#he's the guy to help you with your taxes; before heading out for a drink and to sing some songs shinra would have fired him for

[soundcrusher]

2, 4, 14, 35 for YOU GUESSED IT! Reeve!!

Honestly, I was expecting something else from you. But I would never turn down my babygirl.

2: A canon or headcanon hill I will die on

Hmmm… what hill shall I chose to die on?

Well, this is going to sound boring, but I’m definitely standing with the “Reeve’s an Inspire” side of the hill. From what I have read and seen, it’s a really cool concept and a shame that it’s not utilized in the games. I mean, how cool is the power to breath live into inanimate objects?

And the way I see it, an inanimate object isn’t just limited to machines and robots, like Cait Sith. The definition of “inanimate” can encapsule so many things, the only thing stopping Reeve from inspiring something like a mug, is himself.

Honestly, I don’t think this man knows just what exactly he can do. Be it from a lack of knowing, or a fear of experimentation.  

(I also like to think that there’s a connection between people with the inspire ability and the planet. It’s probably not like the connection the Cetras have, but it is kind of weird that someone would exist, who has a similar ability as to the lifestream. I mean, the lifestream is said to be able to bring new life, something that this middle-aged guy in a suit can do too, just not in that extent.)

4: Favourite line

This is a hard one, because I have little experience with Reeve outside Remake and Rebirth, and I haven’t gotten far in Dirge of Cerberus. But one quote that stuck out to me, even more than the one where Reeve talks about the Sector Seven plate crash, is this one from Dirge of Cerberus.

Reeve: “Let me ask you. Does the wind sound like a thousand wailing souls? Listen. Can you hear them? The cries?”

It’s hard to explain, at least for me, but the way Reeve says this, with a voice that might sound level-headed, but at the same time conveys so much fear. It struck me and made me wonder at the same time. How many hear the voices?

It is said that the people of Edge hear the voices, but it still makes me wonder.  Is there a difference between Reeve and other people.

Either way, it’s a cool line and I fucking love it for the vibes it brings.

14: Most heroic moment

Fucking damn it. As I already said, I only know Reeve from Rebirth, Remake and what little I have seen from Dirge of Cerberus, but if I had to pick the “most heroic moment” from the limited knowledge I have, I would have to go with the one, where Cait Sith sees the aftermath of the plate drop.

Yes, it’s not directly Reeve, but, it’s still him.

From what I know, Reeve sees the things he creates as his children, or, at least, they are similar viewed. Which means, sending Cait to Sector Seven was a deliberate act on Reeve’s part. Perhaps, he wanted to warn people, try to save as many people as he could, and or prevent the drop all together. He builds those things after all, and or knows the passwords to the support pillars.

As Cait, he could have done something, if the time wasn’t up. And so, I like to believe that that’s his most heroic moment. Even if he failed, and he did fail, what’s more heroic than trying to right a wrong, despite of what could happen to you.

I am also sure that, if Shinra would have caught Reeve meddling with their plans, our man could have had a fate worse than death. And he most like knew that, but still decided to send Cait out to act as a proxy.

And, by all means, that’s more heroic than blowing up reactors and killing thousands of innocent people. (There, I said it.)

35: Their idea of a perfect day

Honestly, I doubt that Reeve ever gets a perfect day.

This man attracts chaos and whatnot on a daily basis, while also having to deal with a plethora of people vying for his attention. There’s hardly any time for a “perfect” day.

And while I could say that, a perfect day for him would be one, where work’s just right and he doesn’t get bothered by anyone (be it during Shinra time or when he leads the WRO), I still like to think that a perfect day doesn’t involve work at all.

A perfect day for Reeve, as I see it, would involve him being at home. Tinkering with his next little invention, or just doing a silly thing. Like sowing Cait Sith some new clothes (that’s a headcanon of mine), or doing other tasks that keep his hands occupied, while he’s relaxing. Maybe he’s even reading a new book, but falling asleep halfway through, and getting some of that needed sleep back.

His perfect day could also involve deepening the friendships he made, by either visiting Tifa’s bar, or hanging out with Cid. I mean, you can’t just introduce two engineers and not stick them together in a room to tinker together and create new inventions. Like, I bet they tried to make a jet-bag once, only for Vincent to stop them.

But yeah. A perfect day is just a day where Reeve gets to do things he wants to do, while not worrying about work.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.12 how you get the girl

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 12/x (probably 18)

ᰔ words. 11.3k

a/n. man the color scheme for this chapter is kinda giving BRAT lolol...i mean gojo IS brat. anywho, i don't have much to say at the beginning of this chapter but i do have a LOT to say at the end of it sooo see y'all at the bottom!! hope u enjoy. also BIG THANK YOU to @whereflowerswenttodie who beta read parts of this chapter for me n convinced me not to scrap it lol

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1 :: ♬.*ﾟplaylist

11:03am you: hi! 11:03am you: good luck today 11:03am you: incase i don’t see you

11:05am Gojo Satoru: Why wouldn’t you? Aren’t you gonna be on the field for your newsletter shots?

11:07am you: i mean yes but idk where i’m gonna be stationed so 11:07am you: it might not be on UTokyo’s side of the field

11:08am Gojo Satoru: Okay then I’ll look for you before the game starts

11:10am you: no pls don’t. coach yaga thinks i distract you. i don’t want to get yelled at again. he scares me :(

11:12am Gojo Satoru: Haha you’re silly 11:13am Gojo Satoru: East side entrance at 2 11:13am Gojo Satoru: Be there

11:14am you: or be square?

11:15am Gojo Satoru: Yea whatever shape you wanna be in is fine cutie

It’s a bright sunny day outside, perfectly blue sky with a scattering of fluffy clouds seen outside the window of your shared room in your apartment, and you realize spring is fully here from the way birds chirp past the glass. You’re stuffing your camera case full of chilled Kodak film rolls, your last stash left, and it’s the last piece of equipment you pack before slinging the strap over your shoulder and heading out the door.

Mina had offered to give you a ride to the stadium since your car’s still at the shop, but you’re happy you opted for the bumpy bus ride and although you come close to low-grade concussions from the bang of your head to the window at every other speed bump, the music in your ears while someone else is operating a public transport vehicle helps you think creatively before shooting shots.

It was surprise enough that Mina of all people was going to this game, and when you questioned her about it in the morning, she looked at you like you were absurd to assume anyone from UTokyo wouldn’t be at this game, and sure enough, it’s all anyone on Instagram has been repping on their stories or talking about in the bustling minutes before lectures. Even Utahime was going to this game, and she hates all intercollegiate sports. You knew the game was a big deal, given the way Coach Yaga was yelled at via email by the Dean of UTokyo to make sure the team wins today because a multimillion dollar Nike sponsorship would be greenlit by the prospect (for some reason you were cc’d in an email chain among divisional higher-ups, but you weren’t opposed to snooping in on conversations that were entirely outside of your tax bracket).

It’s because it’s the second to last home game before the season ends, and apparently this has been statistically the best season the UTokyo D1 Men’s Soccer team has played since the new millenia. No pressure to the players on that fact, but failure wasn’t much of an option for them anymore. 

And you can feel the stakes the second you step inside the stadium. Packed would be an understatement, there were people flooding the aisles, overbooked for the sake of the university pocketing an extra buck no doubt, but spectators could care less since they were able to at least get in on the basis of that irresponsibility in the first place, despite the stadium’s capacity having long been reached before the pregame festivities even start. Banners and signs drape over railings with the school’s striking blue and golden colors, every single replay screen is lit up and brightly pixelated at every north, south, east, and west entrance for inclusive viewing. As you pass VIP security and make it into the lower field-level entry, the scattered chants from the crowd amplify in volume and you almost wince a little to yourself from the noise. The stadium felt like a living, breathing entity, pulsing with the collective heartbeat of everyone inside. 

You’ve never been more overstimulated in your life, except instead of finding it frightening, it was electrifying. And for once, you think you can understand what an athlete must feel when playing on their own home turf surrounded by those that are wholeheartedly rooting for them.

Hana is quick to spot you, panic clear across her face as she regards you with a couple pages with your assigned vantage points, a rushed briefing session, and then she’s darting down the sidelines to make sure equipment is set up appropriately where needed. She’s understaffed, given you told Utahime about Kai’s little intervention last week and she made a nasty point to the university (and possibly a handful of legal threats) and they relented in firing him. So now the three of you were down a photographer, and the extra work shows in the instructions she gave you as you skim the sheets. 

A glance at your phone tells you it’s close to 2pm, and your eyes take in the expanse of green on the field. UTokyo’s players practice kicking shots off to the right goal post, while YCU’s players practice shots off to the left. You can’t spot where Gojo is, but you faithfully head down to the East Side entrance like he asked you to. 

When you round the corner, you almost crash right into an Ichiko mascot, but swiftly dodge, and then you stop in your tracks when you see Gojo standing right at the concrete entrance. He’s leaning back against the adjacent wall, arms crossed at his chest, and he’s stretching his neck side to side with a creased brow, an intense look in his eyes, lost in serious thought, scanning the wall across from him like he’s mapping out plays in his head. 

When you approach him and catch the corner of his eyesight, he leans off the wall and flashes you one of his so extremely charmed to see you grins on reflex, and suddenly there’s nothing your senses seem to pick up on except him. Like everything else around you just disappears.

“Hey, you,” he says when he comes up to you, and you walk him like a dog back to a corner that’s tucked further away from noises and sights. You lean your back against the wall now, the coolness of concrete seeping through the fabric of your shirt, and he stands a step in front of you. Your hands toy with the strap of your camera.

“Are you ready to win today?” you ask him, and look off to the right into the flourishing seats that are still being filled to the brim, “clearly there’s no pressure.”

He breathes in deep, and releases it slowly, like there really was tension to relieve. “We’ve got no choice but to win.”

“Is that something Coach Yaga says to you guys often?” you ask him, because the man recited the same thing about five times in that email chain. “Also, apparently you take years off of his life.” Another thing he recited about five times in that email chain.

Gojo only addresses what he wants to address, as per usual. “Yeah, it’s something he says to us often.” 

“So,” you say, “what did you want to talk about?”

He looks at you puzzled, tilting his head to the side. “Nothing. I just wanted to see you.”

It’s hard to assume that he didn’t have something to talk about with the intention of telling you to meet him here, because this is the same place you confessed to him a few weeks ago, and so is also the place he so painfully rejected you. But maybe he doesn’t think about these kinds of things as much as you do. “I see.”

His tongue pokes to his cheek as he studies your anticipating expression, and then he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “What are we doing? I mean, I like you, and you like me too, at least I hope you still do. Why don’t we—…why don’t we just give it a go already? I don’t see how we can move forward if you won’t at least let me take you out on a date.”

Your hands stop fidgeting with your camera strap from his words, and you lick your lips, suddenly unable to keep eye contact with him so your gaze drifts down to his chest in front of you. His uniform is clean, no smudges of dirt or grass, just pure white fabric underneath heat-pressed blue and golden accents, and of course, that signature number 10. You’re sure he’s all you’ll ever think of when you see that number now for the rest of your life. 

You know when you want something so bad you don’t know what to do once you have it? Because it almost seems too good to be true? 

“I just wanted to let stuff between us breathe for a little bit,” you confess, “it’s just, it was a lot to deal with. Being around you when I thought you didn’t want me the way I wanted you. I don’t know if this is odd to say, and maybe I’m overthinking it, but I just feel like somewhere along the way, I kind of…forgot who you were for a little bit.” This kind of vulnerability would have you running away with your tail between your legs with anyone else, but not with him. Not after everything. 

His expression softens, melting away that confrontational energy he had earlier, and he nods slowly. He opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t seem to find words. The presence of them is there, though, you can feel them. But what good are his thoughts if not voiced? 

“I just wanted to spend a little bit of time getting to know you again, I guess.” You squeeze your arm in reassurance of yourself because he wasn’t giving it to you. You let out an awkward laugh. “I don’t really know what I’m saying right now, to be honest.”

You can tell he’s at a crossroads, and you think back to this week and his efforts to get you to open up to him again. You know how he feels right now, because it’s exactly how you felt when he rejected you. Like when someone is so close, yet so far, you can feel that they’re within arms reach but never truly. And they’re slipping away for some reason that you may never know, but all you can do is assume that it’s a fault of your own. You’re not really sure what he can do to make you feel secure about this whole thing anymore, and you can see the slight panic in his eyes when he realizes that too.

“I don’t mind waiting,” he tells you, rushed with a desperation entirely contrary to his words, “what’s a week or two when I want to spend a lot more of those with you anyways.” But he takes a deep breath, like he’s already mentally preparing himself for an agonizing wait in his head.

There’s a sound over the stadium speakers, something technical and sporty and goes entirely over your head in dismissal, but to Gojo it seems to have a different effect, as he’s suddenly attentive and stands up straighter, that focused expression on his face from earlier resurfacing. You realize he needs to get back to the field. 

“Can we continue this conversation after the game?” he asks you hastily, already turning towards the center of the stadium. And he adds an obligatory, “sorry.”

“Yeah, sure,” you quickly agree, suddenly feeling like you’re taking up his time. 

He gives you a small smile, unsure in its presentation but pure in its intention. But he can only take one step towards the field before you reach out and pinch the fabric of his jersey to keep him still. He feels the tug of it and fully faces you once again. 

“Um. Just a sec,” you say, “I have something to give you before your game.”

“Oh?” he looks at you with interest, “I fucking love things.” 

“You have to close your eyes though.”

“…what is the thing…” He squints at you with a what are you up to expression.

“Just close your eyes!” you snap at him.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face and then he closes his eyes. “You’re scary as hell sometimes. Excuse me for being cautious.”

You roll your eyes, useless because he doesn’t see it, and then take a step towards him. You cup his jaw with the palm of your hand, his cheek twitching slightly from the unexpected contact, and then you raise on your tiptoes to press your lips to his cheek. It’s short and sweet with the sound of a peck.

“For good luck,” you whisper, then you quickly lower yourself back onto your heels, take a step back and tuck some strands of hair behind your ear. The ground suddenly interests you.

He opens his eyes, blinking a few times with shock and his hand comes up to brush the tips of his fingers against the spot you kissed him, and then his gaze goes comically dazed when he reaches out to hold you. “Alright, c’mere you,” he says, closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he leans down to kiss you but you laugh and push his face away.

“No no no, only on the cheek for now,” you say with a small laugh.

He does nothing to restrain his frustrated groan. “You can’t do something that cute and then expect me to be chill about it.”

“If you win, then, maybe I’ll let you kiss me for real.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes. Maybe.”

He’s close, towering over you near this bustling east side entrance that he seems to like so much, and his eyes drop to your lips. “Alright. I like those odds.” 

You give him a smile and slip away from him to get back towards the field, and you feel his eyes on you as you walk away.

The pregame events are a blur, with blaring music accompanied by the sounds of the sports announcers clipping across the speakers, finally quieted down in time for the players to line up on the field for the national anthem which was then followed by UTokyo’s alma mater. 

You’re stationed on the same side of the field as Minato, UTokyo’s side, while Hana is covering the sidelines of the opposite end with the opponents goal post. Minato’s filling up a cup of Gatorade for himself at the athlete’s station and then he comes back around to find you.

“Are you ready to take your shots? I see Hana wanted you to shoot on film today,” he says to you as he sloshes around Glacier Freeze in a flimsy plastic cup.

You twist your aperture dial with your thumb. “Yesss, all set. I’ll try to keep up.” 

He nods at you in approval.

The atmosphere feels nerve wracking. Something felt different about this game, the stakes feeling high. Well, of course they’re high, because if they lose today then they’re out of the tournament. But the stakes feel high for other reasons too, an energy you can pick up on but can’t quite discern. 

Your eyes drift across the field where you can see a referee placing a ball at the center of the field. Off to the right, you can see Gojo standing with a few of his other teammates, including Geto, Nanami, and Choso, and they’re all gesticulating to various corners of the field as they discuss what you can only imagine have to do with their plays for today. And you realize— it’s their last college soccer season. Their second-to-last official home match before the championship, and for those of them that haven’t qualified for the national league, it may be their second-to-last match of this caliber for the rest of their lives. One of the final chances that they have to prove something of themselves. The determination was palpable. 

The chief referee’s whistle cuts through the air with three short chirps, and that gathers the attention of all the players on the field. UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kickoff, and YCU’s players choose to attack the left side goal.

Your stomach churns with anticipation, the crowd hushing too as all the players take their places on the field. If you feel nervous, you can only imagine how the athletes feel. There’s a rhythm that you’ve learned over the past couple of months getting to know the sport, where players stretch out their necks and kick out their feet and take subtle deep breaths as they survey the stands. Idle moments before the start of the match where they have no choice but to look forward and only forward, so they take a moment to stay in the present for as long as they can gather. You’ve never been much of a sports spectator, and perhaps you’ve only recently had some personal interest in the team, but you realize you feel pride in your school as you stand behind chalk sideline and see UTokyo’s colors scattered across the field in uniform. And fuck, you wanted them to win. You wanted them to win with fierceness and wrath, and it’s a desire you share with the crowd. 

Gojo spends a minute talking to the referee before the black and white striped man pats him high on the back in the good sport and urges him towards the center of the field. He lifts his foot up onto the ball, rolling it back and forth underneath the spikes of his cleat, and you can see it in his eyes, even from all the way over here, that he seems to have different ideas in mind for this game too. High stakes. Pre-determined, set with will, evident in the clench of his jaw and the concentrated furrow of his brow as he surveys the field with his eyes, and you’re lost in the sight for what feels like forever because you can hardly register the chirp of the ref’s whistle. 

And then the kickoff starts. 

The ball is tapped to Geto to start the play, and the first few minutes were intense as the ball was passed back and forth between UTokyo’s players, placing pressure on YCU’s defense as they inched closer and closer towards the goal. A pass between UTokyo’s #4 was intercepted by YCU and the ball was rushed down towards the left side, the crowd’s horror evident in the uproar as they raise to their feet in fearful anticipation, and with ruthless offense, YCU’s forward takes a clear sink shot towards the goal, and the crowd holds their breath before they watch Choso lunge for it in air, gloved hands firmly grabbing the ball and then pulling it to his chest with a possessiveness you can only expect to see from a skilled goalie, before he crashes down into the ground and the crowd releases relief in the form of rowdy roars.

Ten minutes in, with everyone on their toes, each team tested each other’s defenses. UTokyo were known for stellar offense, especially within the past few years with players like Gojo Satoru and Takuma Ino joining the league as powerful forwards, but UTokyo’s overall offense was still statistically second to none other than YCU. And the pressure YCU was putting on UTokyo’s defense was wearisome to say the least. You glance to see Nanami, who is UTokyo’s best defensive player, huffing and puffing as he stands between two light-footed YCU players in an attempt to guard, and fails an attempt to steal the ball before it gets to the feet of YCU’s striker #6, passed in a split second off to his teammate, with a fake so seamless that it has Choso just a couple inches away from touching the ball before it’s sent flying into the net. 

The noises from the crowd are still loud, but dampened in spirit. 

With the referees hand signal up in the air, the current score is confirmed. 0-1, YCU. 

Coach Yaga calls for a sub, in which he switches Nanami out for who you believe is a 2nd-year defensive player name Yuta you’ve seen around practice with a promising statistical record for interceptions, and you watch as Nanami takes the bench before he swipes the sweat off his face in exhaustion. God. Just fifteen minutes into the match, and YCU already has UTokyo’s defense winded from play. 

You bring your camera up to your face, forgetting for a moment that there was still a job to do here, and you position the direction of the lens towards the center of the field, where Gojo takes his place at the ball once more. Yuta briefly passes by him, signaling some play to him by holding up a number three, likely something Coach Yaga asked him to pass on to Gojo, and you see him briefly nod, his mouth slightly agape as he breathes slowly and pulls his jersey up to wipe at the sweat at his forehead. 

The referee chirps the whistle, Gojo taps the ball to Yuta, and the play starts. 

YCU immediately puts pressure on UTokyo’s offensive play once more, with eager movements to steal the ball, but it’s passed between UTokyo’s players with ease, more practiced and more sure. The kind of play that you and the rest of the school was used to seeing from them. However, Geto loses the ball on a left-back pass, but right when YCU makes attempts to cover field in a long-shot kick towards the left, Yuta intercepts the ball and swiftly passes it to Gojo.

The crowd immediately rises to their feet in anticipation, watching as Gojo shuffles the ball down the field, dangerously close to off-field boundaries, a signature tactic he uses because he knows there’s not a single player in the league that can match him in precision and control to keep the ball in-field on a steal, and he swiftly passes it towards Geto with a side-swept kick, beelining down towards the goal post, in perfect time for Geto pass-back to meet his feet and when Gojo was this close to a net, there was no stopping him. 

He draws his right foot back, and explosively kicks the ball forward, chipping the grass under it in the motion, and it’s sent flying towards the goal, and then threaded past the goalie right to the back of the net. The cheers that erupt across the stadium rumble the ground beneath you. 

1-1, even match.

UTokyo spends no time celebrating, other than a few pats to Gojo’s back as he nods in acknowledgement, no emotion on his face other than pure concentration and greed. The greed to win, like a righteous sin. He stretches his neck out, panting slightly as he takes his place towards the right side of the field and the referee chirps his whistle to signal YCU to start the kickoff.

They quickly make attempts in moving the ball towards their scoring-end of the field, but face push-back from UTokyo’s defense, unable to make it much further past the midfield line, and you bring your camera up to take a snap of Gojo, who you see is still standing off to the right side of the field. But when you position it and peer through the viewfinder, that space he once stood at was empty. You pull your camera down, and blink at the sight, and then the crowd is picking up in volume once more.

Gojo sprints down the flank, cutting past every defender, and moves towards YCU’s attacking goal, which was a shocking place to be for a center forward, but you could feel his desire and determination to steal this back-and-forth ball, and succeeds when YCU makes an open pass, thinking they were in the clear, only to have Gojo sneak in at the last moment and get the ball at his feet. 

The play moves by in a flash, a blur that you or anyone else in the stadium could hardly keep up with it, movements so fast you were shocked a human being was capable of even running that far in such a short amount of time, and in an almost embarrassingly easy play, Gojo makes a fool out of YCU’s defenders as he slips the ball through the legs of his last obstacle before he struck it with sharp precision, sending it soaring to the corner of the goal, past the outstretched arms of the goalie, and into the net. 

2-1, UTokyo.

It was electrifying, the feeling that strikes through the stadium, one that reaches you in your own blood. You’re shocked, standing here, after witnessing Gojo score two goals within the matter of minutes, against one of the top three teams in the league. It’s a shock that reaches everyone, including Coach Yaga who’s standing about ten feet down the line from you, his arms crossed, and you see his eyes for the first time as he takes his sunglasses off to get a better look at what he’s seeing.

You trail his sight, dragging your gaze across the field until it lands at Gojo, who is barely acknowledging the encouraging pats and shakes and goodhearted shoves that his teammates were giving him, because he was focused. It might sound crazy to say, but you swear his eyes looked like a fiercer shade of blue, like they were lit up, and you’re insanely glad you’re not one of YCU’s defensive players at the moment because you feel fearful of him even just standing on the sidelines. 

Your gaze trails back to Coach Yaga, who slowly puts his sunglasses back on but his brows are narrowed tightly as he crosses his arms over his chest tightly.

The “athletic zone”... You’ve heard of it before. A state of pure focus, of peak performance, where an athlete experiences optimal concentration and a sense of effortless control over their actions. In which they perform at their highest level, where time slows down, any and all distractions fade away, and they’re completely immersed in their sport at hand. At the task at hand.

Coach Yaga seems to pick up on the fact that Gojo was on the edge of tapping into that state. 

YCU makes a substitution, and you watch in anticipation as they begin the kickoff. 

There’s fire in their veins with desperation to even out the score once more, rushing the ball down the off-field line, one of their center forwards mimicking Gojo’s signature attack pattern, and Yuta struggles to keep up with the expert dribbling of a fourth-year player with more experience on him, so much so to where he completely leaves the ball unguarded and there’s an open shot, but Geto places pressure at the last moment, in a fierce battle for the ball, before YCU’s center forward loses the ball over the goal line. 

Choso picks the ball up, tapping on it harshly a few times as he surveys his eyes down the field, and all offensive players begin to shuffle towards their attacking goal in anticipation for the goal kick. He signals his hand down and then holds up two fingers in the air before placing the ball down on the six-yard box. He tightens the strap of one of his gloves, eyes squinting, and you follow his gaze down to a part of the field where you note UTokyo’s best aerial players are located and being guarded by YCU’s defense. And with complete trust in his team, that’s exactly where he kicks the ball. 

Geto makes first contact with the ball, his chest colliding with two other YCU players as his head comes out on top and he headbutts the ball closer towards the inner field, and Gojo immediately gains access to it with a bounce of his knee. The crowd holds their breath, fear that they’ll lose the ball to a steal in the split second it spends floating in the air, but Gojo urges it forward with a bounce off of his chest and then rushes it straight down towards the goal post. 

You wonder what sight he sees right now. Where you’re dead center, at no angle, lunging towards the sight of an open goal with a sole goalie standing in the center, anticipating to block your shot, and three defenders on your tail. There’s no room for error, no time to think, only instincts that you cultivate in the last leading milliseconds. They say that, in sports, athletes channel one hundred hours of practice in just a brief second on the field. A split second success that was years in the making. You can’t even imagine possessing that level of perfection in your body, or possessing that level of confidence that you can follow through with it in a moment as dire as this.

It was unreal, the way Gojo fades away from all the defenders, and faces no fear when confronted with the sight of the goalie in front of him while drawing his foot back to kick the ball. You lift your camera up at the last second, no time to think about aperture or ISO, just like he had no time to second-doubt a single twitch in his muscles, and his foot makes contact with the ball so harshly that you can hear the explosive sound even among the delirious cheers from the crowd, before he hook, line, and sinks it straight past the goalie’s head, rushing by like a scarcely deflected bullet, and into the net behind him. 

3-1, UTokyo.

The whole stadium is momentarily speechless, all players and referees and recruiters and reporters and coaches and employees alike, before the most deafening cheers you’ve ever heard in your life scatter across the stands.

There’s a moment of brief reprieve, where the players can catch their breath while YCU makes yet another substitution, as if they’re just trial-and-erroring it at this point, and the cheers in the stadiums remain idle as you can’t tear your gaze away from Gojo.

It’s one of those moments where you realize that someone who you thought was so familiar to you was actually someone you hardly knew at all. You knew he was a talented soccer player, everyone on campus knows it, potentially one of the best to ever grace the league, and the amount of times you passively watched his plays on a lecture hall projector screen as your professor enthusiastically broke them down during class, even before you met him, was good enough for you to realize that he was insane, a one-in-a-million, a talent you cannot replicate, one you have by divinity. One you were born with. 

And yet, somehow, getting to know him these past couple of months, he just felt so human. For someone so seemingly beyond you, he felt so…close? In those moments where it was just the two of you, it was hard to imagine that he was capable of such greatness, and that so many people were rooting for him with wholehearted tears in their eyes and cheers from their hearts, because most of the time, when he was with you, he was just a dorky idiot. You find that your heart is beating fast in your chest, that feeling of being unsure of what to do with what you’ve been wanting resurfacing powerfully. 

“This is insane,” you hear Minato say from beside you and you jump a little from your thoughts being interrupted.

You twiddle with your camera straps. “I know…almost done with the first half and we’re up 3-1…I thought YCU are number one in offense for the league?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean, yes, that is insane too. But what’s even more insane is that three of the goals so far have been scored by one player.” He tips his chin towards the right sight of the field and you trail his line of sight. “By Gojo Satoru.”

Your brow furrows as you watch Gojo, his hands on his hips and his mouth slightly open as he indulges in a few shallow breaths to gain energy while YCU prepares for kickoff. Three goals, by just one player. Your eyes widen when you realize that is insane, especially for a D1 semi-final qualifying match.

“You know what the divisional record is for most goals scored by a single player during a championship match, y/n?” Minato asks you as he lifts his camera up to take a picture of the area Gojo was standing in. 

You shake your head and wait for his response.

He drops his camera down and glances at the photo on his screen. “Four. During Keio Uni vs. Osaka Uni, near the beginning of the tournament back in 1997 by Osaka’s center forward number 24, Yuji Nakazawa. Meaning no one’s managed to beat that record since the new millenia, for a couple decades. Although a few players came close.”

You blink at him, and Minato is jerking his chin over in the direction of Gojo again.

“I think he’s trying to beat the record.”

You can only widen your eyes at Minato in realization, and then the chirp of the referee’s whistle draws everyone’s attention back to the field. 

The sports announcers go wild on the speakers, the crowd raving all the same, standing to their feet like the team just won the championship match.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! We are watching HISTORY in the making!! Gojo Satoru, UTokyo’s very own 3-year consecutive MVP, has scored his 34th goal of the season, highest of any player in this year’s season so far, and is now on the road to beat the league’s long-standing record for most goals scored by a single player in a championship match since 1997!!” And the crowd roars even louder as you stare out at the field in awe.

YCU starts the kickoff following the prompt short chirp of the referee’s whistle, and with two minutes remaining on the clock for the first half, make desperate attempts to book it down the field towards their attacking goal, one of their midfielders making a clumsy attempt to strike the ball to the net in the final minutes of the half, and Choso easily catches it in his arms, right before the buzzer of the timer sounds, and the match moves into halftime. 

All of UTokyo’s players immediately flock towards Gojo in sportful glee, finally having a chance to surround him and harass him with harsh pats on his back and ruffles of his hair for his play in the first half. Choso even puts him in a headlock because they all don’t know what else to do with their excitement and adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Their win for today was basically confirmed with the way he was playing. 

You catch a glimpse of him through the crowd of people, and he has a boyish grin on his face, reveling in the embarrassing amount of attention from his teammates, that focused look from before dissolving into his normal self again. But you can see through him, as well enough as you’ve learned to at least, and you can tell he’s not satisfied. He’s thinking it’s not enough. There’s still more to be done, and it’s not time to celebrate yet. 

His eyes scan down the sideline until they find you. 

Your heart jumps a second in your chest. He stands up straighter, despite his teammates still clinging to him, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes when your eyes meet. 

Cheerleaders take their place out onto the field, performing their numbers with loud music blaring, and the recruiters seated at their white tables get up to roam across the sidelines in discussion with referees and with Coach Yaga and with whatever players they can sink their greedy teeth into, as well as sneak at refreshments while they’re at it. You can see off to the right that Hana has reunited with Minato and she’s showing him some of the shots she took over at the opponent's side. 

UTokyo’s players start to make their way to the benches to grab for towels and drinks of water and to sprawl across in rest, and you hear loud familiar laughter approaching as you watch the players sprawl across the benches, so you avert your eyes towards the source of the sound. 

You see Gojo approaching the benches, two of his teammates slung with their arms around him in some type of adrenaline-drunken glee as they talk dramatically and theatrically which Gojo entertains with his own drunk-off-of-adrenaline glee. And you raise an eyebrow at his demeanor when he makes eye contact with you.

“There’s my freaky little photographer,” he says, and he’s standing up straight and—wait, is he puffing his chest out as he makes his way towards you? Oh for fucks sake.

Gojo has always been confident around you, for as long as you can remember, but in the fair few moments he’s been cocky, he’s been a menace. And you can only assume the testosterone-induced high of being on the verge of breaking a league record in front of the entire school then subsequently getting homiesexually praised by his teammates for the better part of the past five minutes, not to mention with the crowd and the reporters feeding his ego with a spoon across the speakers, he’s been transformed into the final boss of cocky.

His teammates surround you too, their hands on their hips as they assess you and Gojo when he meanders right up to you, arms held out to hug you, a sleazy sight you’ve seen probably six times this week, and you feel a rush of warmth in your cheeks as you place a hand on his chest to keep him away.

“You’re sweaty and gross, please stay away from me,” you reprimand him, “this is an expensive lens that is not humidity-proof.” 

“Hey, you’re the girl that Kentaro socked in the face with a ball the other day at practice, right?” one of his teammates asks, leaning in towards you to take a closer look at your face.

“Oh yeahhh, ‘cause Satoru wasn’t paying attention,” another one of his teammates chimes in teasingly, hardly heard over the loud remix playing in the background as the cheerleaders continue to perform on the field. 

You shrink a little from where you stand. Gojo’s got an irritated look on his face and he’s shrugging his teammate’s elbow off of his shoulder.

“I really hope you’re getting my good angles,” his teammate to the left comments before winking at you, and you purse your lips together. 

The one on the right leans in too, looking at your cheek with an assessing look in his eye. “At least it didn’t leave a scar on your cute face—”

Gojo shoves the both of them back and away from you by elbowing them in the chest, and they make deep eugh noises before stepping away and rubbing at their sternums with pouts on their faces.

“Get the fuck away from her,” he grumbles, “she’s mine.”

Your cheeks flush slightly with warmth at the attention, and you watch as his teammates scurry away to adhere to some social hierarchy Gojo seems to possess over them.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Yours?”

“Yes. Eventually. Whatever, did you see me out there?” he turns his torso towards the field and points behind himself with his thumb, “when I—”

“Oh god, you know what’s soooooooooo super sexy to me?” you interrupt him. “When guys are humble.”

“Oh c’monnn,” he curls his arm around your waist and pulls you to him, to where you stumble a little on grass and he holds you when you fall into him with more clumsiness than grace. “Tell me you aren’t at least impressed by me.”

You pout, because you are, and you’d really like to give him some reassurance and validation, but for some reason his cocky attitude is setting you off. “Satoru,” you sigh, wiggling a little in his hug, but he holds you tighter, “I’m working right now. Cut it out.”

He lets go of you at that, sober enough from the adrenaline to realize you’re being serious, but he steps into your space so only you can hear him. “What? Are you embarrassed?”

“Of what?” Your face twists with confusion.

“Of me. Are you embarrassed of me?” he asks.

“No. Why would I be embarrassed of you?” you ask with sharpness.

“I don’t know, just, sometimes I feel like you’re always annoyed by me,” he says with a sigh. “It’s like, you’re really sweet sometimes, and then kinda rude out of nowhere, and it’s sort of messing with my head.”

You pout. “You were messing with my head for weeks.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” he quickly interjects, like he already knew you were brewing up that counterargument, “but you don’t have to act like you’re all disinterested and indifferent just to get back at me for it.” He places his hands on his hips and wipes his temple on the round part of his shoulder when he feels a drop of sweat trickle down from his hairline. “You don’t have to act embarrassed around me either.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” you deny, and your cheeks feel hot, and for some reason you feel angry. “In fact, I’m the one that should be asking you that question. Because I still very clearly remember that time you said I was just someone you know in front of your friends.”

He groans and tilts his head back with frustration. “Can you just let that go? Things have changed between us since then. Move on.” 

“You kissed me and then pretended I was just a stranger to you in front of your friends,” you grit as you cross your arms. “That’s the level of sincerity that I know from you, Satoru.”

“Oh, okay, so there’s nothing else I’ve done that shows you that I’m serious about you?” he asks rhetorically with incredulity, throwing his hands up in the air in disbelief.

No. That’s not true, not true at all. But he’s pissed you off now and so all logic was to the wind. “Doesn’t matter. If you’re not embarassed of me, and if you’re really serious about me this time, then fucking prove it.” You’re speaking out of spite, and you fear you’ve just set him off too.

“Fine,” he says, and he grabs the microphone straight out from a passing reporter’s hand, replacing it with a gatorade bottle. The reporter stares at the bottle he’s now holding with confusion. “I will.”

“W-Wait—” you squeak out, feeling the hair at the back of your neck bristle in anticipation and a shiver gets sent down your spine. The cheerleaders are making their way off the field at the end of their routine, and you can hear the thumps across the loud boisterous speakers when Gojo whacks his palm to the microphone to make sure the thing was on before he jogs to the center of the field.

The crowd is already cheering, ecstatic to see the afternoon's star player and pride & joy of their school, and Gojo takes a moment to soak in all the glory in comical appreciation with bowing towards all 360 degree angles of the stadium.

“Uhhh,” you hear Choso from beside you, who’s strapping his thick goalie gloves tightly to his wrists, “Why the fuck does Satoru have a microphone while standing in the middle of the field.”

“It can’t be for any publicly decent reason,” Geto muses.

All you can do is watch.

“Hi, uh,” Gojo starts, static blaring slightly across the speakers and the crowd winces with him, “sorry. I’m Satoru, Gojo Satoru, you might know me from—uh, the game you’ve been watching?”

Cheers all around, because as if a single person wouldn’t know who he is. The stands were rowdy and most definitely drunk off of sidestep beers the stadium has been serving all afternoon long. 

Gojo is about to continue speaking, when he catches sight of the table of recruiters in the corner of his eye and he turns to face them out of respect. “Oh, yeah, uh, number 10,” he tugs his jersey up at the shoulder to stretch out the fabric, the 1 and the 0 flattened in view, “division player ID 233-997. Coach Yaga keeps my business cards in his purse if you want one.”

“SAAAAATTOOORRUUUU!!!!!” you hear Coach Yaga yell from somewhere in the distance.

“Anywho,” Gojo continues, and the music dims slightly, so he glances at the stop clock on the screen, which shows him he’s got roughly five minutes left to pull off whatever idiocracy he had in mind before the second half of the game starts. “Just here to say that there’s this girl I really like.”

The crowd gets louder, almost deafening, and sonically mostly feminine in (delusional) hope he’s gonna name call one of them.

Gojo’s voice is crisp and clear through the speakers as he clarifies. “She’s standing over there,” he says as he nonchalantly points to your exact latitude and longitudinal direction, “with the big camera slung around her neck that looks like it could pull her down to the center of the earth. Yeah. She’s super cute and I really like talking to her.”

“Uh-oh,” Geto murmurs from beside you, and you glance at him to try to get a read on the situation but you can’t.

Gojo starts to pace across the center of the field now, like he’s working the crowd. “But get this—she thinks I’m not fuckin’ serious about her!!!”

The crowd groans with him in unison. Yep, most certainly drunk. Or high off of glee. Either way, he’s playing them like a violin.

“Huh?” Gojo’s voice sounds distant now, away from the mic, and you can see on the large pixelated screen that he’s being interrupted by someone that looks like one of the videographers, “oh, what’s that? This is being broadcasted? Uh-huh. Oh. I’m not allowed to cuss? Oh fuck, okay. Er— shit, okay. Wait—shoot, okay.”

Choso’s smirk is heard from beside you, and you catch Geto and Nanami shaking their heads in your periphery.

“LIKE I SAID,” Gojo continues into the mic, “the girl I like thinks I’m just messing around, so. Uh. To show her that I’m serious about her, I’m gonna…” He looks up at the sky to ponder, and you can hear people shouting all sorts of suggestions of nonsense from the crowd. And instead of saying proclaim my undying affection for her through a romantic soliloquy straight from my heart in the presence of the entire school, he says—“I’m gonna strip. Yes. Down to my tighty whities, Imma strip.”

H–

Huh?!?!?

You don’t even have time to be horrified or scared, you’re just bewildered beyond belief that that’s what he came up with.

What the fuck kind of reassurance did you ask for. And what the fuck kind of reassurance were you about to get?

The crowd goes wild, it’s no surprise to say everyone and their mothers wants to see him naked, even the straight dudes would dig it for the gym inspo. And he points straight to you, sleazy look on his face and you’re going to ignore the fact that he just winked at you too as he crosses his arms to hold the hem of his jersey and pulls it up over his head in the most raunchy and slutty way a man can take his shirt off.

The music manager is quick with the bit, and is most definitely a fellow Gen Z college student, because Justin Timberlake’s SexyBack (ft. Timbaland) starts playing across the speakers and the crowd goes ballistic.

“Ayo why’s Satoru Magic Mike’ing the field right now?” one of his other teammates calls out through a mouthful of protein bar, “What the fuck did I miss?”

The cameraman does God’s work in a hella zoom-in of Gojo’s sweat glistened abs, then pans up the naked expanse of the perfect taut skin across his chest, and you can’t help but stare even among all your horror. It’s like when a male bird embarrasses the fuck outta himself to attract a female bird sitting on a perch, except instead of within the context of a NatGeo documentary, this was your real life. Everyone wants him, but he’s making a fool out of himself for you. 

He pretends to stretch his arms up into the air, a cover-up to flex his biceps, and then he kicks his cleats off, and the socks come off too. Entirely unnecessary, as showing one's ankles is simply too slutty, but alas he’s a whore. And when his thumbs dip into the waistband of his shorts, and there’s anticipating screeching from the crowd, he finally gets chased by security. 

Except he’s an intercollegiate D1 athlete, why the fuck wouldn’t he be able to outrun a bunch of dudes in black?

The camerawork on him is phenomenal as he runs across the sidelines of the field, eliciting a wave down the bleachers. So good in fact that you’re pretty sure the camera man could shoot for the Olympic track and field, with the way the stadium’s got a clear sight of Gojo mouthing the lyrics Them other fuckers don’t know how to act from the song still blaring with satirical rage on his face as he makes a fool of the men chasing him around the perimeter of the field.

And then he does it, drops his shorts, discards them with a kick, and he’s down to his tighty whities as promised. Cameraman has got to be displaying some previously undiscovered level of talent as he zeroes in on a shot of said tighty whities, with Gojo’s—forgive me, I need to be crass—huge bulge prominent in Big Dick Energy fashion except his tighty whities have little red hearts in rows across the fabric so do with that duality what you will.

He’s outrun security with a steady grin on his face as he eats up the drunken crowd’s cheers and riots and roars and you feel like you’re the only sane person in this stadium, or maybe you’re just not used to the fanatics of a college sports crowd. You peep the men in black trailed all the way on the left side of the field where they abandoned their pursuit of Gojo.

He taps imaginary pockets at his thighs, very muscular thighs you take indulgence in noticing, as if he expected to find something there, and he looks around when he doesn’t. He shrugs and grabs the microphone of the next passing sports commentator he spots, and then he makes his way back to you.

His breathing is a little shallow, and he inhales deep to catch his breath. “Baby.” The crowd SCREAMS at the way he purrs the word into the mic. “Will you do me the honor,” he’s huffing and puffing, heard across blaring speakers, “of being my lawfully wedded girlfriend?” And then he holds the mic to your lips.

“W-Wha—” you stutter, and there’s chanting across the crowd with words that barely make sense until you finally realize they’ve started to yell say yes! say yes! say yes! “Oh my gosh, okay, yes, fine, now please, for the love of god, put some freaking clothes on!”

The crowd goes wild with cheerful glees, and Gojo shoots fists up in the air in celebration as he runs all the way towards the center of the field with high knees, and you’re gawking at the sight, before he falls backward onto the grass and makes delirious snow angels on the ground. You see Coach Yaga’s vein popping in his neck from pure agitation as he storms off towards the center of the field to knock some sense into Gojo, but you know that Coach Yaga can’t kick him out, because they still have a game to win. The perks of being the most valued player in the league is getting to act like an absolutely insane idiot because you know they still need you in the end to bring it home.

You glance to the right, seeing his teammates nodding slowly then getting back to wrapping athletic tape around ankles and stretching out shoulders, with immediate acceptance of his actions like it wasn’t even out of character for him to do. And you realize again that you don’t know Gojo as well as you think you do.

And then the halftime timer is up.

You see Gojo approach the benches in a quick jog, squeezing some water into his mouth with his green gatorade squirt bottle, and when your eyes flit up to the screens on all four entrances, you see that the cameramen are still all focused on him accompanied by the continued buzz of conversation among the crowd following his public spectacle. But he seems to already be past any semblance of embarrassment as he takes the attention with ease, before he glances up to make eye contact with you and then lightly jogs right up to you.

“Did that prove to you that I’m not embarrassed of you?” he asks you, cocking a brow with a smug look on his face as he gets all up in your personal space. 

“I don’t know, but I’m certainly thoroughly and expeditiously embarrassed of you now,” you say, cheeks feeling flush when he leans forward so he can make eye contact with you at eye level. “I’ll have to move to a different country.”

His grin is relaxed. “Yeah well you asked for it.”

“Maybe. But I underestimated what a lunatic you are.”

“You’re my girlfriend now, you’ve gotta get used to it.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. “Satoru–”

“Tomorrow,” he cuts you off, “Hinode pier. I’ll pick you up at six. It’s a date, so wear something cute. And preferably easy to take off.” And then he’s attentive to the chirp of the referee’s whistle in the air before jogging backwards towards the feel and eventually turns on his heel towards the field while you’re left with warm cheeks and a heart that felt like it was moving at a mile a minute.

The timer for the second half refreshes on the screen while you loosely hold your camera in your shaking hands. It occurs to you that you haven’t taken a single photo of him before the start of the kickoff, and so you bring the piece of consolidated metal up to your eyes, peering through the viewfinder and focusing it on the center of the field. And there he was. Your muse.

Gojo lets out a breath, which you can see even from here that it’s shaky and staggered with resistance, and he lifts his jersey up to swipe at the sweat trickling down his face as he eyes the ball underneath YCU’s player’s foot just prior to the start of the second half. There it was—that look again of pure focus. 

3-1, forty-five minutes on the clock. And the referee chirps the whistle to start the second half.

It’s immediately evident that YCU has returned to the field following halftime with renewed energy, pressing high down the flank relentlessly past UTokyo’s defense, so fast it was hard for anybody to even keep a steady eye on the ball with the fluidity of their passes. The persistence pays off in the fake double-pass that slips past Geto’s feet, a moment of hesitation in the broken flow of UTokyo’s defense, and one of YCU’s strikers has the perfect line of shot towards the goal before digging his foot under the ball and sending it flying towards the corner of the goal post, scoring themselves a goal within just the first five minutes of play.

3-2.

The pressure mounts at the next kickoff, and with about seven minutes of solid play, with back-and-forth passes, multiple attempts at both goal posts to no avail on either side, it was clear that exhaustion was bustling in the veins of all the players.

One of YCU’s offensive players seems to capitalize on this, jumping on a defensive lapse of a pass Nanami attempted to make towards Yuta, and the ball is swiftly stolen then raced back towards the goal post. Choso prepared himself at the line, light on his feet paired with a solid stance, but in a millisecond of a moment, YCU’s offense unexpectedly passes the ball to a player racing up the midfield, and the player chips the ball neatly into the exposed corner of the goal despite Choso’s attempt to lunge for it in mid air.

Equalized, 3-3 game, momentary shock across the players’ faces, and the crowd bustles with something that sounds less like glee and more life fear. YCU was prepared to live up to and hold onto their title as the league’s number one offense, and as Minato explained to you during your time working in this job, an offensive team isn’t good at scoring goals, but rather exceptional at breaking down the other team’s defense.

Your eyes zero in on Geto, who stands in the center of the field for kickoff, and he’s huffing and puffing. He's the lead of defense for the team, and you can only imagine the level of pressure he feels right now. He glances around to his players, over to Nanami who seemed to share the same level of exhaustion, and then he glances towards Gojo who stood in front of him off to the right. Except you notice that Gojo looks relaxed, albeit still exhausted, but there’s a composed expression on his face even in the moment of heightened stakes. With locked eyes, Geto nods at Gojo and raises two fingers up into the air to signal a play, of which Gojo seems to respond to by closing more distance between him and the goal post prior to the kickoff, positioning himself almost directly in front of it, to which YCU’s defense immediately begin to guard him in a tight radius. 

The kickoff begins, with Geto making a few passbacks with Nanami as they close distance towards the field before passing it off to UTokyo’s string of offense and then receding back to their defending goal. UTokyo continues to close distance, raising stakes for YCU as their defense begins to falter under pressure, and the ball gets passed to Gojo, who only keeps it in possession for less than three seconds before he passes it back to Yuuji, a risky decision to make in the second half of a semifinal match, but the first-year swiftly unleashes a powerful shot that rockets past YCU’s goalkeeper, up towards the corner, except–

It bounces off the metal of the goal post, shot off with projectile speed back towards the center of the field, but with razor-sharp reflexes, Gojo headbutts the ball in air, twists his torso and strikes the ball with his foot past a dumbfounded goalie who can’t even move an inch to guard the ball that he already knew was going to sink right into the goal, and that’s exactly what it does. 

The stadium erupts with the momentum.

4-3, UTokyo. 

It was a sweet moment, one you manage to capture on camera of Gojo running up to Yuuji and ruffling his hair in reassurance, despite the missed goal. Your heart feels warm in your chest, feeling your own sense of melancholy that this was one of the last times they’ll ever get to play together on a team. 

Your eyes widen when you glance at the scoreboard, realizing that he’s tied. Gojo is tied for the most goals scored during a championship match. There were less than three minutes left on the clock. UTokyo either preserves their lead, or they risk moving into overtime, which, judging by the exhaustion on the UTokyo players’ faces in the wake of YCU’s relentless offense this entire game, moving into overtime would be a hefty, hefty risk. 

YCU’s center forward takes his place in the center of the field, fire evident in his eyes as he glances across the field. YCU are light on their feet, channeling everything in their bodies into these last moments of the game as they prepare to start the kickoff. You glance across UTokyo’s players, and although they look spent, there was a resolute look to all of them. It wasn’t the time to give up or feel at ease even near the end of this grueling battle. Now was the time to play. 

The referee chirped his whistle, and the kickoff began.

YCU immediately presses hard, as all their other plays have been all game, in their desperation to score. You can already see UTokyo’s midfielders move sluggishly in comparison to YCU’s offense, a drag to their feet as YCU pushes past the first layer of defense towards their attacking goal. Geto takes an aggressive approach, making moves to steal the ball while Nanami and Yuta guarded both flanks, and there was a relentless pass-off happening that ate up more than a minute of the remaining time.

Nanami succeeds in stealing the ball, but immediately loses it under his feet by a YCU midfielder, who makes a broad pass down the sidelines to YCU’s star forward who then powerfully kicks the ball towards the unguarded area of their goal, a dangerous shot that was clear towards the crossbar and Choso makes a leap for it, high into the air, his glove brushing against the ball, the entire crowd holding their breath in anticipation–

And the ball lands in the net. 

4-4, tied game. With one minute and seventeen seconds left on the clock. 

There was no time wasted in getting back to center field. No time spent dwelling in the horrific roars of the crowd as they watch with anxiety and fear. No time spent to process or consider or signal any plays. Not even a single second used to catch breath. When there is this much at stake, an athlete thrives on momentum. 

To your surprise, Gojo isn’t the one that takes place at the center of the field to start the kickoff. Yuta stands there instead, and you notice his eyes are erratic as he surveys all corners of the field. 

The referee chirps his whistle. 

Yuta immediately passes it off to the side to UTokyo’s midfielder, who curls it towards their attacking goal with a swift pass to Ino, who closes distance towards the goal, but one of YCU’s defender slips in, undoing any progress they had made in their offense by stealing the ball and sending it back towards mid-field. Forty-three seconds. The crowd’s roars heightened as YCU continued to push forward, thirty yards now from scoring, and UTokyo’s defense was desperate to stop them but their momentum was cracking in the wake of their exhaustion. 

It was a moment you don’t think you could ever fully or truly recall, one that you wish you had focused all your energy and attention to so that you could commit it to memory for the rest of your life. The image of Gojo pushing all the way to ten yards before their defending goal, a place where no center forward should really be at in a game like this, but it was exactly what their defense needed. It was exactly what the team needed. It was exactly what the school needed. For the ball to be in his possession.

With twenty-two seconds left on the clock, he steals the ball from right under YCU’s offensive feet, and then charges towards the opposite side of the field. The crowd rises to their feet, thunderous roaring that overtook any and all senses, as Gojo weaves through forwards, center forwards, midfielders, and defenders, covering the entire span of the field in lightning time. Fifty yards, forty yards, thirty yards, twenty hards, ten yards–

In a moment you couldn’t believe, he digs his foot underneath the ball, and sends it flying out towards the goal. There was not even a margin of an inch in which it slipped past the goalie’s hands, past his head, and swiftly flew right into the net.

With three-two-one seconds, the match was over. 

5-4, UTokyo’s win.

The final whistle blew, and for a moment, there was silence. As if the world paused to catch its breath. Then, all at once, the crowd erupted with glee that shook the entire stadium at its core. Flags waving, scarves held high, toasts of beer held up to the sky, it was deafening, and it almost makes you want to cry. Thousands of voices shouting in unison, celebrating the hard-fought victory of their school’s team. A type of pride that was fostered, and well-deserved, and long-lived.

You quickly glance towards the field again, and see Gojo standing right at the same spot where he had kicked the last and final goal, staring towards the net. You can’t see the expression on his face, but it surprises you how still he is. Like a statue, staring at the goal with the ball tucked into its corner. The very epitome of what it means to succeed in this sport was right in front of him, and it seemed like he wanted to soak the visual in for as long as he could.

His trance is abruptly interrupted when his teammates swarm in, rushing over like a wave of pure adrenaline. They slap him on the back, ruffle his hair, shout his name, the sounds of gleeful disbelief mixed with exhausted sighs of relief swarming into the air. And Gojo finally melts away from the tension of the match and into the celebration as he weakly returns the embraces of his teammates while he catches his breath. 

“IT’S OFFICIAL!! IT’S OFFICIAL!! UTOKYO’S VERY OWN GOJO SATORU HAS OBLITERATED OSAKA UNIVERSITY’S RECORD FOR MOST GOALS SCORED BY A SINGLE PLAYER IN A CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH!!” 

The speakers are blaring the voices of the sports announcers, along with ambient music to match the intensity of the match that everyone had just witnessed. 

You should probably be doing your job. You know, take a picture of the huddle of players on the field as they bask in the glory of a close victory, but instead your feet start moving on their own. Like a magnet drawn to him, you make your way towards Gojo, only a slight hesitation in your step as you stop about ten feet away, suddenly unsure. But when he makes eye contact with you, all that fear melts away.

He hastily pats the backs of some of his teammates, acknowledging their praise at the center of the huddle before tightly squeezing past them to make his way over to you. Your heart is beating fast in your chest, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of pride in your school’s team, but more importantly, in him. What was the acceptable thing to do? Run to him, into his arms, and hug him while he twirls you around? Tackle him to the grassy ground? Kiss him like your life depended on it? You have no clue what the acceptable or sane or normal thing to do is. But he’s made his decision for you when he walks right up to you, his hands holding your waist as he pulls you towards him. He smells earthy, of grass and salt and sweat and of all the hard work he poured into today, the wear and tear of the game evident in the wear and tear of his jersey. He only manages to huff out an exhale at the sight of you, like some relief washing over him just by looking into your eyes. Forget the fact that the crowd was all watching and that all of the screens you could see past his head were focused on the two of you, because all you could hear or see or think was him.

“I believe you owe me a kiss,” he says, huffing as he catches his breath but that doesn’t stop the smile that makes its way onto his face.

You nod your head, giving him your own version of a sweet smile as your arms slide up past his shoulders, crossing behind his neck, and he leans down to kiss you.

You hear a swell from the crowd, some teasing comments off in the distance from some of his teammates, you’re pretty sure you hear Coach Yaga yelling at him to get back to the benches, but it all melts away with the feeling of him smiling against your lips as he kisses you at the center of this stadium.

It was a moment so pure, so sweet, so picture perfect, and for once, you’re not the one behind the camera taking the photo. You’re the one that’s in it.

.

.

.

.

.

[end of kickoff ch12]

a/n. aaa thanks a lot for reading!! pls the fucking public stripping scene was so stupid i apologize on behalf of kickoff gojo for his behavior 😂😂 i’ll put him in his cage dw this chapter had some of what i consider to be the most challenging aspects of writing for me (internal conflict, grand public gesture, sports jargon) and so writing it felt like an uphill battle the ENTIRE time i wrote it and edited it. i considered scrapping it sooo many times cuz i just wasn't happy w it...but whatever i can't expect to be 100% happy w every chapter i put out there haha. i think kickoff has become a lil sacred for me since i've been working on it for a while now but likeee...sometimes u just gotta say fuck it we ball (tbh kickoff gojo probably says that to himself before a match) anywho, i am veryy thoroughly excited for what i've got planned for the chapters to follow, especially moving into the last angsty arc before the end of the series!! so i look forward to picking up momentum w this series again :0 honestly chapters 10 through 12 were the most difficult things i've written so far for a lot of reasons, but i have a feeling things will go more smoothly for me creatively going forward since what i've got planned falls well within my writing comfort range oh also there seems to be a little confusion about the number of chapters left, as i know i had originally said 12, but i anticipate that there will be about 18 chapters of kickoff total!! so still around six chapters left before the end :)) much lovee thanks for reading!!

OH WAIT ONE LAST NOTE I'M SORRY i didn’t really have a way of organically incorporating this into the story n i’m not sure if i’ll get a chance to in the upcoming chapters, so i just wanted to share this part of ch7 (gojo’s pov chapter) that is relevant to this chapter:

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant. 

the record that gojo broke in this chapter is the same record that his father almost broke before he got the call that he was going to be a dad :0 

➸ you're all caught up!

additional notes. please do not pressure me for updates or ask when i will next update (read rules); taglist is currently closed (consider subscribing to the story on my ao3 for email updates if you'd like! :0)

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[taglist is closed]

[6feathered6siren6]

ok but like hear me out any of the KC LIs x Doctor reader (idk why this came into my head at like 3 am)

Doctor, Doctor

Notes: I didn't know which one to choose, and couldn't make a full on story(Working on time loop reader rn, about half way done for the next update), so I wrote some hcs and a small snip bits of each one. But I hope it's enjoyable!

( :̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

Trigger warning

Death/killing

Slight gore?

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ

Misaki

Your number 1 clutz, she works often to pay bills, so you always can expect her to get injured somehow. You always make sure they have a first aid kit in her house. 

You always have cartoon band aids for her, you always see her with a smile seeing them on her. When she scraped her hand from jumping off a height, you were there with the most stupid cartoon band aid you guys were laughing at. 

Misaki, at first, tried to hide injuries and scrapes after learning you were a doctor. They didn’t want to worry you or bother you. Especially, when you are dealing with other patients who need you more. Well, until you sat them down and had a very important conversation

Misaki supports your job, but on days where you lose a patient, the dark days, they pull you onto the couch and watch shows or movies until you feel better. 

▄︻デ══━一

You were on vacation visiting your partner, you stayed at her place while she was at their job. You picked up some fast food for dinner tonight, an easy night for the both of you. To cuddle up on their bed and eat it while being together. You were at her table, just playing on your phone, when she came home. She was scraped up. 

“Misaki? What happened?” Immediately rushing to her side. Nothing but scraps and bruises. Scratching the back of her head with a goofy smile, you know she was fine, just slightly injured. 

You sighed as you shoved them onto a chair, pulling your first aid from your bag. “So… I kinda jumped from a height that I knew I wasn’t gonna die from but… still scraped myself… So I'm good, still?” 

You laughed softly as they rambled, you were making sure she was bandaged correctly and that they wouldn’t scar. After you kissed her forehead. “Please be careful, I don’t want you as a full patient, then I wouldn’t be able to slip kisses on you.” 

She gasped, “Then, I’ll make sure! I need those kiss taxes for each bandaid.”

❤︎

V

He thinks you're honorable for being able to help others, even ones who do not need it. You work long and hard for your job for the people who need to be fed to his animals. 

When he does get injured, he either does it himself, at least not to worry you, or get you. You do talk as you patch him for simple injuries. He learns a lot about the health care you do. And he is very appreciative about this. 

Sure, you are a doctor for only humans, but you do patch up the animals(At least, the ones who are calm around you). And if you don’t know something and he does, he will teach you. Afterall, you do like helping people. 

After losing a patient or an animal from V’s care, V will make sure you are resting and taking your time to grief. You know you can’t always save them and he will say it as well. He makes sure you are eating and brings a hot drink for you(either tea or hot cocoa). If you need a day away from everything and just rest in bed, he would make sure you have some breakfast with juice next to it. 

▬ι═ﺤ

You opened the door to V’s home, you got off of work, and V invited you into his home for dinner. After having a stressful day, you just wanted to relax, but V wasn’t home. It was quiet and dark, turning on the lights, you see some animals hungry and the plants need their water. 

Grabbing the assorted food for each animal and giving the plants their water as well. You sit on his desk chair, stretching while you yawn. It seems V would be late to his own dinner invite, leaving you a smile, knowing this is a rare occurrence. Well, for a moment before seeing your lover walk in. He was holding his arm tightly.

Getting up and running towards him, immediately accessing his injuries. “Where did you put the first aid?” 

Him, now noticing you were in his place, “Near my computer.” He sat on his bed when you were climbing his steps, removing his hand for you to fix it up for him. “Didn’t expect you here. I would have done it myself.” 

“Well, a certain someone asked me to join him for dinner. I just didn’t expect to see you sliced up. Bad fight.” He nods. Placing that smile as you continue to patch him up. “Well, since I do not want to cook tonight, and I am gonna ban you from using your arm for a bit, let’s get takeout tonight. I’ll pay.” 

He was gonna reject the offer but knowing how much you care about people, he just agrees. Allowing you to finish up and buy food that you both like. Enjoy a somewhat relaxed dinner date with your boyfriend. 

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱

Angel 

Even though both of you have very demanding jobs, you both share a calendar on each of your phones to track when you guys hang out. Before both of you moved in together, you guys would sleep call about each other's jobs. 

When you notice she isn't taking care of herself, you try to make sure she does. Didn’t eat? You took your break early to make sure she eats. Tired? You pop up with a coffee with a note saying, ‘Sleep when you can love’. When she notices when you are also not taking care of yourself, she makes sure to take the next few days off with you to make sure you are on top health. She doesn’t want her favorite doctor to fall ill. 

When you find out that she is a cannibal, you often sneak out human bits for her, sure it’s a joke. But you always notice they disappear sooner or later. 

After losing a patient at your job, you would always take the next day off. And she would be at the ready. Holding you close as you cry into her arms, playing music in a playlist you both made. Just spending time with you until you feel better. 

▄︻═════

You wiped the tears off your cheeks, you had a patient pass away from their illness. They were a nice kid who had dreams of becoming a doctor like you. Someone like… you. You felt like you disappointed the child and their parents. Everyone except the child knew they weren’t able to live as long, and kept this from everyone. It devastated you. 

You heard your bedroom door open, looking over to see Angel with a steaming cup. She offered a small, comforting smile towards you. She sat closer to you as she shifted your head onto her lap. 

“I’m here for you.” She plays with your hair as she places the cup on your nightstand with her other hand. She hums softly to fill the quiet air around the both of you. 

She does make sure you eat and drink something, as you would do for her.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Ronin

Ronin wants to be able to see you often, either calling during your job or just showing up for a ‘check up’. Just to annoy you(But it always leaves you a smile everytime he does.). 

If you are a surgeon, he drags you out to his murders, you have to show him how to remove something. And he can, he wants you to, seeing you covered in blood reminds him that you aren’t some saving grace. 

If he’s injured, he just shows up to your place, bloody and bruised. Leaving you to patch him up, after all you are the doctor. Luckily, you always carry first aid. Though, you do reprimand him while you do, heck when he gets sassy, you knock the back of his head. But he will laugh at you when you do, knowing he pissed you off. 

On the unlucky days, losing a patient, Ronin was there. His twisted words always make you feel better somehow. Pulling you into his arms as he talked about his own job, distracting you from your own horrible reality at the moment. Or brings up the server, talking about how V isn’t getting any closer while pulling in jokes to see you smile. 

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Ronin dragged you out of your place, you just finished a 11 hour shift, so of course being tired was a understandment. Luckily, he brought you your favorite caffeine drink, a compromise in his eyes. Taking sips as he dragged you into his alleyway. He was out dragging poor souls that he would slaughter. 

He always brought you to so he can also learn about your job, using the dead boys to explain. Surgeon? You have to cut open the body to show how you do it at work. Check ups? You would have to use scraps nearby that could get the job done. If the victim was unknown to both of you, you would evaluate the body. The dead man was an alcoholic, and abused his lover for little details. You knew him as well. He treated you poorly. Maybe, Ronin did poison your brain for smiling at the male being dead. 

You were unbothered by the scene now, sipping your drink as you see Ronin stepping closer. “You have time tomorrow?” You shook your head. “Good, I need my favorite health care person tomorrow. I need to see how knowledgeable you are.” 

Rolling your eyes at his words, but you know you would be there with your boyfriend. No matter the mess you would see. 

“Now let's go, you seem like you are about to drop dead.” 

“Says the man who dragged me out of bed to see them kill someone.”

“What can I say, I need my partner to see the bad man dead.”

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Hope you enjoyed it again! Anyway, happy holidays!

[frogthane]

I’ve got some thoughts on Mouthwashing. Unsurprising, really. The developer did an excellent job with the unique style of the game as well as its themes (shoutout Wrong Organ!). Anywho, I wanted to focus on everyone’s struggles and how they all remain so human despite what circumstances threw their way. Except Jimmy. Fuck you, you were a monster before the ship crashed.

Daisuke is a sweet kid, still struggling to figure out what path he should head down and feeling the pressure from his parents. Despite his internal struggle, he’s still hardworking at everything he tries, even if he may not be the best at it, and naturally brightens those around him. During the rough months that followed the crash, leading to his easily avoidable death, he may have gotten sucked into the mouthwash, but he still cared for his crew mates and tried his best.

Swansea. A man dragged back to his addiction in trying times, sucked to the bottom of a bottle. Swansea had known difficult times before boarding the ship. He’s been an alcoholic, but turned his life around to become a better father and play into the world’s capitalistic tendencies. And yet, he still thinks back on his days blackout drunk as the best days of his life. He knew what his greatest problem was. Now, there was a role he was meant to follow along with the rest of society. Get a job. Have a family. Pay your taxes. Work diligently until retirement. His days of alcoholism were controlled by the drink. The days that followed were controlled by a government that couldn’t give less of a shit about him as an individual. So yes, he was bitter. He noticed the cogs of the world and became a grumpy old man. But, he was made more human when working with Daisuke. He still saw the innocence within the boy, the innocence he once possessed before descending down a cold endless road. He could be condescending at times, but I sort of interpreted their relationship as found family. Swansea took Daisuke under his wing and guided him through the work, protected him from danger. Until he witnessed innocence stolen once more, and from there, there was no going back. The cryopod he had so desperately been saving for this young boy was a waste, he had to spare Daisuke from agony and end it then and there, and he turned his rage on the one that took it all.

Anya. A poor girl who struggled in med school, now scared of the place she had come to consider her new home and family. “I have to believe that our worst moments don’t make us monsters, Jim.” “Why does the infirmary have locks but not our sleeping quarters?” A girl also stripped of her innocence by the very same man responsible for Daisuke’s demise. Alone in her quarters, no one heard her pleas for help when someone slipped into her room. No one listened to her pleas when she confessed to the captain she was pregnant. And no one understood the danger she tried to protect them all from by hiding the gun. She was all alone aboard that shop, despite being surrounded by people. Despite her attacker’s attempts to diminish her abilities as inferior, Anya was capable. She single handed lay kept the captain alive in unsanitary conditions, with few supplies and a stressful environment. She knew that even if she ever did get off this ship, her life was over. It would have been difficult enough finding another job with her education, but now she would have a child to look after too with critique from the media. Through it all, Anya did what she thought was necessary.

Curly. Captain Curly. The alleged perpetrator of crashing the ship into a meteor. Of all his flaws and faults, this was the one action he was innocent of. This doesn’t make him a nice guy. He may have seemed like a jolly fellow, solely interested in holding his crew together and making the best of their life, but to do so, he believed he first had to ignore the negative. So no, his friend wasn’t a bad guy, he just made a mistake, but he could talk this out, figure out what really happened, because they’d been together for a while, and so he would listen. Curly had his chance to take action. He could have eased Anya’s worries and reprimanded his friend, taken action to make sure he’d stay far away from Anya. He could have prevented this crash and done something when his friend said, “I’ll take care of it.” His end was fitting. Stuck on a table, watching his crew fall apart. He had his chance to take action, and so now he would see what it was to be truly incapable.

Jimmy. Friend. Team member. Copilot. Rap*st. Crasher. Liar. Coward. Murderer. But certainly not a hero, no matter what end he desired. He was the catalyst for it all. Jimmy urged Daisuke to crawl through that vent. Jimmy drove Anya to commit suic*de. Jimmy shot Swansea in the head. But hey, at least he took responsibility, right? He stepped up, led the crew, found codes, obtained medical supplies, kept the peace. As long as he took responsibility, right? He oh so bravely sacrificed himself and saved Curly, dying as a hero. Sorry. He uttered those words to one being, and you know who it was? A fucking pony. He views Swansea as the drunk, Daisuke as a worthless kid, Anya as an inferior being, Curly as someone he’s placed on a pedestal, a god. And only he and Curly can fix this now. Take responsibility.

It’s a devastating story about how a situation can introduce an individual’s demons. And I can’t help but feel bad for Swansea and Daisuke, two members who just happened to be on the ship when the other three became involved in a horrible situation (I say became involved in instead of cause because Anya is a victim and in no way caused any of it by speaking up). The wails of Anya’s unborn infant that rang through the halls as the ship first collided at the beginning will continue ringing through my ears for a little while, and I will not soon forget this game.

[ceoofsammonroe]

Cherry - Clay Beresford

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six |

Summary: Clay returns to The Silk Rose to see you again but, this time, you’re aware of who he truly is. He arrives with more of his questions and stories, but this time he pushes it a little too far…

Warnings: angst, arguing, descriptions of sex work, Clay can’t read the room.

Playlist | Masterlist

The smell of sweat and hairspray filled the air as you found yourself back at the club far sooner than you would’ve liked. You sat at your vanity, getting ready to begin the first set of your shift as Frenchie droned on about some creep who kept trying to slip her a fifty for a rule break.

“I told him that there was not enough hair on his head for him to have this kind of audacity,” she scoffed, reapplying her lipgloss. “If he was at least hot, maybe I would’ve flashed him a tit for a twenty, but I have no interest in catering to men who look like death warmed over…unless they’re offering to play my bills, now that would be a different story.”

You laughed as she ranted, amused by her mindless rambling. You’d take anything to get your mind off of the looming shift ahead of you. The place was crawling with the usual sleazy regulars, and the thought of entertaining them made your stomach churn.

Normally, it wasn’t something you would’ve minded. You would’ve known you could make a few extra bucks, and it wasn’t anything you weren’t used to…but then he came along.

How could you be content giving lap dances to sordid men when you could be drinking champagne and dancing to beautiful stories?

Damn him.

“What’s on your mind, sweet cheeks?” Frenchie asked, crossing her legs as she turned in her chair to face you.

You shook your head and said, “It’s nothing, French. Just some customer I had the other day.”

“Ah, the private room guy, eh?” Frenchie mused, wiggling her eyebrows. “I saw Sal hand you a big ole wad of cash afterward. You must’ve given him some performance in there.”

You’d been perplexed by the money at first, too. Of course, now, you knew that it was probably chump change to a man like him.

Clay Beresford.

You still couldn’t wrap your mind around it. What had the city’s hottest playboy been doing at a run down club on the Lower East Side? He was a billionaire for chrissakes, he could buy his own damn strip club if he wanted to. Did he think he was doing some kind of charity work, tipping extra to a girl leagues below his tax bracket?

Fuck that.

“He’s just another one of those men with their savior complex fantasies, trying to see more from this place than there is,” you shrugged, the bitterness in your tone palpable.

“Shit, doll,” Frenchie laughed, “with a tip like that, I’d let him save me any day he wanted to.”

You cracked an amused smile, shaking your head as you took off your robe and prepared for your set. Frenchie locked pinkies with you, wishing you luck before you made your way to the curtain at the back of the stage.

When it was time, the curtains opened and the warm lights hit you as you heard the whoops and cheers of the crowd. Bills immediately started flying as you began dancing about the stage, teasing and seducing as you went. You moved through the motions of your routine, feeling removed from it all, until you looked in the crowd and saw those striking blue eyes.

A smug smile crossed Clay’s face as he raised his glass to you in a silent toast, his eyes never leaving yours.

You tried to shake off the distraction, focusing on the rhythm of the music and the movement of your body. Still, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him as your mind raced with questions.

What was he doing here? Was this some kind of game? Was he trying to prove a point? Couldn’t he just hire his own strippers?

You tried to block all of it out, but those blue eyes stayed locked in the entire time. You’d looked back at him, just to make sure you weren’t somehow imagining it as you left the stage.

Your set hadn’t even been finished for an entire minute before Sal met you backstage to inform you that you had another private room booking.

It didn’t take much guessing to figure out who’d booked you.

With a huff, you made your way down the hall. You took a deep, steadying breath as you stood before room four again.

This is a transaction, you thought to yourself, I am just doing my job.

You entered the room to see Clay lounging on the couch again, as devastatingly beautiful as ever.

You turned on the facade, ready to perform as you asked, “Back so soon, pretty boy?”

Clay’s eyes sparkled with amusement as his gaze raked over you. His voice was rich and low as he said, “I couldn’t resist the temptation, Cherry. Besides, I wanted to see you again. You’re quite the performer, you know.”

“Come, join me. Let’s continue where we left off,” he said, patting the couch, offering for you to sit beside him.

“You know how this works,” you told him, shaking your head as you walked over to turn on the stereo. “I dance, you ask questions.”

You sauntered back over toward him, moving your body to the sensual beat of the music. Clay bit down on his lip, holding your gaze with intensity as you danced.

“I think I remember the rules, Cherry,” he smirked, his voice sultry, “but I have a proposition for you.”

You raised a brow, curiosity etching itself into your features as you nodded, “Go on.”

“How about I tell you a story and you dance for me?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees as he clasped his hands together. “I want to see you dance to my words, to feel the emotions they evoke in you.” He paused, his gaze lingering on you. “What do you say, Cherry?”

You felt your chest ache as your bravado momentarily slipped.

Hearing him tell another story was so tempting, but you didn’t like the way it threatened to make your heart flip — and you certainly wouldn’t let yourself be pulled into exploring his mind. You wouldn’t be roused to finding the story behind him and making something of it. That part of yourself was locked away.

“I don’t dance like that anymore,” you responded, trying to mask the sadness swimming through you. You rolled your hips seductively as you said, “Besides, that’s not the kind of dancing you paid for.”

Clay’s eyes softened, his gaze seeming to understand your reluctance.

“I apologize, Cherry,” he said, his voice sincere. “I didn’t mean to push you. I’m just…intrigued by you.”

He watched, intently, as you danced. His attention never wavering, even as his mind seemed to be reeling with something.

“Tell me, Cherry,” he began, after a moment. “What is it you’re running from?”

Ouch.

That certainly hit a sore spot. You didn’t want to think about your past. You didn’t want to think about the person you were or what turned you into the person you had become now.

“What about you?” You countered, trying to keep your tone playful. “What’s a beloved playboy celebrity doing in a small strip club like this?”

Clay nodded, solemnly, casting his gaze downward. He didn’t allow the slip in his demeanor to remain for long, replacing the small frown with a thoughtful look.

“I’ve always been drawn to the unpredictable, Cherry,” he said, his voice low and measured. “To the raw, untamed beauty of human nature.” He paused, his eyes looking up to meet yours. “Perhaps I’m just looking for something real in a world filled with illusion. Besides, everyone needs a break from the limelight every now and again.”

You cocked your head to the side and asked, “Is this not an illusion? We’re paid to fill the shoes of our paying customer’s fantasies.”

You slowly walked over toward him, placing your hands on the top of the couch as you leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Is this your fantasy?”

Clay’s breath caught in his throat as you leaned over him, his eyes locking onto yours.

“This isn’t a fantasy, Cherry,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “This is a moment of truth amidst the lies,” his gaze burned with desire as he continued, “but maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m seeking an escape. A reprieve from the life I’ve built around me.”

He leaned in, his lips almost brushing against your ear as he whispered, “What about you, hm? Is this your reality, or are you seeking your own escape?”

You threw your head back in exasperation, letting out a laugh as you said, “Don’t you ever ask normal questions? What happened to things like: what’s your favorite color?”

Clay chuckled softly, eyes crinkling as he gripped the edge of the couch.

“Sorry, Cherry,” he smiled, his tone tinged with humor. “I can’t help but be drawn to the deeper questions but, if you insist…” He paused, his eyes locked onto you. “Tell me, Cherry. What’s your favorite color?”

You stopped dancing for a moment and let yourself gaze into his eyes.

Those damned dazzling eyes.

“Blue,” you said, quietly, a small smile threatening to pull at your lips.

“Blue, huh?” Clay grinned, his features softening. “A color of depth and mystery. Just like you, Cherry.”

You know that you shouldn’t be indulging in this. Getting to know each other. It was reckless and idiotic and couldn’t lead to anything good. Still, you found yourself asking, “What about you? What’s your favorite color, pretty boy?”

“Red,” he replied, without a moments hesitation. His grin widened, admiration and playfulness dancing in his eyes. “My favorite color is red.”

You cocked a brow, your tone dripping with amusement as you asked, “Like Cherries?”

“Yes,” he responded, cheekily. “Cherries, passion, danger, love. It’s a color that represents all of the things we crave in life. Mostly, it’s a color that reminds me of you. The fiery spirit that burns within you, hidden under layers of meticulously crafted ice. You’re an enigma wrapped in a riddle.”

“Do you make habits of waxing poetic to every stripper you hire?” You quipped, smirking at him despite the way your heart was racing.

“I don’t make a habit of hiring strippers, Cherry,” he laughed, softly, “but, if I did, I imagine they’d all wish that they were as fascinating as you.”

The tension in the air was palpable. You could hear the drum of your heart beneath your chest as his hands itched to reach out for you.

You swallowed thickly, the need to create distance between the two of you urgent.

You stood back up, continuing to move to the music as you tried to calm the roaring storm inside of you. You were dancing on thin ice and, if you weren’t careful, you would surely sink beneath it.

Clay watched you, thoughtfully. His mind was transfixed, his eyes following the curves of your body. He couldn’t deny the magnetic pull he felt toward you, though he tried to adhere to the boundaries set in place. Still, he couldn’t stop from wondering of all of the possibilities.

“You’re getting awfully quiet over there, pretty boy,” you joked. “Run out of questions?”

“No, Cherry,” he said, laughing softly. “I’m just appreciating the view.” He slowly licked his lips, leaning forward. “I could tell you another story if you’d like?”

“Ah, another one of those poetic stories,” you sighed, giving him a playful grin as you spun around. “You’re paying for your time in here. If you want to fill it with your musings, be my guest.”

“Very well,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Let me spin you a tale of a woman who ran from her past, only to find herself entangled in a web of desire and deceit. The heroin of my story, much like you, struggled to maintain control — to keep her emotions at bay. As fate would have it, she found solace in the most unexpected of places, and love in the arms of a man who refused to be ignored.”

His voice was hypnotizing as he spoke and you stopped dancing for a moment, standing still with curious eyes locked on him — waiting for him to go on.

“In the end, Cherry,” he continued, the sincerity in his voice nearly sickening, “she learned that, sometimes, the greatest escape comes from facing the truth.”

His eyes searched yours, searching for a reaction — for answers.

A lump formed in your throat and you tried to swallow it down. Damn these men and their idealistic savior complexes. They think that they are the perfect hero, searching for their damsel in distress.

“Shakespeare is rolling in his grave, pretty boy,” you said, with less play in your voice than you’d intended.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, Cherry,” he smiled, “but, then again, life has a way of writing its own plays, doesn’t it? So, tell me, do you ever wonder what your story would be?”

“I think we all write our own stories,” you told him, “and I don’t think half of them are as grand and you’d like for them to be.”

“I believe that there’s magic in every day life, Cherry,” he said, softly. “Even the smallest acts can hold immense significance.” He paused, his fingers tapping on the arm rest. “You’re right, though, I can be overly romantic at times.” His eyes met yours, his voice low and earnest. “Your story may not be grand, but I suspect it’s far from ordinary.”

His words, these moments…it was all too much. You wouldn’t fall for these games. You knew how men like him worked. Your job be damned.

“You know nothing of my story,” you said, quietly, turning off the music as the timer rang. “You just pay me to fill whatever void it is you’ve got in your precious high end life. I’m just a fantasy to people like you, remember?”

You held his gaze, blinded by your building anger. You could feel the walls of your defensiveness closing in around you.

You walked toward the door, only pausing to say one last thing.

“Don’t come back.”

Clay watched you go, his face heavy with a mixture of regret and longing.

“Cherry…” he started, his voice pleading, but you were gone before he could finish — leaving him alone with his thoughts once again.

You hurried to the dressing room, changing into normal clothes and grabbing your things.

Frenchie gave you a questioning look, but you simply said, “You can have the rich savior men, I don’t want them.”

You walked out the door, barely stopping to grab the cash from Sal as you left. You didn’t need to count it to know that it was an obscene amount of money.

You went home to your apartment, trying to drown out the sense of emptiness you felt in the pit of your stomach. You never should’ve let his words affect you. You should’ve kept everything transactional. Guys like him just wanted a side project — something to entertain them.

You didn’t have any interest in being a part of their world.

————————————————————————

tag list

@haydensbbg @dinorawrss

[blueflamehellfire]

If Not For You (Hellcheer) pt 1

Eddie Munson hadn’t left Hawkins like he always planned, instead he went to a trade school after ‘86 and got his ASE certification. He found a small shop that was abandoned, paid the property taxes, and opened his business. He quickly became the best mechanic in Hawkins and thanks to his uncle managing the books he has been able to focus on fixing the cars.

However things weren't going smoothly due to Eddie having to make the appointments, leave time for walk-ins, etc. He needed help on that front so over dinner at Benny’s he asks about Wayne possibly hiring a person to make appointments. Wayne says of course and a few days later he calls Eddie into the office.

“The new hire is coming in soon. She’s a single mother and needs to bring her daughter with her for now. I set up a playpen for the girl.” Wayne says motioning to the corner behind the desk. “I expect you to be nice Eddie Munson.” he says firmly. “Wayne, I'm not going to ruin my business by being a jerk to whoever it is you hired.” He says sighing as he pours him some more coffee into his cup, “How old is the kid? I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“She’s 2. I’ve explained to her mom that she’ll need to keep her with her or in the playpen.” Wayne says and Eddie nods. “You have a customer.” He says pointing to the burgundy 1983 BMW 733i that just pulled in causing Eddie to take one final drink and set it down before walking out. Eddie is busy talking to none other than Steve Harrington to notice Chrissy walking into his shop with a blonde toddler on her hip and a baby bag on her shoulder.

“Wayne, I need to order a new camshaft for the Bmw 733i.” Eddie calls as he walks through the door stopping short when he sees Chrissy behind their little desk on the phone with a client writing something in a notebook and then she hangs up.

“Hey, Eddie.” She says nervously, “Your uncle hired me.. I hope that’s not a problem.” She nervously played with the hem of her skirt.

“It’s ok.” He says giving her a small smile before walking over and taking the phone dialing a number. He gets the part ordered and has Chrissy write down when it’ll be in. He hangs up and looks at her, “If you can stay a bit later I’ll tell you what I need you to do around here.” 

She nods, “I can stay later. It’s just me and Beth now so I don’t have any reason I can’t stay.” She says quietly and Eddie nods.

“Ok thank you.” he says before leaving back to the garage part of the shop. He explains that it’ll be a few days and that Steve is welcome to use the phone in the shop to call someone to pick him up. Then his appointment arrived so he parked the BMW and hung the keys up.

It’s 6 hours later when Eddie closes up shop and walks into the office as the last customer was leaving. He has oil and grease on him from the cars, but he looks happier than he ever had in school. Chrissy iss swaying side to side with her daughter who looked like she had just got done crying.

He washes up and sighs, “I’m hungry. Are you guys?” He asks, looking at Wayne and Chrissy. Wayne nods, but Chrissy shakes her head.

“I don’t have extra cash for anything but essentials.” she explains and both men look at her then each other.

“My treat.” Wayne says, straightening up and grabbing his keys. “Come on we’ll get Benny’s.” He says and Eddie hums with a nod.

“You really don’t have to feed me. I can make something at home. It’s no problem.” she argues and Wayne looks at her with a small smile.

“Miss Cunningham, you’re a part of us now so we’ll take care of you as we would each other.” he says and pats her shoulder “You’re not a problem at all.”

Chrissy nods and grabs her diaper bag following Wayne out of the shop leaving Eddie to lock everything up. He had just bought Wayne a new truck since his truck had crapped out on him. Eddie opened the door for Chrissy who crawled in and buckled her and her daughter in with a soft thank you.

Eddie climbed in the front and looked at Wayne, “Let’s stop by the general store really quick.” He says and he turns down the radio.

“So what are you going to need from me?” Chrissy asks nervously as she holds the little girl’s hands.

“I’m sure Uncle Wayne explained most of it, but I need you to make appointments and order parts.” He says looking at her. “You’ll handle the money and I’ll need to make you a cheat sheet for what are problems and what questions to ask the people who call in.” He says making a list of things he needed to do, causing his uncle to laugh slightly at his nephew’s antics.

“Eddie slow down a little bit. It was her first day, there's no need to cram everything into one day.” Wayne says after he caught the panicked look on Chrissy’s face.

“Right. I’m sorry. The second half was more for me, not you.” He says twisting to look at her again. He studied her face a moment before humming, “What’s your little girl’s name?” 

“Elizabeth.” She says quietly and smiles at her. “She’s two and my whole world.” Chrissy says it proudly as if being 21 with a 2 year old was the best thing to happen to her.

“I see. She’s adorable. She looks like you.” He says reaching back to offer his hand to the little girl who just stared at him with big blue eyes. He laughs and pulls his hand back as they get to the general store.

Everyone in town knew who the father was; The Cunninghams and the Carvers made a huge deal out of their families merging and becoming one when Chrissy and Jason got married in September of ‘86 when they were just 19. Eddie, being 2 years older, couldn’t imagine being married with a kid at 19 let alone now.

“Chrissy, can you come in with me?” Eddie asks as he gets out of the truck. He helps her out and Wayne comes around to take Elizabeth promising to take care of her.

Chrissy nods and follows Eddie in, “What did we stop here for?” she asks, looking up at the curly haired man. “Well if we’re going to be feeding you and Elizabeth at the weekly business dinner then we’ll need to get a carseat for the truck. I also want to get some things to keep at the office in case you run out.” He says looking at her.

“I plan on getting a babysitter once I have a steady income. I just need to bring her for a little bit.” She says looking down. “I just have to find someone who would be willing to do it.”

“Why don’t you try Steve Harrington? A friend of mine says he’s great with kids. I could talk to him for you. I know he’s in between jobs right now.” Eddie says looking at the car seats he looks so lost as he reads about the features and safety things. He picks out one that sounds really good and looks at Chrissy in question. “That’s really expensive, Eddie. We can get a cheaper one.” She says, sounding like she’s panicking a little bit. It’s obvious she’s already thinking of how to pay him back.

“Hey don’t worry about paying me back. I want to make sure the little one is safe and has what she needs.” He then turns red, “Not that you’re not doing a good job. I just remember my mom and uncle telling me that sometimes you can have everything you think you need and then something happens and you need something else that you don’t have.”

Chrissy nods slowly, “Ok…you don’t have too though. I know you need office space for the business.” “We have a closet that holds the coffee, filters, snacks, and personal things. We can just put her stuff there.” He says smiling softly. So they spend a good 20 minutes making sure to get Elizabeth everything that Chrissy may need while at work including fruits and veggie snacks.

Once they are done and back at the truck Eddie installs the car seat properly and smiles, “There we go.” he says and takes Elizabeth and sits her in the car seat buckling her in with a big smile and puffing his cheeks out. The little girl giggles and grabs a handful of his hair causing Eddie to squawk and grab her little hand gently. “Gotta let go of my hair, pretty girl.” he says as Chrissy works to untangle her hand from his curls.

She finally got it undone and the girl starts whining so Eddie smiles, “How about I sit back here by you?” he asks looking at Chrissy for her ok. Once she nodded he climbed in and sat by Elizabeth entertaining her while they drove to Benny’s and then they took Chrissy and the baby back to her house bidding her good night.

[crunchystarz]

"A Distant Memory I Used to Know"

Chapter - 2 EyelessJack x GNreader

Previous - chapter index

CW- none

Summary: After you drop your brother off at school you run into that same masked man from a few days ago.

Word count: 2429

“We've been looking more into the recent rise in the numbers of murders taking place in our ci-"

With a click the TV powered off. You needed to not listen to the news, for your own sake you told yourself. Placing the remote back on the counter you let out a sigh.

You don't need anything else to feed your paranoia. You haven't been able to sleep much after the convenience store incident. You felt like you were going insane. It was just some random guy, so why was it driving you crazy?

You hated that one small thing that messed with your head so much.

It's just one guy. One weird masked guy. You felt as if you saw that mask before. Like you know it from somewhere.

Who are you kidding? You needed to call your therapist and see if any spots opened up sooner than your initial date.

"What do you think would happen if a fox were to drink an entire can of soda?" A chirpy voice said from behind you.

Hunter rested his head in his hands. You chuckled and ruffled through his scruffy black hair still slightly damp from his shower. He swatted you away while laughing.

“Foxes don't have opposable thumbs. How would they drink from a can? " You playfully questioned swiftly turning around and flipping the pancake to cook it on the other side.

“Well I never said it had to come from a can just it was the amount that was in a can! Plus it could have knocked it over” The boy playfully bantered back.

You let out a fake hurt gasp before putting your hand on your hip giving him a glare. “Getting sassy with me now Mr, Bold maybe I shouldn't add chocolate chips to your pancakes”

“Nooo” Hunter said, flopping his upper body on the counter, head down.

“That's what I thought” You chuckled gently hitting him on the head with your spatula.

Hunter was one of the only good things in your life that came from your past. You were adopted into a middle class white family when you were 4. Your parents weren't really in your life much however. Growing up you were convinced they only had adopted you for tax benefits.

They weren't physically abusive however they played a massive part in your poor mental health growing up. They didn't go to things like school graduations or after school club things. They never got you anything for Christmas only every other birthday you'd get a happy birthday card as a rushed gift.

They never knew how to take care of things like your hair which you learned all by yourself through lots of trial and era and almost killing it tons of times.

Things like this led to your already poor social skills dropping so low they were basically non-existent. You hated talking to most people and your friends never lasted long.

Except for one boy. You don't remember much about him because a lot of your life is a blur but he was nice and stuck with you throughout highschool as you recall.

Hunter was their golden child. Their first blood child. He was spoiled for the first two years of his life until your mom passed due to unfortunate circumstances.

Your mom was always the more responsible one. She worked a ton and did a lot of the financial work. She tried more with you yet wasn’t super active in your life.

Unlike your father who was always a complete snob. He was a college dropout who stayed home. Sometimes you'd even wonder how any one can put up with that man

Your dad got a new girlfriend pretty fast after your mother's death. Things got worse and your father payed no attention to Hunter after that.

You adored your brother however, he was a good kid with a kind heart. So you were more than happy to basically be the one to raise him for a little bit until you went off to college.

You and Hunter had a 15 year age gap but you two were still extremely close. Your brother got you and helped you stay grounded.

With you having your own place and all you could take care of Hunter more often. Unfortunately for legal reasons you couldn't keep the kid all the time and you've sometimes debated on trying to get full custody over him but you knew it probably wouldn't end well.

Despite only being 12 Hunter was extremely smart. He for the most part understood your weird traumatized brain and was a big help when it came to calming you down other than the pills. He really was your only family.

"Who do you think would win million Pikachus or Godzilla?" The raven hair asked, reaching for the syrup bottle that was on the farther end of the counter. You put the plate of hot pancakes on the surface before pushing the maple syrup closer to the boy.

"How about we stop talking and eat ,hurry before you're late for school" You chuckled to yourself. Hunter pouted but started to dig in anyway.

You went to clean up your batter mess you made in the kitchen. You'd need to change before you left the apartment because your shirt was now covered in dried up pancake mix. You usually didn't make big breakfasts like these but you'd do anything for your brother.

You went off to get changed while Hunter finished up breakfast. It was getting significantly colder so you made sure to put it on your mental list to get Hunter a new winter jacket.He was tall for his age.He had a huge growth spurt a few months ago yet his voice was still as squeaky as can be. His new height difference meant he needed new clothes and you wanted to make sure he stays warm during the upcoming winter.

You two left your apartment after two checks to make sure he had everything. Hunter went on ahead before you, skipping down the steps that led to your apartment which was on the second floor.

You locked up your door, again making sure to lock both the bottom and the top. A familiar meow from a few days rang through your ears. You looked down to see the kitten from before under your legs. It meow and rubbed your leg. Your heart basically melted.

"Hey buddy nice to see you again...I hope you're keeping warm- I can't stay long though" You said to the cat who obviously didn't understand what you were saying just appreciated the chin scratches it received from you.

You realized you should head off before Hunter got inpatient and threatened to eat your entire kitchen again. You gave the chestnut colored cat one last pat before hurrying to catch up with your younger brother.

Hunter's school is luckily in a good distance for you to walk from and back to. This helps save gas whenever he was over on days he had school. You smiled as the younger boy walked on the sidewalk occasionally kicking a fallen leaf.

When you two got to middle school you made sure to do your little "don't get into any trouble" speech before shooing the boy. He gave you a hug before sprinting off when he saw one of his friends. You smiled to yourself as you went to walk in the direction you had came from.

You hummed a random tune as you slowly strolled along the concrete. You weren't in a rush to go anywhere so you could take in the calm scenery. It wasn't an extremely pretty sight as you were just walking through your neighborhood but it was an early morning in the beginning of fall. You were allowed to appreciate the small things.

Your body tensed up but you never stopped walking. There it was again. You couldn't catch a break could you? The feeling of eyes on you was back. It made your skin itch. It made you want to sprint home and get under your covers where you felt safe.

You're just being paranoid again [ name] just like you always are there is no one watc-

Your brain circuited as you felt something hard bump into you. Well more so you bumped into it. A person. Once you collected yourself from your mini shock. God you were all over the place, You fully realized you bumped into a person. A person. A human being.

"Holy shit I am so sorry I wasn't paying attention I-" You blurted out an jumbled up apology. Embarrassed, you cleared your throat. Just like the first time your heart skipped a beat. It felt...sickly. A discomforting feeling of familiarity washed over you.

You were met with silence from the same hooded man from the other day. The same masked weirdo that was like a plague to your mind. That mask. Against you felt as if you've seen it before. The thought made your stomach twist. You soon realized how tall the brunette was exactly. You had to basically step back to look at him properly. He was so tall it almost felt... unnatural.

You got a better look at the man from last time. He was lanky and scruffy looking. You couldn't make out any facial features as he wore a mask. A blue mask covered in some unknown goop. It looked more dried out than the last time you saw it. Maybe it was paint. He wore the basic black hoodie like before and tattered jeans. His shoes were beat up and definitely have seen better days.

The way he looked at you made you cold. You swallowed and subconsciously made yourself look bigger. That damn mask. It would make any normal person uncomfortable but man it felt as if the empty sockets of the eyes were just staring into you.

You were snapped out of your trance when you heard him clear his throat. "No its fine I wasn't paying attention as much as you were..." That british accent called out.

The second time you heard him speak. His voice didn't match his creepy appearance. While it was extremely monotone it was strangely calming. You wanted to say something so bad.

You didn't know why just something made you want to. Maybe you thought talking to him would make him leave your brain completely and you'd give your mind some closer that we was just some weirdo walking around. Just as he started to continue his way down the street.

"Hey um uh-"

You didn't know what to say. He stopped. That's good. You hoped anyway. He turned on his heel and faced you again. He tilted his head in an almost animalistic way. As if he was showing you he was listening, waiting for you to continue. While he stared at you, that weird feeling of being watched came back. You swallowed a lump of air.

"Do you live around here?... I haven't seen you around here is what I meant-" You stopped yourself from talking you sounded like a mess. You felt embarrassed. You honestly didn't know what to say. You started rethinking why you even stopped him. You really had no reason other than you couldn't get this stranger out of your head. You felt absolutely insane.

He's literally just some weirdo that you so happened to run into twice. A weirdo that you for some unknown reason feel like you know. A stranger. A stranger in a mask. Calm yourself.

"Do you…remember me too?”

Your thoughts halted when he spoke up again. You didn't get to catch what he said because you were so wrapped up in your own head. You felt bad and gave him a weak smile.

" I'm sorry, what was that?"

…

" It was nothing I just had said you're that same person from the other day is all. It's funny running into you again especially because I don't necessarily live around here" He supposedly repeated with a shrug. You let out a sigh of relief and chuckled a little to yourself. You really are getting yourself worked up over nothing.

He is just some weirdo.

"sorry for um you know stopping you out of nowhere i just don't know i couldn't get you out of my head- wait no that sound creepy it's just you have a strange.... appearance? I'm just making this worse for myself aren't I" You awkwardly laughed. To your surprise the masked man let out a laugh. This calmed your nerves a little bit.

"I get it not everyday you see someone who looks like...well me I guess. Just walking around in broad daylight like some kind of freak " He replied in his monotone voice. You two just stared at each in silence for a bit. He cleared his throat before nodding his head.

"I should go...stay safe out here with all these murders and all"

"y-yeah um you too"

The brunette walked away with a quick wave goodbye. Maybe he was some psychopath your brain tricked you into thinking you knew after all.

You ran your tongue across your bottom row of teeth before taking a deep breath. You needed a nap, or an entire tub of ice cream. Both. Both would be needed.

You turned on your heels before making your way home. You listened to your footsteps as you walked up your apartment stairs.

You were stopped yet again but a now familiar fur ball. The tiny cat watched you as you unlocked the door to your home. You thought it was going to run off again but instead it let it into the building. You blinked as it turned to you and let out a meow.

"This is not your house, all though I might have to just name you if you keep showing up like this" You basically scolded the kitten.

It meowed at you again as if it was talking back to you. You put your hands on your hip and stared down at the creature. "You're adorable but you need out" You said as if it understood you, you pointed to the open door.

It just meowed again and walked farther into your home. You let out a sigh. You were to mentally and physically exhausted to chase a kitten out of your home. You shut your front door and promised yourself you'd deal with the kitten who was now rubbing itself all over your couch later.

—

"What happened to you?"

....

"stay back"

"please..."

[cowpokeomens]

helloooo ~

could you please do a casual outing date with noah sebastian? anything from a simple lunch to some shopping just super fluffy and cute thank uuuu

Ask and ye shall receive! This is loosely based off of an experience I had a few weeks ago (The entranced window-gazing, not the almost-sugar daddy part, RIP me ig) Enjoy!

You had a long week. It seemed like your higher-ups gotten more demanding with each passing day. As if going to a shitty job wasn’t hard enough on its own, Noah was home from tour, too. You could drag yourself to work with the promise of a venti triple shot drink from Starbucks most days, but with his sleeping form next you in bed- warm, tattooed skin on display- the feat of getting up became nearly impossible. When the weekend finally rolled around, you embraced it with open arms, sleeping in until 11AM on Saturday. 

You awoke to the smell of coffee, stretching your arms and padding your way into the kitchen. You found Noah there, sweatpants slung low on his hips, swiping on his phone while music played softly from the TV in the living room. He glanced up upon your arrival. 

“Well good morning, gorgeous. I was starting to wonder where I was going to hide your body.” He flashed you a lopsided grin.

You returned the smile, going over to where the coffee pot was still set to warm. “You couldn’t get rid of me that easily, Sebastian. I’d haunt your ass.”

“Oh no! I hope the scary, sexy ghost doesn’t watch me in the shower!” Noah mock-cried, waving his hands in the air for effect. You giggled at his antics, adding creamer to your coffee as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, placing a kiss on your shoulder. “What’re we doing today, buttercup?”

You thought about it for a moment. “Well, I need a new pair of shoes for work, supportive sole type shit-”

“Nope.” You were cut off by the man behind you. “No boring work shit today. We’re having fun.” 

“Fun?” You echoed, turning just enough to waggle your eyebrows at him. 

He rolled his eyes, snorting at you. “Not that kind of fun, you freak. Good, wholesome, Christian fun.”

“Ooh, are we gonna make out on the bus on the way to church camp?” You mocked him.

“I cannot stand you. Have I said that before? Because I can’t.” His actions betrayed his words as he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek, then the top of your head, then your shoulder again. 

“Then what is your definition of ‘good, wholesome, Christian fun,’ Sebastian?” You turned to face him fully, sipping from your mug. 

“I was thinking retail therapy. We could go to that shopping center you like so much, with the paper store that has all the tape and stuff.” He puffed his chest proudly for remembering it.

“The stationary store.” You pondered aloud. “I could get stickers.”

He nodded eagerly. “I’ll buy you so many fucking stickers, baby.”

You grinned up at him. “I’m sold. Let me brush my teeth and find udnerwear-”

“-Hey, no pressure from me-”

It was your turn to roll your eyes at him. “-And then we can head out.”

_________________________________________

A few hours later you found yourself in a shopping center somewhere in the northern section of your city. It was more of an outdoor mall, but you really only preferred a small corner of the sprawl. 

Noah walked beside you cheerfully, hand tightly clasped in yours. His other hand held a cute, pastel blue bag from the stationary store, where you had racked up quite the tab. Before you could get your card out, though, Noah was tapping his own against the machine. 

“You didn’t have to do that, babe.” You pouted, feeling guilty. 

He shrugged. “I’ve got that ‘Rockstar Boyfriend’ money now, baby, I can buy you stickers.”

You snorted at him. “Glad to hear that Jolly has been filing you guys’ taxes correctly.”

“Hey, I help, too.” He protested. 

“Mhm, no one can work the espresso machine for him quite like you, dear.” You mollified him. 

“I can’t believe I’m being treated this way, I have an ‘Alternative Press’ cover, y’know-”

He got quiet when he noticed you had stopped walking. He glanced at you, concerned, then followed your line of sight. 

You were gazing, open-mouthed, into the window of a purse store. You didn’t actually know anything about luxury brands- much less designer handbags- but you could recognize art when you saw it. 

It was black, probably genuine leather. A cross-body bag, pleasantly spacious without being large. Its silver rivets glinted at you in the midday sun, enticing you with their gleam. A thick, silver chain decorated the top, contrasting sharply with the clean cut of the long black handle. 

“What?” He asked at last. 

“Sorry.” You responded absently, still not looking away. 

He huffed a laugh. “Do you want to go inside?” 

“No.” Came your immediate response. 

“Babe, I know that look. That’s how you looked at me the first day I got back from tour. Now, I’m not so insecure as a man to let a purse threaten me, but if you start talking dirty to it-”

“Shut up, Noah.” You finally broke your stare to turn to him, giggling. “It’s just pretty is all.”

“‘Pretty?’” He repeated.

You nodded earnestly, already beginning to walk away. 

“Well hey, if it’s so ‘pretty,’ let’s go inside and get a closer look.” He tugged on your joined hands.

You grimaced, lowering your voice. “Baby, it’s probably like, a gajillion dollars-”

“Oh, I hope so. I just so happen to have a ‘Gajillion’ Monopoly dollar in my pocket. C’mon.” He tugged you once more, finally convincing you to follow.

The inside of the store was freakishly white. White walls, white display podiums, white chairs. Who the fuck comes in here to sit? You wondered to yourself. There, in the field of white, was your black sheep in all its glory. Noah released your hand as you glided over to it, sighing dreamily. You didn’t see anything saying you had to keep your hands to yourself, and you couldn’t resist the urge to touch it. A hand came up to run a single finger along the rivets, bumping up and down at their protrusion. You gripped the side experimentally, loving the squish of the leather. You had never been a bag person; You used the same backpack for the entirety of college, purchased for $20 at Walmart. You had other bags, mostly to carry things from point A to point B, but this was different. This was- what did the fashion bloggers call their clothes? A piece. This was a piece, not just a purse. 

You were shaken out of your reverie by Noah walking over to you, peering at the bag curiously. “You ready?”

You let out a deep breath. It was absolutely a gajillion dollars, and you could not justify the expense. You turned to Noah, about to say an affirmative, when a new, large shopping bag caught your eye. 

You recognized the brand emblazoned across the bag as the same one from the window. Your eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Noah, what did you do?”

His grin was devilish. “Relax. It was actually only half a gajillion dollars, quite the steal if you ask me.”

You could feel yourself panicking. “What? No! Go give it back!” Your whisper was frantic. 

He was outwardly laughing at you now. “No.”

Your eyes widened further, incredulity coloring your tone. “No?”

He shook his head, leaning in close to you. “Nope.” Then, taking your hand in his, he happily walked back outside, ignoring the saleswoman’s call of “Come back again soon!”

You barely kept up with his long legs. “Noah, I do not need a gajillion dollar-”

“Half a gajillion, babe. Half.”

You huffed. “Whatever. I don’t need an expensive purse, it’s not fair for you to be spending that kind of money on me when I can’t repay it-”

“I can think of a few ways you could repay me.” He cut you off again with a wink. 

“Noah.” You stopped walking. He could hear the change in your tone, stopping to turn to look at you. “I can’t- baby I really appreciate it but I can’t-”

“Hey.” He said softly, coming up to look into your eyes deeply. “Hey. This isn’t about owing me or anything. There’s no need for that between us.” You nodded, the movement small. “I see you busting your ass. I see you working hard. I can see that you’ve had a shitty couple of weeks. So if I have to go back and buy you all the gajillion dollar purses in that store, I will do it. If it will make you happy, I will personally see to it that you get every gajillion dollar purse manufactured on this continent.”

You couldn’t fight off the smile at his words, so sincere and sweet. He kissed your forehead for good measure, offering his hand out to you. 

“If it makes you feel better, you can buy lunch. The lady in the store talked me into getting the matching quarter-gajillion dollar wallet, too.”

Your jaw dropped. “Noah Sebastian-”

[elementary-my-dear-daddy]

Earning Your Keep

Analogical (Virgil & Logan)

This story will be a series for the sugar daddy idea i've had running around in my head for some time now lmao. I really hope you guys like it since I enjoy writing it :)

Read it on AO3!

Virgil likes to take care of those he holds close, and maybe also a stranger that offered him a ride home.

Virgil was never rich. His family was big and his parents couldn’t make very many ends meet for most of his life, leading him to work his way through school. Once he graduated with a bachelors in psychology, he picked up two jobs to start paying off his loans, one in retail which drove his mental health into the ground, and the other as a behavioral health tech at a rehab center, which only had night-shift positions open and kept him up all night. He was paid and treated like shit, and on the cusp of breaking down when he got extremely lucky. For his 27th birthday he got the usual card with a cheesy message from his grandparents, but instead of the typical twenty bucks or a gift card, he found a lottery ticket sitting neatly inside. He didn’t think much of it, handing it over to the convenience store clerk when he was picking up an energy drink before his next shift.

“I don’t think this is worth anything, but if it has anything on it can I just use it to pay for this?” Virgil put his drink on the counter while the clerk scanned the ticket.

“Woah, woah. Oh my god.” 

“What?”

“Dude, you just won.”

“Huh?” Virgil knit his brow in confusion. He glanced over at the cashier’s screen, noticing the rather large number it displayed.

“Yeah, you won the jackpot! It’s over like 200 million! Holy shit! Here, sign it and take it to a lawyer!” The person handed him back the slip of paper and a pen. Virgil’s brain had short-circuited, causing him to just follow instructions. He didn’t really understand what was happening, so he just took the ticket back and walked out and back to his car, driving straight home and immediately typing ‘what to do if you win the lottery’ into his computer.

A bunch of results came up saying a bunch of stuff- tax experts, lawyers, and a bunch of steps that caused Virgil to lay down on his bed and rock back and forth for a little while. He didn’t believe this was happening to him. Maybe it wasn’t real? This was just a nightmare right? A really good bad nightmare.

All the things he saw online said not to tell anyone, but he couldn’t just sit there not making a decision. He picked up the phone and dialed the only person he knew who could possibly help him out.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You what ?” Janus’ voice hissed through the speakers on Virgil's phone, “Is this some weird joke, because it isn’t landing well.”

“No, no, I promise it's real, I-I checked and the numbers match up and I verified it at the gas station and, and-”

“Virgil, breathe. Calm down. I’m coming over so we can talk. I’ll help you get this figured out, and make sure you aren’t having delusions of grandeur.” Janus sighed, “I’ll be there in 10.”

Janus was over shortly, Virgil working with him to figure out the next course of action. Everything was going so fast. The next day Janus helped him set up meetings and accounts, and get lawyers and a budget going. The week flew by in between the contracts and calls. Even the next few months seemed to go by in a blur of bureaucratic processes. 

The first thing he did was set his parents up with a decent place to live and help them with their debts and medical bills. He did the same for himself, getting his student loans paid off finally and allowing himself to move into a spacey yet cozy penthouse. He quit both his jobs, but tried to end on a good note with his boss at the clinic in case he did ever want to go back. He was, probably for the first time in his life, comfortable.

~~~~~~~~~~

Time kept passing and Virgil had to now figure out what he wanted to spend his time on. He’d picked up his passion for music again now that he could afford nice equipment, but never had the intent to go anywhere with it. He looked into some online classes he could take, just for fun and to keep his mind stimulated. He even worked with Janus and some of his lawyers to start a charity for helping disabled students with loans that didn’t have the luck that he had. That was as close to a job as he had, once they had an office set up he made a regular schedule to help sort things out with it.

The routine he made helped him adjust to his new life. Getting up, going to the office, processing applications, working on his classes and playing music. He didn’t really spend his money anymore beyond his needs. Nothing fancy brought him much happiness. He didn’t host parties or have many friends that hung out with him before he became well off. He’d tried to go on a few dates, but the people he’d seen either knew him from the news when he originally won or they’d act disinterested until he brought up his money. The one time he actually thought he’d found someone he was interested in, the guy had thrown a fit that he wanted to end their 3rd date early to not have a panic attack.

They went to a planetarium, which for the most part Virgil enjoyed, but the segment about how small of a spec the earth was in the grand scheme of the universe triggered the existentialist anxiety of dying alone and not mattering. He had to run out and go calm down, but that proved difficult with his date shouting.

“Do you know how fucking rude it is to just run out on your date? I had to pay for these tickets, you know, and they aren’t cheap!”

“I-I know, i’m sorry, I can, um, here I’ll pay you back-” Virgil started to reach for his wallet.

“Whatever, it’s fine, let’s just see if they’ll let us back in, cmon.” The guy tugged at Virgil’s arm.

“Um…Actually I was wondering if…s-sorry uh, could- could we just go home?”

“What, are you not having a nice night? You could at least not waste my time, you know.” 

“I know, I'm really sorry, we should- maybe, uh… you can go and I’ll just head home and call an uber-”

“Ugh are you serious?” His date frowned, “You know what? Just go, I don’t wanna deal with this anymore. Don’t call me again, we’re done.” 

He watched his date head back into the planetarium and sighed, resigning himself to a bench outside to shake off the rejection. He shivered as a spike of anxiety hit him. He had to count his breaths, but it wasn’t working. He was gonna end up alone and live a completely inconsequential life that had no impact whatsoever and-

“Are you alright?”

Virgil looked over at a man a few feet away from him. He stood tall, sporting glasses and a polo with the logo of the planetarium. Virgil didn’t couldn’t quite make out the name on the man’s name tag through his watery eyes. Oh shit, was he crying? No no no this couldn’t happen in public, he was a grown man crying in public-

“Oh, apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just thought I should intervene.” The man looked at Virgil with concern, “May I sit?”

Virgil nodded, easing slightly as he did. He took a shaky breath and wiped away his tears, “I-I’m so-sor-ry. I could-n’t stay in there. S-sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize, take as much time as you need to gather yourself.” He spoke calmly. His tone comforted Virgil enough to steady his breathing and collect his thoughts.

“I’m…I’m good. Sorry.” Virgil sighed, “Just had a shitty date.”

The man frowned, “I see. Was he your ride home?”

Virgil nodded, “Figured I’d just get a cab or something.”

“Don’t waste your money, my shift just ended. If you’re comfortable with it I’d be happy to offer you a way home.”

“No no I can’t, I mean- It’s fine it’s not like money’s the issue I just don’t wanna leave him here alone.”

“After he just left you?” 

Virgil looked towards the doors of the planetarium. He slumped his shoulders in resignation, “I guess you’re right.”

“I don’t mean to intrude on your personal affairs, but he is not worth your time if he does not respect your boundaries, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving you in a potentially unsafe environment. I would feel much more assured if I knew you returned home unharmed.”

“Fuck it, ok.” Virgil sighed. He looked over at the man and was able to see him a little more clearly. His name tag attached to a Dr. Who lanyard read Logan in bold font. He looked rather lanky and had bags under his eyes comparable to Virgil’s own.

“Would you like another minute to calm down or would you like to walk with me to my car now? I don’t mind waiting.”

“Uh, no, we can go now. Th-thank you, um, Logan.” Virgil offered a half smile.

“Of course, uh…”

“Virgil.”

“Virgil.” The man- Logan, stood up and motioned for the other to follow him.

Virgil stood and accompanied him to the car. It wasn’t the fanciest thing in the world, far from it. It looked like one of the windows had been punched out and was covered with cardboard and duct tape. It looked like an older car, and when they got in Logan had to start the engine a few times before it actually got running. 

“Please excuse the state of my car,” Logan said pulling his seatbelt on, “I’d fix the window on my own if I could but I’ve been too busy to do so. Here, do you mind putting your address in so I can get directions?”

Logan handed Virgil his phone, the other quickly inputting the info and handing it back. Virgil fastened his own seatbelt as they drove out of the parking lot.

“So, you work at the planetarium?”

“My shirt indicates so.”

“Right.” Virgil nodded, “What started that?”

“I needed a part-time job to work during nights while I attended college. I studied astronomy and a professor recommended applying for the position. The job just stuck after I graduated.” 

“That sounds pretty cool. You get to go to all those shows, right?”

“No, I get to sit in the ticket booth.” 

“Oh.” Virgil looked out the window as they drove, “I didn’t realize.”

“It's alright,” Logan said, shrugging, “I’ve seen them all anyway, when I had more free time.”

“You can’t take a day off?”

Logan’s lips pursed, “Not really. I work two other jobs.”

They both spent the rest of the ride in silence until the car approached the area where Virgil lived.

“You…live over here?” Logan questioned, looking around at the tall, well-kept buildings of the city.

“Um, yeah. I guess.” Virgil sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, “I moved here a few months ago. Doesn’t feel like it though.”

Logan hummed in acknowledgement, still looking around at how different this place seemed compared to where he lived. He pulled up to a decorative building with too many stories to count from his view. He parked the car and turned to Virgil.

“Thank you for allowing me to take you home. I’m sorry you had a rough night but hopefully you’ll find someone else that will accommodate your needs appropriately.” Logan offered a smile.

Virgil returned it, before clumsily reaching to take off his seatbelt and pull out his wallet, “Uh, here.”

He offered a wad of cash to Logan, who in return pushed it back, “No, please don’t worry about covering gas. It isn’t far from my-”

“Take it. Get your window fixed too. And if you need anything else just, um, give me a call or something. Thanks again, Logan.” Virgil said, getting out of the car and shutting the door.

Logan watched him greet the doorman (his building had a doorman?) and head to his apartment, before staring down at the cash. It added up to about $350, plus Virgil's business card. He blinked and debated trying to go after him, but decided he wouldn’t be able to find him since he didn’t know which apartment was his. He pulled out his own wallet and stuffed the cash inside. The card Virgil had given him had his name and number, along with the name of a charity Logan heard the name of a few times from the news. This was too much to process, so Logan just put the card in with the cash and drove home. That was a problem for someone much more well rested.

~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil flopped down on his bed as soon as he got home. He pulled out his phone and immediately blocked his date’s number, writing him off as just another insensitive asshole trying to take advantage of him. He let his mind relax in the safety of his home and tried to just forget about tonight. Except Logan. He couldn’t get him out of his mind.

Working two jobs had Virgil on the verge of a panic attack almost every night, he couldn’t imagine working three like Logan had. And how long had he been driving that car? Wasn’t it dangerous to drive when your engine doesn’t turn over and you don’t have a window? Those bags under his eyes, was he not sleeping well? Was the money he gave him enough to cover everything? 

Virgil exhaled through his nose and flipped onto his back. These were morning problems. Or at least wake up at 3 am and worry about life problems. He glanced at his clock- 10:30. Definitely something to deal with tomorrow.

[musclesaber]

Chest Cologne Chapter 2: The Sizemologist

[Story Gallery] [First Part] [Last Part]

After locking down his date with Patrick, Jacob turns to his old friend Sam for some help in the size department.

The next day, Jacob finished work and immediately headed to Sam’s shop. He parked his car and walked into the tiny store. The store is completely empty when Jacob entered and saw no one. On the inside, the shelves were cluttered with various drawers of herbs and spices. There were bottles and boxes that had things like “Back Pain Relief” or “Quick Energy Boost” written on them. Jacob continued walking around the store until he saw his old friend.

“Jacob!” The tall man practically ran over to Jacob to give him a hug.

 “Sammy! How’ve you been?” Jacob hugged Sam back and looked at him.

 “I’ve been great! I’m running the store all by myself now since my parents retired. I used to just run the business side of things, but now I do everything from the supply to the taxes to the stocking to the other stuff,” said Sam as he winked at Jacob.

 “Yeah, about that other stuff,” Jacob released their embrace. “I remember in college you gave Max that one thing to help him out with his boyfriend’s problem in the bedroom. Could you do something like that for me?” Sam looked at Jacob puzzled.

 “You knew about that?” asked Sam.

 “Of course I did. We all did. Max was always complaining about how his boyfriend AJ could never perform well in the bedroom. After winter break, he said you gave him something that solved his problem. Then I remember every time Max had seen AJ the day before, he was walking funny.” Sam laughed remembering what he had given Max.

 “HAHAHA! I had forgotten about that. Yes, I did help Max out a bit. Here, let’s go to the back where we can discuss the other side of the store.” Sam turned around and lead Jacob through a door into another room. This room was significantly smaller, but it was packed to the brim with books as well as drawers and cabinets.

 “What is all of this?” asked Jacob.

 “So Max came to me knowing my parents ran a store that helped people out with problems with their body through nontraditional medicine. We tend to work with people who are having chronic pains, deficient energy, depression, all kinds of stuff. But Max knew we would sometimes help with fertility. So I showed him what I had in stock to help with his boyfriend’s tiny dick and from what I hear, it worked like a charm. AJ’s cock grew from a measly 3 inches to 10 inches.”

 “Wait, you grew his cock?” asked Jacob. “How is that even possible?”

 “Alchemy my good man. With a little bit of magic sprinkled in for good measure.” Sam grabbed a book off of the shelf and started turning through the pages. “My father has a small bit of sorcery in his blood line. We can’t shoot fire balls or create portals with our magic wands, but we can infuse our magics into our items.” Sam stopped on a page and turned it so Jacob could see.

 ‘Eggplant Elixir: Drink this potion to enhance a male’s genitalia. Sizes may vary based on original size. Do not take any more than the recommended dosage from your sizemologist.

Side effects may include: Increased libido, an addiction to masturbation, surprise boners, an increase in body hair, and a loss in taste.’

             “Sam, what’s a sizemologist?” asked Jacob as he took the book and read more.

 “It’s what I am. I help people out with their size problems. Whether it’s too much or lack thereof. The ladder being more popular,” said Sam as he walked behind the counter in the room. “So old friend, what can I do for you?”

 “I need help with this date I’m going on later today. The guy I’m seeing is a total hunk and built like a brick house. Absolutely huge,” said Jacob as he swooned over Patrick.

 “That’s why we were such good friends in college. We were both huge size queens,” said Sam with a smile. “So what do you want to do? Make him bigger? Make yourself bigger? God forbid make him smaller?”

 “Make me bigger please. I was looking through his Insta and all of the guys he’s dated are walking walls of muscle.”

 “Well you’re no slouch in that department. You’ve certainly packed on more size since college,” said Sam pointing out the way Jacob’s shirt clung to his body.

 “Thanks Sam, but I’m talking bodybuilder big.”

 “Oh…That’s not you, my friend. I think I can help.” Sam swiveled around and started rummaging through drawers of and shelves of bottles and boxes. “Ooo here it is! Size Spice! Made to grow men huge without them even knowing! Just sprinkle it into their food and BOOM they’ll be giants in a minute.” Sam puts down a tiny little dime bag of white powder.

 “Um Sam, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but that looks exactly like a bump of coke,” said Jacob as he eyeballed the product.

 “It’s not cocaine. Calm down. Everything here is FDA approved. Mostly. But definitely not illegal substances.”

 “Then it’s perfect! I’ll take it!”

 “Great! That’ll be $500,” said Sam with a flat tone.

 “$500!?!?! Isn’t there some friends and family discount that I could be a part of?”

 “You are. The normal price is $1,000.”

 “$1,000?!?! Why is this stuff so expensive?!?!”

 “It’s a popular item. Most people love the idea of getting huge with just a sprinkle of salt. And if I’m being completely honest, a large container of these got shipped out of here by mistake and it’s not the easiest product to make.”

 “Shipped out? I thought you were just a local store?”

 “I normally am, but sometimes if I’m strapped for cash, I’ll sell my goods grocery stores if there have been things sitting on the shelves for a long time. I however got a shipment of international spices miss labeled and sent off these instead. Hence why it’s in a small baggy so I don’t confuse myself.” Jacob groaned as Sam told his story.

 “That’s too steep for me. I can’t pay that much. Do you have anything in the realm of maybe 100 bucks?” Sam put the bag away and turned back around to continue rifling through cabinets.

 “Hmm the date is tonight, right?”

 “Yeah. A cute Valentine’s Day date.”

 “Well, I have some stuff here that effects overall size, but it takes 12 hours to start seeing results,” said Sam turning around with a box of herbs.

 “The dates in an hour. What else you got?” Sam turned back around and opened up more drawers.

 “If you’re not gonna pay top dollar, I don’t have anything in that price range that will be fast acting and can affect the entire body,” said Sam as he turned back to Jacob.

 “What about on specific body part? Could I just grow that?”

 “Depends, which body part?” Jacob pondered for a moment. He looked down at himself. Looking over all of his muscles.

 “I think I’ll go with pecs.” They were by far the smallest muscle group on Jacob. Little to no definition in them and one of the things that Jacob consistently saw in all of the pictures Ryan had taken with his past lovers.

 “Let me see what I got.” Sam turned back around and started tearing through cabinets and drawers again. “Ah ha! I think I found something for you!” He turned back around holding a little perfume bottle. “Chest cologne. It will enhance your chest after spraying it anywhere on yourself.”

 “That sounds great! How much?”

 “For you? $80. And I’ll even throw something special into the mix that make men go wild when they smell it.” Sam pulled out a few vials along with an eye dropper and abeaker. “So, some quick things to know about this. Chest cologne is not meant to be worn often. The effects are not permanent if taken correctly. Your chest will slowly get smaller after the article of clothing that has been sprayed on it has been removed. DO NOT PUT ON YOUR SKIN! It is very hard to wash off and the effects of the spray could be long lasting.”

 “What’s so bad about having permanently bigger pecs?” asked Jacob.

 “The problem isn’t permanently bigger pecs. The problem is permanently growing pecs. The effects of the spray will stack on itself if you inhale it for a long period of time.” Sam kept mixing up liquids and shook them as he talked.

 “What if I spray it and then I am taking off my shirt soon after spraying it?”

 “No need to worry. You’ll grow until the effects have gotten out of your system. It’s just when you’re constantly smelling it on your body, it will never know it’s no longer supposed to grow, and it should shrink back down.”

 “How long will it take to shrink back down?”

 “Depends. Could be a few hours, days, weeks. It all depends on your body and how big you get your pecs.” Sam took a small drop out of the beaker he had and dropped it into the cologne bottle. “And you’re all set. Any more questions you have for me?”

 “Will my date be affected by the smell?”

 “Normally on a cologne, everyone in your immediate vicinity would smell it. However, with my magic in place, unless he puts his head up against your shirt and deeply inhales, he won’t be affected by the chest growth. But the libido enhancer, that I made so that anyone within a 10-foot radius will smell that on you.” Sam handed Jacob the bottle and Jacob handed him back some cash.

 “Thanks man, you’re a life saver. I owe you big time!” said Jacob as he began to make his way out of the store.

 “Of course man. No problem at all. If anything feels off about, you’ve got my number. And maybe after this date, we can catch up over coffee?” asked Sam as he followed Jacob to the door.

 “I’d love to. It was great to see you Sam. Wish me luck,” said Jacob as he walked out the door.

 “Good luck,” said Sam with a smile. As Jacob left, another customer walked in through the door. “Hi sir, how can I help you?” asked Sam.

 “Yeah, I bought this smoothie from a store the other day and it made my…um…uh…penis grow huge. And every time I get excited, I grow too big again. I heard that this was the place that could help out with those kinds of problems” Sam was listening to the man tell his story when his eyes shot open.

 “One moment sir!” Sam dashed out the door to see Jacob walking away. “Jacob! Don’t use more than one spray!”

 “What?!?”

 “Don’t use more than one spray! You might grow too big!”

 “What?!?”

 “Umm sir, I think I’ve got a problem in here. Oh fuck. Not again.” The customer inside started to moan as the bulge in his pants started getting much more pronounce.

 “Fuck. I’ll text you later!” Sam ran back inside to deal with the man with the growing boner. Jacob looked back and saw Sam walk back in. He just shrugged his shoulders and kept on walking.

[henriiiii-1001]

( John Sparks and George Banks making Six feel like he's sane again ) *invading church* G : DUDE! YOU GOTTA HELP, JOHN GOT STUCK IN THE FENCE! S : What? G : JOHN GOT STUCK IN THE FENCE! S : *turns to Luci* L : *puts two fingers up and disappears* S : .... Fine, I'll help

-le epic timeskip-

Six, seeing John's situation : Oh okay J : You two gonna help me or not?! S : How tf did you get your neck stuck in the fence anyway? J : It was a dare by my mother S : ....

-Six manages to get John's neck out of the fence but now they're gonna make the rest of his night unbearable-

J : So what's your name btw? Six, thinking of a fake name in 2 seconds : Uh.. Sullivan! G : Like that story of the big ass man who got stuck in the island with the miniature tiny people? S : Is- Is that supposed to be an insult? J : Definitely a compliment, usually he says much worse than just that S : Huh Oh and btw, the man's name was Gulliver, not Sullivan G : .... I'm hopeless

-12 seconds later-

J : Oh wait, we forgot to ask, what's your age? S : Why? G : We need to know if you're the grandson or the grandpa S : OK I'm.... 29! J : Booo that number sucks! G : You're headed to retirement already lmao S : :(

-21 seconds to later- S : Sooo, are you best friends or just regular friends? Cause you seem pretty close John, turning around to G : Ten seconds before midnight- Hi George, let's be friends *George has chosen violence* J : OW! WTF DUDE?! Help, he's trying to shove his fist in my nose! G : I'm sorry! J : What are you sorry about?! G : That I'm almost 19 and your birthday was only 2 months ago! J : You hate me because my birthday is on November?! G : Yes! Because I hate every month that don't include vacations! S : Oh good lord- Guys, stop that! Stop that! -le epic timeskip-

S : Okay, now that you two have ceased your crazy fight, you apologize! :D J : ... G : ... I don't know S : Are you afraid of being vulnerable? G : I only have one fear S : And that is...? G : That the police will find out what I did in 1988 S : Uhh.... J : He's a wanted criminal in 40 states

-le epic timeskip part 2-

G : Jo is immune to alternates because his house is a labyrinth. Just his living room has 1 million boxes everywhere- J : I'm moving! G : The alternates just walk into his house and are like "what the fuck is this place?" J : I'm moving, man! It's not my fault! S : Why Mandela of all counties? J : So me and my wife can perform tax evasion and not have a police constantly hunting us down S : ... G : Once he finally gets a woman to like him lol Six, mentally : (This some big brain moment)

-1 hour later-

Six : John, I'm getting really worried cause all you bought at the convenience store was like, two bags full of energy drinks and a weeks worth of potato chips J : It's my diet G : In case you couldn't tell, he's addicted to unhealthy shit J : To me every person above 20 is an asshole, so I'm on my slow but steady trip of dying of a heart attack before my 20th birthday S : That's- That's your goal in life? J : Yep! Maybe- Maybe when I go down to hell, Satan will name me "stupid of the year" S : Yeah, I'll call him and ask him to do that J : Will I get a bronze star for 'stupid of the year'? G : You're gonna get the fucking golden star J : That's my fucking dream S : He's gonna put a golden star sticker right in the middle of your forehead that says "stoopid of the year" J : Yay! :D

(silliness taking over me be like)

no idea who these guys are but this is cute! not sure if six would help a bunch of teenagers out of the blue (esp if they're trying to break into st gabriel's. if that's where they are) , but one can dream

[id-rather-be-an-outsider]

College and Chill (teaser)

summary: who knew that the aftereffects of a night of drinking would turn out to be so much more than just a hangover?

a/n: hey ya’ll, the plan was to post this during March, but a lot of shit came up. one of my aunties passed, I had finals, my boyfriend found out his dad has stage 4 cancer, and I got hit by a car while driving home from my mom’s house (really mad about that tbh), so things have NOT gone according to plan 😭 anywho, as an apology for being late, here is a teaser! I will release the completed version sometime this month :) hope you like what I have in store!

What? Is it terrible of me to not want to give a stranger my address? Whatever. Groaning, I roll out of bed and pull on some sweats and one of Colt’s t-shirts. He keeps spares here when we do movie night, and they’re comfy so I wear them as a closet tax when I’m lazing about. I slink into the kitchen, down a glass of water and head to the bathroom to finish getting ready. Nothing fancy, just deodorant and brushing my teeth. I pull my hair into a ponytail and pour myself some cereal.

I’ve only just sat down with my bowl when I hear a knock.

I sigh, pulling the door open to find Colt being held up by a broad-shouldered guy wearing a bomber jacket. The stranger and I both stare at each other for a couple seconds before Colt says, “Y/n, Porco, Porco, y/n. Can I please go sleep somewhere dark now?”

I chastise him, “You could’ve done that at your own dorm, you know.”

“Yea, but I want to make you suffer as revenge.”

“Fuck you, I could still shut this door in your face and say no.” I move to push the door closed until Porco’s hand pushes it back open.

“I’m not watching him all day.” He says flatly. “And from the looks of it...” He eyes Colt’s shirt, “You already have experience taking care of him.”

I roll my eyes. “We’re just friends. I can’t date someone who gets drunk after only two shots.”

He smirks. “You don’t seem like you can handle your shit either.” I slip under Colt’s other side to help him over to the couch.

“I can handle a little bit more than Colt- I just drink ‘til he’s gone and quit then. Pretty good strategy, if I do say so myself.”

We let Colt plop down on the couch, and he immediately slumps over, mostly unconscious.

“So, you guys drink often?” Porco asks.

I nod. “We were in cross country together. Lots of parties.”

He looks over at Colt, already curled up sleeping. “You can handle him?”

“Yea. I just tell him to shut up and sleep when I get stuck with him.”

“I owe you.” Porco says, rubbing the back of his neck as he stands by the door.

“Just bring me food or some shit.”

[dandthegods]

My Uncle Dionysus

a short story

My Uncle Dionysus

By; Darren Almgren

Being a demigod is weird nowadays. Not that it was ever “normal”, but you don’t have legacy quests, minotaurs or hydras to slay, and the tax benefits are basically non-existent. But, one of the perks that I enjoy is my uncle. I can be myself around him and now that I’m on my own I can see him a lot more than my mother would approve of.

Last night, I went over to his apartment. We spent most of the night watching movies, eating pizza, and drinking. Well, I was drinking. It hadn’t occurred to me until that night that my uncle almost never drank - despite having such a well stocked liquor cabinet and an entire wall in his dining room dedicated to a massive wine rack.

“Hey, D,” I said when this dawned on me, “why don’t you drink when I’m here?” I swallowed a mouthful of pizza. “If you don’t mind me asking.” My uncle smiled and cocked a bushy eyebrow.

“When have I ever minded your questions?” He picked up my half full glass of wine and stared at it. “To be honest, I don’t have a taste for it. Never have. Everyone else tastes sweetness, earthy notes, chocolate, and maybe a bitter aftertaste. But for me…” he took a small sip and made a quizzical face, “it always tastes sour and metallic. Almost exactly like blood.” He put the glass back on the coffee table. “It’s still alcohol and will still do its job to get even a god plastered, but it's not the same.” He sat back and ran a hand through his shoulder-length brown hair. “I’ve talked to Jesus about it. He says it's the same for him too. Moreso, even. Maybe it’s the whole ‘blood of christ’ thing for him - its his literal blood. But me?” My uncle shrugged.

“What about the rest of it?” I asked. “Alcohol, I mean.”

“That’s just a preference thing. I’m known for my supposed love of booze, but I’ve never really liked it. Even when I was getting sloshed every other night back in the day, I still never actually liked the taste of it. I simply help others lose their inhibitions to let them love and explore themselves. I can have a good time staying as sober as your mom. How is she by the way?” I shrugged.

“She’s who she is. Doesn’t much care about what I do outside of work…especially who I’m with.Just cares about work.” I absentmindedly checked my phone, instinctively opening my work email app before quickly shutting it off before my inbox could even load.

“Yeah,” said my uncle with a sigh, “Athena really has changed a lot. But, that’s what you get when all people remember you as is a mathematician or a librarian or patron of teachers or some shit like that. It’s such a small pigeonhole. Gods are subject to how we’re remembered. Even me,” he gestured to the wine bottle on the table and at the rock and punk posters on the walls. “I’m known as the drunk party animal. Lord of the bacchanalia, and Dionysus: the sex fiend of Olympus. I play the part, but I haven’t completely dissolved into the stereotypes.”

“Yeah,” i said and took a sip of wine. “Mom doesn’t talk about it, but I can tell she  misses the old days. She still has her shield and spear hanging in her office.” I paused. “But all she talks about is work.”

“I was surprised when I heard you were majoring in accounting,” my uncle said. “Creative kid like you, I thought you would follow in my or Apollo’s footsteps. How’s the writing going, anyways? I liked that last story you sent me.” I leaned back into the plush recliner I was in and smiled.

“Thanks. It’s going good. I’m kinda stuck with this one part. I’m trying to write this romance in, I think it could work, but its the…emotions I’m struggling with. The actions I’m good on, that’s the easy part. But I just don’t have a whole lot of experience to pull from without resorting to pop-song-cliches.” The image of Matt, the guy I’d been on a few dates with recently popped in my head. The three dates we’d been on had been my longest relationship I’d had, and even then it wasn't going very far out of necessity. My mom would never approve of him, or any guy I brought home.

My uncle chuckled and stretched out across his leather couch. His slim body arched slightly as he got comfortable. His silk shirt was unbuttoned halfway to expose his hairy chest. It may have just been because of the leopard print of the shirt, but I suddenly understood why he was associated with panthers lounging out in the Grecian sun. A hand dangled down to the floor and he scratched his bearded chin with the other.

“I don’t know if I can help you much,” he said. “I’ve had a shit ton of dates, one-night-stands, and a few marriages. But it can be hard to put that stuff, those feelings, into words.” He looked around the living room then pointed to a tall, thin bookshelf in the corner. “That doll there I got from Maria. Gorgeous woman. Skin like good espresso and thigh that could crack a coconut like an egg. I spent a long hot summer in Spain with her. Even got to meet her brother. But she left by Labor Day.” He pointed to a Green Day poster hanging on the wall behind the TV. “I met a guy named…James? Jack? Something with a ‘J’. Anyway, met him and had a nice quickie in the back of his old pickup at the concert. Doubt he remembers me. That was back in ‘97, I think.” My uncle picked at the crocheted throw blanket draped over the back of the couch as the Queen record that was on started playing My Best Friend. “Emily made this for me before she died. 60 years I spent with her. Heart made of gold and eyes like diamonds. Took a while to get past it…” he trailed off in thought. 

“Was she ‘the one’?” I asked. My uncle shook his head.

“Nah,” he said, still rubbing the yarn in his fingers. “No, gods don’t usually get soulmates, or one-true-loves, or any of that kind of a connection. We live too long for that. Zeus and Hera and Hades and Persephone make it look too easy sometimes. But, they’ve had their fair share  of shitty decades. They’re part of the exception. Them and…” he trailed off again, then adjusted his shoulders and laid his hand across his chest.

“I met this guy once, way back in the day. Cutest thing ever I’d ever seen. First met him on a river. He was playing a peppy little tune on his panpipes while sitting cross-legged on this big log. Well, I followed the music and waited for him to finish before talking to him. You know how musicians can be when interrupted. I thought even for a satyr he was cute. Short curly hair, sun-tanned skin, and eyes like emeralds flecked with gold. We ended up talking for the rest of the day on that log. Talked about everything under the sun. In the quiet moments we just couldn’t stop glancing at each other and laughing when we caught the other looking.

“Spent almost every day together. And every night,” my uncle smiled at me and winked. I stifled a laugh while taking a bite of pizza. My uncle laughed. “Yeah, and it’s true what they say about satyrs, too. Can go all night if you let them.” He started chewing on a nail on his left hand. “Weird looking cocks, though. It’s the goat-hald, you know. But anyway. He was a lot of fun. I don’t think anything has made me laugh as hard as him. Could make anything funny.” My uncle looked at the ceiling and sighed. “But sometimes he tried too hard. The last time…” he stopped and his tone got really serious and sounded unnatural coming from him.

“We’d found the pasture where your great-great aunt Selene had her cows. We watched them for a while, then Ampelos got this idea to kinda mess with them. An ancient version of a rodeo. So, he found the huge bull and climbed on. It was so fucking funny to see this little goat dancing on the back of a bucking bull. He started singing and yelling about being the ‘master of the bull’ or something like that.” He ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his head. “Whatever it was, it was really bad. Before we knew it, your aunt selene came down from her almighty throne in the stars and started yelling at Ampelos. He said something back. I guess it was the laughter with it that really pissed off Selene. And you know her generation, they’re quick on the punishments.” My uncle shifted on the couch and stared out of the open blinds at the full moon shining through. “And then he was on the ground…laying in the grass and cowshit…his stomach gored open by the bull’s horns.”

A shiver ran down my spine at the silence that ended the story. My uncle kept glaring out at the moon. I looked down, not sure what to do, but when I looked back at him, my uncle’s beard was bristling as his mouth trembled and his eyes were filled with tears. He lifted the arm that was draped down to the carpet and reached over to the wine bottle on the coffee table. He extended only his middle finger to touch the bottle. Instantly at his touch, a vine sprouted from the open mouth, twisting down and around the bottle and down the leg of the table to the floor. Leaves sprouted on the vine and between the star-shaped leaves bunches of dark grapes grew and swelled. When the grapevine started to wind up another leg of the coffee table from the floor, my uncle withdrew his hand and folded his arm across his chest. The Queen record ended and I got up.

“What would you like me to put on?” I asked as I got to the record player. My uncle didn’t reply or move. I lifted the needle and the vinyl stopped spinning. As I began to finger through the shelves of albums under the player, my uncle spoke up.

“Don’t let anyone tell you who you can or can’t love. Promise me that, kid. Life keeps rolling, so grab all of it that you can get.”

“Yeah,” I said over my shoulder. “Of course.” I flipped through a few more albums then found an old and battered Madonna LP. Thinking some dance music might cheer him up, I pulled it out and turned around. “Hey, what about —.” I stopped when I realized he was gently snoring. The green vine had faded to a withered yellow and the bunches of grapes and leaves were shriveled with some having fallen onto the floor. 

I put the record back on the shelf and went over to the coffee table. Quietly I picked up the plates and glasses and the pizza box and brought them to the kitchen. I put the half full pizza box in the fridge and the dishes in the sink. I went back to the living room and carefully cleaned up the table, careful not to disturb the wine bottle or the vine that grew from it. When it was all tidy, I turned off the living room lamp and left my uncle sleeping on the couch. Laying in the spare bedroom, I thought about my uncle’s story and what he’d said and didn’t say. In the morning, I texted Matt, inviting him over for dinner.

[damureo]

Dinner and a Show

My husband, his mother, and I went to a restaurant that had a musical performance. We were seated at a table with an elderly couple. His mother started conversing with them while my husband and I kept to ourselves. I'm not exactly sure what prompted her, but she suddenly says, "i live in a red state now, and I'm the only democrat in the neighborhood!"

I wince. My husband winces. We exchange glances, take a drink of water, completely try to eject ourselves from what's to come.

What are the three things you don't bring up in (casual) conversation? Religion, money, and politics. And she just opened the doors.

The old man starts laughing and says, "Trumps gonna win."

"Haha," starts his wife, "let's not talk about politics... let's talk... about the kids!" And looks at my husband (25) and myself (24).

She asks how long we have been married, to which the answer is one year. She smiles and goes "aww honeymoon phase :) Enjoy it while it lasts!" Which isn't... inherently offensive, but it's kinda weird? We have been together for 5 years before marriage we're past a honeymoon phase. I had no desire to have an actual conversation, so I stayed silent.

My husband responds "I mean it's the same as before, except now we can do taxes together."

Mother in law groans "ugh how romantic (sarcasm), and to say that next to her. I swear, you guys and your views on marriage..." The woman agrees with her, clicks her tongue, and shakes her head.

"Oh, no, it's a factual statement. I work in finance for a reason haha" is all I say bc I'm trying to crawl out of my skin and get out of this conversation.

The old man suddenly points at me and goes "🫵DID YOU PAY INTO YOUR TAXES THIS YEAR?!"

Hesitantly, I nod.

The couple laughs at my husband and I, the man elbows my mother in law who is also chuckling, and says that they'll give us some life advice.

"If you want to pay less into taxes, maximize your deductions and credits. Buy at least 6 properties. Have at least 6 kids so that when they get older, you have a home for each of them, and they can pay you rent. A continuous flow of money. Property credits and children credits."

Without missing a beat, my husband goes, "Well, i'd love to do that if we could even afford a house :)" The couple frowns and shakes their heads. Telling us that young people just don't get it.

What do you mean you can't buy 6 properties ? Not even 2? Nonsense! Just get a piece of land to build on! Oh, I get it... it's because you both went to college!

She asks us about what we majored in and our jobs. My husband just says, "Oh, you... don't want to know the answer to that... let's talk about something else," and she pushes. He tells her that he's a political science major working as a social worker. She rolls her eyes and looks at me. I tell her I'm a psychology major working in finance. She makes some snarky comment like, "Oh, of course, that's what the two of you majored in."

The couple starts laughing at us. Again. The woman goes "tell me something, political science and psychology: when I was in college we did an experiment for a class..."

The experiment is basically studying the importance of having a lower, middle, and upper class and why it is a necessary and required system in order to have a functional society. She goes on to say that the experiment concluded that everyone has the same goals and, therefore, we all need to work together to help one another. Thus, the 3 class system is super duper important.

My husband just stares at her. "But... this experiment is in a classroom setting where your goal is to pass the class... Of course you all have the same goal...you are all literally in the same place..."

The discussion was interrupted by a server coming by offerring coffee refills. The server was a gorgeous woman and the old man's facial expressions kind of reminded me of a cartoon where a sexy lady walks by and the eyeballs literally pop out of their heads.

He asks her if she plans on serving him all night and shes says "haha... no I'm just filling up everyones coffee."

"Oh, well, don't you forget to take care of me every once in a while, sweetheart. Wink nudge wink" ugh

All of this, and the show hasn't even started! I decided to use that moment to leave and hide in the lobby until the show began. My husband followed suit. I felt I had worms in my brain. Was their financial advice really "no money? Buy properties and have kids!" Huh?? And not even 1 property 1 child, but 6 each??

We're gone for about 10 - 15 minutes and come back 10 minutes before the show starts. The couple left the table, leaving us with his mother, who is visibly annoyed.

"How can you leave me here with them?" She yells. "They wanted to talk to me about my illnesses and golf! (She plays golf on a weekly basis . ) I can't believe you guys abandoned me!"

"Why would you bring up that you're a democrat to strangers? The man is wearing a vietam veteran hat!" My husband says back.

"Well, I didn't think they'd be bothered by ME saying it!" She is, in fact, also a white boomer. My husband is mixed, and I'm ethnically ambiguous, but definitely not white.

"You started it, and they came for us! We didn't even want to talk to them! You didn't think they'd be bothered by you, but what about us?"

The conversation is cut as the couple comes back and the show finally starts.

The show ends, and we enter the car, MIL breaks the silence by laughing and says, "Thank god I didn't mention that I'm Jewish!"

🙂

I hope one day I can purchase several properties with the intention of profiting off my many children. And hopefully you can too!

[zmb1eslut]

You surely spent so much choosing that pretty white dress, didn't you?

That tight almost translucent piece of clothing you kept pulling down to cover you up whenever he wasn't around.

That one that was whimsly hypnotizing along the white beads and flowers braided on your tangled and messy hair (you maybe should be regretting having worn down that day).

That rebellious dress you didn't bother to fix whenever you were dancing against him on your weed-induced haze, but he did have to sometimes, whenever your mindlessness attained to gather one too many pair of eyes.

That same dress that when you were leaning on a counter, drinking some cheap whiskey from a cup, he couldn't help but slide his finger under, just confidently knowing what he would find going south.

A part of you froze.

The other? the other twitched and brushed against his attention.

Silently, secretly, pleadingly, innocent.

He looked around with a soft chuckle, before lowering himself against the side of your head, against your bewildered hair. He pushed the thin fabric of your underwear unkindly inside your core earning the faintest gasp.

"Don't be a fucking tease, can you?"

And when he left, you stayed there, looking slightly down, feeling the embarrassment creeping to your cheeks, wondering if there was any hotter guy. Maybe one that your friends would actually approve of. Maybe one whose attention you didn't have to chase for on unsophisticated shitshows.

See you in the depths, that ain't no metaphor

You couldn't find Luke's stare anymore. And your insides turned when you felt the chance had come once more. It was always shameful, discreetly leaving. Trailing your inconsistent steps like a silent wounded mouse, in for it's sneaky reward... always straight into a trap. You were too pretty to be thrown like this. He wasn't even there, and your world sort of crumbled. You dropped your heels, that you had taken off earlier in your path, and pressed your back against a rock.

Closing your eyes... drowning the humiliation under the moonlight.

He laughed, earning a squeak out of you when his body was now against yours. You looked up to find him with a twisted smile. His hand slid up your leg holding it up to the side of his hip.

"Lost something?"

And you shook your head even knowing you lost yourself to his hands a couple drunken mistakes ago.

You went in for a kiss and he pulled back. He took your face and his thumb is now playing with the gloss on yor plumpy lips, only for his own amusement. He pulls them apart and you're at his mercy when he slowly approaches you down and shoves his tongue inside your mouth. He was laughing at you.

Sex, blood, fashion, drippin' holy water

This wasn't the first time he had prisioned your soft skin on his rough, callous grasp. A part of you couldn't help but keep coming back.

You didn't know what it was exactly. The way his clothes were never ironed, or his hair was always messy, how his body took space like it was never meant to be someone else's... Just something about him changed the day he took his place as a walking disappointment.

This has always been him, you assumed, he just didn't give a flying fuck about the world anymore. And that certainly was something. Now he wanted to ruin you.

He twisted one strand of your hair around his fingers and pulled away from the kiss, tugging a bit when he placed that same hand against the rock to hold himself close to you while his other hand explored again between your thighs.

And you couldn't complain because there was just something about him. How his face contorted on a measure of expressiveness that felt almost freakish, how he climbed and jumped, how he never feared, how you tasted the blood that ran earlier on his now dried lips.

He closed his eyes and smiled to himself, knowing it was so taxing not to give in again. Something about the way your pussy twitched for him made him wanna lose himself between your legs like a desperate virgin. Listen to your whimpers and feel like he was someone just for earning your praise. But he just wasn't in the mood for that. He wasn't thirsty enough for you to still have it all your way.

You gripped his shirt and stared at him with that lustful expression.

Luke took his hand away from the place you were craving him the most and gave himself a second to taste of his fingers the divine nectar that just his sight arose in you.

It was so hard to play firm when you were like this.

"So... you've been a god-awful headache all night." He started counting with those same fingers. "Following me around like you want them to know you're getting fucked. Wearing this joke of a dress like a thrashy attention whore... And now... Now you're gonna play this doe-eyed shy girl crap in hopes I'm moronic enough to fall for that and play nice?" His smile never faltered, he knew he wouldn't sell it if he had to pretend to be mad. "Are you that brain-rotten or do you just get off on being a perpetual nuisance? Tell me, poppy. I'll listen."

But you felt his words stinging on your lower stomach and couldn't do much more than look down, evasive. He moved your chin up and added soft enough. "If you're sorry you can make it up to me". You felt your expression light up along his smile as you silently stared at each other before he moved himself around and you followed along. Now his back was against the rock, and you were getting on your knees.

Holy shit, she worshippin' my dick like it's the Holy Father

Luke was quite considerate for a jerk. Quite clean for a dirtbag. His boxers were probably the only piece of clothing without holes he wore without complaints. You didn't know if you would have cared had it been otherwise though, because the way his tip leaked against your tongue was alluringly becoming all you wanted to be known for, as you sucked, and sucked. As your tongue got to be familiar with the veins pulsating under his shaft, as you gently pulled the foreskin to uncover the distinct texture of the fat red tip he always teased you with, as you listened to his heavy breath before he slapped his fist against the rock with a groan.

He was dying to look at your lovely little face adoringly binging on his cock. But he had to be aware, to look around, to make sure no one would catch the sight of the dainty slut he was the only bastard lucky enough to have. It was killing him inside not to indulge and trail his eyes on the endless labyrinth that was having you like that.

You feel him close, so you slow down. No one will catch you dumb enough to let him finish inside your mouth when you feel yourself ready for so much more fun.

Your hand took over your mouth and between strokes you trailed kisses down, preparing for, tentatively, taking his balls on your hand and later inside your mouth.

Triple the six, abandon your god 'cuz he don't exist

He cursed to himself when he accidentally wandered his sight on you. He would let the damned tear his pieces alive if it meant that before death he would get to bury that same dick that looked so big on your hands deeply into your supplicating hole. He didn't had much left to lose. He tugged your hair roughly and yanked you away before dragging you close and taking your mouth with a fierce hunger that simply took over him. You were being used almost like a cloth doll and all you could do was hold on his biceps for comfort.

You managed to speak up. "Do you have...?" And he mockingly imitated your troubled expression.

"Do you- do you..?" And he smiled. "Who do you take me for?" And he took a preservative out of his pocket.

Before you could make sense of it all, the straps of your dress were out of place and your chest was being pressed against the raspy surface you've been growing too acquainted with. His palm was slowly but firmly rubbing up and down your cunt while his hips had not fear on banging the hell out of you. Your cries and whimpers were filling the atmosphere before he used his other hand to muffle them, and he made you listen, how near you right now there were people goofin around, none of you knew where they were, but you knew you were close to being found.

He had a serious expression now, fantasizing about being found thrusting inside you like that, but he just loved the persona you have built, how no one knew you were his bitch. What would he give to have the best of both worlds, so he was now just letting the world choose, what would be the fame he would drown in hades for.

Your clenching pussy tried to push him outside to which he just fought even more. And when he finally came, he was silently disappointed you two haven't been caught.

He tied the condom and put it on his pocket, you looked at him grossed to which he smugly said. "I'm pulling a prank on Charlie." You were too disgusted to even ask before he fixed a bit your hair and went away without looking back.

There just had to be someone hotter than him somewhere.

guys

[hina-hina]

Could you possibly do Ghost or König falling head over heels in a bar over fem! reader, but upon actually going to talk her they find she's mostly mute, signing and such. Though eager to try and converse with this tall masked man who sits at her booth, all pretty smiles and leaning in to listen.

Hello and thank you for requesting!!! This was a super cute senario!! I already wrote a selectively mute reader imagine, but this one is going to be slightly different!

Guys, I'm so sorry for being behind this week! I think I know what I want to do for 1K, but I think I'm going to finish with requests first! Again, sorry for ending my daily posts but hopefully this will cause more high quality work!

First and foremost, I am a Roach-Ghost bestie stan. Someone help me with writing accents!!! ::>_<::

This work is not beta read!!!

→ COD Masterlist

|| Ghost + König With a Mute S/O ||

Tags: Protective Ghost, Meet-Cute, Exchanging of Numbers, Soft Ghost, Bashfulness, Mute!Reader, Ghost knows Sign Language, Possible OOC Ghost (but I try to remain as faithful as possible), Nervous König, Awkward Flirting, Maybe OOC König,

Warnings: Pushy Guys, Alcohol mentions,

Female!Reader // Romantic

|| Ghost

Ghost very seldom finds people attractive. What even rarer is that he acts on said attraction. He doesn't want to doom anyone to be attached to him, a phantom that death clings to like an ill-fitting coat.

This evening wasn't unlike all the others that happened after a particularly taxing mission. They bar wasn't particularly crowded or nice, filled with stale air and some distant rock music playing over crackly speakers. The others seem content in their conversation, sipping their drinks and laughing as they unwind. Ghost was sat, mask pulled up slightly as he took the last sip from his class of bourbon.

While he does his scan of the room, something catches his eye. Or, rather, someone.

He sees you, sitting off in one of the booths. He finds himself wondering how such a pretty young women is alone in a place like this. Ghost finds himself unable to take his eyes off of you and maybe that's a good thing because he's watching when a (clearly intoxicated) man stumbles over to the booth.

For a moment, Ghost is sure this must be the man you came with and starts to turn away. However, he manages to catch your uncomfortable expression as you try to turn the man away with some hand gestures, to no avail.

With a gruff, "be right back," that is majorly ignored by his companions, Ghost pushes away from the bar and stalks closer to the booth. As he gets closer, he starts to hear what the man is saying and finds himself more disgusted. He is shocked you haven't cursed the man out and slapped him across the face for your trouble.

He clamps one of his hands down onto the (much smaller) man's shoulder, immediately causing him to freeze and glance over his shoulder. "Get lost," Ghost's dark tone reaches even this drunkards rationality causing him to scoff and stumble off.

Upon his departure, Ghost looks back at you who has now begun staring wide eyed at him. He clears his throat, gesturing to the empty booth across from you, "This seat taken?"

You shake your head, gesturing outward to the seat as if to say, "be my guest."

Ghost nods, slumping down into the seat and trying not to make it obvious he was avoiding eye-contact, "I hope that wasn't presumptuous of me. You must've came here with someon'. 'm... Simon. By the way."

You smile, still staring openly at him before shaking your head, signing something with your hands.

Ghost freezes for a moment. He didn't expect this sudden hiccup. He is, for once, thankful for being friends with Roach which led him to learning some sign in order to communicate with him more efficiently.

"'m sorry, love, I didn't catch that," the term slips out before he can stop it, "I know some sign, but can you go a bit slower?"

You look at him in shock for a moment that he can understand before slowing down and signing, "I'm here alone." and tacking on a sign-spelling of your name. You take special care to slow down, carefully signing each word to make sure he catches it. You ask him what he's doing here.

"I think I should be askin' you that. This isn't really the place for pretty ladies," he takes a secret pride in the blush that spreads across your cheeks, "I'm here with some friends."

You glance towards the bar where the other members of 141 have started to calm down a bit before signing, "I was supposed to be meeting someone here. Looks like I've been stood up, though."

Ghost scoffs, "If he wanted to meet you in this place, he ain't worth your worries."

Your smile twitches, "Your probably right. It's not turning out all bad though"

This causes a small, amused scoff to come from his mouth, "I'm glad I can entertain."

Before he could say anything further, a slightly tipsy Soap calls from across the bar, "Ghost! You comin'?" The others have begun paying their tabs and collecting their jackets. Ghost makes a mental note to smack him upside the head for interrupting, nonetheless.

He sighs, "Duty calls." Ghost reluctantly slides, from the booth. "You should get outta' here too. Need someone to take you home?"

You smile and shake your head, "No. I could settle for your number, though."

Ghost's lips twitch into an almost-smile before he holds out his hand for your phone, "That can be arranged."

He looks so baby girl here

|| König

It wasn't often König found himself going out to bars with his colleagues. Mostly because he found himself getting nervous in crowded places and because it wasn't really acceptable to wear a sniperhood in public spaces.

But, with some urging from his recently-acquired friend Horangi, he found himself reluctantly agreeing. Instead of his normal hood, he put on a simple, black surgical mask to try and help with his anxiety. At least this bar wasn't anywhere near crowded.

He still felt incredibly awkward sitting hunched over in the too-small bar stool. The others seemed to be having a good time at least, all of them caught up in some sports game playing on the tv above the bar. König quickly took a sip of his drink, scanning across the room before his eyes landed on you, sitting quietly off to the side with a group of friends. He pauses, stunned by your smile for a moment before he turns away quickly. Despite his blush being mostly covered by his mask, Horangi notices somehow. "You should send her a drink." If his eyes weren't covered by sunglasses, he was sure the statement would have been accompanied by a wink.

König gulped, "I couldn't..."

Horangi landed a friendly pat on the bigger man's shoulder, "Sure you could. What's the worst that could happen?"

König can think of quite a few things that can go wrong. But even then, he can't get your smile out of his head. He slowly lifts his hand, calling the bartender over before asking for some pleasant, fruity drink to be sent to your table. To you.

When the waiter came to collect the drink to bring to the table, König made a point not to look in your direction. He could already feel the hot waves of embarrassment wash down his back. He briefly thought about bolting from the bar before he realized it was too late, glancing over his shoulder as you scan the bar. Your eyes meet for a moment before König quickly turns away.

He expects nothing to come from it, that you would just laugh about the occurrence with your friends before going about the rest of your night. He figures he's wrong when he hears light footsteps approaching him from behind. You set the drink that he sat you down before sliding into the bar stool next to him. König glaces up nervously.

"I'm sorry..." König can't keep the apology from coming out. You frown slightly and shake your head, signing something with your hands. König pauses, clenching and unclenching his fist around his glass, "Oh... I don't know that much English sign..."

You nod sympathetically, thinking for a moment before gesturing to yourself before slowly fingerspelling your name. König watches intently before nodding slowly, "My friends call me König." At you curious look he laughs softly, "It means King in German. It's a... long story." He didn't really want to get into why he got his callsign.

You smile, slowly signing something along the line of "thank you" before gesturing towards the drink.

König nods, resisting the urge to sheepishly rub at the back of his neck, "Your welcome... I didn't know if you would like it or not."

In response, you smile and take a sip of the drink.

He finds himself laughing softly, turning more openly towards you before saying, "I'm glad. I'm sorry for taking you away from your friends. Your just... Really pretty."

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You start to slowly sign something else but your friends call out to you. You both turn, seeing your friends had begun to collect their things. This causes you to frown slightly, which König can't help but find unreasonably cute, before you turn an apologetic look back to König. He waves his hands dismissivly, "No, no, I-It's alright! Go and join your friends."

You take the last sip of the drink he sent you before pulling the napkin you had been using as a coaster from beneath it. You reach across the bar and grab a nearby pen, quickly squibbling down your number onto the napkin before presenting it to König. He takes it carefully, staring astonished before shrinking into himself, trying to hide a rising blush, "Danke..."

You smile before winking back at him, moving towards the bartender to pay your tab before throwing one last look at König that says, "You better text me!"

König nods, carefully folding the napkin and sticking it into his pocket before letting out a deep sigh. He can't help the small smile the comes to his face when he thinks about talking to you again.

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