#i can’t even classify this as anything it’s just thoughts

[kissingrhi]

roman roy who views intimacy like a reward he can’t grasp. it’s unfathomable, a taste he can’t describe or understand. roman roy who needs you to tug him off of your inner thighs by the gelled strands of his hair to feel blood rush to his veins. to feel adrenaline pop into his system the way it should when he thinks about doing more with you. roman roy who begs you to peck at his jawline or graze his pecs — a dog begging for a scrap in his bowl. just eager enough to pant but never enough to latch.

if he feels like he’s running over he goes cold. petulance and crossed arms at his own decision making, slinking away if you try to repair his damage. he knows it’s wrong, sure, and he knows it doesn’t make sense. then again, has he ever been known to care about making sense? he’ll stick to falling over you in the middle of the night haphazardly (as some kind of an apology), and waking up with his arms slung over your torso and going to the bathroom to wash his face and hands. he hates that he has to unstick his flesh from your own, a reminder that he’s something living, something needing of nurturing. he always manages to feel dingy in the luxury of his place, the velvet carpet makes him wince. he shudders at the thought of being something more than a mutt.

[mountainsandmayhem]

God Bless The She Devil Who Made Joel Miller

Pairing: BFD!Joel x F!Reader

18+ only!!!

Summary: After a fight with your boyfriend, your best friend Sarah invites you to say with her at her childhood home with her dad.

CW: Joel be peekin, Joel is mean (but you like it). I’m choosing not to say anything else to not spoil anything so engage at your own risk.

AN: You can all thank @littlevenicebitch69 for this. She asked for being caught, but I am daddy and I know what she really wants 😉 thank you @mermaidgirl30 for being my forever beta xo

Graphics by @saradika-graphics

God bless the absolute angel who brought Sarah Miller into your life. She somehow convinced her dad to let you stay with them over spring break after your boyfriend locked you out of your shared apartment and then refused to answer the phone or let you in. Sweet, empathetic, and dependable Sarah was at your apartment minutes after you called her and didn’t have to say much to her dad to let him allow you to stay.

And God bless the absolute she devil who made Joel Miller and put him in close proximity with you. You have a boyfriend, maybe, you can’t be sure, but you do know you have it HARD for Joel Mother Fucking Miller. He’s exactly the type of man that would classify as a DILF, and you don’t even consider yourself into older men. But Joel isn’t older, he’s experienced and charming and every single thing he does seems to turn you on.

Sarah has been working a day shift at the local grocery store during the break and Joel is off running his contracting business. Joel Miller, sweaty and dirty and building things with his large calloused hands. Fuck, you try to shake that image from your brain because you certainly do not need another image of him to touch yourself too.

You have a job serving in the evenings so the house is quiet and all yours during the day. This afternoon the sun peeks through your curtains and wakes you. Sun dancing along the pale yellow walls of the spare bedroom. You pick up your phone and see that it’s clear and sunny, the perfect day to lay out by the pool that Joel said you could use, “make yourself at home, darlin’, any friend of Sarah is welcome anytime.”

You practically leap out of bed and into your ensuite bathroom to brush your teeth and get ready to lay out in the sun. You rush down the hall in the swimsuit Sarah lent you, a large blue and white striped pool towel tucked under your arm.

You love Sarah, but there’s no chance you’re wearing this ridiculous one piece swimsuit to tan, plus you’re alone so what’s the harm? Joel doesn’t get home until well after 5 pm most nights, Sarah usually around 3 or 4, and she’s seen you naked more than once. Plus the backyard is fairly private, most likely no one will see anything.

Fuck it, you think to yourself, slipping the red lycra straps off your shoulders and then shimmying the suit down your body. The sun immediately warms your skin and that boost of vitamin D already has you feeling lighter and happier. You spread the towel down on the chair and lay on your stomach, tying your hair on top of your head and then grabbing your phone.

You flip through Spotify before settling on the album Ten by Pearl Jam. As the first song floats across the backyard, you rest your cheek on your hands and let the fast paced grunge music wash away your thoughts of your boyfriend and what you’re going to do next week when you go back to school. All that matters now is the sun on your skin.

X•X•X•X•X•X•X

Joel was just about to start working on some paperwork for his next building when he heard movement in the hallway. You must be up for the day, he should probably let you know he’s working from home today, just in case. He wants you to be comfortable here, even if it’s killing him to see you wandering around his house in those small denim shorts you wear to work. Last night he was almost certain he could see your hard nipples peeking out from the fabric of your tight white t-shirt.

Absolutely not, Joel. He scolds himself.

He hears you pad down the hall and then the unmistakable swoosh of the sliding glass door to the backyard. He glances out the window in his office to see you slip the red swimsuit Sarah lent you off your body. His cock was already painfully hard behind his jeans.

She just turned 21. The Angel on his shoulder reminds the devil that’s tempting him from the other side.

His mouth waters as he looks at your body. Your tits are perky, pink little nipples hardening as the air hits them.

She's going through a hard time. The good side of his conscience seems to be losing but he finds an ounce of strength and looks away. He can’t be staring at you.

He tries to focus on this goddamn contract but even little deadline and “initial here” blend together and all he can see in the jumbled words of the page is that little strip of hair that leads to that bundle of nerves he so badly wants to suck on. When he looks up again you’re laying face down, round and perky ass facing his window and on display for him. She must not know he’s home, and now she’s going to think he’s a total fucking creep if he says something now.

She’s your daughter's best friend. No, she’s off limits. Beyond off limits. Get it together, Miller.

And then your music drifts through his cracked window. You’re listening to Pearl Jam. So now not only are you incredibly tempting but you also have the music of his teenage years blasting. He can’t resist anymore, glancing out of the window to see you still laying on your stomach and your plush ass bouncing along as you wiggle to Eddie Vedder singing about still being alive.

He’s not sure how it happens, his body seems to move without him knowing, and suddenly he’s standing at the window, staring down into the backyard at you. His muscular arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the large window frame.

He slows his breathing and focuses on you - every dip and curve, every freckle, every little bit of skin being absorbed by his heated gaze. Your legs are slightly parted, but not enough for him to be able to see your cunt, and fuck does he want to see it.

His palms tingle with the need to cup your ass, maybe spank you for being naked in the middle of the day. He has neighbors, they could see you right now. This is unacceptable and you should be punished.

Just as he’s about to head downstairs his cell phone rings loudly and you shoot up onto your elbows and look over your shoulder at him, eyes locking with his before a tiny smile crosses your face. Joel looks away quickly and grabs his cell, almost crushing the device in his grasp as he answers.

X•X•X•X•X•X•X

Joel Miller was fully lurking at your naked body, and while that should probably embarrass you, you need to get fucked. You need something, anything, to forget about that piece of shit boyfriend who locked you out and refuses to talk to you or let you get your stuff. Sarah told you when you first met that he had her when he was 19, so it’s not like he’s THAT much older than you. Plus it’s just fucking.

Yep, I’m going for it.

You gather the towel around your body loosely, hooking your swimsuit on your finger and twirling it happily as you head into the house, determined to confront him and then seduce him. When you head up the stairs he’s standing in the doorframe of his office, just across from the spare bedroom you’re occupying. He looks deliciously pissed, one arm propped above his head on the door frame, the other on his hip, knee popped out. Your pussy flutters at the thought of his large, angry body above yours.

The opening bars of Jeremy fill the silence between you two, almost daring the other to make the first move.

“Turn that off,” Joel snaps. “I’m working.”

“Didn’t look like you were working a few minutes ago,” you say back, matching his energy.

Joel’s eyes narrow, brows furrowing, but you can tell he’s fighting to keep his eyes on yours. You lick your lips, testing him, teasing him, pushing him to see if he’ll take the bait. The flick of his eyes to your lips happens so quickly you almost miss it.

You let out a scoff, “Ya, that’s what I thought.” You step towards him, so close that you can smell the coffee and sawdust on him. “Wanna take a break from all that work?” You say the word work teasingly, trying to entice him.

“Go to your room and put some clothes on. Don’t let me catch you naked in the backyard again,” He says deeply, then closes his office door in your face.

You smirk to yourself, dropping the towel at his door and wandering into your room leaving the door wide open. You hook your phone to the Bluetooth speaker as you lay on your bed completely naked. You hit the volume button and slip your hand between your legs, rubbing your clit in fast, little circles.

“Daddy didn’t give no affection, no

And the boy was something that Mommy wouldn’t wear

King Jeremy the wicked

Oh, ruled his world”

Joel whips his office door open looking absolutely furious. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of you. Bare, wide open, and soaking wet. You don’t stop, don’t even bother to look his way, as you dip your fingers into your pussy and cry out his name. Joel steps into your room and hits the power button on your speaker. The only sounds that film the room are your moans and the squelching of your arousal as your fingers slip in and out of your pussy.

“What the fuck did I just say, little girl?” Joel says darkly.

You open your eyes to look at him and the expression on his face sends your heart into your stomach. You’ve always been a little bit of a brat, getting in trouble lots growing up. Truthfully, you like the rush of it, the adrenaline of the unknown. But Joel looks dangerous, eyes blown out with rage and lust, hands clamped into fists at his sides, a slight blush pinks his cheeks, lips in a tight line.

You sit up, crossing your legs and covering yourself with a pillow as you turn towards him. You’re suddenly not feeling so confident, you may have pushed the wrong man.

“Y-you said outside,” you start, your voice wavering. “I’m inside.”

Joel moves so quickly that you don’t even have time to register what’s happening as the pillow is ripped from your grip and disposed of on the floor in front of you. You’re bare and exposed to him again.

“Spread your legs,” he says hungrily, voice a raspy whisper.

He watches your throat as you swallow hard, leaning back on your elbows and planting your feet on the edge of the bed. You look at him tentatively, jumping and letting out a little squeal when he barks, “I said spread your fucking legs.”

You relax, letting your knees fall open. His breathing is rapid, a growling moan leaving his parted lips. He takes one step, his knees hitting the edge of the bed.

“Joel -” you start.

“Shut up. You knew what you were doing, you wanted this. Didn’t you?”

“Y-Yes, but…” his hand slaps the inside of your thigh and your knees slam together as you cry out.

“Spread. Your fucking. Legs,” he repeats in a slow and deep command.

“That hurt!” You say back, squeezing your knees together tighter. It feels like he set fire to your thigh and you can already see the red handprint forming.

“If you’re gonna act like a little brat, I’m going to treat you like one. Now spread your legs so I can hit the other one.” He raises an eyebrow at you cockily. “If you keep them open, I might reward you.” You’ve bit off more than you can chew with Joel Miller.

You take in a calming breath through your nose, relaxing your knees as you exhale slowly. Joel can see the milky, sticky strings of your arousal as your pussy lips spread open for him. He has to swallow the excess saliva that pools in his cheeks at the sight. He wants to taste you so fucking badly.

“I think you liked it,” he taunts. “You’re makin’ a mess, you like being slapped around, don’t you? Treated like a little whore.”

Before you can respond he lays a hard smack on your other thigh. Your hips involuntarily buck upwards, your head falling back and a moaning, whimpering cry you don’t recognize as your own leaves your lips. You focus on your knees, fighting against your body’s instincts, keeping them pushed into the mattress.

“That’s what I thought,” he says as he kneels in front of you and yanks your ass to the edge of the bed. “Think you should get a reward now?”

“Y-yes, please, Joel. Please!” You have never had to beg for sex before, boys your age are usually fired up and ready to go, but men of Joel’s age know sex is so much more than just penetration - it’s a game, a tease.

He bites down on your thigh, “Please. Please, Joel!”

“You smell so fucking good,” he says as his hooked nose trails down your little line of pubic hair. You squirm under him as your clit twitches, aching for his attention. “And so goddamn wet. My little whore, aren’t ya?” His warm breath hits your needy clit and you flop down onto the bed, whining in need.

“Please -” but your words are cut off by the front door opening and Sarah’s voice calls through the house.

“Everyone can celebrate, I’m home now!!!” She yells jokingly.

“Fuck!” Joel huffs under his breath and bolts for his office, kicks your towel and swimsuit into your room, you follow and click your door shut quietly.

“Hello?” Sarah calls, heading up the stairs.

“Just getting dressed,” you call through your closed door. “I think your dad is in a meeting.”

“Put on your swimsuit, it’s gorgeous outside!”

Taglist

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut @sullyrocky44

@keylimebeag @pimosworld @casa-boiardi @pedritoferg @paleidiot

@javierpena-inatacvest @blazeflays @akah565 @pinkiec6-rubi @pedroshotwifey

@lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes @jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog

@pedroswife69 @strawberri-blonde @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @iloveenya

@iluvurfather @ashleyfilm @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Tide

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Frankie Morales is capable of almost anything... except not cumming in his jeans when he thinks about you, the pretty clerk at the grocery store he always buys his giant jugs of laundry detergent at. Warnings: Smut thoughts, Frankie's POV and internal monologue, premature ejaculation, so much cum talk, addiction recovery, laundry detergent, this is so ridiculous but I also tried to make it super sweet. Words: 1,200

A/N: I'd probably classify this as a crack fic... but with heart. This is SOOOOO indulgent and ridiculous. I don't know what @luxurychristmaspudding unlocked in me but this is what's released. I know this is my *4th* story in a week, but I couldn't help myself. Also, shout out to the JM Discord and all of the tenants who join in the luxuriousness of this level of depravity.

Masterlist

🚁👖🤍Frankie🤍👖🚁

It keeps happening to Frankie over and over and over again. Recovery has been a challenge, abstaining from all of his previous vices means he’s no longer numbing his mind… and body. 

Nobody should ever cum during a prescription commercial and yet… he does. The swimsuit hugged the woman’s curves a little too close, plus she had the same color hair as you. His mind couldn’t help floating to thinking about you in a swimsuit.

Aye dios mio, get a hold of yourself man.

He’s too embarrassed to bring it up to his doctor. The notion of ever mentioning it to the Delta Force boys terrifies him, although he knows deep down they’d lend a sympathetic ear. They’ve killed, fought wars, and climbed out of the lowest points of their lives together… but the thought of letting his secret out? Awful. He shudders at the thought of telling his fellow Narcotics Anonymous attendees: “Hi, my name is Frankie, I’m an addict and I can’t stop cumming in my pants.”

He tries to think of the worst things, mental images that should scar even the scariest of humans, thoughts about death, rotting produce, weird looking insects, and yet, it still happens.

___

“Hi, how’d you find everything today?”

He blinks towards your tag though he’s already memorized your name, it repeats through his mind whenever he climaxes… he wonders to himself how your sweet voice would sound repeating his name. 

Uh oh, quick, think of a bee sting, everyone’s going to die, burnt pizza. 

He shakes his head, the thoughts of you wrapped around him flying out of his head with each subtle knock. 

“Sir, are you okay?”

Fuuuuuuck, you really had to call me sir, didn’t you?

“Y-yeah, sorry, long day. My name’s Frankie by the way.”

Focus, don’t look at how her hand wraps around the shampoo bottle, soldier. 

“Hi Frankie, nice to finally have a name to the face.”

Of course you say his name in the sweetest way. He presses his fingers into the flesh of his palm as hard as he can withstand, he prays you don’t see the way his nostrils flare.

Be strong.

He’s been captivated ever since he first saw you working in the mom and pop market across the street from his apartment. You’re always friendly and smiling, he swears he feels your eyes on him every time he leaves yet he’s too scared to look back and confirm for himself. He wishes he knew how to small talk and somehow step over the threshold of this case of shyness he has with you. 

Why bother? I’ll just end up disappointing you, never leaving you fulfilled. 

He’s so ashamed. 

“That’s a big bottle of detergent, you must do a lot of laundry. You have kids?” 

“I do… a four year old, but she lives with her mom,” he answers, lifting the giant jug into his cart, his cock twitches when he feels your eyes on his biceps. 

Stay cool, you can do this, you’ve literally overcome worse… and cummed over less.

He wonders if you notice just how much laundry soap he buys… he’s confident that you have no clue you're the only reason why his washing machine is constantly working overtime. 

“Oh, I love that age,” you mindlessly muse scanning a cereal box. “Is she as cute as her dad?”

His spine turns to jelly… he feels the phantom getting closer. 

Trash compactors, mom and dad’s divorce, elephant seals.

“Everyone says she has my eyes.”

“Then she must be,” you wink.

Not a wink, not a wink, not a goddamn wiiiiink. 

He quickly pulls his head down, sticking his card in the chip reader, resisting the urge to think of his now aching cock pushing into you. 

STOP. STOP. STOP THINKING FRANKIE.

Focusing on the pin pad breaks his spiral. Relief spreads through his tense body knowing this run in will be over soon, he can go home in peace, his pants surviving this moment.

Your fingers brush against his hand when you hand him the receipt, his favorite part of buying groceries. He’ll stand in your checkout lane no matter the size of the line for the split second of skin to skin contact. It’s all he can afford to let himself have, any more would surely stain his jeans. 

___

“Hey Frankie!” 

He turns at your voice, his breath hitching when you walk over to him while removing your name tag.

“Want to go next door and grab a drink?”

“I’d love to… but I, uh,” he lifts his hat nervously tussling his hair, “I’m in recovery.” 

“Oh,” your voice and face falter, “I’m sorry, um–”

Don’t let this moment pass, you can do it.

“I know a really good ice cream place, a few blocks down, I can meet you there?” 

Ice cream means licking. Frankie, you're an idiot.

“Oh, um, that sounds amazing but I don’t drive.”

“I can take you… if you’d like.” 

“Yeah?” your smile grows wider. “That sounds amazing.”

“I just need to drop these off, and then I’ll meet you outside in twenty?”

“Awesome!” You squeeze his hand wrapped around the cart handle. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Your touch scorches his skin, he blinks watching your ass sway while walking through the doors to the backroom. 

1-2-3, a gush of hot liquid releases against his jeans, his knuckles turn white as they clutch the cart handle.

Jesus Christ.

Frankie picks up his bags, holding them close to his crotch and leaves the grocery store. He better hurry. Thank god he just bought more detergent. 

___

In hindsight, he’s thankful for his little grocery store indiscretion. He’s carefree and relaxed as he falls even harder for you over chocolate sundaes. You ask for extra rainbow sprinkles and laugh at all of his jokes. 

This must be what it’s like to live normally.

___

“That’s me,” you point to a small bungalow unbuckling your seatbelt. “Thanks for the ice cream Frankie."

“This was really fun,” he turns towards you, shocked at how close you’re leaning towards him. 

Kiss her. No, wait, don’t kiss her. Yeah, definitely don’t kiss her. 

“It was,” you lick your lips and lean even closer. 

He can smell you now, you smell divine. Like ice cream and floral perfume. 

You place a soft kiss against his lips and pull away.

Frankie’s body tenses, a pathetic whimper escapes his mouth, he spurts against the cotton of his briefs. Doe eyes rounded with embarrassment stare at you.

“Sorry,” whispers out of his downturned lips. 

“Oh,” your face fails at hiding a smile, “Frankie, it’s okay. Really.”

His head knocks against the headrest, face frozen in a grimace, his eyes squeezed shut. 

“Frankie,” your hand clasps his chin forcing him to look at you. “Honestly, it’s okay. It’s actually… kinda hot.”

Right then and there he knows he’ll never shop at another grocery store again. 

[corollaservant]

oh noooo kinks post is gone 😭😭

buddy, you lurkin? this was up for an hour 😳 jk jk—this was filthy, made me feel like i was too disgusting on the internet or shadowbanned. anyways yk what? here you go (cause it was fun to write) <3

(18+) MHA kinks (shiggy, overhaul, dabi)

cw: coercion/gaslighting, edging (lol?), s/m, asphyxiation(implied), kai's mysophobia (the correct term is microphobia but anyways)

Shigaraki: i think he’s into gaslighting and coercion and ik the latter doesn’t classify as a kink (more like an offense) but hear me out:

he brought you to that miserable bar the LoV hangs out in and can’t stop touching you, while you’re forced to sit on his lap. you love public, right? well, no and he knows. whether the LoV watches or not doesn't matter, he wants to see your attitude change, once you can't hide the fact he's fucking you over fabric anymore. his cock twitches, when he stops and you silently beg with your eyes. he'll tell you that he thought you didn't like this while you’ll apologize for even thinking that.

when alone, he’ll have you sprawled on the bed, parting your legs and asking you which you prefer, his fingers or tongue. you’ll brokenly breathe out a “fingers, please” as he’ll sneer and..oblige. he’s clearly skilled, his fingertips tease your cunt as if he’s strumming close chords on a guitar and fuck—you look pretty as shit watching him push them inside. ‘’so you’re saying that you don't like my tongue, yeah?’’ he’ll feign sorrow, you never said that but he makes you reflect on it. ‘’you know what i think? i think you’ll like my tongue just fine’’ he’ll tell you and start sucking on the swelled nub as you tremble. ‘’actually.. you’ll like it more’’

once you shamelessly cum on his tongue exhausted, he’ll continue. ‘’ready for the main event?’’ he’ll ask as you beg him to at least wait a second, you ache down there but he obviously doesn’t care. ‘’there’s no time to wait..come on baby, you know it feels better the second time around.’’ he’ll tell you as his tip splits your folds. you ultimately consider that he might be right after all. actually, he’s never wrong.

Overhaul: this man has an edging kink.. before you say anything, it’s not what you think.

he’ll have you on that examination table (not too heavy on his medical kink tho), mask and gloves on, of course what did you think? that he’d make an exception? the fact he’s even touching you is enough boundaries crossed for him. his gloved hand will spread your juices across your pussy, as he winces behind the bird mask. he hates dirt, bodily fluids, liquids, any bodily emission/discharge, call it whatever you want. the moment he senses your pulse and legs jerking, he’ll remove his hand in fear you might cum on his gloves. you’ll whimper upset but he doesn’t really care, you should thank him for allowing you this proximity in the first place.

same with sex. condoms with him is like the concept of gravity — self fucking explanatory. sometimes he’ll even use two. don’t get him wrong, it’s not like you are the problem, it’s more like your body, he feels like he purifies you each time he thrusts calculated in your cunt (he's delusional). he likes you being vocal as long as you don’t accidentally spit on him, which will earn you a slap.

to prove that the issue is not you, the man will not allow himself to cum inside you, even with the (2) condoms on. he just prefers transmitting the ‘filth’ directly onto you, which means he’ll have you pump his cock and receive all his load (wherever it lands, he makes sure it's angled towards you). 

he's a weirdo of course, but he makes up for it in aftercare. he sterilizes you like there’s no tomorrow. if you’re lucky and you make him cum quick and clean, he might offer a cup of tea and your favorite snack. 

Dabi: sadomasochism. i’ve seen both variations separately done for him before — i just think he’s both.

obviously he’s more into the first (sadism). will treat you like a potato sack, lifting you up without asking, throwing (literally throwing) you to the bed, not caring about where you’ll land and ripping/burning the fabric that clings onto you. assaults your cunt—spits on it and slaps the clit with his hands (sometimes too hard, it makes you cry).

facefucks you the minute you get a hold of his cock, he doesn’t even give you a second, he will grab your head and move it to an unforgiving pace. definitely a cheek slapper — needs to feel his dick in your gums from outside. he might pinch your nose shut and leave you with no airway to..survive. but it’s ok, you make it out alive.

has ropes and recently bought a leash and a collar. it’s red with a black handle and he uses it each time you talk too much. might get bored just holding the handle as he needs to touch (bruise) you, so he’ll hang it to the bed’s end and just pull at the steel. shoots his cum inside only when you're loud enough to make his ears ring. (rip neighbors, they're already considering moving out after they called the cops on him and he almost fried them)

until..

the thing is.. Dabi lives in the past, he doesn’t share his life with anyone so how is he supposed to not dwell on it by himself? has a lot of inflicted pain he can’t share but subconsciously craves. the first time you take liberty in causing him pain ever so little is accidental. you are on top, he’s setting the pace, sure, but your weight falls on his face as your arms enclose his neck. you’re not trying, hell, you don’t even know how to choke someone properly (why would you?) but you need to hold on to something and you think you’re imagining it when you hear a very soft moan. no, you’re definitely imagining it. it will cross your mind later on.

after that, you try to experiment in the territory, you’re in missionary and he thrusts inside you while you bring his neck close and squeeze again. this time you deliberately apply pressure as he hisses a fuck so.. you slap him. it’s a light, small smack on his cheek, again, you don’t want to piss him off but he groans, this time louder and you grin. you might end up slapping him harder the more the sex progresses, the staples hurt your knuckles but he’s making desperate (sexy) sounds.

he’s not gonna be descriptive since he is waay too embarrassed (you will never hear a ‘’shit, i love it when you cause me pain, babe’’) but you don’t care, his expressions tell you everything you need to know.

the next time you’re on top and test the waters, you grab the leash and collar from the nightstand and raise a brow. that’s how most of the communication flows, with mute understanding. he’ll huff in annoyance while his hips involuntarily buck up and he’ll mutter: ‘’shit, whatever.. get this over with.’’ (i hc he calls you bro when embarrassed lol) breath already hitched as you adjust the buckle to his neck. safe to say you’re more than proud to see him fall apart, even if tears never spill from his eyes. 

[froggibus]

The Three Times You Share A Bed - Leon S Kennedy

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x reader

Genre: fluff, some light angst thrown in towards the end?

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: two times you sleep in leon's bed, and the one time he sleeps in yours

CW: roommate! Leon, kinda friends to lovers?, light angst, abandonment issues, paranoia, fear + insomnia, mentions of zombies, bedsharing, leon has intimacy issues (get therapy challenge)

OMG HAPPY RE4 RELEASE!!! I am SO excited to play once im done work this weekend! Leon looks so damn fine in the gameplay ive seen and i am going FERAL! pls no spoilers for anything new in the game! <3

RE4 remake spoiler free zone!! I have yet to play the remake so there are no spoilers in this!

————

The telltale clicking of a key in the door has you on your feet in seconds, abandoning the plush throw blanket on the couch. Before it even opens, you’re standing on the doormat. You feel a little silly, like a golden retriever waiting for its owner, but the shame is washed away when Leon steps through the door.

It’s been three weeks since you’ve last seen your roommate and best friend, and just as long since you last had company. He raises an eyebrow at the sight of you standing in front of him, the dark circles under his eyes becoming more prominent. 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He sighs and drops his backpack on the floor, locking the door behind him.

“How was it?”

You fight the urge to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and inhale his scent, knowing that’s not what friends do. Still, the feeling is there and if he went in for it, you’d reciprocate in a heartbeat.

He opens the fridge and beams at the fully stocked drinks and snacks. He cracks open a can of cider and leans against the counter. “Long,” he admits, “way too long. And my nose is still burning from the smell of rotten flesh.” You crinkle your nose at the thought. Leon’s never been much of a talker and most of his work being classified didn’t help. Whenever something wasn’t top secret, though, you were sure to sit there and listen no matter how horrific the details were.

You settle in on the couch next to the agent, listening to him drone on about a zombie-like creature that had peeling flesh and fifty eyes. You could vividly picture it from his words alone, and the image of the creature sent a shiver up your spine.

Leon talks for hours, spilling every miniscule detail of every horror he encounters. You stay the whole time, nodding along. Leon laughs at the way you scrunch your face in disgust or close your eyes in fear. He hates how cute you are, but he can’t seem to stop telling you stories. After many hours and a few drinks between the two of you, he’s almost run out of stories to tell.

Leon pats your shoulder gently, collecting his cans from where he’d set them on the coffee table. “I need a shower,” he states. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.”

“Go shower. You stink,” you joke and punch him in the ribs.

He feigns injury at your blow, pretending to suck in a breath like you’d really hurt him. He keeps up the facade the whole way to his bedroom, only leaving character when he shuts the door behind him.

It’s only when he’s disappeared that you realize how late it's gotten—and how dark. Even though your shared apartment is on the 19th floor, you can’t help but worry something is going to crawl through your window. You shake the thoughts away and get ready for bed, but every gust of wind and rustling of leaves makes you flinch.

You close your eyes and tug your comforter over your head, hoping that if there is something out there, it won’t know you’re there. You toss and turn for a while longer, staying dead quiet and pushing your fears away.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You take a deep breath, throw your comforter off of your shoulders, and sprint to Leon’s room. It’s like your brain is on autopilot—it knows exactly where to go to be safe.

You don’t knock on the door, instead quietly twisting the knob and slipping in through a crack in the door. Leon sits up as soon as your feet touch the wooden floor, eyes snapping towards your silhouette. He’s been a light sleeper ever since Racoon City, waking at the slightest of sounds.

He relaxes at the sight of you but only for a second. He glances at his digital clock, eyes widening at the time. “Y/n? What are you still doing up?”

“I-I couldn’t sleep…I feel like a flesh eating zombie is going to climb through my window and eat me.”

He chuckles. “That would be my fault.” He shuffles over in bed and pulls back the comforter. “You’re more than welcome to stay here for the night.”

You crawl into bed next to him, keeping as much distance between the two of you as possible. You can feel his body heat radiating through the blankets and smell his body wash on his skin. The feeling is new, yet so familiar it eases you instantly.

“Leon?”

He hums in response.

“Is it safer to sleep next to the window or the door? From like, a secret agent standpoint.”

“We’re on the 19th floor so window, but unless it's a hotel room, the door. You would more than likely hear it if they broke down the front door so you’d have more time to get out.”

You think for a second. “Can we switch places?”

“Honestly, y/n,” he laughs dryly, “the safest place to sleep right now is next to me.”

Your face warms at that and you nod, relaxing into his pillows. While you drift off to sleep, Leon watches over you. He knows nothing is going to come for you here, but he did promise to keep you safe, and he’ll keep that promise no matter what.

—

When you get home, you’re in a foul mood. You practically throw the groceries onto the counter before walking to your room and throwing yourself onto your bed. It’s been a long day. All of the stores were so busy you could hardly get through the aisles, and all of the people you encountered were rude.

Leon comes out of his room a few minutes later. Seeing the groceries abandoned on the counter, his first thought is to check on you. He doesn’t check on you, though. Not yet, anyway. He knows you’ll just be more upset if the frozen items melt and the milk sits out all night, so he sets out on putting them away.

After almost an hour of laying in your bed trying to recuperate after the day you’ve had, you’re snapped out of it by a text.

Leon: Come here, I have a surprise for you

You don’t feel like leaving your bed, but you force yourself out of it anyway. It’s not Leon you’re mad at. Leon is probably the only person in the world you don’t hate right now. You knock on his door softly, holding your arms behind your back.

“Come in!” He shouts.

You open the door, shuffling into his room and closing it behind you. Your jaw drops when you see a tray in the middle of his bed piled high with your favorite snacks, drinks and two wine glasses. Leon pats the spot next to him and you’re happy to oblige, relaxing onto the mattress.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

He shrugs, pouring you a glass of wine. “It already seems like you had a bad day, I just wanted to do something to make it a little better for you.”

“Thank you.” He nods in acknowledgement, turning on his tv and handing you the remote. “You can choose the first movie. Just—maybe no zombies?”

You snort at that. Classic Leon, using his corny jokes to make light of even the worst of situations. You settle on an old favorite movie you love, handing the remote back to the blond and switching it for a wine glass.

Between your favorite movie, the delicious wine and your favorite snacks, your spirits are lifted in no time. One movie turns into two, and two turns into three. Soon enough, you’re dozing off in Leon’s bed.

He moves the tray of snacks and the glasses off of the bed to give you more room to sprawl out. Laying down next to you, he watches you sleep. A part of him wishes he could see this every night—the same sight he fantasizes about on even the hardest of missions.

He flicks off the lamp on his side table and settles in. “Good night, cutie,” he mumbles, knowing you’re far too deep in sleep to hear him.

—

You wake up in the middle of the night, moonlight streaming through the window and illuminating Leon’s bedroom. You’re still numb from sleep, your senses dulled just enough that it takes you a minute to realize that something is grabbing you. No, not grabbing—holding. 

You blink a few times. Leon is laying next to you, his chest pressed to your back, his arms around your waist. You can feel the slow beating of his heart and the heat coming off of his skin. He’s so close it overwhelms you, yet it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

You think about slipping away but you know what a light sleeper he is, and you don’t think you could handle it if he woke up and saw how close you were. You close your eyes and try to calm the beating in your heart so you can fall back asleep.

When you wake up again, Leon is gone. Your body feels cold where his once was. You sit up—is he showering? He can’t be, the bathroom door is open. You sit up, letting the blankets fall off of you. You swing your legs over the side of his bed, walking out to the kitchen, but he’s not there either.

Did he leave to go get something? 

You check your phone, expecting to see a text saying he ran out to go get more milk or something, but there’s nothing. You sigh, typing up a message and sending it to him.

Y/N: where’d you go?

You practically jump when your phone lets out a noise, but your heart sinks when you see what it is.

Message Not Delivered. Try Again?

You sigh. That can only mean one thing: he’s on another mission. Typical Leon, disappearing in the middle of the night to go god knows where for god knows how long. The frustration bubbles up in your chest and you feel like hitting something, but you don’t. It’s not worth it.

You try to keep your mind off of his sudden disappearance by throwing yourself into chores. You wash his bedding and make his bed, then wash your own. You sweep and mop the floors and vacuum the carpets. You dust the blinds.

It doesn’t help.

Your mind keeps wandering back to the fact that he left without saying goodbye. That he woke up at some ungodly hour, saw you laying in his arms, got up and left without another word. He didn’t even leave a note. He really cares that little. 

You shake your head and even though the pit in your stomach makes you feel like not eating, you make yourself a sandwich regardless. Seeing the untouched groceries in the fridge just adds to the feeling.

Even though you know he’s not going to get it, you pull out your phone and start typing.

Y/N: do you at least know when you’ll be back?

Message Not Delivered. Try Again?

The message makes you roll your eyes. Leon fucking Kennedy.

—

A week goes by, and then two, and you still hear nothing from your roommate. You send texts here and there, hoping for an answer, but none of them go through. Eventually, you start venting to him through there, too. Expressing how frustrated you are that he didn’t say goodbye, how annoying your feelings are, how sometimes you wish you didn’t know him so you didn’t have to go through this.

It’s a random Sunday night when you’re sitting on the couch, watching trash reality tv and eating snacks. It’s cold in the apartment, but you can’t be bothered to turn on the heat. Only when your arms puff up with goosebumps do you scour the room for a sweater, settling on a random one hanging on the back of a chair.

It’s Leon’s, an old one from the Police Academy. His smell floods your nose when you pull it over your head, and it's so bittersweet you don’t know if you should laugh or cry. You settle back on the couch, but a rustling at the window makes you freeze in your tracks.

It stops for a moment, and you can almost convince yourself you’ve imagined it or it’s a part of the show—until it happens again. You scramble for the remote, pausing it so you can hear better. The noise starts again, and you waste no time in hightailing it to your bedroom and slamming the door behind you.

You flop onto your bed, trying (and failing) to remind yourself that it’s just the wind. That you’re safe here. But it’s hard when it’s late and you’re tired and you’re alone and the only person you feel safe with just abandoned you.

You curl up into a ball, pulling Leon’s sweater over your mouth and inhaling the familiar scent. It’s enough to calm you down, if only for a few moments. If you close your eyes, you can almost trick yourself into thinking he’s there, and for now, that’s good enough.

—

Leon knows he fucked up when he gets back to the country and turns on his phone. Almost fifty messages from you, each one more sad than the last. He wants to slap himself—why couldn’t he just grow a pair and say goodbye? Why did he have to be so noncommittal?

He reads every message on the cab ride back to the apartment, and his heart breaks for you. He didn’t think about how you would drive yourself crazy over him or how worried you must have been. All he thought about was getting the call for the mission in the middle of the night and not wanting to wake you up.

But he didn’t abandon you. He thought about you every day and god—he wishes he could have talked to you. Hearing your voice and seeing your face was enough to make everything better. With the horrors he’s seen lately, all he wants is to be back in that bed with you for one more night.

He’s quiet coming into the apartment, hoping he doesn’t wake you up or scare you. And even though he knows you’re sleeping, he’s still disappointed you’re not waiting at the door for him.

He tosses his backpack into his room and strips off all of his holsters and velcro.  He’s quiet walking down the hallway to your room and even quieter opening the door. He relaxes at the sight of you curled up in a ball. 

You look so cute and so peaceful and—is that his sweater? The sight brings a smile to his face. He closes the door behind him with a soft click, climbing into the bed next to you.

You wake up when the bed dips down and arms wrap around you. You’re so tired you don’t even care who or what it is.

“If you’re gonna kill me, can you at least let me sleep first?” You mumble.

You fully awake as soon as you hear Leon’s laugh.

“You’re back?” You say, and you hate the way your voice cracks. 

You turn around to face him, tired ocean eyes meeting yours. He nods sleepily, “‘m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. It was stupid of me.”

“It’s okay,” and it really is okay. All the resentment you felt melted away at the sight of him. 

“C’mere,” he mumbles. 

You lay your head on his chest, wrapping your arms around him. You can hear his heart rate slow down at the contact. 

“I just—I just need you tonight.” Those are big words coming from the agent, and they leave you completely stunned. He must have seen or done something horrible while he was away for him to be this vulnerable, even with you.

“You can have me tonight.” You try to keep your voice even, “you can have me whenever you need me,”

He kisses the top of your head. “But I always need you.”

“Then I’m always yours.”

Neither of you speak after that, Leon falling into a light sleep. You stay up a while longer, watching the blond boy rest beneath you. He looks so fragile like this, you can’t imagine him fighting off monsters and handling weapons. You kiss his collarbone through his shirt and let yourself fall asleep with him. 

[sickeninglyshoujo]

a/n: continually obsessed w/ cod dads, here's price

part 1: simon here

part 3: soap here

part 4: gaz here

masterlist here

warnings: pregnancy

word count: 1.7k

buy me a ko-fi

Price was afraid to have babies with you because of the age difference and you rolled your eyes every time he talked about being an old man and how a pretty young thing like you shouldn’t be dating him much less trying to get knocked up by someone his age. As if he’d let you even entertain the thought of leaving him for a young buck who couldn’t spoil you like you deserved.

Throughout your pregnancy he treated you like fine China, afraid he’d say the wrong thing and make you cry. He’s heard about women’s hormones during pregnancy even as you remained rock solid, rolling your eyes when he’d ‘yes dear’ you.

You tried to kick him out of the bathroom when morning sickness hit and he refused. Instead sitting on the tub next to you, petting your back as you leaned into the toilet and tried to soothe you, telling you how strong you were and how beautiful you were carrying his baby even with sick bubbling up your throat at the slightest movement “I thought morning sickness was only supposed to be in the morning,” you moaned with your forehead pressed against the cool floor tile. “It’’s a misnomer, love,” John said, removing himself from his perch on the tub to wet a cool washcloth and wipe down your face.

He wishes this phase was over, hates seeing you in pain like this.

That changes once the baby’s born then he’s ready to do it all over again. He didn’t know how attached he’s gotten to helping you do the things you couldn’t because of your belly  like putting on your shoes (looking up at your belly reverently the entire time before planting a kiss on it) for you and helping you pick things off the floor that your clumsy fingers dropped. He grew a particular affection for helping you rub shea butter and vitamin E oil over your rapidly appearing stretch marks.

Price insists on building the nursery furniture without reading the directions, “Know what I’m doin’ woman,” and to your chagrin he was right. Managed everything without a set of directions perched on his knee and instead chucked them to the side with the box.

The first thing he built was the fancy rocking chair he bought for you, insisting you don’t help him with anything “At least let me hold the screws John, I feel stupid just sitting here!”

To him, peace is this. This is what so many long nights holed up in some shithole on a mission have led to. Him sitting on the floor at your feet, building a life together while oldies play on the record player in the next room. He’s so overwhelmed in the moment he can’t help but pull your hand to his lips and kiss it and laughs at you when you ask him what’s wrong

“It’s all right, is the thing, love.”

When you get the first ultrasound, he stops at the store on the way home and purchased a picture frame (insisting you stay in the car and not overexert yourself, he’ll just be a moment, love). The next day he’s on base it now proudly sits facing him next to the photo of him and you vacationing in London with your faces squeezed together in the frame, selfie-style.

Tells anyone who enters his office about you and how far along you are, whether they ask or not, comparing the baby to different sized fruits, which parts were developing that week.

“She’s the size of a lime now, tiny little thing.”

“Can you imagine that she’s growing fingernails in my bird’s belly!”

Absolutely rubbed your swollen ankles in the evenings when he got home from work, peppering gentle kisses on them when he switched feet

Loved your pregnancy brain fog and would kiss your nose any time he got to remind you about something. He became the keeper of your calendar, scheduling your appointments and taking you to them.

When you go into labor, he’s on base in a meeting with some high-brass in a meeting on a highly classified matter. He’s not even allowed to bring his phone into the room. Instead having to turn it off and lock it in a safe prior to entering even with a baby on the way. He was aware this might happen and had instructed you on the line of succession.

“If you can’t get ahold of me, leave me a message lovie, then go down the line. Simon’s second-in–command-”

“Then Kyle, then Johnny, I know, John, you’ve drilled it into my head,” You soothe him, petting the creases he’s worn between his eyebrows, “It’ll be just fine, women have been doing it for thousands of years.”

“I’ll be there, I promise lovie,” He kisses your palm

You leave the message on John’s voicemail, a curt, “It’s time John, once I hang-up I’m dialing Simon, just like we practiced.”

Simon answers on the third ring, “Missus?” His rumbly voice cuts across the line.

“It’s time Simon and John’s still in the meeting since his phone is turned off.”

“Copy.”

The line goes dead leaving you blinking at the Call Ended screen.

You decide that Simon is aware of the drastic nature of the matter and instead busy yourself, you lug the baby bag and your purse to the floor next to the door and go through the checklist John had created in the front pocket: Stove off, windows shut and locked, televisions off…It wasn’t until Simon was letting himself into your front door that the list was likely a distraction from your husband to stop you from leaving on your own until Simon arrived.

Simon collects you with the cool confidence of a Lieutenant in the special forces.

No, don’t worry about the bags or the door, he’s got it, just get yourself into the car.

You try John’s number over and over on the way to the hospital, narrating Simon’s driving, “John, I’m going to have words with you when this is over, I cannot believe you let your pregnant wife in a car with what has to be the worst driver in all of Manchester!”

Before you know it, you’re being rushed into the hospital with Ghost snapping at the nurse at the desk for a wheelchair, NOW! He barks out orders in true military fashion leaving your head buried in your hands as you’re being escorted to the maternity ward.

“Now don’t worry, Sir, your wife is in excellent hands,” one of the nurses addresses Simon, all muscle pushing you in the wheelchair, unblinking and matching their pace.

“He’s not-” You try and interject.

“She better be,” Simon cuts you off, “And the labor will be handled with the utmost care or someone will have to answer to me personally.”

The contractions have started coming back to back and you’re pacing the hospital room, sucking on ice chips fed to you by a patient Simon.

Kyle and Johnny have also arrived and join him in his vigil, somehow maneuvering their way through the “Father and family only” policy the hospital has.

“She was adopted,” You later find out Kyle deadpanned at the security trying to stop him from entering the room, “Can’t you see the family resemblance?”

True to his word, John is there.

He’s rushed into the room, frazzled and running his hand over his beard, eyes darting until he finds you, “Hey sweet girl, I’m here, I’m here,” pointedly ignoring the nurse trying to count out the men in the room

(“Who are these men to you again miss?”)

(“I’m the father,” Gaz informs, flipping through a magazine to pass the time between bursts of activity with contractions.)

You moan out John’s name slapping at his chest weekly when he gathers you up into his arms and hugs you, “I’m mad at you John!”

“Don’t be mad, love, I made it just like I promised,” He tries to soothe you, smoothing his hands over your disheveled hair. “Not about being late, about getting me pregnant!” “It’s a bit late for that now, love,” He does his best to hide the smile twitching into place under his mustache. 

The boys remain in the room for the entire labor, John holding one hand and the other men trading off when your grip became too strong (“Dinnae know the lass could break my bones with just one hand,” Johnny moans shaking out his aching appendage.)

When the baby finally arrives, the doctor again looks around at the men in the room, “Would…Dad like to hold her?”

John finally extracts himself from your bruising grip to hold your daughter, eyes twinkling with joy at seeing the bundle covered in blood and viscera. Such a difference from every other time he’d been covered in the blood, these are stains he’ll gladly wear.

#1 baby wearer captain price

“I hardly get to hug you anymore because she’s always strapped to you!”

Price’s eyebrows go up at that, “Are you jealous, love?

 “Not jealous, but I miss my husband's arms around me!” When you say that with a slight pout in your voice, Price is quick to arrange Uncle Soap and Gaz so he can wine and dine you like old times. 

You make sure to wag your finger enough at the boys and remind them they’re there to babysit, not throw a rager and rile up the baby, even though you know your warnings are falling onto deaf ears. You wholeheartedly expect to return home to a cranky and overtired baby and two military men.

“Can’t neglect either of my girls” he’d mutter into your hair after pulling you close after dinner, holding you to his chest tightly in the middle of the sidewalk 

“You never do, John, you’re the best man I could’ve hoped for,” You muttered into his chest, “Never did I think I’d get someone so in love with me and our child.”

Will regularly fall asleep with the baby curled on his chest, boonie hat pulled down over his eyes, with your daughter also lulled to sleep by his steady breaths. You can’t help but take a photo every time it happens, so smitten with how your husband enjoys his quiet days on leave.

You can’t help but send the photo to the boys, having the group chat with them immediately blown up with emojis sent by Soap, laughing at the Captain’s prone form.

As a joke the photo ends up framed on Price’s desk, next to the ultrasound. Price actually enjoys having it to remind him of the peace he has waiting at home and the joke is ruined when the photo remains in it’s place of honor.

[unlosts]

hi !!

i'm pretty sure it was me w the perfume request! (my brain is so scattered i barely remember what i asked for but!! i'm so so excited to read it when you're done <33) (btw i'm loving the spencer fics and i'm psyched for more, your writing is so beautiful 🥹🫶🏼)

A/N: Thank you so much for your request! It was exactly the one I lost. Hope you like it, I had a lot of fun with it 🫶🏼.

Also no one asked but I'm a firm believer that Hotch is a Grey Vetiver by Tom Ford guy, or he should be!

At exactly 9:18 the sound of the elevator opening interrupts the quiet morning, Aaron Hochner walks out heading briskly towards his office, coat over his shoulders and briefcase in hand, nodding in greeting to the rest of the team who collectively turn to stare at him with various degrees of confusion plastered on their faces. 

“I was about to call a S.W.A.T team,” Says Emily, stopping him in his tracks “again.” 

At that Hotch finally turns to face them, his usually pristine white shirt wrinkled like he had picked it off the floor that morning. 

“Excuse he?” He asks, brow arched. 

Derek lets out a laugh at this, languidly spinning his chair from side to side but before he can say anything JJ, ever the mediator, interrupts “You’re just not usually this late, we were starting to worry.”

“Yeah, cuz y’know you have a bad track record” Says Penelope with a grimace, she’s perched by Morgan's desk toying with a feathery pink pen while she talks.  

“They were worried, I just knew you were maybe having some fun for once” Derek chimes in with a smile, letting out a huff when Pen pokes his side with her pen. 

“There’s no need to make a scene out of it, I’m sure I've been late plenty of times before” He tries to say in a stern enough tone that they’ll hopefully drop the subject. 

It would be easy to classify it as merely teasing but Hotch knew the entire team worried about him, namely about his lack of a social life outside of work. And usually he would entertain their banter for longer but he really is late today and he can already feel the beginning of a headache forming. 

“Actually," Spencer adds without looking up from his paper“this year, you were only late three times, the last one being about two and a half months ago on July when you had a flat tire and had to wait for triple A”.

“Thank you for that, Spencer” Hotch says, shooting him a look.

“No problem”   

“Nothing happened, I just got stuck in a bad pile up on my way there and I was already cutting it close beforehand, so if you all could focus back on your files that would be great, we have to present our consults before 5 today” He says trying, and failing to regain a modicum of authority. 

Just when he thought that they had tired themselves out, the elevator opens up again and you spill out of it, carrying with you the floral scent of your perfume and a dazzling smile that spells nothing but trouble for him. The kind that makes him stay up until 2am in the middle of the week and turns what was meant to be a quick shower into a half hour delay. 

“Hello hello, sorry for being so late, there was a bad bad pile up on my way here” You speak without pausing once for breath, your heels click clacking on your way to your desk where you unceremoniously dump your coat and purse on top of your desk. Heading for the kitchen to brew a new pot of coffee. 

On your way there you playfully ruffle Spencer’s hair and wink at Pen, who can’t help but comment on your good mood “Well aren’t you happy this morning missy” 

You make eye contact with him for a split second and Hotch can feel his throat dry up, he always felt like you breathed life into any room you walked in, the sun patterns following your steps whenever you went. So it makes sense that even now in the middle of fall he feels something warm settle over him even with such a brief look. 

He thinks he’s been staring at you for hours when it couldn’t have been more than a couple of seconds, by the time he snaps out of it he finds Emily regarding him with a quizzical eye and a smile that does nothing for his brewing headache. 

“Well, I’ve just been having a very nice week” You reply pointedly “even went and got myself a new perfume” He did, actually, but it’s not like you can say that. 

Seeing an out in the conversation he starts once more to go towards his office before he’s interrupted, once again, by one Emily Prentiss. 

“Huh” She says, pinning him down with a perfectly arched eyebrow

“What?” He asks exasperated, quickly losing his patience. 

“Aren’t you testy today?” She teases “I was just thinking about the fact that you both got stuck in traffic, despite coming from opposite sides of the city, that’s all” And with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders that’s anything but, she turns to work on her files. 

You pop out of the kitchen carrying with you two expertly done mugs of coffee, and even better timing, hastily sitting by Emily’s desk and leaving one mug in front of her. 

“I was hoping you could look over one of my cases with me? I’ve been stuck for ages and I could use a fresh set of eyes?” 

“So this is bribery coffee?”

“No, the bribe is the very nice bottle of red I have back at my place that’s all yours next girls night, the coffee is just because I’m a delight to be around” You reply grinning at her. 

Emily huffs a laugh and with everyone distracted Hotch finally makes his escape, shutting his office door and basking in the blissful quiet of his office. 

He spends the next hour and a half failing to fill expense reports, his mind wandering to your hair splayed on the pillows this morning; you staring up at him in the shower, a droplet of water running from the bridge of your nose to rest on your lip being kissed away by him. The exact dazzling smile from this morning but all his to keep.

The lost twenty minutes after dressing he spend with you pressed against the entrance door, your hands running over his back.  

With an hour left to go before lunch and a creek in his neck from leaning his head on his palm all morning he gives up and goes to get himself his second coffee of the day.

In the kitchenette right by the vending machine is his headache personified, getting herself a bag of skittles. 

While he makes his coffee Emily pauses next to him and extends the bag of candy in a silent offer that he declines with a shake of his head, right before leaving she says “I do love the new cologne, very summery fresh, but just a heads up, I do think she wears it better than you” 

[theconstantsidekick]

Lit Cigarettes (Part 1)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x BestFriend!Reader, Damon Salvatore x Stefan Salvatore x Sister!Reader (mentioned) Genre: Angsty Fluff

Summary: Y/n decides that Dean Winchester really needs to know how she feels about him.

(Set after the events of Supernatural season 4 and yes, Y/n is technically a Salvatore. I love the adopted sibling trope, can you tell?)

a/n: I have another part in mind if this does well.

Warnings: Smoking, mentions of smoking, romanticisation of smoking, a lot of that yes, sorry. Don't smoke kids.

Part 2 is here

He used to light her cigarettes when she was too busy talking. That’s what love is. According to her, that is the truest, most genuine form of love. The idea might sound quite contradictory, somehow. But it would make sense to smokers all around the world. 

The thought that somebody would just pluck the cigarette out of your hand, light it, take a little puff to keep the light aflame and just place it back between your index and middle finger. That’s somehow so painfully selfless that it can’t be classified as anything other than the most romantic act known to mankind. 

Now, the tragedy of it all was that that was the only showing of love she ever got from him. All she ever got was a lit cigarette handed off to her while she was too invested in spewing absolutely random bullshit about the sensors on automatic doors at some blackwater motel in an unnamed town. He’d do it quietly. He wasn’t quiet but there was always a quietness about him. Not quiet in the truest definition of the word. He was quiet in a different way, he talked. He was always charming, never not charming. He smiled and charmed everyone further still, but it felt like a very well rehearsed performance. His words, his charm, his smile seemed rehearsed, practiced relentlessly. A stark contrast to how they talked, when he talked to her and just her. Or well, so she thought until she found out that he could talk with a genuine smile to just about anyone unless there was a room full of people. Until the day she found that out, she felt quite special about it.

She felt important to him, enough for him to talk around her more, smoke around her more and light her cigarettes when she was too busy talking.

He never smoked around anyone else, hid the bad habit from his brother, but never her. It made her feel like there was a precarious unspoken bond between the two of them that could break at the mere mention of it. Could it?

She’s going to find out.

“Dean,” she calls out in no urgency, with a quiet calm. They are packing up their things, leaving the small motel room behind for another one in another town. Sam’s out at the reception, settling the bill. He’ll be back soon, she needs to wrap this up before he comes back. 

“Yeah?” Dean answers, never looking up from the duffle bag he’s aggressively shoving his clothes into.

“I love you.”

Dean’s motion halted at once. He doesn’t move, she thinks maybe he can’t move.

“Dean?”

The man in front of her gulps, audibly. “Yeah?”

“I love you.” It feels important to reiterate in this case. 

“I—” Words seem to be straining him. “I heard you the first time.”

“Good,” she tells him and then resumes packing her shit. But there’s a few more things to add, “I know we don’t talk about it, I know we aren’t supposed to. I know you’ve always known that I loved you and we still never talk about it, which means you don’t feel the same way, which again, I know. I am not trying to change your mind, I’m not trying to get into your pants. I’m certainly not asking you to love me back. I am not asking for anything actually, so you can quit looking so fucking terrified. I just needed to tell you because you up and died and it felt like my life stopped, like I couldn’t fucking breathe anymore. I felt hollow and broken and it felt wrong to be alive…” He looks at her then. Her voice is so thick with emotions, even though she is trying to keep them at bay, he must have felt compelled to look at her, she muses.

Shaking her head, she exhales audibly. “But you’re back now and I just needed to say it. I’ve loved you since I first saw you when I was 13. I don’t know how to not be in love with you, trust me, I’ve tried. So, I've learnt to make peace with it. I definitely don’t need you to say something, I just needed you to know that I love you, always have, most probably I always will. I need you to know that you are loved.”

There is silence then, no words, just the sound of her footsteps as she goes around the room picking up things she wants to shove into her bag.

“I…” Dean tries. But the words fade away just as quickly as the thoughts strike him. She looks at him for a second but the silence that proceeded makes her look away. She has just dropped a huge bomb, not that it was some revelatory information but it was something they had avoided talking about for literally ever, so it was fair that he needed some time to come up with a response. She is more than happy to give it to him.

But then Sam walks back into the room. “I’m pretty sure the dude at the reception thinks we’re a freaking thruple.” He walks to the washroom to collect his toiletry pouch and begins packing as well. “I mean, I’m not sure I can blame him? But I want to?” He shrugs. “Dean and I really don’t look all that alike, maybe that’s it? But this is like, the seventh motel in a row that’s given me really weird looks, you know? I don’t know whether to be flattered or plain disgusted—” His words drop off, as he finally notices the atmosphere in the room.

“Am I interrupting something?” He asks looking from his brother to his best friend.

“Yes,” Dean replies at the same time as she says, “No.”

“NO?!” Dean balks at her.

“Can you guys drop me off at the bus stop? I gotta head to Mystic Falls,” she says, zipping up her bag and exiting the room.

Dean follows her instantly. “Mystic Falls? I thought you weren’t talking to your brothers?” Running up to catch up with her, he races even further ahead to open the trunk of his car for her. 

“Yeah, but that was last week,” she tells him as if that was enough explanation. She places her bag in the trunk.

“They kicked you out!” Dean seems on edge. She can’t completely understand why. 

She looks at him. “It’s Stef’s birthday.”

“He’s had a couple hundred of those,” Dean argues.

She smiles, “I hope he has a couple hundred more, and I’ll try to attend them all.”

“Damon forgot yours!” 

She shrugs. “I’ll pretend to forget his. But this is Stefan. And besides, Caroline invited me. You want me to bail and piss her off?”

He slams the trunk shut. “Fine!” He acquiesces, albeit very aggressively. “But I’m dropping you to the Boarding House, not a fucking bus stop.”

Meanwhile, Sam comes out, carrying his own luggage as well as Dean's—who had apparently completely forgotten about it. He opens the trunk again, eyeing Dean and her very suspiciously.

She moves to open the back door of the Impala. “You’re going to Ohio, it’s like a three hour detour.”

“It’s two hours with me behind the wheel. Get in,” he commands, leaving no room for any argument. 

“I was doing that anyway,” she says almost to herself, getting in the back. 

Dean stops her. “Get in the front. Sam’ll sit in the back.”

“I will?” Sam questions, lost.

Dean doesn’t care. He just gets in the driver seat, not waiting on either of the two. A look passes between Sam and her. He raises a brow in question, she just smiles and shrugs again in response and gets in.

Later, when Sam’s already asleep in the backseat, Dean clears his throat.

“So.”

She doesn’t turn around to look at him, she isn’t sure she was supposed to, and it’s drizzling, she doesn’t want to turn away from the window, not yet. “So.”

She can feel him shift uncomfortably next to her. “You gonna say anything?” He asks.

She thinks for a second. “I don’t think I have anything left to say, really. I said everything I had to say.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” Dean yells out.

She has to look at him then, with ire in her eyes. “SHhhh!! He’s sleeping!” She whisper-yells at him, pointing to Sam in the back seat. 

Trying to compose himself once again, Dean whisper-yells back at her, “What do you mean you��ve said everything you had to?”

“I said it, in the motel,” She explains.

“And that was it? The end of the conversation?” Dean questions, seeming very agitated.

“I mean, yeah! What else am I supposed to do?” She throws back, his agitation is quite contagious. It always has been. 

“You really think that was a reasonable end to that conversation?!” Dean bites.

She’s getting annoyed now. “What do you want? You want me to elaborate? Write a thesis paper on it? Or—or would you like to read my diary where I scribbled ‘Y/n Winchester’ a million times? What exactly is the resolution you’re looking for here?”

“You wrote ‘Y/n Winchester’ in your diary a million times…?” He asks, almost as if he cannot comprehend the idea of it. 

From anyone else she would’ve taken that as an insult. Had it been anyone else they might have actually been making fun of her. But it’s not anyone else. It’s Dean. So she’s compelled to look at him.

“Yeah, Dean. And it was just as embarrassing then as it is right now. But I was the nerdy teenager and you were the hot jock who the cheerleaders at Mystic Falls High were dying to date.” Just the thought of those days makes her morose. “I don’t like to think about those days.”

Then there is silence again.

Until Dean clears his throat, slowly he says, “But I never drove any of them home.” And damn it all to hell, it makes her smile. And damn it all to hell, her smile apparently makes him more confident in his approach. “I didn’t wait for them outside their place, blaring AC/DC at the crack of dawn, all to get milkshakes before school… It was you. I wanted to hang out with you.”

But that’s somehow the wrong thing to say, “Never at school.”

“What?” Dean asks, thrown off.

“You didn’t talk to me at school.” Admitting it, it breaks something in her all over again. It’s like she’s in highschool again. She hates it.

“That’s not true! We had lunch together everyday!” He defends.

“Nope,” she tells him. “You had lunch with the cheer squad while I sat on the table next to you silently eating really bad beans.”

“But I was there,” He tries.

“You were,” she concedes. “You were there but you weren’t there.”

Silence falls once again.

“I don’t blame you,” she is the one that breaks it. “For high school.”

“Why not?” Dean asks, sounding genuinely more hurt at the fact that she doesn’t blame him than the fact that she accused him of ignoring her.

“It’s a weird time for everyone, and I think Mystic Falls High was the first time you got to actually enjoy it. You stayed there long enough to stop being the new kid and I think it was also the first time you felt like you fit in. I didn’t, and that was never your fault… or your problem for that matter,” she explains, fidgeting with her hands in her lap.

“That’s not fair,” Dean opposes.

“What?”

“Your problems are my problems.”

And the finality of his statement gives her a weird sort of confidence to say, “Sheesh. Wonder why I ended up falling in love with you.” 

The car skids a little.

She can’t help it, she laughs.

“YOU CAN’T JUST SAY SHIT LIKE THAT!” Dean argues.

She’s still laughing, “I’m sorry. But… Come on! It was kinda funny.” 

“I did not find that funny! Not even a little bit! What’s so funny about being—” He cuts himself off.

She laughs a little harder. “That’s what’s funny! You can’t even say it! You wanna know what’s so funny about being in love with you? I can’t stop it. It’s…” She sits up to position her back towards the window and moves herself to face Dean better. “It’s like breathing. I have tried, time and time again, to stop, and for a while I can. I can try to hold my breath when I’m being mindful of it. I can remember not to breathe when I’m focused on not breathing but the moment my brain gets engaged anywhere else, I’m screwed. The moment I look away, the moment I burn my toast, or start reading a book or watch a film, the moment I’m in a rush to meet Bonnie, the moment my mind becomes occupied with anything other than the conscious thought reminding me not to breathe—BAM! I’m falling in love with you again. It’s so fucking easy, it’s so fucking comfortable. Loving you is the my most cherished accomplishment because I’ve done it so fucking well for so freaking long.” She smiles. “I feel like I deserve a prize.”

Dean stays silent.

Her smile fades.

She shakes her head, she knew what he felt. She’s always known how he feels. A long silence shouldn’t be the thing that aches her heart. Not after having been in love with this man for this long.

“Did you—” He cuts himself short. She turns to him again, eager for him to continue. And her silent pleas are heard loudly. Continue he does, “Did you decide to tell me… about this today cause we met 15 years ago today?”

“No,” she brushes him off. “I just needed to get this off my—” Suddenly his words strike her like a thunderbolt. “What do you mean 15 years ago today?”

He shrugs, eyes on the road. “A day before Stefan’s birthday, that’s when we met for the first time.”

“You… You remember the day we met?” She asks, dumbfounded.

Dean doesn’t answer, instead the car comes to a stop. He’s pulled into the parking lot of a 7Eleven. “I’ll be right back.”

Only when she watches Dean get out of the car and walk into the store does she realise that it’s the 7Eleven in Mystic Falls. They are only a few minutes away from the Salvatore Boarding house, barely 12 minutes away from her brothers’ place. 

She can’t believe she feels this way but a part of her feels like she’s running out of time. But running out of time for what? It’s Dean! He’ll be there to pick her up two days later. He’ll be there to light her cigarettes in a crowd—and not mean absolutely anything by it—in two days time. It’s not that long. They’ve dropped her off to live with her brothers’ for weeks even. Two days is nothing. It’s barely a visit. Then why in God’s name does she feel like there’s a clock right above her head counting down. And counting down to what??

“Here you go,” Dean says, as he gets in and throws something in her lap. 

She catches out of reflex. “Cigarettes?” It’s two packs of menthols, her current favorite.

“What about ‘em? You like these right?” He pulls out of the parking lot. “You quit Marlboro Reds a month ago, and switched to these so I thought they’d be a safer bet. Was I wrong?” 

It’s natural though. The most natural thing in the world. Dean buys her cigarettes. He always buys her cigarettes.

The thing about smoking that most people don’t understand is that it opens a whole new world. It’s bad obviously and no one should do it. But when you do it, when you smoke, there are a few things, a few rules that might not mean anything to a non-smoker but mean everything to a smoker. 

Take for instance, ‘Puff-Puff-Pass’. 

For any random person, the intricacies of ‘Puff-Puff-Pass’ exists to the extent of its name. But only a smoker knows that in an intimate setting, between two friends, the rule doesn’t apply. It’s rude not to follow the rule in a social gathering amongst semi-strangers, but among the two of them, it never applied.

Similarly, buying someone cigarettes is the purest gesture of care. 

Having a pack ready for consumption whenever she came back from a visit to the Salvatore Boarding House? To her that always felt like the loudest way that Dean could tell her that he cared for her. 

And he did these things often. Even when he quit smoking, he’d light her cigarettes for her. For as long as Dean has known she smokes, she has never lit a cigarette for herself. These gestures of… call it love, call it self-destruction, they have never not been there. So him buying her cigarettes is the most natural thing in the world but it throws her off still.

“Y/n?”

“What?” She suddenly remembers there was a question there, in his words before. “Oh yeah. Menthols… I smoke menthols now, yes. Good guess.”

He noticed me change my cigarettes? She asks herself, feeling something very close to giddy. Before she has to scream at herself inside, cause Dean has always done this and it has never meant anything. It’s just his small way of adhering to his duty of care.

“Thanks,” she tells him belatedly. She doesn’t fail to notice how the words make his nose scrunch up—the way it usually does when he dislikes something.

“You said you’ve tried not loving me,” Dean states and that’s all it is—a statement, an observation.

But she feels compelled to explain herself, “It’s not easy,” she tells him. “You’re… You’re you. You’re charming and hot and…” she’s spilled most of her guts, what harm can a little bit of spilling her heart do now? “You’re beautiful. You’ve got a different girl to take home every other night. It kills me inside, I won’t lie. It’s torture seeing you laughing with someone else. It really is. But it’s not your fault. And, I know you don’t feel the same way, and for a long time I didn’t mind this one sided affair cause, it was mine, you know? This love I had for you, it was all mine. I didn’t care if you loved me back… But then you…”

“Died,” he finishes the sentence for her.

She nods lamely. “It felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest. I don’t remember what I did when you weren’t around. I don’t remember how I survived because to me breathing was being in love with you. It’ll always be that. I just knew if I ever saw you again, I needed you to know how I felt. I’d been too selfish with my love for you. I… I don’t know. It sounds stupid now. I just needed you to know and I felt like I should tell you today so I did.”

And then the car stops again. 

She looks up and she’s standing in front of the boarding house. 

Clock’s run out.

Dean tries to say something but she doesn’t know if she has the courage to hear a placated, softly-worded rejection so she just gets out of the car. 

He follows suit.

He rushes to open the trunk and pulls out her luggage.

She takes it for him, and then begins walking to the door.

“Y/n!”

It feels like a gust of wind. 

The way he calls for her feels like the gust of wind that blows right before the lighting strikes.

She turns without hesitance. 

Their eyes lock.

He’s standing next to the driver side, the door to the impala is still open. The only thing lighting his face is a street light a couple paces behind him. Bathed in yellow, he looks like a wild field of sunflowers, with his messy blond hair and painfully green eyes. He’s absolutely breathtaking.

For all her talk of her love for Dean Winchester being like breathing, in this moment, at the sight of this man looking absolutely divine, she doesn’t think she remembers how to breathe at all.

So with bated breath, she waits for him to speak.

“Y/n…” He says again, before something changes and his eyes stop shining, his posture hardens, his hand grips the Impala’s door a little harder and his face loses color. Then he says, “We’ll pick you up Tuesday.” With that he gets back in the car and drives off. 

It’s only when they’ve crossed the Mystic Falls border does the silence in the Impala break.

“You’re an idiot,” Sam tells him. 

Find Part 2 here.

[sammylkcho]

Please.. Forgive me.

Warnings/Notes: vague descriptions of dismemberment, descriptions of gory scenes, angst, deaths, anxiety, intrusive thoughts, mentions of suicide, more questions than answers

"I'm sure we’ll be able to get out of this, especially with Painter’s help.. distracting those disposables Urbanshade brings so we can grab the crystal" you said in a cheerful voice, swinging your legs back and forth from the box you were sitting on.

Sebastian let out an uncomfortable hum, his attention glued to the files marked "CLASSIFIED" in bold letters. He was pouring over the documents without even a glance away, barely even pausing to breathe. You’d seen him work himself to exhaustion like this before, sometimes even passing out from the strain. Secretly, you were starting to worry he’d begin hallucinating from the lack of sleep.

Your face unconsciously tightened into a frown, and your lips pressed into a thin line as you noticed his anxious habit—running a hand through his hair and trying to tuck it behind his fins. It reminded you of when he’d always push the hair falling down each side of his face behind his ears back when he was (well, still is) human.

Quickly replacing your frown, you kept chatting away about all the things you could do once you were back on the surface. You mentioned how living by a nice beach could be a fresh, relaxing start for both of you after everything. Painter could even capture the beauty of the sunsets there.

There was no sign he was listening, but you knew his mind was elsewhere. Still, you kept talking—it was a surefire way to help calm your own nerves.

Listening to Painter ramble on about whatever he liked—a new drawing or sketch he’d made, or even just complaining about the disposables—was one of the only things that could ground you, helping keep you tethered when your thoughts began to consume you. Somehow, it both soothed you and brought back all the anxieties you were left with at the end of each day.

Sometimes Painter noticed the shifts in your mood and asked about them. Usually, you didn’t tell him anything to avoid worrying him, letting him continue his usual ramblings, but today was one of those rare moments when you let a thought slip.

“.. Are you alright? I started complaining about Sebastian, and you didn’t even jump in to defend him or argue about it” he noted, trying to keep the worry in his tone hidden. Being soft or consoling wasn’t something his programming was used to after all his time in a place like this.

You looked down, trying to find the right words to explain to the AI the emotional mess you were in now (and, honestly, always) and to make him understand, even just a little.

“It’s just... Is it wrong that I’m becoming numb to someone dying? I used to feel sick, to gag whenever I saw a disposable’s corpse, and now it doesn’t faze me—their deaths or the brutal injuries. It’s like it doesn’t gross me out at all. I think picking through bodies with Sebastian is getting to me...” You chuckled softly, though it was more out of hollow irony than anything.

“And besides, it’s hard trying to help Sebastian when he only lets me tend to the disposables that end up here. Other than that, he doesn’t let me help him physically or mentally.”

You ran a hand through your hair, trying in vain to calm yourself or slow down the racing of your thoughts. You felt your breathing grow ragged, your hands shaking beyond your control as if they were reacting all on their own.

“It’s exhausting... I want to help him a little because I know the hell he’s dealing with, but I also have no idea what goes through his head, especially when he won’t tell me the full story.”

Your voice wavered, your teeth chattering as a tremor started to take over your body.

“He tells me I can’t help him when I can’t even help myself. I can handle my mess and his at the same time; I know I can.”

You could hear Painter’s voice saying something, but it didn’t register.

“I know I can do it, I’m fine. I wouldn’t get tired of hearing his complaints or thoughts.”

There was Painter’s voice again. What was he saying?

“I can handle it, I’M FINE—”

“You’re bleeding!”

Painter’s voice came through the old computer speakers so loudly you swore it sounded distorted.

You tasted something metallic on your lower lip, and your tongue quickly recognized the taste of blood when you licked it, realizing what it was.

You looked down at your hands, now stained red, with the indents of your nails pressing into your palms.

When you blinked, trying to focus on your surroundings, you noticed your eyelashes were wet, and your cheeks felt uncomfortably damp. You had been crying too.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to… Sorry.” You didn’t even know why you were apologizing or what for. You just felt the need to after putting poor Painter through this, letting him see you unraveling over your anxieties, showing him this sorry state.

“It’s okay... Just.. do you want to talk it over more calmly?” he asked, his words sounding a bit awkward as he wasn’t sure what to say or do.

You quickly shook your head, wiping your tears away with your sleeve. You braced your hands against the floor to stand, relying on it to steady you because your legs were still trembling. You didn’t trust yourself to get up without some support, given how shaky you still felt.

Before Painter could say anything else, you left as quickly as you could, trying to drown out the voices in your head blaming you for burdening him, for voicing your problems aloud. You didn’t deserve even his pity.

You were pathetic—worse than pitiful.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to show up at Sebastian’s shop, the place you called home.

You sprinted quickly into one of the rooms down the long hallway you’d been running through. Instinct drove you under the desk in the wide room, both hands clamped over your mouth and nose to stifle the sound of your heavy, panicked breathing. You needed to hide from this monster.

Scenes of the person you were escaping from replayed in your head like a film.

It was just another disposable who’d somehow made it this far while you’d been with Painter. You’d spotted him at a distance in a dark room before the voices over the speakers cut through the silence, alerting you and the disposable who was now only inches away from you.

“There’s another person inside the facility. They violated company regulations and are complicit with Z-13. Their elimination will yield twice the initial reward.” The HQ voice blared through the speakers, making you gasp when it mentioned your name.

You’d forgotten that some of the cameras still worked throughout the facility, likely monitoring the disposables and reporting on what was taking them down along the way.

The moment you took a step forward and your footfall echoed across the room, you felt a burning gaze on the back of your neck. Without daring to look back at the person behind you, you took off running, a prey fleeing from its hunter.

The sound of a missed gunshot made your blood run cold in an instant. You didn’t even want to ask how he got a weapon, but he had one—and you were completely defenseless.

That’s what brought you here, crouched under the desk, silently praying to God that, just this once, he would listen and spare you from this person.

You prayed to God, to Eyesfastion, hoping they’d appear out of pure chance and force him to look them in the eyes. Or for an Angler to come roaring through the rooms, Chainsmoker to slow his steps. Any miracle.

Of all the times you’d wanted to be six feet under, wished for death to just take you already, this time you didn’t want to go. No matter how often you’d begged for death to come, this time, you wanted to live.

You held your breath, clamping down on it entirely when the sound of firm footsteps filled the room where you hid.

Closer and closer.

The desk creaked as something leaned against it. He was mere inches away. You could hear his breathing and the clank of the gun as he set it on top of the desk.

Your shaking eyes drifted to the glass in front of you, showing a view of the vast, deep ocean no other human besides Urbanshade could ever witness at such depths. Due to your crouched, hidden position under the desk, you couldn’t see your own reflection in the glass, but you could see his. A sharp gasp escaped you when you saw the appearance of your hunter.

His gaze immediately dropped downward as your gasp echoed through the room. His hand swiftly gripped the gun before he moved around to the back of the desk.

Sebastian was tucking away documents and small DNA samples he found into the neoprene suit of the now-deceased expendable, also grabbing the unused batteries. He stored everything in the small pouches strapped along his tail.

When he finished organizing everything and made sure it was all in place, he started heading back to his tent, the quick thought of seeing you there to talk non-stop just to fill the ever-present silence. A humorous smile crossed his face; this time, he’d make sure to join the conversation.

The door indicator’s number flashed, crackling quickly, before the face of Painter appeared on the screen.

"SEBASTIAN."

The AI’s shout disoriented him for a couple of seconds, leaving him confused by its sudden appearance. Painter usually waited until Sebastian visited him in his usual location to relay any messages, so seeing him appear here and shout was odd.

"What’s going on? I’m doing inventory on the expendables, so you can tell me whatever you need later, you stupid—"

"Shut up, you filthy fish, and get to room 65. They’re in danger."

The mention of your name and that you were in danger ignited something inside him.

You had already mastered the dangers of this place, even if you still trembled with fear after an Angler encounter. What had stopped you now?

He didn’t take the time to respond to the AI, instead moving as fast as his instincts could carry him to the room number. He knew the place like the back of his hand and was only six rooms away—just a little more, and he’d be there.

He was greeted by a wide hallway and the stench of blood, sharply invading his senses and nostrils. The smell was sickening, but he could bear it for a few minutes—though this time, it felt disturbingly familiar.

The stench led him to a room where he immediately noticed blood-stained glass, crimson trails streaking downwards. The sight disgusted him more than anything else, for no clear reason.

His third hand moved to his three-barreled shotgun. Although he heard nothing, something told him that wasn’t a good sign.

His breath caught entirely when two bodies came into view, and he recognized yours immediately, even though he tried not to.

You were covered in blood, both your own and your attacker’s. Dried blood streamed from your nose, bruises becoming clear against the pallor of your skin. You had two gunshot wounds: one in your stomach and another in your leg.

Then he looked at your attacker.

The blood on the attacker’s face made it hard to see him clearly, but gray hair and a graying beard showed through wrinkles and lines that marked his features.

He had also been shot, but his wound was on the forehead, and there were a series of scratches on his neck, arms, and face—made with fierce aggression.

Sebastian could almost picture the possible scenario that led to all this.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind, wondering if your pulse might still be beating, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

He heard no breath, no desperate gasping for air. Nothing.

The silence terrified him; you were supposed to fill that silence with words, turn that "nothing" into "something."

Had your attacker enjoyed your suffering? Had he even regretted, at any moment, the shots he’d fired at you? Had he seen you lifeless and felt fear at his mistake? Would he have slept soundly knowing he’d killed you?

No.

No, he didn’t believe it.

He would have made him regret being alive. He would have killed him in a worse way than he killed you.

He would have made him swallow his own teeth, fingers, and scraps of skin while he was still alive. Being alive would have been its own torture.

More than anything, he wanted to avenge you, to have done something so that this repulsive creature hadn’t killed or tortured you, even if in some "stupid" way.

…

He needed you.

[kvrokasaa]

Please, Don't Leave Me

Karasu x reader

cw: Gn!pronouns but afab!reader, reader has female genitalia, implied cunnilingus, and sex, suggestive themes at the end, angst-ish, fluff, kinda forced plot ngl, Karasu's accent might be off, not proofread, Otoya being respectful to a woman 😨, Isagi and Bachira are mentioned once.

2.5k words

Today felt off. Well, more specifically, the past week has felt off. You don’t know if you’re the only one feeling this way. But it’s like the shift in your relationship has turned.

Every time you try and get attention from your boyfriend, he waves you off. Literally. He waves his hand, acting as if you’re a fly pestering him.

You don’t know what started this behavior. Just two weeks ago you both were fine. Visiting your family and having a nice time. You know it wasn’t anything your family said, they don’t pry into your relationships. But you can’t seem to figure it out for the life of you.

Just last night when you came over to his place, you tried to ask if he wanted to watch a movie with you. It was movie night, every week you both dedicate a night to watching movies, whatever happens, happens. But Karasu simply shrugged and said, “ ’s late and I have early practice tomorrow.”

Karasu never shrugs off movie night.

As to get some clarification for why this is happening, you decide to show up at his practice. And it wasn’t early morning, which made you even more confused.

So much questions and so little answers.

As you make your way to the field, they stopped playing for minute to catch their breaths and drink some water, you pass by a few of his teammates. They all give you confused glances.

You’ve never once showed up to his practices. Only to his games. It’s not because you didn’t want to, he just never asked and you didn’t want to intrude.

You carry a little bag in your hand. He forgot his lunch and, being a good s/o, you decided to bring it with you.

“Hey baby,” the words come out as you rest your head on his back. “You forgot your lunch, here.”

You hand him the bag. It’s already past noon, but you’re guessing he didn’t have anything to eat unless his friends offered some of their food.

He only grunted in response and took the bag from your hand, rather forcefully too. “Thanks.” His response was curt.

He made his way to the benches and set the bag down.

“Why have you been ignoring me,” you’re not sure ignoring was the right word, but it was among the similarities of the traits he’s been showing you this past week. “I’m not ignoring ya.” His voice was laced with malice. You don’t know why, but your body reacted before your brain as it flinched a little.

His words, even the mean ones, never seemed to startle you. But after the agonizing thoughts every night, which caused less and less sleep, you couldn’t think straight. Which resulted in your body moving before you could think to stop it.

If he was concerned or remorseful about his attitude, he didn’t show it. His face was hardened and still, as if it was sculpted.

“It doesn’t feel like that. You’ve been putting me off all week. Not even a good morning text. What’s…” Your voice died off as you saw him turn around and glare at you. He’s acting like you broke one of his million dollar vases, which he does own unironically.

“Is that what ya want? A ‘good morning’ text, a ‘how was your day?’ text? I’m working my ass off all day to provide for me and you and yer complaining that I don’t show enough love? Just be grateful for once in our fucking relationship.”

You wanted to bite back, to tell him that you work too. Sure your job doesn’t pay as well as his does, but he also has the inheritance from his family to back him up. You don’t. You get up every morning and work, you don’t complain either. Sure, what you’re doing now can be classified as complaining, but you rarely ever open your mouth to complain. And you are grateful, you don’t know how many times you’ve been grateful in your relationship with him. It’s not a chore for you, but he’s acting like you’ve never said, ‘thank you,’ to him once.

But you bite your tongue when he opens his mouth again. “I don’t think ya understand, Y/n. I play soccer for me; this is the only chance I get to be away from you. But now you show up and have to ruin everything. Get it through yer thick skull, I don’t want you around unless it’s necessary.”

Your eyes widen at his last sentence. Did he think you were a chore to be around? Did he only want you around when he felt it was convenient? Did he ever think of you as his s/o?

You aren’t one to cry in public places, sometimes you even hold back your tears in your own bedroom. You don’t like the feeling of tears sliding down your cheeks. You hate the feeling of pain and failure. You’ve never even cried in front of your own boyfriend and you have been together for six months now.

But you can’t stop the tear from falling down your cheek and onto the grassy field. You manage to stop the next one, and the one after that. You sniffle and nod your head. You have nothing left to say to him, if he wants space, then you’ll give him space. This is just him setting his boundaries, right?

Right.

“Okay.” You don’t know how, but you manage to hold your head up and keep your tears at bay, along with your voice neutral. “If you really feel that way, then I’ll leave.”

There were many implications behind your words. You could mean the relationship or just the field where you stand in now. You honestly don’t know which one of them you meant. But you let your legs take you away from his one happy place.

He chose his career over you, and you’re fine with that. But you being fine with that doesn’t mean you will settle into this little routine.

You’ll dip your feet into the water, see how much of an impact his words leave in your relationship. If you don’t like the ripples in the water, then you’ll just leave.

He hears scoffs and snorts from his team as he snaps back to reality. “What the fuck dude? All they did was ask you a simple question.” Isagi chimes in. “Yeah man. You did not need to blow up that like.”

Otoya looks over at Isagi and nods his head, “I’m going with Isagi on this one.”

Karasu scoffs. “Shut it, fuckboy. You-” “Don’t tell me what to do moron. You made them fucking cry.”

He made you cry? You’ve never cried before, at least not in front of him. Was he so lost in thought that he didn’t even see your tears? Did his words hurt you that much?

“You gotta fix this before it’s too late~.” Bachira voiced Karasu's thoughts.

...

Your house seems bare and lonely without the smile on your face, or the warm touches from him. Your plants seem to reflect your emotions, droopy and sad.

You make your way to your bedroom, ready to sulk in bed for the rest of the day. Thanks to it being a weekend, you have the day off. Which means you could sulk for as long as you want.

You pull the weighted blanket onto your body and sigh contentedly at the comfort. This is the only comfort you need right now, a stupid rom-com, some junk food, and a good amount of weight.

Your phone goes off before you can delve into the movie too much. You sigh, already knowing who it’s from. You picked it up and just as you guessed, Karasu.

He had a written a whole paragraph about how sorry he is and that he would be glad to make it up to you. You opted to just text him back with:

It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean it haha, it’s late so I’ll talk in the morning. Goodnight!

You already know that he’s going to think something’s up. Let him, he deserves the cold shoulder, an insidious voice sang in the back of your mind. As much as you want to brush the voice away, you know that it’s true. He does deserve the cold shoulder. You’ve been nothing but good to him and he treats you like this?

You let your thoughts run wild and finally determine that you'll respect his words for a bit. If he wants you to leave him alone, you'll leave him alone. You won't go to his practices and games or make him his lunches anymore.

A few hours passed by as you dwelled in your bed. You should probably text some of your friends and ask for a night out. But honestly, you just wanted to stay in and eat all the junk you can.

You've watched at least three rom-com movies; some made you laugh and some made you cry. You want to say that you mainly cringed, but what you mainly did was wish Karasu could act like some of the male leads.

Yeah, he remembers your favorite food and gets you as many things as you want. But you wish he would put away his pride and apologize.

Before you knew it, your eyes drifted off while your mind rambled about Karasu.

...

The smell of pancakes and eggs woke you from your slumber. You yawned and stretched your muscles as you made your way out of bed. You weren't too shocked to see Karasu in your kitchen with the 'kiss the cook' apron you gifted him as a joke on his birthday.

When you two had an argument, he would always cook you food, buy you things, and spend the entire day with you. But those things are meaningless after the argument you had the other day.

But you still let him try.

He smiles when he sees your sleepy face. But his smile turned into a pout when he saw your runny mascara and puffy/red eyes. He did that. He made you cry. Karasu walks up to you and brings you into his arms.

"I'm sorry pretty baby," he kissed your forehead. "I don't deserve you."

You snort at that; there's something you both can agree on. He smiles when he hears your snort. Step one: make you laugh: check.

You both sit at the table and eat the delicious food he made. Contrary to popular opinion, Karasu is actually a good cook. The food was gone in minutes.

"I have a game tomorrow," he says as he chews the last bite on his plate. "I can reserve a front-row seat for you, like always."

You give him a kind smile; you want to say no but his puppy eyes are too tempting. "Okay." Your response was curt, you didn't mean anything by it. But Karasu took it as you giving the same attitude he gave you yesterday. He pouted and grabbed your hand, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles. "I wanna hear ya cheering f'me, okay?" You nodded your head and he smiled at that, bringing your hand up and kissing it. "That's my pretty baby."

You two spent the whole day talking and shopping. You got the things you needed and wanted, and even more things that Karasu thought would look good on you.

The gifts made you smile, but they held most of the weight behind your fake smile. You didn't want to speak out that you didn't need these meaningless things, you just wanted him to hug you and tell you that he loves you. You know that you just have to speak up about these things, but you don't want to start another argument.

Your tongue was bit through the entire day and night with him.

...

You woke up a bit later than intended, but the sleep was welcomed and needed. You felt like the pain and memories of the past few days have been erased.

You felt like you were forgetting something. You yawned and turned on your phone, then it hit you.

Karasu's soccer game. It's 1:30 in the afternoon, you're sure the game is already halfway through. And it's a thirty-minute drive to the stadium. Which means when you get there, it'll be almost over. So, there's no point in going. So you opted to just grab something to eat and turn on Netflix. Yeah, you feel bad, but honestly, Karasu deserves this. Maybe he'll remember not to catch an attitude with you for no reason.

Karasu on the other hand, is distraught. He doesn't remember how many times he's looked over at the stands.

He thought that you were over the other day. He apologized and made it up to you. He took you shopping and to your favorite restaurant.

His mind was elsewhere and he couldn't get into the flow of the game. His kicks weren't on point and his precision was flawed. The coach called him in and swapped for another player.

"Get your shit together or leave."

Karasu took the latter; he needs to see you.

The drive was long originally, but his thoughts made it longer. Every second he wasn't with you, he felt that it was another second you could up and leave his life.

He finally got there and quickly unlocked your door with the spare key. No boxes, nothing packed, nothing is gone. Air came back into his lungs, and he could finally breathe again.

He rushed to your room, his pout getting deeper as he saw you on your bed watching Netflix.

Your eyes widened as he rushed into your room. You swear this man will give you cardiac arrest one of these days. "What..What are you doing here?" Your eyes followed him as he stalked to your side of the bed where you were lying. "Your game, it hasn't even ended yet." He grabbed your hands before he answered, bringing them up to his cheeks.

"Baby, I'm sorry for being a dickhead, but doncha think it's rude to not come when I asked ya to?" He almost whined out. You pouted as you rubbed his cheeks with your thumbs, "I'm sorry," you cooed out. "My handsome boy, I didn't mean to."

He shook his head, "No, don't apologize baby. I shouldn't have yelled at ya. Forgive me, yeah? Just please, don't leave me." He pouted, "I don't think I can go any longer without yer kisses and hugs." He doesn't remember when he got so romantic and cheesy. He used to laugh at people who were obsessed with their s/o and used to call them mediocre. But now here he is, so fucking obsessed with you. He feels like he can't breathe when you don't give him your love. He lives off it.

"I love ya so much, my pretty baby." He brought one of your hands to his lips, peppering kisses all of it as he looked into your eyes. "Ya don't gotta say it back, jus want ya to know."

And you did know, especially through his actions. The way he kisses you, the way he dotes on you, and the way he went down on you for hours. No amount of whines and pleads for him to stop, no amount of " 's too much," were enough to stop him. His tongue and his groans against you made you feel both pain and pleasure. Karasu loves you so much and proved that while he fucked you all night.

a/n: His accent, his smile, him <3333 Karasu is just ahbsdjsdhsdje. I'm acting up for this man

[chevelleneech]

The whole AYS show seems like Jimin is trying to make things go back to how they were in the past with Jungkook (i.e., in 2020/21), and Jungkook is just going along with it for the sake of it and trying to enjoy it. Now, either they are holding back in these episodes or something, but there, I cannot see even the slightest bit of affection, which can be classified as romantic or maybe romantic in any sense. They just seem like 2 bros (not in a homophobic way, but in a bestfriends for a decade goofing around way) hanging out. He is enjoying it for sure, Jungkook I mean, but he is definitely not the one putting a lot of thought, or some actual good conversation during trips, its like going through motions because someone invited you. Its mostly jimin trying to make the atmosphere feel good.

Also, another unpopular opinion is that they, in Sapporo episodes, just feel sadder? anxious? or, um, discontent (most probably because of the military), but it probably would have been better if they went to Sapporo without cameras again.

I disagree. Your opinion is yours, but I think they appear to be having fun, and ignoring how much Jungkook is laughing and literally saying out his own mouth that he’s happy, makes no sense.

Is it possible Jimin is trying to rekindle something? Yes? But we don’t know that. They haven’t talked about anything of the sort, so I don’t see the point in letting that color your view of the show. I’ve said it before and will say it again, it’s fine to have your theories and such, but you can’t slap them on what we’re being shown and decide that’s what it is.

Yes, I think they’re dating so my opinions on how they act are biased in that regard, but I am also able to watch the show as it is. Dating or not, Jimin and Jungkook both have been happy in each episode we’ve seen them spending time together in. The very first one is the only one where, imo, we saw hesitancy or nerves more like, but they also gave an explanation for why. They hadn’t seen each other, JK was working, and Jimin planned it yet wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

That latter bit alone insinuates to me that they had something deeper prior to hiatus, and were nervous about being together again in a serious one on one type of trip, but by the end of Connecticut they seemed fine. Constantly pulling on the “JK seems to be going along for the ride” thing is again, very Tkkr minded. Jimin planned it and JK said yes, so yes, technically he went along with it. However, Jungkook said himself by the end, he wanted to keep doing it. Jungkook said himself, he wanted to go back to Tokyo/Japan in general with Jimin, because they had such a good time the first time (GCFT).

I get it, you guys want a reason to explain away emotions of theirs you don’t understand, but what’s the point? They are telling us they’re happy. They’re telling us they’re having fun. They’re telling us the memories they’re making together will be what they think back on once enlisted. You’re digging for reasons to claim they’re not being truthful, and that’s why a different version of the show is forming in your head.

I’d also like to state a strong opinion here, that plenty of people hate to see discussed: Jungkook’s personality has always been “disinterested”, and it is likely because he’s neurodiverse. Solos of other members, and JM and Jikook antis alike have been saying the same thing over and over for years about how he acts rude, drifts off, is selfish, overly competitive, etc., as a reason for why they think he dislikes Jimin, dislikes this or that member, is actually in love with Tae, and so on.

Jungkook has even said these things about his personality, and it’s been co-signed by the other members. So while it’s possible he’s never been checked for anything, the truth is whether he knows or not, the parts of his personality you all keep harping on as proof of him “going through the motions,” are common amongst people with autism and ADHD. It’s why fans with them have said for years he reminds them of themselves or people they know. It’s why I say it.

I’m not diagnosing him, but he does share traits, and it isn’t new. Jungkook has always had moments of appearing standoffish and unbothered, yet when he talks about things he did during those same moments, he recounts them with positive words and smiles. Not only that, but every person who has ever had anything to say about JK, has used positive words to discuss him. They say he’s quiet and shy, then proceed to talk about how kind and present he is, meaning when JK is doing things he considers work, he dials in. He puts in effort to always be present and in the moment. Which he and the others had also already told us he does. Jungkook has to put in effort and be very interested in something to get it done. When he’s not working, he has trouble focusing on things that don’t hold his attention fully.

So it is impossible to decide he’s not having a good time with Jimin, just because the same personality he’s has over all these years, remains his personality. You guys just keep ignoring the fact that he has told us it takes effort for him to focus on things. It’s either that or you guys choose to use it against one specific person, which is Jimin.

You like to believe his lack of overt excitement and interest is because he doesn’t want to be with Jimin, when he is telling us that isn’t true. Jeju showed us a lot as well, of how completely blind almost, the members are to JK’s personality, and various other travel shows of theirs have told us the same. They don’t blink twice at his ticks and stims, they don’t really scold him for his dry and blunt reactions and responses, and they laugh off his competitiveness.

Jungkook, and I say this kindly, appears to be a lot to handle. He has a very polar opposite type of personality. When he’s dialed in, it’s difficult to get him to take breaks, to stop criticizing himself. When he’s playing games, he gets really into them and is loud and has a desire to be the winner. When he’s in a quieter mood, he seems to not speak at all and zones out, and wants to be left alone. That is a lot to adjust to, because from all we’ve seen, it doesn’t seem to happen once in a blue moon. It’s a day to day thing, if not hour to hour.

I even recall a time back in 2020 I believe, where it was talked about Jungkook was overstimulated by something during a rehearsal, to the point where he couldn’t participate in their dress rehearsal. He had to keep on the same clothes he’d been wearing and sweating in all day. I don’t remember which stage it was, or else I’d be more specific, but yeah.

Point is, I think the members know who he is, and I think JK has shown us who he is plenty. The members have also shown us who they are, and it seems they all have taken time to learn how to best support each other and their needs, whatever they may be. And speaking specifically of AYS, I simply do not think Jimin would bother rekindling old times if he knew Jungkook truly wasn’t wanting to do it. He’s known him for too long to push his boundaries that way, knowing it would be easily seen in camera how disinterested he’d be. Nor do I think JK would have planned Sapporo if he didn’t really want to do it.

Again, even if we ignore him possibly being neurodivergent, his personality remains what it is, and the members know him. So why force him into something, knowing he’d have to accommodate or makeup for JK’s lack of interest? It doesn’t make sense to me.

Now, I know I got a tad off topic and long winded, but I feel like what was said was necessary. Jungkook isn’t acting any different to how we know him to act, and he is repeatedly voicing his joy as he spends time with Jimin. Ignoring the literal words coming out of his mouth in favor of deciding he is feeling something else, and then taking that something else as reality… that’s on you.

[treasure444]

Pairing: Simon Riley x Female Reader

Word Count: 900

Summary: just a lil angst blurb

MDNI, I do not consent to having my content translated, re-published elsewhere or run through Ai or character ai.

If you seen any of this happening, please tell me.

Your limbs felt like jello as you trudged over to the door, ready to give whoever was on the other side, a piece of your mind. Finally pulling the door open, you were shocked to see.. “Simon?”

Your neighbour from down the hall, you didn’t know what you would classify yourselves as. acquaintances at the very least. You’d smile at him every time you past, and he trusted you enough to keep an eye on his apartment when he was gone.

It wasn’t unusual for Simon to be up this late. “Hi.” He was curt, but part of you wondered if he was okay. He was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, too much to be considered normal. His eyes seemed a little more sunk in.

You stepped aside as you let him in. You could hear him muttering, but the only thing you caught was a low, “I shouldn’t be here”

You could see him looking around, assessing your apartment for any chance of someone else being here. “Hey…” your voice cut through the silence, “are you okay? Do you want some tea?” You kept your voice soft, almost as if you were talking to a child, or a scared animal.

Simon still startled, almost forgetting you were there. He turned to you, and nodded. Not offering anything else, you gave him a small smile and went to start making the tea exactly as he liked.

You didn’t even hear him as he walked over to sit at your kitchen table. You could feel his eyes on you as you flitted around the kitchen. You turned around, tea in hand and jumped slightly seeing Simon closer than you initially thought he was.

You let out a soft chuckle before walking over and setting the steaming mug in front of him. He grunted, as his hands closed around the cup. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” You asked, softly again so as not to startle him.

Simon said nothing for a good minute, content in just letting the heat transfer from the mug to him. “you’re scaring me.” You whispered, sitting down in the chair next to him.

“I don’t know..” His voice wavered, almost like he was ready to cry.

You had never known Simon to be big on emotion, naturally you pulled your chair closer, “What do you need? What can I do?”

He shook his head, a mirthless laugh escaping, “You can’t do anything.”

“Well, I want to help you.. how can I do that?” You settled a hand against his bicep.

Simon looked over at your hand, “You’re far too… good.”

You frowned, “what do you mean?”

Simon shook his head, and stood up. “Nothing. I apologize for waking you.. go back to bed.” His voice sounded monotonous, forced. His heavy footfalls echoed throughout the apartment as he started for the door.

“Wait!” You called, running in front of the door before he could open it. “Don’t leave.”

For the first time in the almost 30 minutes he had been there, amusement was written all over Simon’s face. “Go back to bed.”

“No. Not if you’re just going to leave. What did you mean? You said I’m ‘good’ what does that mean?”

“It means that I allowed Johnny to get into my head.” He shook his head trying to step around you. “I shouldn’t have come to you like this.”

You followed every movement he made in trying to escape. “I don’t mind. I enjoy your company… always. Who’s Johnny?”

Simon huffed a laugh, “a… co-worker” He stopped, “Will you please move out of the way?”

“No. What did he say to get into your head?”

“Nothing. You need to get to sleep.”

“Si… There was a reason that you came here. What was it?”

That seemed to stop him in his movements entirely. His brows caved inwards, almost like he was perplexed. “What are you doing to me…” he whispered.

Now it was your turn to look confused, “what do you mean?”

“You’re in my head. Constantly.” Simon stepped closer to you.

His confession sent your head spinning. His proximity made you dizzy. It was a dangerous combination when you stepped closer to him, you practically fell into him.

Simon chuckled, catching you by the top of your arm.

“I…” your mouth felt like you were eating cotton, “what?”

“I should go home…” he whispered, his hand flexed slightly gripping you where he held your arm. Like he thought you weren’t real.

“Maybe I don’t want you to.” You kept your voice steady, though everything in you was screaming to allow his confession to melt you.

He whispered your name, almost reverent in the execution of it, and you nearly snapped. His hand coasted down your body before settling on your waist.

All time ceased to exist as you stared up at him, expectantly.

In an instant, his hand fell away. “I’m so sorry…” he whispered, before stepping around you and walking out. And you let him.

The only thing you had left was a nearly full cup of tea, and the scent of cigarette smoke, cedar wood, and musk that lingered.

[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 3

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

I boarded the carriage with Roger and Alfons, who I was coming along with on the mission.

Kate: So what in the world is a “death party”?

(And…not to mention, how’s this related to it?)

Kate: Why was I forced into a dress?

After finishing breakfast this morning, I was taken to the dresser room where, for some reason, the maids dressed me up.

Roger: Hm? So you just came along without knowing anything? I don’t know how you managed to survive this long, lil’ lady. I’m impressed.

If you’re going to say it like that, then I have plenty to say back.

Kate: I thought that since I became your exclusive Fairytale Keeper, you’d be the one explaining everything to me!

Roger: Ah, is that what you thought? My bad. Then I’ll explain it to you in plenty of detail.

(You’re the one that brought me here without a word, so why the sudden courtesy…)

…At any rate, Roger explained the mission to me from the beginning.

There’s said to be a secret party held every night in a noble’s estate deep within the forest.

Rumors of fatal accidents there caught Her Majesty the Queen’s attention.

The rumors grew until eventually, the police made an attempt to go undercover.

—However, the team going undercover already had their identities marked and so were turned away by the guards at the door.

(Then, we’re currently going to a place where even the police can’t get in…?)

Kate: In that case, isn’t there a chance that we’d get turned away too…

Alfons: You don’t need to worry about that.

A card the size of a playing card twirled between Alfons’ long fingers.

Alfons: We already have an invitation. All that is left is for us to sneak in disguised as nobility.

Thin lips curled into a smirk.

Alfons: Ah, would you like to know where I got such an invitation?

Kate: …I’ll pass.

Crown had so many secrets that there’d be no end to it if you wanted to know them all.

Roger: That brings us back to the dress you’re wearing. You need to be accompanied by a woman for the party, which is why you’re all dressed up and coming with me.

(The reason’s simpler than I thought. Which leaves the problem in question…)

Kate: What happens at the secret party?

Roger: We suspect there’s a high chance they’re using some sort of drug at the party.

Kate: Using drugs at the party? Why?

Alfons: For “recreational” purposes.

Roger: Are you aware of the Pharmacy Act?

Kate: No, I’m not very familiar with things related to the law…

Roger: The UK enacted the Pharmacy Act to regulate the sale of drugs. However, the Pharmacy Act was only enacted several years ago. So it hasn’t taken full effect and people have been using loopholes to use drugs for fun. Under the Pharmacy Act, any potentially harmful substances are classified as poisons and the selling of them is regulated. Her Majesty the Queen’s pushing for making it a law and for public awareness. 

Kate: It’s worrying that there’s still a widespread use of illegal drugs despite the Pharmacy Act…

(The party we’re about to infiltrate is one of those places where drugs are used recreationally…)

Kate: To sum it up…our mission this time is to gather information rather than to condemn?

Roger: Yeah. Infiltrate, seize any drugs used, report. That’s it.

The scene of condemnation I witnessed the night I first met Crown.

I feel a little better knowing that I don’t have to see it this time.

Alfons: Nevertheless— 

(Hm?)

Alfons: You’re really dressed up for the part tonight. This night dress with suuuch a slit that exposes your legs…

Naughty fingers lift the skirt.

Kate: Wha…Please stop.

I rushed to hide myself, but even Roger casted a lewd gaze at the bare skin peeking between my hands.

Roger: I gotta agree. Even with the role as a noble, that’s too much service. You look really delicious.

Kate: Y-you said you wouldn’t touch me because you didn’t want to deal with the aftermath!

Roger: Just ‘cause I find the aftermath a pain doesn’t mean I don’t have sexual desires. Keeping leaving yourself exposed like that and I’m gonna eat you up, so watch out.

Kate: Huh?!

While struck dumbfounded by how Roger said that so nonchalantly, Alfons whispered into my ear.

Alfons: Kate, you’ll need to clad your heart in iron underwear. This man’s a muscle-powered brute.

Roger: Hey now, is that something you call an old friend?

Alfons: We’re friends? Did you perhaps hit your head somewhere?

Apparently the two had known each other for a while now, but—they always argue like this whenever they’re together.

“To be able to argue like this means you’re close”

The last time I said that to them, they both looked so disgusted that I never brought it up again.

(Let’s just set aside how much I believe what Roger said and how well the two get along…)

Kate: Regardless, I want to do my best on the mission.

Alfons: Why?

Kate: Until now, I’ve only been a bystander, but this time, I’m attending a party where women are an essential part. Even as a companion, I can participate in the mission.

(So far, they’ve been considerate of me because of my position as Fairytale Keeper)

(I’ve been watching everyone from a distance)

Kate: I want to fulfill my role as Fairytale Keeper. Of course, I’ll do my best to not hold you back.

The moment I spoke with determination, the carriage passed through the gates of the estate.

Now within the target’s territory, Roger and Alfons took on the “Crown” look.

Alfons: Roger, you’ll need to put that rifle away. We don’t want them turning us away.

--

Using the invitation card from Alfons, we entered the estate without an incident.

Women dressed in glamorous gowns and men in tailcoats, which made it obvious that they were of the upper class, were having pleasant chats over drinks.

Kate: …Huh? Where’s Alfons?

Though he was with us in the beginning, I noticed his absence the moment we entered the hall— 

Roger: Don’t worry about it. Al’s well known in these parts which makes it easy for him to get information. Best to just let him do what he wants like a stray cat.

I was surprised by the lack of a detailed plan before our infiltration, but it seemed that Crown didn’t split their roles.

(They read the situation and then act. Was there a strong relationship of trust?)

(Or was it because each member’s strengths allowed them to handle any situation....)

While thinking it was probably the latter, given how each member had a strong personality, I felt someone’s gaze on me.

(It feels like I’m being watched…?)

I was nervous for a moment, thinking my identity had been exposed. But as I looked around, I realized that wasn’t the case.

—I wonder which family he’s the son of.

—What a lovely man. I’ve never seen him before.

The young ladies’ sweet gazes were fixed on Roger who stood beside me. 

(It slipped my mind since we don’t spend much time outside of Crown’s Castle, but Roger…)

Looks well-bred

Has an intellectual air about him  +4 +4

Has a nice body

(That’s right, the intellectual air’s probably attractive to upper class women…)

His rugged, serious expression, those determined lips, and absolute intelligence radiating from those glasses may capture and trap the hearts of women.

(Sometimes I get nervous when he’s talking to me while standing so close…wait, no, bad!)

Roger calmly looked around the hall, ignorant of the thoughts racing through my mind.

Roger: …Those ladies over there look like they’re showing signs of addiction.

Kate: Signs of addiction…?

Roger: Yeah. Crooked smiles could be a sign that something’s wrong with their central nervous system.

Kate: …Meaning there’s a high chance that recreational drugs are being used?

Roger: Yeah. It’d be faster if we could secure the scene. Then again…if British healthcare was better, we wouldn’t have to deal with tedious cases like this.

I knew what he was getting at. It’s hard to find a doctor you can trust in London.

Kate: We have fake treatments, fake medicine, and even fake doctors…

—When I became Fairytale Keeper, Liam told me something.

~~ Flashback ~~

Liam: Roger comes from a family that’s worked in medicine and his father’s a wealthy man who still runs a clinic in town. With how a lot of Crown have complicated backgrounds, I think Roger’s an unusual one here.

~~ Flashback end ~~

(If his life had continued down the proper path, he could’ve ended up like that young man over there laughing with a glass of wine in hand)

(It wouldn’t have been unusual for Roger to inherit the family business either…)

(But instead, Roger chose the path of condemning evil with evil)

Kate: Roger, why did you join Crown?

Roger: Are you asking why I didn’t inherit the family business and end up like those guys enjoying wine and women?

(Ugh, he’s sharp…It’s like he’s reading my mind)

Kate: Yes. Even under Her Majesty’s control, Crown’s still dangerous. Unless there was some kind of specific reason, it doesn’t seem worth it to jump right in.

Roger: Hmm, and if I did have a specific reason? For example, doing research that can only be done there.

(Research that can only be done in Crown…?)

Kate: What are you researching, Roger?

It’s a question I had while in his basement lab too.

Roger scrutinized me behind his glasses and bent down to meet my gaze.

Roger: Cursed Ones—and how to rid the word of them.

(Rid the word of cursed ones? What does he mean…)

I stare back at Roger in confusion.

Roger: I’m cursed with the double-crossing hunter.

“Cursed Ones” were people who were cursed the moment they were born.

Because of their curses, they’re doomed to “sin and meet a tragic end”.

Kate: Betrayal…Is that your fate?

Roger: Yeah. I could actually be someone with pretty dangerous thoughts that betrays Crown, you know?

(...)

Roger: So, Kate. What would you do about it?

(At the time—)

Kate: I’m your exclusive Fairytale Keeper, so I’m keeping an eye on you 24/7. If I think you’re doing anything weird…I’ll do what I can to stop you.

Roger: Pfft, hahahaha! You’re a funny one. You’re too good.

Roger laughed and patted my head.

Kate: Hey, don’t try to change the subject.)

Roger: If you’re gonna be around me 24/7, then you might just end up understanding what I meant.

Alfons: Pardon me for interrupting your fun.

When I turned around at the sound of his voice, I saw Alfons, who was not around earlier.

Alfons: Kate, Roger. We got a hit at this party after all.

Kate: A hit? You mean…

Alfons: There’s an amusing show taking place in the other room. Please come this way.

[yaboiyandere]

Yandere Miguel O’Hara

Miguel’s POV

-Miguel decided to deal with some anomalies himself, pounding the weaker ones to a pulp helped him burn off some steam. He’d eviscerated about four until he was in your dimension. It was a rarer sight to see pirate ones, but he wasn’t in the mood to look into it. Just messing them up and sending them home.

-the city looked familiar, in a sense that he knew he’d never been there, but a part of him had. Maybe another version of him? Hopefully, he doesn’t run into him. he approaches the anomaly, the map indicating it’s at an elementary school.

-Ever since he tried replacing his murdered self in another universe, he’s felt empty. It’s not every day you see your daughter and spouse disappear into nothingness. It wasn’t even his family though, was it? After all, he didn’t remember meeting this version of you. He didn’t get to experience your first date, your wedding, or your daughter’s first day of school. He missed it all.

-Maybe it was for the best that he missed it all, considering what happened when he appeared. Maybe he’s just the worst version of himself. Maybe he’s not meant to be happy.

-he entered through the hole in the wall, seeing you trying and failing to wrangle the pirate Doc Ock. Just another spider-person. He quickly scratched at and bit the anomaly, causing paralysis. You fall to the floor, the tentacles sagging to the ground.

-he approaches you, pulling up his holo-watch to identify who you are. “I like your mask” you joke, as he approaches you. “Got one just like it at home”. He stifles a chuckle. He’s almost reached your profile when a little girl runs up to you and grips your leg. “Don’t hurt my (parent)! Please” she sobs. He freezes.

-he takes it all in. His screen fades away. Gabriella, his daughter, chokes out a couple of cries against your leg. Your hand protectively rests on her head. Who are you? And why are you keeping his daughter from him? And why does she look so scared of him?

-“…are you scared of me?” He asks. Gabriella nods. He can’t ignore your little nod. Speaking of you. “Who are you?” And what are you doing with his daughter? “Ah, that’s classified” you stammer. “Fine” he grumbles, pulling up his hologram with your profile. (Y/n) (L/n). Canon event, losing your late husband, Miguel O’Hara.

-He looks at your profile, the photo of your smiling face, and back at you. Even through the mask, your fear is evident. He presses a button to reveal his face. Your shock is palpable, as he introduces himself. “My name is Miguel O’Hara, and you probably already knew that.” He smiles, and hugs you. He wasn’t going to lose this, lose you again. It’ll be better this time, he’ll start over with you two, propose, attend Gabriella’s quinceanera, and maybe even make another kid!

-his eyes well up with tears of happiness as he bites your neck, paralyzing you. He hugs your limp body and calls out to your daughter. He hugs you two close. All is right in the world again. “Lyla, let’s bring these two home.” “Can do, boss” he quickly walks through the portal, still careful to not drop his precious cargo.

-it’s been three days, and Gabriella has adjusted well. His loft is much more spacious than the little apartment you two could barely afford. She also reveled in the attention she got from you since you were banned from serving justice. Speaking of you, you’ve been more difficult. Considering the world you left behind, he thought you would be more happy to leave! Constant crime leaves you with sleepless nights, a crummy job, and missing out on your daughter’s life! He’d make it so you don’t have to miss anything and even cut down his work hours to spend more time with his family.

-you’ve said some untrue things about him, and compared him to “your” Miguel, but he knows you just need to adjust. As he hugs you from behind, admiring your daughter’s cute drawing of your new family, and smiles into your neck.

[arcanarix]

Fated Divergence, Ch. 10 // Yandere! Suguru Geto X Non-Sorcerer Darling (Finale)

AO3 (+prev. chapter)

Word Count: 5.5K

cw // mc riding gojo like no tomorrow for the gojo/reader parts,

It had been a few months since you found yourself settled within the walls of Jujutsu Tech, a place that had become your sanctuary as much as you new training ground. The world of jujutsu became your new reality. You met Gojo’s colleagues, his students—all of whom welcomed you with open arms.

The concept of all of this was still foreign to you, its presence imposing, woven into the very fabric of your surroundings. Despite not having been classified as a sorcerer or even been given a class, the school had granted you access to cursed tools—an acknowledgement of your recent brush with the arcane, particularly after the bone-chilling experience of having Suguru Geto’s ring in your possession, and against your will.

That ring, once a cold, malevolent band that had been etched into your memory, was now gone, yet its presence still lingered on your finger. You hadn’t the faintest idea how to harness or even detect cursed energy within yourself, and you hadn’t even seen ghosts yourself yet. The only exposure you had was that brief battle between Geto and Gojo, and then Gojo pulled you aside one day to demonstrate what he could do. He pulled out the classic soda can example. He crushed them without even being near them, or touching them. He explained he channeled pure cursed energy into that action, and you were in shock. You still didn’t quite understand since you couldn’t see anything, which of course, he understood. He promised you more one on one training sessions over your time there with him.

Satoru Gojo, in all of his nonchalant wisdom, casually mentioned in your last conversation how everyone possessed some latent form of cursed energy. For some, a natural gift—like with himself or Geto, he had to boast since they were both special grades—something that flowed effortlessly in their veins. For others, it was something that took years to master.

The notion that anyone could become a sorcerer through sheer effort, while an encouraging one, didn’t really pique your interest all that much, in the end. Your interest in the world of jujutsu was minimal. Abysmal, even. You held little desire to throw yourself into dangers you didn’t fully comprehend yourself.

Yet you found yourself willing to help Gojo out every now and then, where you could. After all, after everything Gojo had done for you, to shield you from Geto’s clutches, it was the least you could do.

Your phone—a sleek, cutting-edge model Satoru gifted you, and something way too fancy for you—suddenly vibrated, pulling you out of your thoughts. The new device was a part of your new identity, complete with a new number, a new life crafted in such a way to keep you hidden from Geto tracking you down.

His presence still haunted you even after your escape, your predator lurking in the shadows. Even after your escape, he sent you taunting images that left you on edge. Those photos, of you at your most vulnerable moments with Geto, had been taken without your knowledge. On occasion he even sent you lewd voice mails of jerking himself off to the thought of you, explicit and disgusting and downright obscene. You deleted each one he sent, not bothering to listen after the first time. Everything about Suguru Geto horrified you, and thus Gojo took immediate action. Only one person in the world knew you were still alive—someone you could trust beyond measure.

“—Mei!” you exclaimed, a surge of warmth flooding through you as she greeted you over the line. “Oh my God, girl. I know. I have so much to get you up to speed on, but you first!”

Her laughter, light and comforting, was like a cooling balm to your overactive nerves.

“Aw man, well, my life can’t be as interesting as yours was! It’s just work, terrible dates, more work.”

“If by interesting you mean downright traumatizing…” you muttered, the gravity of your words hanging briefly in the air before Mei’s nervous laughter dispelled it.

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” she replied, understanding. “I’m just glad you’re safe. When Gojo came to me with the updates, I was glad to know you were out of Geto’s hands.”

“Did he tell you anything else?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. There was a tightness in your chest as you waited for a response.

“He spared me a lot of details. Guy’s full of mystery as he is full of himself. Such a turn-off, I swear…he has a pretty enough face to get away with it.”

You snorted, the tension finally easing slightly. “Oh, you don’t even know the half of it. He drives all of his colleagues and students insane.”

“But not you?” Mei teased, her voice carrying a knowing cadence.

“I’m not exempt from believing the fact that Satoru Gojo is the most obnoxious man alive,” you quipped, as a smirk tugged at your lips. “But he has the skill to back it up, which makes it even more annoying. He’s annoying about literally every damn thing.”

“And yet, that didn’t change your attraction to him at all,” Mei replied in a playful jab.

“Oh my God, don’t call me out like that! I…still haven’t told him.”

“Still?” Mei’s tone was incredulous. “Bro saved your life.”

“I know, I know,” you replied, frowning. “I just don’t think it’s appropriate.”

“What makes you say that? Do you think he doesn’t feel the same way? Because, girl, don’t make me come over there and knock some sense into that too smart noggin’ of yours. Sometimes you’re too smart to see what’s right in front of you and he’s totally into you!”

You hesitated, biting your lip as you considered her words.

“From the few interactions you had with him, and you’re so certain of it?”

“Girl yes! So hurry up and make your move! He’s probably waiting for you to.”

“Come on, Mei…it can’t be that simple. I’m still recovering from that whole thing with Geto. I’m still in shock from everything. I still feel like that ring is embedded into my finger,” you admitted, and as you did, glanced at your left hand, on your ring finger where the memory of that cursed tool was still vivid, still potent, even though it was long gone. “He…was the most terrifying man I’ve ever known.”

Mei fell silent, the line quiet save for the faint hum of her breath. Her empathy was a comfort in the stillness to you.

“Who says you can’t start a new relationship while you’re still healing? That being said, I get where you’re coming from. That must have been worse than a nightmare.”

You sighed exasperatedly.

“The crazy thing is, I can’t believe all of this shit is for real.”

“Girl, I’m just as shocked as you were! What’s next? Flat earthers being right?”

You busted up into laughter, the absurdity of the statement pulling you out of the deepest, darkest compartments of your mind. “No, no, I don’t think that’s quite in the same league.”

“Alright, alright. But seriously, I’m glad you’re in a safer place. As far as the rest of the world knows, you’re dead and gone. You still get a bit of benefits from the clinic, but you said something about Gojo being your benefactor now?”

“Yep,” you confirmed, leaning back against the plush silk pillows of your bed. Gojo had been spoiling you rotten in the best ways possible, and he wasn’t even your boyfriend. You’d like him to be. “The guy is made of money thanks to his ‘strongest sorcerer’ status. And I guess family wealth too.”

You could practically ‘hear’ her wraggling her eyebrows in that classic, trolling Mei way.

“Okay, so now you’ve basically got a sugar daddy.”

You gasped dramatically.

“Oh my God, Mei!”

“Am I wrong?”

“Not necessarily, but Gojo and I aren’t that far apart in age.”

“Fair, fair. Do you think he can get me one of those Cartier sunglasses? I’d kill to own a pair.”

“Those are like, ¥436,500 a pop! Are you crazy? That might not be a problem for Gojo, though. I can convince him. Your birthday’s coming up anyway. He’s basically at my beck and call.”

“Girl, you are the best! Okay, I’m going to let you go now! My shift is about to start! Love you!”

“Love you too.”

Click.

The line went dead, and in the quiet that followed, you found yourself staring at the door, as if expecting company. A soft rapping echoed through the room.

“Come in!” you sang.

The door creaked open, and there he was in the flesh, the devil himself—Satoru Gojo, his presence filling the room with an effortless command that always left you slightly bemused. Often in your company, he ditched his blindfold. You couldn’t help but find it flattering. He trusted you enough to reveal those striking, gorgeous blue eyes, the legendary Six Eyes of the Gojo clan that saw too much, knew too much. Everything, everywhere. All the time.

“Hey,” you greeted, your smile softening as you took in his relaxed posture. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

Gojo waved you off playfully.

“Nothing, nothing. I just missed the gift of your company,” he replied, his tone light and airy, but there was something you caught in his intense gaze, a depth that betrayed his casual words. He winked, a playful gesture that didn’t quite mask the concern in those eyes.

“So, what’s on your agenda today? Annoy me to tears?” you chuckled, though there was a genuine warmth in your voice, and you relented as soon as you saw his ‘kicked puppy’ expression. “I’m kidding. I love having you around.”

“God, I sure hope so, then otherwise what are we doing?” Gojo laughed with you, the sound rich like chocolate and genuine like pure leather. “Listen, we’ve been tracking Geto ever since we brought you here. Looks like he’s under the impression that you’re gone from the world. Convinced it was a cursed spirit that took you.”

You nodded, ignoring the twist in your gut at the mention of Suguru Geto; even speaking his name sent you into a frenzy. “I just hope it works. We haven’t had any issues thus far, right?”

“Yep. Thus far. No issues. You’re safe here as far as we know right now. You know, but there’s a war between sorcerers now. Between those who are on his side, and our side.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, the gravity of those words pressing down on you, at the prospect of meeting Geto again after everything. “I kind of figured as such. One day he might confront the school.”

Gojo’s expression darkened slightly, a rare glimpse of the seriousness that existed just beneath his carefree and boisterous exterior. He definitely could be serious where it mattered. Someone mentioned to you—you believed it was Principal Yaga—that his greatest strength, and greatest weakness, was his personality and how Gojo carried himself. You began to understand that sentiment the more you hung around him and watched him engage with his students and colleagues.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be prepared,” he declared, his voice full of conviction, determination…but even a hint of fear. Even after everything, Gojo didn’t want to lose his old friend. You were briefed a bit on their shared history, on the situation with Toji Fushiguro and the girl, Riko Amanai, who Toji killed, and on how Gojo saved Fushiguro’s son from the Zenin clan—a clan full of scumbags, according to him.

The world of jujutsu—a world where the line between safety and danger was exceptionally thin—was your new reality, your new normal. It would take a while to adjust, and you doubted Gojo expected you to understand everything right away.  

“One day he might confront the school,” you repeated, in a softer voice, as if speaking the words aloud made the possibility more real.

Gojo frowned, but didn’t immediately respond. He stepped closer, his tall frame casting a comforting shadow over your frame. His hand found yours, and for a moment, you let the world around you dispel like a spell cast. You looked up at him through your lashes, finding yourself returning that genuine smile of his.

“When that day comes,” he replied, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear—an oddly intimate gesture from him that you weren’t used to, and your breath hitched. “We’re in it together. ‘Til the end of the world. You’re not alone anymore.”

You froze at those words. Geto’s voice reverberated in your head like a haunting melody.

‘Til the end of the world, I am loyal to my Goddess.

You will never be alone now.

The memories bubbled forth, unbidden, relentless, dragging you back into the deepest, darkest corners of your mind. Your room began to close around you the way the walls in Geto’s temple did when he trapped you there.

Gojo’s expression shifted, his usual easygoing smile fading into a concerned frown as he caught onto the shift in your demeanor. That twinkle in his eyes dimmed, shutting off his Infinity, replaced by a softness as he called out your name, to bring you back to the present with him.

“Hey,” he called to you—gentle, loving, actually loving and so different from how Geto would address you, his voice like a lifeline pulling you to the shallow shores. “Hey, talk to me.”

You swallowed, the bitter, metallic tang of old wounds threatening to rise in your throat.

“Geto said those same things,” you laughed bitterly, voice hollow.

Gojo’s eyes widened as the realization dawned on him, your words struck him and knocking the wind out of his body like a physical blow.

“I…” His strong voice faltered, his usual confidence slipping from his fingers as he searched for the right words. For someone with Six Eyes and keen senses, he didn’t have the best emotional capacity at times—he was a deeply flawed individual and he knew it. “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s not your fault,” you interjected, finding strength in your voice again—though still laden with the remnants of past, not so distant anguish. “Don’t think for a second that it’s your fault.”

“I know, I know. I just—it surprised me, that’s all,” he admitted, running his hand through his hair, his eyes shimmering with some turmoil in his eyes for what you went through with his old friend.

Things fell silent for a moment. You swore the shadows of your not so distant past might swallow you whole, dragging you back into the deep, dark abyss from which you had only just begun to emerge from and still struggled to accept.

Gojo adjusted in his spot, breaking the tension with the ease of someone now accustomed to chasing away storm clouds—it came with the territory of being a jujutsu instructor, you supposed.

“Okay, enough of this deep, heavy shit,” he began, his voice bright and airy through sheer will to not think about these things alone. If there was another thing you learned Gojo was bad at, it was confronting his true emotions. Not like you were much better in that department, either, so you had no right to judge him. “How ‘bout we go out for ice cream? You’ve been kind of couped up in here for a while and then we can do some training with the others to burn off all that sugar. Yeah?”

You blinked owlishly, the abrupt change in tone catching you off guard, that you couldn’t help but laugh. His ability to turn even the darkest moments into something lighthearted was both infuriating and endearing, like sunlight breaking through the storm clouds—much like him.

“You’re just wanting an excuse to eat something sweet, aren’t you?” you joked, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth despite the lingering ache in your chest. “Gotta stimulate that crazy brain of yours?”

“Maybe,” he quipped with a grin that donned pure mischief, that twinkle in his eyes returning in full force. “But can you blame me? I gotta eat all that sugar or I get antsy.”

“I’d get antsy and jittery from eating all of the sugar you do,” you retorted while sticking your tongue out like a petulant child, the playful gesture certainly welcome from the shadows that had just threatened to overtake you right then.

Gojo laughed, the sound ringing like church bells, as he rubbed his nose in an attempt to completely disarm himself. “Come on, seriously. I owe you a lot after everything that’s happened, you know? Let me treat you to more stuff. It’s what I’m born to do.”

You shook your head while still smiling despite yourself, the tension in your chest now loosening a bit. “You owe me nothing, Satoru.” I owe you everything. My life, my love… everything. “But ice cream sounds fantastic right now in this heat.”

You fell silent for a moment longer, and you were about to open your mouth to speak, to spill everything you’ve felt about Satoru since you met him, but the words died on your tongue when he ushered you out of your bed.

Maybe now was not the time to confess.

“I’ll even treat you to some nice designer items,” Gojo winked, “Anything to get you out of here, all stuffed up in here and depressed.”

“Okay, okay. You really don’t have to do that,” you told him. “I mean, you really don’t. Most of those items cost twice my yearly salary.”

“Don’t worry about it—I’m made of money, remember?”

Soft hues of twilight painted the sky like it was an endless canvas; the park bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. Satoru’s promise of ice cream materialized in a banana split sundae, the sweet treat a mere distraction for you. The park he chose, not far from Jujutsu Tech, became a haven of peace amid the chaos that became your life over these months. You still couldn’t shake off the onset of tension over the ever-present dangers which lurked beyond the campus gates. But at least right now, in the safety of Satoru’s presence, every little sliver of doubt and fear you had seemed to melt away, much like the ice cream in your cup.

You halted in your tracks, captivated by the grand stone fountain in the center of the park. The water cascaded gracefully like they were dancing, each drop catching the golden light and creating that shimmering dance. Satoru seated himself on the edge of the fountain, his white hair gleaming like silver threads in the setting sunlight. He beckoned you to join him with one of those boyish smiles of his, one that you couldn’t resist, and you accepted his invitation, the distance between you shrinking.

“Satoru…” His name slipped from your lips, barely above a whisper, yet it snagged his attention. His head tilted, those brilliant blue eyes of his bright with curiosity, and the corners of his mouth curving upwards as he recognized you addressed him with his first name more often. The spoon in your hand stilled, forgotten as you dabbed at the stickiness of your lips with a napkin, your heart pounding. The universe seemed to hold its breath as you mustered up the courage to speak.

“I’ve… been meaning to tell you something.” Your voice grew softer, almost fragile, but true to your nature there was still a strength behind it, a resolve that had been building for far too long when it came to something as vulnerable as this. Satoru’s brilliant blue eyes remained fixated on you, as if he could see right through you—which given his legendary Six Eyes ability, might not be entirely off.

“I really like you,” you admitted, the words rushing out like a flood, leaving no room for other thoughts. Your hands fidgeted in your lap, thumbs twiddling together in an effort to soothe your nerves through your confession. “I mean, I really, really like you. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but there’s never going to be an appropriate time, and I… I’m so grateful to you. For everything. I understand if this is sudden or something you don’t want to hear, but--!”

The sudden warmth of his finger against your lips silenced your incessant babbling, that touch of his light yet commanding. Those eyes of his, those piercing blue eyes that seemed as deep as the ocean, softened with something you had never seen before in your life—something so tender, so affectionate, that your breath hitched. He stared down at you with such passion that it made you feel as though you were the only woman in the world in his eyes.

“You’re not out of line,” he murmured, his voice rich like velvet, wrapping you around in a gentle embrace—if you’d allow him, of course. He sounded breathless, as if he had been holding them for far too long himself. “I like you too. I like you a lot. I…I think I need you, but it felt selfish to have these feelings, so I tried so hard to push them away so I could focus on protecting you. It felt wrong, to fall for you when Suguru was after you, when you were vulnerable…it made me feel, you know, like I was no better than Suguru.”

Your heart swelled at his words, his confession sinking into you. You could almost hear Mei’s voice reverberating in your head, a smug ‘I told you so’ that played like a broken record which made you want to laugh and cry in joy all at once. There was no room for anything else in that moment as sheer joy flooded your senses. This was maybe the one good thing that came out of everything—meeting someone like Satoru, who shared the same feelings you did.

His hand cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing over your skin, his touch tender, gentle. He leaned in closer, his breath mingling with yours, the air between you charged with electricity that set your heart alight.

“God,” he whispered, the word a soft exhale of longing. “I want to kiss you so bad.”

Without another thought, you jumped into action before he did, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was both tender and fervent. Finally, a release of everything you’ve felt for him for so long. His response was immediate, his lips moving against yours with a hunger and a passion that matched your own. The world around you faded into insignificance, a mere speck in the atmosphere, as you lost yourself. The ice cream in your hand forgotten as your cup clattered to the ground, the melted remnants pooling just by your feet.

You both pulled back, breathless and flushed, and Satoru’s intense gaze never left yours, dark with desire. He traced his thumb across your now red and cracked lips, his touch igniting sparks in its wake.

“I kind of want to do more than kiss you,” he confessed, his voice low, silken, a sinful murmur that made you a little too excited.

“So naughty,” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes as you caught onto the implications of his words. But the truth was you certainly weren’t opposed to the idea—far from it, in fact. The thought of being with him was the best thing that could ever happen in this lifetime. “Let’s wait ‘til we get back to schoolgrounds, you bozo.”

That boyish grin of his returned in full force, but there was still that heat in his gaze, promising you so much more in store.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he swore, stealing another kiss, this time softer, more languid, as if cherishing the taste of you, memorizing it. “I’m just glad I can do this now.”

“You can do this and so much more,” you breathed, your voice hoarse as your eyes locked onto his. There was certainly a challenge in what you said.

His breath hitched, and the air between you grew staticky and thick.

“Keep talking like that,” he warned, his voice going dangerously lower, a few octaves lower. “and I won’t have any other choice but to take you up on that offer.”

The journey back to your dorm went by in a blur. As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, you shoved Satoru against it, your lips capturing his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was full of need, desire. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you flush against him like his life depended on it. You responded in kind, your hands roaming over his body, pleased to finally have him like this.

The bed was your destination, but you weren’t sure how or when you got there, both of your clothes discarded somewhere along the way. All that mattered was focusing on Satoru, his eyes dark with lust and something deeper, something tender. It made your heart race even faster. You straddled him, your body flush against his as you pulled his hard cock out of his pants, strained and already needing to be inside.

You teased him, the head of his cock between your folds, stroking it until it hardened and beads of pre began to leak out of his slit. You kept going until he was gasping and moaning, needing. You smirked as you looked down at him, already fucked out, debauched, his breathing ragged and he was practically whimpering. You kept stroking him, unable to help the smirk that curled your lips as his eyes fluttered shut, on the verge of losing control. He moved to grip your hips, but his touch was gentle, inviting, as if to encourage you.

You sank yourself onto his cock, moaning as his size stretched you in all the right ways and relishing in the way he cried out your name.

He growled, pulling you in until your breasts were flush against his face, kissing between them and trying to stifle all the little whines and whimpers that escaped his lips. You rode him, hard, unrelenting, and he enjoyed every minute of you taking what you wanted from him.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, lips quivering, trying to hold himself together. “Fuck, baby, please—let me—!”

“Let you what, Satoru?” you purred, brushing your lips over the bridge of his nose. “Use your words.”

He uttered your name in another whine.

“Let me come, please,” he begged, a choked gasp as his body tensed beneath you, his fingers digging into your bare skin.

You didn’t need to be asked twice. You continued to ride him hard, your hips moving in a rhythm that made him lose his mind. The moment he found his release, his cock twitching inside of you as he filled you with his cum, you couldn’t help but allow yourself to bask in the power. He was finally yours, and knowing you could reduce him to this, someone regarded as the strongest sorcerer in the world…it made you feel invincible.

He lay there, spent, trembling, whimpering and whining. You leaned down, pressing a comforting kiss to his forehead, your fingers trailing over his chest in a soothing caress.

“That’s my good boy,” you murmured, your voice tender and loving as you glanced down at him, reveling in the sight of him so vulnerable, so needy. “

“Now let me take care of you, Satoru. Let me thank you for everything.”

Winter of 2017

As Suguru Geto landed on the familiar grounds of Jujutsu Tech, his eyes found Yuuta Okkotsu standing at the ready with the rest of his classmates—likely with Satoru and the other instructors following close behind soon enough. He kept his expression calm, even as his mind churned with thoughts of losing you—the one person he believed had been his beacon of light in his world of curses, now eradicated from the world when you didn’t deserve that.

Or so, that was what he was led to believe.

Geto’s gaze lingered on Yuuta, noting the determination etched into the young special grade sorcerer’s face. That power that boy wielded was certainly immeasurable, and something under different circumstances, Geto would have coveted for himself. Yet today, it barely registered in his mind. He had a different plan, one far more personal—if he could not claim Rika from Yuuta, then you were all he really wanted. If you were alive, nothing else mattered to him. He would call off the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons. Your supposed death was a carefully crafted lie, designed to keep him from slipping into a deeper state of madness. Yet doubt still gnawed at him, that tiny seed he planted that threated to sprout into hope that you were still with him in this cursed world.

His exchange with Yuuta and the other students passed in a blur of formalities and thinly veiled threats. Geto simply wasn’t interested, entirely, in unleashing the Night Parade. Geto’s words were sharp, each word carefully measured, but beneath it all, there was that underlying hope, desperation, masked by his usual bravado. You became his number one strength, and his number one weakness—his one tie to the little humanity he had left in him.

Had there been the slightest chance that you lived…

Satoru Gojo finally approached, flanked by the other elder sorcerers, the stakes between everyone rose. More empty threats were exchanged, but Geto remained focused, a sly grin playing on his lips as he prepared to deliver his ultimatum.

Unbeknownst to him, you watched the exchange from a distance, hidden within the protective veil Satoru had set up for you. Your heart pounded as you saw Geto again after everything that had happened, but you refused to let any fear show. He couldn’t see you from where he stood, but you were close enough to hear every word.

“I’m here to declare war,” Geto announced, his voice cutting through the air.

Your breath hitched, eyes widening in panic as the reality of the situation sank in. Given what you knew about what Suguru Geto could do, you were frightened.

“On the coming of December 24th, when the sun sets, we shall conduct the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons…” Geto’s voice was calm, almost eerily so, like he was discussing something arbitrary like the weather. “…If you wish to stop us, feel free to try. However, I can call it all off, under one special condition.

A bead of sweat tricked down Gojo’s brow as he listened in, already knowing what Suguru would say.

“You bring her to me. And the massacre is called off.”

Yuuta glanced at Gojo, confusion and concern etching into his features. “Who is he talking about?”

Gojo uttered your old name, and shock rippled through the students.

“Really? He’s telling us this now?” Maki groaned in disbelief. “But she’s gone!”

Gojo spared them the gory details of what had transpired before Suguru’s arrival, but the truth remained coveted in half-truths and misdirection.

Suguru’s eyes narrowed, his voice laden with anger.

“Don’t lie to me. I can sense her spirit from here. I want her to show herself to me now, and no harm will come to the human population.”

“You’re as delusional as ever with that bullshit,” Gojo remarked, his tone mocking. “Maybe you’re just recognizing the strength the women here wield. It’s not just unique to her. She’s gone, Suguru. Dead. She’s not coming back.”

Suguru’s lips curled into a snarl and his eyes burned with fury. “That’s a lie! She’s alive; I can feel her! Don’t you keep her away from me, you selfish bastard!”

Nanako and Mimiko, who had been lingering nearby, called out to Geto, their innocent voices cutting through the conversation with surprising ease.

“Is Mama really dead, Geto?” Mimiko asked, her voice filled with sorrow.

Suguru placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his expression softening.

“No, I’m sure of it.”

He turned back to his former allies, his gaze hardening once more. “Consider my offer carefully. I will call off the attack if she’s back in my arms. Otherwise, the cursed spirits will massacre all of Japan.”

Nanako inquired Geto about getting crepes later, saying that would cheer her up.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, Satoru, I must treat my girls. They’re so sullen to know their mother is gone, and they just love their crepes.”

“You don’t think we’ll just let you leave?” Gojo sneered.

“Careful, Satoru,” he concluded the exchange and flew off with his ‘family.’

Your eyes shimmered, fear pirckling at the edges of your mind as you remained hidden within the protective barrier. You couldn’t bring yourself to come out—not just yet.

Gojo lifted the veil and beckoned you to come out of your hiding spot once it was safe enough. You hesitated for a moment before emerging, meeting the curious and concerned gazes of others as they learned more about your situation. Their eyes bore into you, filled with questions they were too afraid to voice themselves.

“And now we learn why she’s our secret weapon,” Gojo stated as you approached him. “As long as he believes you’re gone, we can use you to stall him in his grand scheme.”

You groaned, clutching your head as a wave of frustration washed over you. “Giving up my individuality for a man again… Not what I hoped to do with my time…”

Gojo offered an apologetic smile, but it did little to ease the burden you felt.

“Sorry, sweetheart. It’s all we got right now. It’s likely we still have to fight, but we can at least hold him off.”

Yuuta shared a look with Gojo, the information fed to him now just a bit too much for him to bear, but he appeared to sympathize with you.

“Guess you have a point about what you said about love, Gojo,” he murmured, his thoughts drifting off to what he’d done to Rika.

“Yeah, if you’d call that love,” you muttered under your breath, your mind lingering on Geto, the man who meant nothing to you, yet you appeared to mean everything to him. 

You locked eyes with Gojo, determination burning within you.

“So, are we really doing this?”

Gojo’s expression grew serious, his lips pursued. He crossed his arms, assessing you.

“Why? Are you backing out?”

You shook your head, your gaze not leaving his, fire behind your eyes—you wanted revenge, lusted for it. If this was how you could achieve that revenge, then so fucking be it.

“If it means a minimal chance of stopping him, then I’m ready for anything.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Gojo’s mouth, amused by your resolve. You matched his smirk, your grin widening as the determination within you solidified.

“Besides,” you quipped, your voice firm, as you straightened your composure. “I’m not made of sugar.”

[lonelym00n]

There's no one else I'd rather kidnap

Part 2 of The Devil Likes the Pirate Series

Tara Carpenter x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Summary: At the diner, Tara catches you up on what happened at the party. A surprise guest cuts things short.

A/N: I can't believe how well the first part of this did! It makes me so happy to know that people actually like these silly little fics of mine. I was debating on posting this tomorrow instead, but it's more fun to do it now, so here you go!

After an undefined amount of time spent enduring what you’d classify as one of the highest forms of torture (Tara’s relentless teasing), you finally felt as though you could stand without immediately collapsing. You rose slowly and gathered your belongings before turning to face the impish girl, “I feel disgusting. I’m gonna head back to my dorm, shower and change, and then we can go.”

As you turn to leave, she calls out in a tone that you can’t quite identify. Distressed maybe? “Wait!” 

You whipped around to face her and immediately regretted the rushed movement as the pounding from earlier returned to your head. You clutched your head and swore under your breath. “Yes?”

She looked hesitant and unsure, but you were in too much pain to even attempt to question her odd behavior. She bit her lip in contemplation before she spoke, “I should come with you to your room.” 

Your face scrunched up in confusion and you scanned her face puzzledly. It was a bit of a weird thing for her to say and you might’ve even ventured out to ask why, but the hints of anxiety and unease in her expression made you bite your tongue. Seeing no reason for why she couldn’t come with you to your room, you nodded, “Yeah sure.” You thought for another second before groaning aloud, “God I hope my roommate isn’t there. She sucks.”

Tara was visibly relieved that you didn’t turn down or question her abnormal request. She sprung up from the bed, retrieved a tote bag out of the closet, and scrambled around the room to collect a few articles of clothing and her phone. Once she was done scurrying around, she turned towards you and gestured in the direction of the door. “Lead the way.”

You hummed as you opened the door and recognized the building you were in as the one just next to where you resided. The two of you made the short trip over to your building and quickly appeared in front of your door. You knocked twice and let out a quiet cheer when no response came from inside the room. You unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The room you had been placed in was slightly bigger than most of the other freshmen dorms, something that had you very excited when you read about it on the admissions website. Even better than that, you were one of the lucky few to have a small bathroom attached to your room. You loved your room because it made you feel like you had won the lottery. Well, you did get the short end of the stick on the roommate side of the equation, but that’s besides the point.

You and Tara stepped into the room and you closed the door and turned the lock shut once you were both safely inside. Her weird mood from earlier reappeared for a second at the click of the lock, but it disappeared swiftly as she swept her gaze across the room. Her mischievous grin returned and she quirked a brow, her eyes twinkling. “Which side is yours?”

You held your breath as you pointed to your side of the room. You hoped she didn’t find anything too embarrassing to tease you about, but secretly, you were more worried about if she’d like your decorations. You didn’t have anything out of the ordinary, the decor mostly consisting of posters displaying musical artists you liked, a few pieces of pottery you had painted, a small collection of books, and the stuffed teddy bear you had smartly named Mr. Hugs. 

She turned towards you once she finished her investigation. She gave you a thumbs up, signaling that your living space had passed the unspoken test of what she thought of your interests.  “You have good taste. Well done.” 

You smiled at the praise and internally jumped for joy at her approval of your room. “Pleased to hear it, Inspector Tara.”

She broke into a fit of laughter at your goofiness. “My god you’re such a dork. Had I known you were a nerd I would’ve chosen someone else to kidnap last night.” Despite your want to be (fake) offended, you couldn’t hold back a grin at the mention of what the two of you were referring to your odd predicament as.

Your face twists into a smirk as you lightly slap her shoulder and scoff, “Oh please I’m way better than anyone else you could’ve picked.”

She pretends to think for a second, “Hm nope, definitely not.”

You roll your eyes playfully at her response. “Whatever loser, you’re the one stuck with me now.” She pokes her tongue out at you and you flip her off in return. 

“Welp,” you clap, “I’m gonna shower and get ready, feel free to make yourself comfortable wherever you like.”

You smile at her and pad over to the bathroom. Once you’re in the solitude of the shower, you grin like an idiot. Tara’s easily the prettiest girl you’ve ever talked to and while you still don’t remember the events of last night, you are grateful for whatever you’d done to end up in her company. Like a lovesick puppy, you think of her throughout the entirety of your shower. 

You finish up quickly and dress yourself into the clothes you had picked out for yourself. You went through your post-shower routine relatively quickly and paused before you exited the bathroom. You could just barely make out Tara’s soft voice speaking hurriedly. You slowly opened the bathroom door, making sure she noticed that you were about to leave the bathroom before reentering the room. 

The sight of her half laying half sitting on your bed made a spark of joy shoot up your spine. The two of you exchanged small smiles as she exchanged her goodbyes to whoever she had been conversing with on the phone. You grabbed your shoes and perched on the edge of your bed as you pulled them on. 

You nearly jumped out of your skin as her hand reached out and lightly stroked through your hair. You turned crimson at her action and she bit her lip in delight at the sight of your darkened cheeks. She removed her hand and at your questioning look, sat up fully on the bed. “What?” she asked nonchalantly. “Your hair looks really soft when it’s wet.” 

You tried your best not to gape at her. Nervously laughing, you cleared your throat before speaking, “Oh, thanks.” You look up at her to find that she’s already eyeing you with a gentle gaze. Your heart thuds so loud as you maintain eye contact that you swear she can hear it. Deciding to break the silence you clear your throat again, “Well, uh, feel free to use the bathroom to change or get ready, if there’s anything along those lines that you want to do before we go.”

She shoots you a double thumbs up (you have half a mind to laugh at her strange affinity to keep reusing the gesture) and you watch as she strides into the bathroom with her tote bag firmly in hand.

She gets ready swiftly and without a hitch, the two of you begin the short walk towards the small diner located just off campus that she tells you she frequents. 

When her hand reaches out to interlace her fingers with yours, you definitely don’t blush at how perfect it feels to hold hands with her.

***

The start of your meal follows the same pattern that the earlier hours of the day held. The two of you pass jabs back and forth and she grins in delight whenever she catches the red hue that rises up in your cheeks. It’s not until your food arrives that the reason behind the two of you coming to the diner is brought up.

Tara’s expression hardens as you finally ask her to relay the events of last night to you. She sighs deeply and chews into her lip nervously. 

In an attempt to comfort her, you place your hand on top of hers. “Tara,” you speak gently even though you’re unsure of why she looks so nervous, “It’s okay, I won’t be mad or weird about whatever happened. You helped me, hell you even let me stay in your room for the night. You can tell me.”

She sucks in a breath and turns your joined hands over to wordlessly play with your fingers. It seems to calm her down as she opens her mouth to inform you of what happened. “Okay. Well I have no idea how you got there, so I can’t help you remember that part.” You nod in understanding.

She continues, “I was watching my friends dance and teasing them for how horrible they are at it.” She laughs softly to herself at the memory. “Anika caught you watching us and she said she thought you were looking at me. It was hard to tell because you were so far away and tucked into a corner of the room.”

You blush for the millionth time, of course your drunk self had been way too obvious about checking Tara out. “Anika waved you towards us and when I thought you were finally gonna make your way over, some douchey frat guy wearing an angel costume wrapped his arm around you. My friends and I were kind of shocked at the sight, especially Mindy because she swore you were giving her “vibes”.”

She wiggles her eyebrows at the mention of your “vibes” and you look away, laughing to yourself at the thought of one of her friends catching onto your sexuality. “Anyways, it seemed like you and the guy were together. I thought it was a little off considering you had just been blushing at having been caught watching us, but the two of you were matching so we just assumed we had the wrong idea earlier.”

You nod, “That makes sense. So what happened next?”

She suddenly looks hesitant again and you curl your fingers even tighter around hers and give them a reassuring squeeze. You furrow your brow. Despite offering your reassurance to Tara, you were starting to get a little nervous yourself. She begins again, slowly, “He pulled you somewhere, I couldn’t see where. We went back to dancing but I couldn’t shake the feeling of something being wrong, so I kept glancing around to see if I could spot you again. When I did, you were standing with him and a whole group of guys. They were laughing so loudly about something, but the guy wearing the angel costume was leering down at you so creepily. You didn’t notice, I think you were looking around the room.”

Your chest feels tight and you hope that you are wrong about what you think might’ve happened next. 

“I saw that you were drinking out of a cup and that’s when I got really worried. You couldn’t stand still, you looked like you were about to topple over any second. You looked really really drunk, Y/N, and compared to how you had looked when we caught you watching us earlier, you were about a hundred times worse.”

Tears brimmed your eyes at what you were being told. Tara notices and joins her empty hand with your own. Her hold on you is so gentle yet so firm and it feels as though she’s your only anchor in what is quickly becoming a terrible storm. You mumble for her to tell you the rest, and she does, paying close attention to your face. 

She speaks so softly, like one word spoken too loudly will cause you to crumble. “I don’t know if he put something in your drink or if it was just made way too strong. But when I realized what was likely going on, I told Anika and Mindy and they agreed that we needed to get you away from him. We tried waving to get your attention but you didn’t catch on to it. The guy started dragging you towards the stairs and we were all so scared. My friend Chad was with us and when we told him what was going on he stormed over to cut the boy off.”

You couldn’t hold back the tears anymore and they started flowing freely down your face. You could feel your lip trembling and Tara got up to slide into your side of the booth, pulling you into a hug. She whispered tiny words of comfort into your hair while she waited for your tears to slow. Once they did, she pulled back slightly to wrap up the night’s events, “While Chad and the boy shoved each other, I pulled you away. We tried to ask you if you knew the guy or if you had any friends at the party, but you were so out of it that I don’t even know if you knew what we were asking. The only piece of information we got out of you was your name. We left the party and took you outside and that’s when we decided that one of us would just have to take you in for the night. I volunteered to stay with you because after everything that I saw, I needed to make sure you were okay.”

You hug her tighter, silently expressing all that you were feeling. 

“On the walk back, it was like the last sober part of you drifted away completely. That’s when you started openly flirting with me and let me tell you, you said some pretty interesting stuff.”

You let out a watery laugh at your own drunken expense. Tara laughs with you and her hands delicately reach up to smooth your tears away. You gaze at her and you don’t care if your eyes give away your every emotion, because in this moment you are so entirely grateful for the girl sitting in front of you.

After a long while, you turn your head and slowly press a shaky kiss to the hand lightly stroking your cheek. She makes no move to stop running her hand along your face. You enjoy her touch too much to ever even consider asking her to put a pause to it. 

Taking a deep breath, you prepare a response to all that she’s told you. “Tara, I can’t even begin to tell you how thankful I am that you were there. That you noticed what was going on. I mean without you I could’ve been… I-” You exhale steadily and continue, “You literally saved me from experiencing one of the worst things and you didn’t even know me. I feel so stupid that I wasn’t looking out for myself, but for some reason, you were. And I’ll never be able to repay you for that or even tell you how much it means to me.”

Unshed tears sit in both of your eyes and Tara scoots impossibly closer to you. “You don’t need to thank me. I’d do it all over a thousand different times just to be sure I wouldn’t have to see you get hurt.” 

Something about how she says the words makes you think they might mean something a bit more to her, but you don’t comment on that. Instead, you’re more focused on how her eyes are darting from your eyes to your lips. “You’re the only thing that I remember from that party Tara. And I can’t help but think it’s for a reason.”

You lean so closely into her that you’re able to count every freckle that’s splashed across her face. Your nose bumps gently into hers and you wait with bated breath to see if she’ll close the gap between your lips. Just as she’s about to, her phone buzzes incessantly, signaling the inflow of a large amount of notifications.

You go to pull back, thinking you’d either gotten the wrong idea or that the moment had been broken, but she stops you from moving away with a hand nestled softly into the hair at the nape of your neck. She inches closer to you and when your lips finally do meet, it feels as though the storm of emotions that this girl brings out in you has churned to an all time high. 

Your lips crash into each other repeatedly and you don’t even think Moses could pull you away from the addictive taste of Tara’s lips. Her phone continuously buzzing from its spot in her tote bag goes completely ignored by the two of you. 

Annoyingly enough, you do need oxygen eventually. You gently push away from Tara but make sure to press your lips together once more before fully exiting her space. 

Tara looks uncharacteristically shy, wearing a soft smile that accentuates her endearing dimples. Her nose wrinkles cutely as you softly bop her on the nose. 

Her expression shifts slightly and it seems as though she’s deep in thought. You wait patiently for her to bring up whatever is on her mind. Just as she goes to speak, the diner’s doorbell rings and out of the corner of your eye, you can see someone speeding towards your booth.

You and Tara whip your heads in the direction of the heavy stomps. You are met with the sight of someone who looks strikingly similar to Tara. 

The woman slams her hands down on the table, making the silverware fly up into the air at the force. You flinch and Tara groans, her face twisting up in frustration.

“What the fuck Tara!” The woman is so clearly pissed off. You can see how her whole body trembles with her anger. 

Tara sighs deeply, “Sam look-”

The woman cuts her off, “No Tara, seriously what the fuck do you think you’re doing? I went to check on you last night and found Mindy and Anika in your bed. You weren’t anywhere to be found and I texted you and called you so many different times throughout the night and you didn’t answer once! I couldn’t sleep at all, I was worried sick thinking something had happened to you!” 

The woman, Sam you think Tara had called her, is breathing raggedly and there’s a noticeable streak of panic in her eyes. “And then when I finally catch wind of you, it’s from overhearing you tell Mindy you were going out to a diner. I searched every diner in the city to find you Tara and you what, try to offer me a simple explanation?” 

Tara’s level of frustration has raised exponentially throughout Sam’s rant. She’s practically vibrating in her seat and your eyes widen at the situation you’re caught in the middle of. Her teeth grind together and a wild look that rivals Sam’s appears in her eyes. “God Sam if you would ever let me speak and would stop being so goddamn overbearing all the time, maybe I could actually speak to you and have a normal conversation about things for once! I don’t owe you any explanation at all for what I choose to do Sam, this is my life! You can’t control me every second of every day!”

Sam gets impossibly angrier. “Are you serious? You know why I care so much about where you are so don’t even go there! And I don’t want to control you! I’m only trying to protect you!” 

Sam turns to look at you and you avert your eyes so fast it’s possible you could’ve gotten whiplash. She laughs in disbelief. “While I’m worried sick about you all night fucking long you’re doing what, having a hookup? Seriously Tara, that’s what you’re choosing to do after everything?”

Your eyes flash with hurt and you recoil as if you’d been slapped. You feel so small under Sam’s scrutinizing gaze.

Tara stands up from the booth and shoves Sam upon hearing her words. “God shut up Sam! You have no idea what you’re talking about.” She glances apologetically at you over her shoulder for a second before she spins back around to face Sam, a whole separate wave of fury taking over her small form.

You can only gulp and try to press yourself into the cushions of the booth.

Sam laughs again, this time flinging her arms up into the air. “Oh really? Because I sure as hell think I do! Let me guess, after knowing that girl for one day, you’re already so damn smitten that you’re willing to look past any the signs that might point to her being an absolute lunatic, just like you did with-”

Tara’s face hardens and her jaw clenches so hard it might shatter. “Don’t!” She practically barks the word out as her finger presses into Sam’s chest. 

Sam doesn’t heed the warning, too far gone into whatever rage she has slipped into. “Amber, Tara!” She shouts the words into her sister’s face. “Just like you did with Amber!”

You don’t expect what comes next, and it seems Sam didn’t either. Tara’s hand flies up out of nowhere and lands an open palm smack right onto Sam’s cheek. 

Sam gasps and a few tears of shock roll down her face, not even beginning to sooth the burn that spreads across her pulsing face. She goes to say something, her words finally catching up to her but Tara viciously cuts her off. “Get the fuck out Sam,” she spits out the words. “Go outside and wait for me to come out.”

Sam complies, though she stubbornly attempts to apologize again, “I’m so-”

“Get out Sam! Now!” Sam finally trudges out of the diner, hand clutched against where she’d been slapped.

Tara takes a few minutes to calm herself down. You brace yourself, unsure of what was going to come next. 

She’s facing you again now and you do the only thing you can think of. Your arms open and you let out a small oomph when Tara’s body slams itself into your embrace. She buries her face into your shoulder for a long moment and in a reversal of the events of this morning, you’re now the one soothingly rubbing her back. 

She cries into you and your heart breaks at the way the sobs wrack through her whole body. Once she has stopped crying, you allow her to pull away.

She looks so exhausted from her fight with Sam. “I don’t even know what to say. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You shush her, “Don’t be sorry baby.”

Her eyes brighten a tad bit at the pet name. “Sam is my incredibly protective older sister,” she explains and you nod, “There’s a whole lot more to that story than I can even begin to say right now.”

You rush to speak, “You don’t owe me an explanation about anything. You can do that some other time.”

She smiles in appreciation but frowns shortly after. “Look, I have to go. I’m gonna go home with Sam, avoid her for a day or two to make her feel guilty, and then I’ll maybe consider talking to her.” She pushes her phone into your hands, opening up the contact app. “Put your number in, I’ll text you tonight and then when things have finally calmed down, I’ll fill you in.”

You punch your number into her phone and give her one last big hug. She sighs happily and you feel a little bit of the stress come off her shoulders. She pulls back and even though you know she really does have to go, you lean up and tenderly kiss the corner of her mouth. 

Tara hums in contentment, bops you gently on the nose, and exits the diner.

Tag: @cartierdreamx

Bonus A/N: Fingers crossed it makes sense with the last fic in mind.