallout AU Gem) and Gem, who, let's be honest, is their dark horse in this fight. Between her ability to survive and her ability to fight, I think it's even odds that she can hold her own against several members of the Dirges crew, especially if she gets in close.

And look, if Dirges!Pearl can get [Very Redacted] to care about the fight, then it's all over for the fallout crew, but otherwise, I think the fallout crew comes out on top, based on numbers, tactical knowledge, and the fact that they've got Mr. "I was raised on simulations and so many gene mods" leading them. Falsie puts up a good fight, but her body is not made to go up against power armor. On the plus side, she'd finally get to figure out if she can... go home.

[kaengeru]

cyberpunk 2077 au ramblings (because you asked for this!!)

(shorthand: streetkid=purple. nomad=cowboy. corpo=monochrome.)

OKAY to start, this is ALL cyberpunk2077!au that ignores the story for the most part. nomad is the only one who is intrinsically tied to the relic plot. the other two have some vague connect to the lifepath background to a point, but otherwise dont end up in the same hole. THEY ARE all around 23/24 at their current state(s). (also: apologies if anyone thought i meant they were actually related - each of them are just a different cyberpunk!au of enya) theres sarah too of course! but im still working on his different designs and he is Not the main character, sorry bud. you will get a snack of him because he is always important to her story <3 GOD. OKAY. ANYWAY. if you know nothing about the game im sorry (my knowledge is only from 2077 and internet research anyway) but here we go!!

streetkid; solo. sante muerte theme. also Purple and/or gold. MAXIMUM chrome. shotguns, sandevistan, mantis blades.

-the most similar to default enya. ANGRY. loud, brash, quick to violence. aggressively hetero. comes off more composed in the downtime between jobs from her excessive confidence. smokes, drinks, drugs, alls fun and fair. lazy grins. head tilts. hands in pockets. baggy pants, tie-front bras, tennis shoes.

-known as rabbit/coneja rather than v, due to a few tattoos, her tendency for jumping fences, jumping onto people, and rabbit-kicking her way out of a tough spot (the chrome she's got makes bone breaking very easy and fun). heywood born and bred. russian/spanish. speaks both fluently but leans heavier on the russian to throw people off (this backfires frequently outside of her immediate neighborhood, where people will often assume she's a scavenger).

-physical embodiment of "why do i hear boss music?". alternates between horror movie villain casually walking after people, or DOOM slayer run-n-gun. thorough, albeit not precise in her work. incapable of subtly or silent tactics. shooting people is way easier than talking to them; will give valentinos the smallest bit of leeway, but so little no one except her can tell. VERY hard to kill. mantis blades are almost exclusively used in tight spots, and even then, if a grenade will do the trick, thats more fun anyways.

-high-functioning cyberpsycho (with a legit diagnosis just in case she does snap, they can make her a nice statistic), virtually no empathy/humanity. very disconnected with her self of self. about 75-80% chrome - including both necessary and for improved functions - with a preference toward (funny enough) subtle or hidden cyberware. WAY heavier than she looks with basal caloric needs being stupid high so she is constantly eating. mostly things she finds (steals) (digs out of the pockets of someone she just killed) etc. her lack of social awareness is most obvious when it comes to food because if it is there, she will take it.

-brief history: mom dies when she's 9 during a bird flu pandemic. dad gets killed when she gets grabbed by some maelstromers for cyberware experiments with a couple other kids at 12. ends up as a violent little street urchin between mandated therapy sessions. starts working simple jobs around 15, largely thefts and such, getting her first hit when she's 17 (though she's already killed her fair share of people). almost all the money she makes is put into upgrading and adding onto her cyberware.

-the sarah connection: her, 17/18. him 19. first contact is she and her "buddies" bullying him into taking his shirt off (to prove he isn't a tyger claw) (because theyre awful). he's new to the city, working as a cook for a local dumpling place that she frequent(ly breaks into to steal food). most similar to default enya/sarah beginnings where she simply will Not leave him alone, though he's more anxious in this realm (for good reason) so she wins out faster.

-he lives in the apartment above the restaurant (owner doesnt because its been broken into numerous times) (guess who) and works a lot, so they often spend their time sitting on the roof and talking. sort of mellows her out, having a comfortable space to explore feelings and whatnot helps process Things, including these weird emotions she gets when she looks at him.

-he dies when shes 21. just gets mugged by a couple guys. closest she comes to a full psychotic break, and likely would of if she hadnt found the culprits in quick succession. theyre left an unrecognizable mess and she's given a friendly warning that the ncpd has her as their prime suspect and she should probably stay out of sight for a while. then streetkid path: goes to atlanta, comes back 2 years later, etc. would probably run into jackie but doesnt work well with others, so, hey, she'll take a free lunch but thats about it.

-dies before her thirties. no blaze of glory etc. just gets gutted in a back alley after finally picking the wrong fight and bleeds out behind a dumpster. she is, surprisingly, fine with this - she's had a pervasive sense of suicidal ideation for a LONG while, but was never going to do it herself, and everyone else sucks at it.

-shoving this info somewhere:

=low INT. has a vague grasp on how to navigate some systems and read a little bit of code, but could much more easily disassemble a deck. that and no people skills. says what needs to be said. impulsive and unpredictable but not unstable. =not a believer in sante muerte, but very much enjoys the concept and messing with valentinos where possible. also was never a part of the tinos, but has a fair number of connections within the gang. =the sort who will roll over to sleep for a couple hours, then get right back to business when she wakes up. not good with quiet or stillness, cannot be alone with her thoughts for an extended period. always has to be doing something.

-im definitely forgetting SOMETHING but this motherfucker is my favorite

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

nomad; techie. flower theme. cowboy. minimal chrome. sniper rifles, berserk, gorilla arms.

-enya-adjacent. the most well-adjust and happiest of the three (ignoring the depression). quiet! straightforward when she does talk, and doesnt talk very much. no silence is awkward (for her). actually finds some humor in how differently people react. comfy bi with a preference for women. smokes, but doesnt drink (anymore), and drugs only when necessary. blank stares. careful deliberation. sleeveless vests, leather chaps, cowboy boots.

-prefers val as she gets older, before just going by v when she starts doing merc work. follows the nomad lifepath pretty directly. born in the NUSA, traveling with the bakkers, etc. has that curiosity toward explosives as a child, up until she fucks around and finds out real quick. loses both arms and left eye, burns mostly on her face and upper chest/shoulder. that was the last time she messed with choo2 and gasoline. instead, shifts her energy toward tinkering with machines and cyberware. the latter she finds more enjoyable, but doesnt have many opportunities to experiment with except for her basic (hand-me-down) implants until she saves up herself for an upgrade.

-almost exclusively uses long-range rifles. highly skilled sharpshooter helped along immensely by her one cyber-eye. many problems can be solved this way, for any that cant, her gorilla arms are deceptively customized to deliver a lot more power than expected. not a boxer but enjoys fighting. doesnt get a lot of sleep, spends her nights doing body weight exercises, fiddling with her arms, reading, trying to meditate. professional to a T. whatever the scope is, she will follow it to the letter. not so much "has to be done right" more "thats what i was told to do"; however, she is prone to leniency. minimal deaths depending on the job and involved gangs. being newer to night city has her grouping gangs, corpos, cops, etc in the same bubble. except for shivs, they all get the bullet.

-"brief" history: mom shot by raffen shiv at 9. while tagging along her first patrol at 12, her dad is killed and she's captured alongside a few others when theyre ambushed by raffen (including another girl, sam). rescued after a week or so of rape and torture. her and sam end up becoming inseparable, bonding over their shared trauma. ends up being useful because she goes mute for a number of years with sam being the only person she talks to. becomes an angry violent teen, getting into a whole host of trouble over the years. between those moments, she helps with mechanic work, insisting she gets a fair trade of pay for her work, saving up for improved cyberware, specifically gorilla arms. violence and trouble get worse for a period after this before she gradually begins to soften (very much helped by her interactions with sarah). spends a lot of time alone, improving and modifying her arms and guns, endless target practice, generally honing her skills and abilities into something useful. works random repair and general modification until she starts legitimate merc work at 18.

-sarah connection: these two are THE sarah/enya pair. he is a traveling monk under a teacher who believes in reaching out to the forgotten of society. but not a bhikkhu (the in-game ones, who are ordained) but a ngakpa (under tibetan buddism). different colored robes and vows. theyll travel, spending a few days in an area before moving on. happy to explain their beliefs (which happens frequently enough), but their only real goal is to converse and learn about others. has a vague rotation so they come around every year or so.

-first runs into him at 16 (him 18, still going through training). distant curiosity a contrast to the rest of the teens. doesnt start bothering him until the next year, finding him when he goes to find a quiet spot to meditate to ask her own batch of questions. seeing as this is sarah dialed up to 11, he has a whole lot of suggestions for her, mostly meditative option. blows him off at face, but ends up following some ideas and finds they actually help.

-sarah is, well, sarah, so she finds him an incredibly comfortable and safe presence. helps her relax and open up more. especially so after they start secretly dating (he isnt that kind of monk, after all). plus, his frequent absences actually brings its own sense of contentment. they get married a couple years later when she's 21.

-since this enya/v follows the game, she does end up in night city, relic, johnny, etc. sarah manages to find her, as he does every year, and what with her whole dying thing, decides he's gonna put off his traveling until she figures it out or, well, dies. he's her rock!! okay!!

-for my own headcanon etc: endgame choice is to have the aldecaldos help out (because of course she'd join them), albeit with a whole host of hesitancy and regret after. the connection in arizona helps out because this bitch deserves a happy ending, dammit. relic and whatnot leaves her with a traumatic brain injury, and after all the shit in night city, both cant and wont do merc work anymore. rather, goes heavy into general mechanic/implant modifications which keeps her busy, well-paid, and content. sarah fully shifts into a householder lifestyle instead of traveling and they live happily ever after fuck u.

-some extra info:

=also low INT, cannot hack to save her life, but her people skills are more refined. more prone to not talking than blurting things out which usually works out for the better. =not a believer in buddism but supportive of her big hubby, and finds some of the practices useful for her own mental health. =has memory dampeners in place a few months after her abduction. part of the reason she doesnt touch alcohol is if she drinks too much, it fucks em up and she gets night terrors. relic eating away at her brain introduces the possibility of the dampeners failing at some random point, so she has those removed. misery and suffering for a brief period but gives her a way to deal with her trauma more directly. =her and sam consider each other what they call friend soulmates. they love and adore each other - which theyre fully aware came about because of the suffering they experienced together - but they wont ever be more than friends (albeit, very, very close ones). sam leaves the bakkers a couple years prior to them disbanding officially, but they both stay in contact.

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

corpo; netrunner. monochrome theme. medium chrome. knives, overclock??, monowire.

-baby… baby boy (not really, he's a dick). i do NOT have a solid grasp on his character because the corpo lifepath bores me and i dont like netrunning but i needed someone to fill the role. that and i havent given male!enya (aidan) any real thought. drinks (excessively) but doesnt smoke. casual bi, big flirt, bigger narcissist and ego. pretty standard corpo jackass in the way he talks to people he deems lesser. blackout tattoos. toothy smirks. puppy dog eyes. folded hands. subtle designer clothes. long sleeves, dress pants, combat boots.

-aidan vincent (last name). goes by v/vin/vinny or vincent in general, aidan only with people he's close to. russian/japanese with split citizenship between night city/US and japan.

-NO idea what his "trauma at 12" enya hallmark is, but it does involve someone clawing out his eyes (hence, the scars and implants). was leaning toward one parent being in maxtac, maybe something with a cyberpsycho attack?? dunno yet.

-sarah connection: fem!sarah is seth! specifically sesu in this au as she's based in japan. making my own cyberpunk headcanon where arasoka also is very supportive of traditional entertainment and sports, including sumo. including female sumo because HELL yeh. proves herself and works her way to a higher level. him being involved with arasoka and travel etc. runs into her at a sort of after party. BIG old heart eyes immediately, this boy is a sucker for giant women. takes some work on his end but manages to convince her hes genuine and they have a strong but brief relationship.

-she's the one who ends it - in part, because she knows theyre both trying to focus on their careers, and his work in particular keeps him away more than either of them want. probably also the whole kill-or-be-killed attitude. not her thing.

-he's TOTALLY not bitter and disappointed and mad about this (< lying to himself constantly). overcompensates in his treatment toward others, flirting, and hookups.

-the random bits im making up as i type:

=NO clue on his future. dies sometime in thirties probably, something like he has a hit put out on him by a younger corpo and has gotten to the point of hardly caring so he gets caught off guard. unhappy but resigned. =high INT but people dumb. when he's got less of a stick up his ass, it's fairly obvious he's a himbo. extremely so when he likes the other person. =when he's not diving through the net and experimenting with backdoors and various ICEbreakers, he enjoys knife throwing. will happily play circus act when he gets drunk enough, but otherwise, the knives dont come out unless he aims to hurt someone. has a surprising number on him at all times from having an excessive amount of hidden sheaths stitched into his clothes.

-bonus fun fact about aidan: would unironically call himself a short king (he's 6 feet tall).

(if any of you actually managed to read through my brainrot, you deserve a prize holy shit i love u <3)

[a-v-j]

Akills and Hryxy rp-turn-to-short-fic

Content warning:

Blood, swearing, mention of killing, not really polished fic so the format can be a bit wonky, self-harm/mutilation

Written by @nyxus-nyx and me

enjoy~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2: Lets play

Akills=italic Hryxy=bold

"…"

"I sometimes like when mine put on a good fight…i mean, I know me, but i have something they dont have. I have tactic, i have strategy… sometimes it irks me how i could easily kill them… considering they are me…" "Heh pathetic"

He leans back a bit by that, averting his eyes somewhere else.

"…"

"Lets talk about our dislikes…for me, i hate red"

Hryxy chuckles. “I dislike white..”He shrugged as he picked at his teeth once more.

"heh, funny" Slightly gesturing at himself, he himself is mostly wearing all white

“Nah.. i like your white..” He guves a small grin as he thinks of more things.

“I dislike.. Seeing other me’s happy..”

"…-"

Akills was caught off guard

".. that's… that's why I've started killing…"

"I hated how they get to be happy…like im… anything less…"

A very faint memory started to stir into his mind, he suddenly felt a bit dizzy

”Interesting.. i feel you there.. but you good bud..?””

He tilts his head his neck popping as he does this watching the skeletons face change a lil.

"…"

Akills jerked and immediately had his hand where his cracked eye socket is as if it's hurting. He hissed a little

"..y-yeah, yeah. Im fine…i just- i just need to…eeeEEAARGHH!"

He quickly stood up and summoned his knifes, directing to a distance. Each plunging to the ground with extreme sharpness, the simultaneous sound of the knives made an echo through the room

He breathe heavily after his outburst and after he calmed down, he look towards Hryxy with a very calm expression

"…sorry.."

"I hate emotions, had to let off steam…"

Hryxy tilts his head and chuckles. He stands up and walks to Akills. ”Stop peeking my interest short-ass..”

He offers his claw, his creepy grin plastered across his face. He laughs a little at Akills position.

“Dork.”

Akills considered swiping the helping hand away but held on to it anyway.

"Isnt that the point of this whole shtick tho?"

“Nah. I think they just want us to get along.” He helps him up with ease and lets his hand go. Not a big fan on touch.

“So.. what now.”

"..hmmm…"

He silently survey the placed, eyeing his surrounding.

"Well, there's still no way out. We haven't interacted enough"

"…"

"Wanna play rocks-papers-scissors?"

”Whats that..?”

He stared in curiosity.

Akills gave a smirk

"You definitely didn't had a good childhood"

"Anyways, each of us takes a hand…place it on the ground, we take our knives out and we stab the spaced between our fingers. And it must be done as hard and fast as possible in one minute"

"Those who still have the most fingers wins"

He nonchalantly instructed

Hryxy grins. And grins widely.

“Oooh.. ive done this before..”

He pulls out his dagger.

Akills' opens his hand and summoned his own knife. He then place his other hand on the ground. He look at Hryxy

"Ya ready?"

He nods as he readys his hand raised over his other.

Akills raised the knife, gripped it tightly and he locked eyes with Hryxy, grinning like a mad man.

"One minute…ready…GO!!!"

He began to stab down on the ground where his hand his at an incredible speed

Hryxy laughs as he goes faster and faster.

“Fuckin finally..!”

He liked the thrill of losing a finger. As he was going faster and faster he made his claw turn normal and human like.

Akills loves the rush he was feeling right now, he locks eyes with Hryxy and he went faster and harder(whoops this is not a smut fic)

He's not paying attention to where he was stabbing at all and his intense staring is him urging the other to take it to a harder challenge.

He twitched a smirk as he felt a quick spike, he stabbed on the tip of his pinky, it's still hanging to the rest of his hand but a good twist will break it off

Hryxy glares with a sickening smirk as he looked at Akills.

“Looks like you lost part of ya finger bud..”

His hand grew faster maching Akills pace(No smut.) and closed his finger closer together for the challenge.

"still have the whole thing attached, it doesn't count"

He retorted as he kept stabbing faster and faster, accepting Hryxy's challenge. He drew his finger closer together, narrowly missing his thumb.

Hryxy chuckles as his speed picked up

“Ya think you could beat me bud..?”

Akills grinned menacingly but soften into a normal grin.

"I pity you so badly i might just let you win"

He said in mild sarcasm

”We’ll see short-ass.”

He laughs as he opens his mouth to let out breathe and salvating as he opens it.

“This is childs play.”

"he he he"

Akills took that as a challenge and jabbed real hard, actually slicing off his whole ring finger. He twitch a bit, smiling sharply as he spoke

"Whoops, looks like youre gonna win, Frankenstein"

Hryxy huffs as he chops off two of his fingers. Black blood splatters on his dagger a bit.

“Oh no.. lost my fingers..”

He laughs.

"oh no you don't"

"Youre" Stab "Gonna" Stab "Win" Stab

"Like a sore winner you are"

With all that, he finally lost his pinky, mutilated his point and thumb and sliced a portion of his actual hand

He kept stabbing and staring at Hryxy, he's not gonna back out now Hryxy chops off hus whole hand.

“You win.”

He laughs.

"FUCK"

Akills growled as he push in one last hard stab, cutting his thumb off. He raised his mutilated hand, showing only his middle finger left. Accidentally on purpose flipping Hryxy off

[okthatsgreat]

So this one may be hard since it feels like your ocs are catered specifically to the V3 meta timeline, but it popped into my head anyways. How would your ocs act as Remnants of Despair? Let's say Team Danganronpa's doing something and needs to make them Remnants (probably for a gacha game, spend 50 for a chance to get Remnant Naomi)

OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD FUCKING FANTASTIC QUESTION im bouncing up and down. this is so cool. A GACHA GAME IS SO FUNNY TOO like the idea that danganronpa is looking to make some money on the side so theyre like Whatever. throw ryobe into genshin impact. who gives a shit anymore

here they are at their edgiest 👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻

IN A LIST OF LEAST DANGEROUS TO MOST DANGEROUS I RECKON. COULD BE KIND OF A FLIMSY RANKING LMFAO

billie: scrawny fifteen-year old kid with no talent or charisma. you'll be so fine. worst case scenario it's some kind of izuru 2.0 best case scenario she's not even there in the first place. likely doing the family guy death pose somewhere

mika: another ultimate lucky student who won't be able to do a whole lot. definitely got a lottttt more edge to her than billie does, can definitely be ruthless but can't hold much influence and doesn't have any relevant skills. she's either in hiding or she's made friends with another remnant and kept herself safe that way

yoshito: just a fucked up guy honestly. his entire ultimate revolves around helping people so i can definitely see him taking advantage of this amount of trust he has accumulated and getting a lot of people into some deep shit but eventually they'll learn his tricks and he'll be a lot less immediately dangerous. definitely a behind the scenes kind of guy can't see him being super influential or anything. honestly i don't even think he's a team leader in this scenario i think he just let's all of them go off on their own GHFDKJG they're probably ALL on each others asses

rie: can't realllyyyyy think of a whole lot for her... this is not to say she isnt extremely persuasive and able to get her way but she is more of a figurehead for despair. an extremely well-spoken salesperson in that regard, very charming and probably on a lot of billboards already. i reckon this is a similar situation to sonia but on a much smaller scale, probably does public speaking kind of events and turns people to despair that way, is definitely somebody to be wary of but you can take her in a fight easy. her bodyguards not so much

naomi: you are not running from this girl. she can reach you anywhere and knows how to use a firearm. its either you learn how to fight better than an athlete with a shotgun or youre dead bud. she is extremely independent though so that is a bonus for you

sae: the only reason she is higher than naomi here is she is a lot stronger and knows a lotttt of hunting tactics that can definitely land you in hot water. you'll really need to brush up on avoiding traps because if she catches you in a position where you arent able to run youre fuuuuuckkeddd. unless you are strong it'll be really really difficult defeating her in any sort of hand to hand combat, especially in this despair scenario where she is genuinely not holding back. the one saving grace with sae is she is not dexterous at all so if youre a good runner with a lot of stamina or hell even a more dexterous fighter you'll maybe be ok

erin: ok so she's probably not the most IMMEDIATELY dangerous person, like if you approach her while shes alone with any kind of weapon you'll probably win. but shes this high up just because the implications of her ultimate talent being turned to despair is actually kinda horrifying. like shes a CHILDREN'S ENTERTAINER. she's most persuasive on KIDS. there are many scenarios that can happen here but all of them involve children so immediately all of them are horrible hgfjkgdhsk. could very very honestly turn into something similar to monaca's plan, attacking her will be pretty difficult considering she has a lot of kids hostage

ryobe: evil mr beast. the worst parts of erin and rie and hell even sae combined. has millions of followers who will do literally anything for him, sets out hundreds upon thousands of death traps everywhere he goes. will absolutely 100% throw more ultimate talents into killing games just for good content. catch him alone and you could probably kill him but you will NEVER catch him alone because he is constantly surrounded by people who can and will die for him while also torturing you for views so good luck

andi: most likely wouldn't be there but just for fun andi but SUPER evil (like. somehow even more evil than she already was) is bad news. super bad news. andi being there means that you are likely in some virtual reality type of scenario which means she has complete and total control over everything around you, everything you eat and drink, and everything you experience. she's a rule-oriented machine so the scenario depends on whether or not she's been given instructions, but quite honestly you'd WANT this to be an instruction-less andi cuz she'd kill you quick