#i enjoyed it i liked the interactions and i feel like we’re getting somewhere

[breathinginsulfur]

how do we feel about the new episode guys‼️

[lovebugism]

AH HI!! so... i love the way you write ditzy!reader, and especially with steve idk it just warms my heart yk? The way they interact 😭 it's so lovely

Since I'm an angsty girly at heart, I thought about a situation where steve gets a teeny tiny bit frustrated with ditzy!reader, but it's just seconds, even less than that but it's enough to make her upset for making him upset but also a super fluffy moment between both of them and steve being mesmerized by her and just so much in love

ahh thank u lovie! pls enjoy!! — steve gets frustrated with his sensitive gf and makes up with her accordingly (hurt/comfort, established relationship, 2.7k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

You keep Steve company during the last half of his shift like you always do. 

He’s grumpier than usual, though — all pouty and visibly brooding. 

You plop yourself on the front counter of Family Video and ask him what’s wrong, and he tells you that the day’s been hell and he’s just tired. There is no “but I feel better now” like there usually is when he’s upset but doesn’t want you to think it’s your fault. 

The “because you’re here” is typically implied. 

Not so much now.

You’re having the complete opposite day of your sulking boyfriend. Yours had been dreadfully boring, or at least you say it had been, but you find a million different things to tell him. You’re too excited after having spent so many hours without him, like a dog with a wagging tail. You’ve got the zoomies of the mouth, if you could even call it that.

“—And then I saw the cutest dog on the way over here. His name was Cappy, and he was huge, and the owner was so nice. He even let me pet him, and he literally felt like a cloud— the dog, not the owner.”

Steve is used to this. The whole rambling about nothing thing. He loves it about you, actually. It took him ages to coax you out of that shell after your asshole ex told you that you talked too much, convinced you that no one cared about what you had to say.

You’re more comfortable now, and Steve loves that you are, but right now he just can’t concentrate.

Keith’s been on his ass about inventory all day, and he just learned how to do it on the old, bulky computer this morning — but only after Robin made him an hour late to his shift. Everything’s just too much now. He’s overwhelmed to the point of spontaneous combustion. 

For the first time ever, you’re not helping.

“—And, like, I know when we move into our apartment, we’re technically not allowed to have pets, but like… What about a fish? Or a turtle?” you wonder aloud but don’t stop to let him answer. Sitting on the edge of the counter, you kick your feet and flit your eyes to the spotted ceiling. “What if I start feeding the deer in the woods, and they just start showing up at our backdoor? ‘Cause technically—”

“Babe, please,” Steve snaps suddenly when your sneaker knocks his chair. He’s buzzing with anger, and even though it’s not because of you, he doesn’t know where else to put it.

Your eyes go wide at the newfound bite in his tone. He’s not shouting at you, but it makes your heart stop like he is. You feel like a kid again, getting scolded for being “too much.”

“…What?” you squeak.

Steve sighs. A deep, heavy sigh. It doesn’t remove the leaden weight from his chest, though. 

“I’m… I’m really trying to concentrate here, and you’re just— you’re making it really hard,” he tells you through gritted teeth, trying hard to keep his composure.

You deflate like a popped balloon. “Oh…”

He can hear the waver in your tone, the way your voice sounds wet with unshed tears. But he’s too overwhelmed — internally raging and selfish with it. His sweltering temper makes his woe feel more important than yours.

“Yeah, so… Can you just— go bother someone else for, like, five minutes?” he asks, fists clenched on either side of the clunky keyboard, his gaze concentrated on the pixelated screen. “Robin’s probably sulking in a corner somewhere. Go find her.”

Your face crumbles like a balled-up piece of paper. Your chest gets all tight, and your eyes start to burn when tears gather behind them.

You’d always been a flower of melodrama — blooming eternally and constantly sensitive. So when Steve cut you off as you fantasized about a family of deer living in the backyard of an apartment you were supposed to share together, it felt like a knife in your chest. 

The irrational thought that he no longer wanted any of that with you was fleeting and vivid and burning. Irrational, still.

But now you’re annoying him. He’s told you as much, with an unusual harshness he’s never spat at you before. And now your fears feel much more real.

“I’m bothering you?” you ask him, barely intelligible through the whimper in your throat.

Steve huffs again. His elbows thunk against the desk when he puts his head in his palms, swiping his fingers through his hair like he always does when he’s antsy. 

“I just really need to get this done,” he tells you, softer now. He makes himself mad all over again, though, and gets sharper once more. “I need to finish this before I get fired, and then we have no apartment to move into because we have no money, alright?”

There it is. The root of all his anger. A lingering feeling of inadequacy. 

He wants a life with you, but all he’s got is a measly Family Video salary — which he’s lucky to have apparently, because he can’t seem to do anything right. It stirs like a fire in the pit of his stomach.

After another deep breath, he finally turns to look up at you. His honey eyes are wet and stern. The chiseled edges of his features are sharp. Gently, he pleads. “I really need to work here, babe.”

You nod, understanding and internally weeping. “Okay. I’m— I’m sorry, I was just— I’ve been missing you all day, and I got too excited, I think,” you confess, wringing your clammy hands in your lap like a scolded child.

“Don’t apologize,” Steve says with a huff, leaning back against the squeaking swivel chair. It’s old and has lost all its cushion. His stiff back aches all the more. There’s no relief, to any of it. 

He sits back up again and puts his unsure hands back on the keyboard. “Just— Just go, okay? Let me finish this.”

He leaves little room for argument.

You wouldn’t, though, even if you wanted to. Which you do. You’re just not strong enough.

—————

Steve tells you to go, but you end up in the kiddie corner across the store. 

Mr. Rogers puts on a bright red cardigan and sings a tune that makes you feel like crying. You sit on the color-blocked carpet, surrounded by block toys, and clutch a stuffed bunny to your chest. You can’t tell if the vintage VHS is making the screen blurry or if it’s the tears gathering heavy at your waterline.

Robin walks by you, does a double-take, and immediately reports to Steve.

“What did you do?” she interrogates with narrowed eyes, strolling up to the counter with a cart full of tapes to put away.

The hearty tap, tap, taping of the keyboard fills the silence. 

Steve doesn’t look at her until he’s finished up the last of his work. Only when it’s fully and finally complete does his hardened gaze dart to her. “What are you talking about?”

“Your girlfriend. She’s upset.”

“What do you mean she’s upset?”

Robin rolls her eyes at his obliviousness. “I don’t know. She’s singing the Mister Roger’s theme song and, like, crying. It’s weird.”

Steve’s brows pinch. His heart does, too. “Crying?”

“Well— not crying, exactly. It’s this really weird blubbering thing.” She fails to explain it so she tries to imitate it. A sobbing, sniffling sort of noise. She fails at that, too. Her scrunched face goes back to normal. “Like that.”

Deadpanned, Steve nods. “Wow, Robin. That was really helpful. Thank you.”

“Just go comfort your girlfriend, dingus.”

Steve still thinks she’s joking. Robin doesn’t lie, but she does have a tendency to overemphasize the mundane. 

He goes to see you anyway, though, and doesn’t think twice about any of it — about what Robin said or what he had said to you before that.

He finds you in the kid’s section, in front of the tiny television, surrounded by brightly colored toys. He smiles at the sight of you, exhaling a sharp laugh through his nose.

“What are you doing all the way over here, huh?” he questions to announce his arrival, which you seemingly hadn’t noticed. “This area is usually for kids, ya know? Well, kids and Dustin Henderson.”

He doesn’t sound as annoyed with you anymore. You’re grateful for that much, but you still feel a bit sick about the whole thing.

Your nervous hands pick the cotton of the fuzzy bunny in your arms. You keep your gaze on the television in front of you, but you aren’t really watching it anymore. “I used to watch this stuff a lot growing up. The nostalgia sorta makes me wanna puke. But, like, in a good way.”

Steve scoffs. “Well, maybe we should turn it off then, ‘cause if I have to clean up vomit after the day I’ve had, I might actually go insane.”

He’s kidding. Mostly. The universe tends to be cruel like that, but he’d clean up all your messes a thousand times over if he had to.

He laughs at his own joke as he crouches to sit down next to you. He bends his knees, props his arms on top of them, and looks over at you. You don’t crack a smile for him, which is weird because you always laugh at his jokes. Even the ones that aren’t funny. Especially the ones that aren’t funny.

His smile ebbs to a wavering half-smirk as he knocks his shoulder with yours. “You okay?”

You think for a moment, jutting your lips out, unblinking at the television screen. “No,” you answer after a few seconds of silence. “But I’ll get over it. I think.”

Your honesty makes his heart wrench — like you’ve wrapped both your tiny hands around the beating organ and squeezed. It knocks the breath out of his lungs, a fish so ruthlessly pulled from the water. He tries to speak through the sudden lack of air. “Wh—What happened? Was it… Did I do something? Did you—”

“No,” you cut off his stammering with a firm shake of your head. “I did something.”

“Oh,” is all he says, pink lips pouting and wide eyes darting. “What does… What does that mean? Did you, like, step on a rogue VHS or something? ‘Cause I do that all the time, and technically, that’s Rob’s fault for leaving them out, so—”

You shake your head again, digging your nails into the delicate cotton of the well-loved stuffy in your arms. “No. I was just— I was botheringyou, and now I feel bad,” you confess, all quiet like a meek child who’s learning what it means to be sorry.

Steve — your oh, so oblivious one — goes aflame with embarrassment. He’d been too clouded by his own anger to recognize the venom spilling from his mouth; to understand that it would inevitably hurt you.

With chiseled features twisted in confusion, he shakes his head and stammers. “What? No! You weren’t— You weren’t bothering me!”

You turn to look at him, for the first time since he sat down beside you. Your eyes are glassy and swimming with hurt. You try to keep your trembling features stoic. You don’t want to seem as hurt by it all as you really are. 

You feel like you should, anyway. What right do you have to be sad when you were the one being a bother?

“You said I was,” you remind him, still soft but sterner now. “You told me to go bother someone else—”

“Oh, babe…” Steve says, deflating just as you had. 

He knows how sensitive you are, how deeply you feel things. You’re vulnerable, raw — it makes everything feel more personal than it really is. It makes grumpy jabs from your dumbass boyfriend hurt like a lemon on a weeping wound.

He tries to apologize, knowing that he hurt you and that it’s not up to him to decide that he didn’t. 

“I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to, babe,” he murmurs, swiping a tense hand through his hair and then gesticulating wildly with it. “I was just being a dick, you know? I’ve been super stressed all day and—”

“Don’t apologize. I was being annoying.”

Steve blinks at you with wide, wet eyes — like you’ve hurt him by talking so cruelly about yourself. 

“Baby, no. No,” he urges, ducking down to meet your gaze when you look away from him. “I’m just an idiot, okay? I put off inventory until the last second, and Keith’s been on my ass all day about it, and I just— I took that out on you, and that’s not fair, and I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, pursing your bitten lips to the side and twisting the long ear of the bunny between your fingers. “It’s not your fault, Steve…” you murmur, almost inaudibly.

He scoffs. It sounds like a bitter laugh. “Well, actually, it kinda is.”

“I just… I don’t really understand what’s going on sometimes. Or, like, a lot of the time,” you admit with a distracted gaze, eyes flitting everywhere but to the boy beside you. You’re too ashamed to look at him now. “And it’s harder for me to know when I’m talking too much, you know? Or if I’m being super annoying.”

“I know…” Steve nods, trying his best to be sympathetic of you. He loves how soft you are — too much to understand you completely. He loves how gently you treat the rest of the world, how unusually giddy you get in your gentleness. 

You swallow through a tightening throat and shrug to pretend your world doesn’t feel like it’s crumbling around you. “And I don’t care about annoying other people— well, I do, but it’s different with you, you know? Other people can’t break up with me for being too much.”

“The idiot that told you you were too much had exactly zero personality,” Steve tells you, mostly because he means it but also to see you smile. 

You do, just barely. A grin so soft only someone deathly in love with you could see. 

“You’re never annoying me, okay? Ever. I love hearing you talk. I love having you around.”

“Yeah?” you ask him, blinking back burning tears.

“Hell yeah! You’re, like, the best part of my day! The only good part of my day, now that I think about it.”

Biting back a grin, you tease, “Well, what about Robin?”

“Robin made me late today, so we’re kinda not friends right now.”

“That’s mean,” you scold despite the growing smile on your face.

Steve shrugs. “We’ll make up before I clock out. No big deal.”

You go suddenly shy, smiling sheepish and tilting your chin to your chest to peek at him through your lashes. “Are we gonna make up before you clock out?” you wonder quietly.

“Only if you’re willing to forgive me for being an insufferable douchebag,” Steve answers, only half-joking. He very seldomly feels worthy of your softness.

You look at him with it, anyway. 

Full on beaming now, you reach across the short distance to wrap him in a firm embrace. The position is only slightly awkward. Sitting side by side with your asses on the hard carpet, your arms wound tightly around his neck — a bit like a snake smothering its prey. 

Steve feels grateful to be held so ardently. 

His nose smushes into your neck. The sweet scent of your perfume entwines with the warm scent of your sweater. He smiles into your shoulder when it makes you giggle. You pull back from him then, just to steal a quick peck a moment later. Your lips smack audibly against his grin.

“Can we make out before you clock out?” you lilt with a shy smirk.

“…That is the single best idea I’ve heard all day.”

Your giggle fills the empty store when Steve rises suddenly and pulls you with him. He leads you toward the back, tugging you by the hand down the short corridor and rambling all the way. “Keith left for the day, so his office is empty, which means it’s fair game—”

“I am not making out with you in Keith’s office!”

“But his desk chair is crazy comfortable, and also, he’s a dick, so… who cares?”

[inkykeiji]

you be my revolver, i got you in my hands

character: choso kamo x fem!reader

genre: curseless!au, smut

notes: eeee first choso piece ever!!! i had such a blast writing this and i wish i could’ve gotten it finished in time for christmas but alas! anyway, please enjoy this and as always please heed the warnings below and stay safe! | title credit: girl like me by dove cameron

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudocest (reader + choso are family friends), age gap, bratty reader, rough sex, minimal prep, teasing, hints of manipulation, hints of dubcon, size kink, pet names

words: 6k

synopsis:

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.” “What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…”  “Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—” “Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.” 

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you.

You’ve known each other for a long time—so long Choso’s lost count of the years, now, having met you when Yuuji was just a toddler (and you were, too) at the bus stop on Yuuji’s first day of Pre-K, only to discover you lived a mere few houses from each other—but you haven’t seen each other in a long time, too. 

It’s not through fault of either of you; life had gotten in the way, as it has a tendency to do so, had grown busy with intricacies and obligations that demanded time and attention, tangling around you and keeping you apart. 

You had both embarked on university endeavours; him pursuing his PhD, you continuing your undergrad, had both stuffed more and more into your lives—art shows and book readings and music festivals and tropical trips—and lost space for each other in the process.

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you, but it feels as though no time has passed at all, as it normally does with family—you’re still just as bratty as you’ve always been (some things never change, he guesses; some things you’ll never grow out of, he supposes). 

Family.

Family is not a word he uses lightly, but you and yours had quickly become his and theirs, had quickly become ours, morphing from neighbours to friends to practically kin, members mixing to form something special, a hybrid of some sort, stuck somewhere between long-standing family friends and blood relatives. 

Which is why how you’re acting—how you’ve been acting, this entire winter break—is so undeniably inappropriate. 

And although he’s lost track of the years, everything beginning to blur together, to melt and flow and shift and breathe, he still remembers the day he told you to call him onii-chan. 

That he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

Yuuji’s so lucky, you had pouted, kicking at the sandy ground with the toe of your shoe and swaying a little on the swing. He has a big brother. I don’t. I’ve always wished I had one. Sighing, you looked away, fingers tangling in the chain. But I’ll never get one; it’s impossible. 

It’s not impossible, Choso had responded gently, nudging his swing against your own. I’ll be your big brother, if you want. 

And you—well, you had been so incredibly happy, all bright smiles and sunshine eyes and breathless giggles, to have a big brother to call your own.

Never in his life did he think he’d come to regret such a decision.

But you seem to be on a mission to make him, this Christmas.

Because you’re really testing his fucking patience, this Christmas.

The term of endearment oozes from your lips as if it’s melted in the wet heat of your mouth every single time, always paired with your worst behaviour: bending over in those short, sweet, slutty skirts and flashing cute Christmas panties at him; placing a hand much too high to be appropriate on his thigh as you watch a film together, leaning close to his ear to murmur out a silky question you already know the answer to; twining your ankles with his beneath the dinner table and gazing at him with eyes full of sin, leaning so far forward on the table that your tits swell, nearly spilling from the too-low neckline of your dress, then giggling when you catch him ogling. 

As a result, he’s been meticulous about avoiding being alone in a room with you—he doesn’t trust himself, doesn’t trust what he might do, especially if you start playing your little games—but he should’ve known it would only be a matter of time until you get want you want. 

Because it always is. 

And on Christmas Eve, you finally succeed. 

Somehow, you’ve managed to get him alone in his childhood bedroom—something about wanting to flip through his old sketchbooks, to search for some doodles he had drawn for you many years ago, to rip the pages from the spiral-bound spine and stuff them in your back pocket, for safekeeping, you had claimed. 

Tugging at his heartstrings, that’s how you succeeded. 

Sitting on the edge of his small twin bed, thighs slotted up against one another and both of your arms looped around one of his, he flips through the curling pages of his drawings, smudged with graphite and pastels. 

“Oh, I remember this one!” 

A dainty finger points to a cute kitten sketched out in astonishing detail, with a pink nose and a satin ribbon tied in a bow around its neck. 

“It’s you,” he smirks. “You asked me what animal you’d be, and then demanded I draw you as a kitten when I responded with a cat.” 

“You drew a lot of me,” you lean forward, swelling breasts pressed flush to his bicep, a palm sitting high on his thigh as avid eyes scan over the spread, gaze stuttering as it sweeps from doodle to doodle. 

“I drew a lot for you,” he says, the observation entirely unthinking. “You wanted a specific page, but I might as well give you this whole sketchbook. More than half the pieces in here are for you.” 

It’s a fact that shocks him in its authenticity, a realization that sends a painful, sick thrill searing through his body, saliva beginning to collect in the dips beneath his tongue.

“I’m such a lucky girl,” you hum out in a sigh, nuzzling your cheek into his arm and looking up at him with shimmering eyes. “I have such a good big brother.” 

“You’re spoiled,” he says, but his voice holds no malice, eyes softening as he stares down at you, a small smile on his lips. 

“I dunno about that,” you frown, but mischief glints in your eye. “You haven’t really given me what I’ve wanted all holiday…” 

Blood turns to shards of ice in his veins, whole body going rigid as his breath stalls in his throat, pounding heartbeat reverberating in his ears. 

“Wh-What’s that?”

He doesn’t want to ask it, doesn’t mean to ask it, but the question claws at his tongue, pries past his teeth and tumbles from his lips in a ragged, tangled heap.

And the smile that spreads across your face is nothing short of sinister, that glint flaring to a sharp shine as your pupils breathe, pulse, swallow him whole. 

“A Christmas kiss,” you say, stare unblinking and intense as your hand slips between his legs, rubbing little circles into his inner thigh, a mere centimetre or two away from his cock. 

The motion makes him jolt, hips involuntarily twitching toward your touch, brushing his half-hard cock against your knuckles.

“That’s all I want,” you sigh almost dreamily, tits pressed harder into his bicep as you lean closer, so tight they’re practically being squeezed from your sweetheart neckline. “A kiss from my onii-chan. Though…” 

Trailing off, your hand slides up a little further, pinky and ring finger tiptoeing along the rapidly hardening lump in his jeans, squealing out a short giggle as it jumps beneath your touch.

“I’m not sure that’s all onii-chan wants.”

“Onii-chan doesn’t want anything from you,” he breathes out, but his voice is rough, unconvincing, his hands curled into firm fists on his bedspread, trembling slightly, skin stretched taut across pointed knuckles.

“Another lie,” your lips tug down, voice saturated with disappointment. “You know, good big brothers don’t lie to their siblings,” you fix him with a look, glaring through feathery lashes, expression teetering dangerously on the edges of a pout.

A shiver skitters through his bones, whole body stiffening. His jaw flexes as he grinds his molars, a slow, controlled breath exhaled out his nose, his eyes flicking down. You’re still touching him, two fingertips rubbing gentle circles into his clothed cock.

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.”

“What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…” 

“Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.” 

“That—That—” he swallows hard, dense saliva pooling at the back of his tongue. “That doesn’t matter—We shouldn’t—”

“But—” your lip juts out further, forehead crinkling. “But I want to.” 

You can’t always get what you want. 

That’s what he wants to tell you. That’s what he wishes he could tell you. But it just isn’t fucking true, when it comes to you. 

“Stop,” he says instead, and although it’s supposed to be an order, it comes out as a plead, his voice hoarse, strained, thin, the proclamation high and false and tinny. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” the tip of your index finger traces the head, looking up at him through your lashes. “Did you know that?” 

He does, he does know that. He’s a terrible liar, eyes too honest, voice too sincere, expressions too candid, always giving away his true intentions and forthright thoughts.

He’s a terrible discipliner, too, incapable of saying no, of refusing his siblings anything. You know this, too. 

“St—” he tries to force the word from his tongue again, protest sticking in his throat. Stop, stop, he wants you to stop, he needs you to stop, please. 

But that’s a lie, too, the rejection refusing to take shape, to mold into something audible, something tangible, something worthwhile. 

No matter how much he wishes it were true, he can’t will it to become true—not when he wants this just as badly as you do, his straining cock exposing his real desires to you.

You’ve already taken full notice of it, yearning for you through rough denim, hot and hard and throbbing. The pad of your finger rubs over the slit in rhythmic motions, smooth and gliding, aided by the copious amount of pre-cum oozing through the material, and it jerks beneath your touch, eager for more attention. 

“It’s so hard, onii-chan,” your hand cups the impressive bulge, rolling it in your palm, a girlish giggle tickling your tongue. “It—It’s throbbing, onii-chan.” 

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that?” he breathes, attempting to keep his tone stern and his eyes stony. 

“It’s making me want to ride it,” you whimper loudly, squeezing your thighs together, completely ignoring his question. “Oh, please, onii-chan, can I ride your cock?” 

“Fu-fuck,” the curse breaks on his tongue, eyes shut tightly, breaking away from your invasive stare. “Fuck, fuck, f-fuck.” 

No. 

“I’d really like to ride it, onii-chan.”

No. 

“Can I? Pretty please?”

No-no-no-no-no! 

He wants to say no. He should say no. It’s the right thing to do. 

He’s the older brother, the eldest brother, it’s his duty to say no, to mentor, to lead by example. 

But he can’t. 

He can’t form the word in his throat, can’t mold it into a sound and push it from his mouth. 

He’s never truly been able to, when it comes to you—and he was so fucking stupid to think he would.

Because, as always, you are making it exceptionally difficult to deny, gazing up at him with shimmering eyes like that, mouth licked raw in anticipation, bottom lip bitten puffy from the front teeth constantly sinking into it.

“I—It isn’t right—” he attempts, swallowing thickly, cords in his neck straining, desperately attempting to quell the tremor in his voice.

He knows you don’t care. If he’s being entirely honest with himself, he doesn’t, either, his morality eroded to nothing more than a farce, a thin façade, not nearly strong enough to force him into doing the right thing, not nearly strong enough to fortify his rapidly waning self-discipline.

“I—I won’t tell,” you whimper, and he can see the fine film of tears lacquering your eyes, shielding lust-blown pupils. “Pinky promise! I just—I just want you so badly,” your nose twitches cutely with a sniffle, your bottom lip beginning to waver with infinitesimal quivers, soft palm caressing his cock like you love it. “Please, onii-chan?”

And Christ, you’re so pretty, so pouty, with your glistening puppy-dog eyes and pleads dripping from your lips like thick syrup. 

How could he possibly say no to something so precious? How could anyone?

“Alright,” he whispers, defeated, eyes squeezing shut as he nods. “If it’ll make you happy.”

“Really?”

And just like that, the tears are incinerated from your eyes, gaze bright and blazing with excitement, lips molded into a brilliant smile. 

You look so sickeningly beautiful when you get what you want. 

“Yes,” he nearly whimpers, and it’s pathetic, his hips twitching up into your touch, craving, desperate. “Yes, yes, ride my cock.” 

The affirmative is all you need, squealing a little with happiness as you climb into his lap, fingers up your own skirt to push your soaked panties to the side, other hand pawing clumsily at his waistband.

“Thank you,” you breathe, the words soaking into his neck, sealed with a sloppy kiss. “Oh, thank you, onii-chan.” 

He can’t help but chuckle a little as his hands find your waist, instinctive, steadying you. 

“Eager little thing, aren’t you.”

“This is all I want,” you tell him, pulling back a little to search his face. “S’all I’ve wanted for a long time.” 

He wants to ask you to elaborate on that, confusion warping his brow, but then you’re yanking at his belt loops and pulling at his zipper and wrapping a soft palm around the base of his cock, a heavy groan vibrating in his throat. 

“Wait, wait!” he chokes on a gasp as you hover over his cock, head bumping against your hole. “Let me—”

“I don’t wanna wait,” you whine out, petulant and stringy, whole face scrunched in frustration. “I’ve been waiting! I want your cock in me now!”

Fuck, you’re such a fucking brat, he’s growling as he forces you down on his cock in one swift motion, the sudden intrusion pushing a yelp from your lips. Your forehead knocks against his, sugar-stained breath wafting across his face, his tongue darting out to mop up remnants from his mouth. 

It’s really cute, the way your little cunt spasms around his shaft as he bottoms out, pressed snug and tight against your cervix, desperate in its attempt to adjust to his girth. It’s really sweet, the way your body splits itself open for him, cracking at the core and struggling to swallow him down.

“Oh, it’s so big, onii-chan!” 

“God,” he nearly sobs. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know that?” 

Giggling, you wind your arms around his neck tighter, nuzzling your cheek into his skin, then stringing a garland of wet kisses along the line of his jaw. 

“S’really thick, Choso-nii,” you tell him honestly, nodding in lethargic little motions. “I feel so full, onii-chan.” 

A laugh falls from his lips, breathy and exalted. 

“I don’t know if it’s that I’m big, or if it’s just that your cunt is so fucking small,” his voice tapers off into a whine, raspy and gruff. 

“H-Hurts a little, onii-chan,” you admit in a whimper, hips shifting in experimental little movements, conjuring a groan from deep within his chest. 

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that, huh?” he asks for the second time in fifteen minutes. “Who was too impatient to let onii-chan prep her?”

“Don’t care,” you mumble. “Wanted you s’bad.” 

He laughs again, warm and gentle and full of love, his hands squeezing your hips just enough to make you gasp, fingertips pressing his name into your flesh in blotchy little ovals of purple. 

“You have me,” he says, his words ringing clear and true with a painful sincerity. 

The vibrations of your responding hum seep from your chest into his, and he sighs, body deflating against yours, pleasant little tingles snuggling between his ribs. 

You stay like that for a moment to two, wound up in one another, chests pressed flush, breathing as one. Your auras ebb and flow, presences bleeding, tangling together and creating something that is neither one nor the other but both, a single shared entity. 

And it’s nice, it’s real, it’s natural.

But then you become impatient, as you normally do, as he knew you would, wiggling a little in his lap, fingers twining in the strands at the base of his neck. 

“Go on, sweetheart,” he urges gently. “Ride onii-chan’s cock.” 

And so you do, hips beginning to roll in slow, languid circles, fingers still laced at the back of his skull, half-buried in messy ink.

He allows you to set the pace, allows you to take your time, allows you to enjoy and savour every rock and grind and bounce, staring at you through heavily lidded eyes, hands on your waist merely guiding you—keeping you stable, just like a big brother should. 

He’s absolutely breathtaking; gaze glittering in the dim light overflowing with awe, spit-slicked lips licked raw and shimmering as his tongue glides over them again, swollen and bitten cherry red.

You can’t help but reach out to trace his features; the strong line of his brow, the delicate curve of his cheek, the enticing bow of his lips, hips slowing to uneven little ruts as you hone your focus, his eyes observing you with a sick sort of fascination.

“Did you—Have you—Have you thought about this before?” 

The question stings his tongue, revulsion flushing through his blood as guilt pricks his flesh, his cock throbbing eagerly.

“Course I have,” you breathe out with a little laugh, as if he’s so silly for thinking you might not have. “Actually, I—I—”

A sudden shyness overtakes you, an unsure giggle on your lips fading into a soft squeal as you hide in his shoulder, shaking your head a little. 

“What? Huh?” he shrugs, nudging your face up gently, curiosity clawing at his irises as they search your face, voracious. “What?” 

“Well, sometimes I…” 

The words tangle in your throat and you choke on them, gaze fleeing his own, and you shake your head again, chest beginning to stammer.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, rubbing reassuring circles into your flesh. “You can tell onii-chan, go on.” 

There are tears in your eyes now, mouth wobbling a little with the verging confession, and God, that’s so hot, why is that so fucking hot? 

“Where’s my brave little sister gone now? Hmm?”

“M’right here, onii-chan,” you whisper, face teetering on a wince, as if you’re bracing for a blow, terrified to admit to him, fearing reprimand. “It’s just that—Sometimes I do, um, really bad things with my stuffies while—while thinking about you…” 

Dewdrops of shame glitter in your lashes as your lids flutter, nose scrunching with a soft sniffle, tears breaking free of their wispy confines to roll down your cheeks in fat, glimmering streams—so fucking beautiful in the dim light of his bedroom—but you don’t dare break his stare, gazing at him through a thick shield of water. 

“Oh, Christ,” he coughs on the curse, hands flexing on your waist, blunt nails digging into your skin. “And what—what do you think about?” 

“Um,” your gaze flits from his own, to his wrinkled bedspread, then back to his face, wide and honest. “Riding you, like this. And—And riding your thighs, makin’ a real mess all over them, and your thick fingers too, filling me up…” 

Bolts of dizziness sear his brain as his lungs deflate, oxygen eaten up by pure lust and leaving his chest buzzing, burning, some sort of response mangling itself in his throat, escaping his lips as nothing more than a cracked moan.

“Do you think about me, onii-chan?” 

Your question pulls him from the depths of his hedonism and he blinks, your face swimming into view, a peculiar mix of hope and cognizance infusing your expression, eyebrows raised with false curiosity, a smirk twitching on your lips.

Ah, there she is, that brat he knows so well, that brat he’s come to crave, every ounce of uncertainty eradicated from your face, replaced with assured confidence, contradicting the tears still staining your cheeks.

You fucking know he does. 

And, oh, how he wishes he was stronger, how he wishes he could lie, how he wishes he could devour the smugness in your eyes and complacency in your smile, to humble you, to knock you from your high throne.

He settles for a kiss instead, mouth crushed to yours as a large hand cups your head, thumb pressing into your ear, fingertips dragging across your scalp as he yanks you closer. 

It hurts, his front teeth scraping against your lip as he practically gnaws his way to your tongue, his own big and thick and so fucking strong as it overwhelms yours, shoving it further into the cavern of your mouth and forcing it to stay put as he explores. 

He’s making a real mess as he slathers over your molars, over the inside of your cheeks and the backs of your teeth, drenching your mouth in him. Drool oozes steadily from the corners, collecting along the underside of his bottom lip and leaving his chin sticky and slick. 

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes shut so tightly his whole forehead crinkles, mouth wet and sliding against your own. “Yes, yes, I think about you—much too often.”

Nose nudging yours, he nuzzles into your face a little, planting a chaste kiss to your lips, then peppering a few more, quick and sloppy, around your mouth.

“But right now, I don’t want to think about anything. I just want to feel you creaming all over my cock—you think you can do that for me, princess?” His palms cushion your cheeks, thumbs swiping across your cheekbones, then brushing strands of damp hair from your temples. “You think you can do that for your onii-chan?” 

Yes you can, of course you can, you’re nodding, blinking the last remnants of tears from your eyes, rapid movement eliminating the final stubborn drops, clinging delicately to your outer lashes. 

“S’it, baby,” he encourages as your hips start moving again, working up a steady rhythm. “Just like that, good girl.”

A mewl slips from your lips, burrowing your scalding face in his sticky neck again, his undivided attention almost too much to bear. 

“Like it when you call me a good girl,” you murmur, lips dragging across his skin with the confession, streaking him with thick glimmers of spit. 

“Is that so?” he laughs a little, pressing a few kisses to the crown of your head. “That’s because you don’t hear it often.” 

Lifting your head, you scowl at him, though there’s no heat to your glare, fury dimmed by fondness, unable to smother the smile playing with your lips.

A dazzling smile spreads across his own face in response, and he laughs again, his eyes so bright, so brilliant they almost hurt, blazing like two small suns, scorching your skin as his gaze glides over it.

He watches you like a man possessed, a man obsessed, entirely entranced by the way pleasure passes over your face, twisting your features into the cutest little winces as you grind the head of his cock against your cervix, then smoothing them out with bliss as his shaft drags along your favourite spot, bouncing in shallow little motions to rub over that fleshy patch hard and fast, a stream of mewls spilling from your lips, stitched together with his honorific. 

“You’re so pretty when you ride my cock,” he groans, words tapering off into a hoarse whimper, as if it pains him to admit it. 

His palms run up your sides, fingers counting over each rib, hands committing every dip and curve and bulge to memory, marvelled by the way you fill his grip, as if he can’t believe you’re real, you’re here, you’re his—even if just for tonight.

“Yeah, yeah, keep going, use onii-chan like a toy, sweetheart.” 

And he tries to be patient, he swears he does—tries not to rush you, tries to relish in the moment, in each swirl of your hips and every puff of his name—except your pace never accelerates, never moves past anything but teasing as you use his now aching cock to continually edge yourself; moans building higher and higher, louder and louder, on the cusp of the crest before they disintegrate into nothing and you start the process all over again, the delicate fluttering of your cunt enough to drive him fucking insane with desire.

It has his entire form trembling with such vigour it’s quivering the mattress, muscles locked stiff and tight as he tries to keep from moving, from bucking up wildly, from forcing you to speed the hell up. Rough fingers sink into your flesh so deep it dimples, a pathetic attempt to ground himself, rapidly blooming bruises staining your flesh.

But he’s powerless to stifle the whines leaking through the gaps of his gritted teeth, hands flexing on your hips, whole body pulled taut with restraint. 

He’s sure you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, eager and impatient, begging you to move faster, to fuck him harder. 

But you aren’t going to do any of that—not unless he asks for it, he realizes dimly, after you bring yourself to near orgasm for the third time in a row, giggling a little at his crestfallen expression, his hair having fallen almost completely from its trademark spiky buns, braided fishermen sweater soaked with sweat and sticking to his now heaving chest.

He really thought it was real this time. He really thought you were finally going to cream all over him, so he could finally flip you over and fuck you properly, pound you into the mattress and stuff that pretty, cute little cunt to the goddamn brim with his seed.

He’d been trying so hard to be nice, to be the loving, doting, good big brother he is—but he’s also only human, and there’s only so much misbehaviour he can bear before, finally, he snaps. 

Because, sure, big brothers are meant to care for, to lead and to nurture, but they’re also meant to teach, to punish, to put bratty little sisters back in their fucking place. 

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Huh?” his grip on your hips tightens, halting you from moving. “You think I’m fucking stupid?” 

“Never, Choso-nii,” you gasp, astonished. “I would never—” 

Sincerity rings in your voice, but he can see it, the mischief tugging at the corners of your mouth, barely suppressed by your façade of innocence.

Anyone else would’ve been fooled—enchanted by your doe eyes and your dainty voice. 

But not him.

No, he knows better now. 

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off, eyes narrowed sharply. “You wanted to ride my cock, but you’re clearly incapable of it—”

“No I’m not!”

“—So it looks like I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

“No! I—I can do it!” you cry, face crumpled in fury, nails scrabbling at his shoulders.

“You lost your chance to prove it to me,” he growls. 

The world flips suddenly, momentarily a blur of inks and ivories, a breath of surprise punched from your ribs as your back slams against the mattress, trapped between the bedspread and your big brother’s heaving chest.

“You have been testing me all fucking holiday,” he snarls, specks of spit splattering across your cheeks. “Onii-chan shouldn’t give you his cum—onii-chan shouldn’t have given you his cock at all!” 

A certain type of haughtiness corrodes your shock, lips spreading into a pompous smirk.

“Oh, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you, onii-chan.” 

“You little bitch!” 

His hips shove forward, forcing you further into the plush of the mattress, cockhead ramming against your cervix. A little noise of pain vibrates on the back of your tongue, shattering your arrogance, and a grin smears across his face, glinting in the moonlight. 

“I think it’s time your big brother teach you a lesson in respect.”

“Y-Yeah? And how are you gonna do that?”

“You’re going to take what onii-chan gives you, and you’re going to fucking like it. And then, at the end, when you’ve gone stupid from the cock you don’t deserve, you’re going to thank me for giving it to you at all. Do you understand me?” 

Defiance shines in your eyes, lacquered by a thin coating of tears, nose scrunching up in a glower. 

A rough thumb and forefinger, hardened by charcoals, clamps around your jaw, squeezing your cheeks with such force that your mouth puckers, a sticky little whine squealing in your throat.

“Do you understand me?” he asks again, each word said slow with purpose, each word annunciated with intent, his eyes boring into yours, sharp and painful. 

Finally, those tears push past your bloated lashes, shoved from your eyes by rapid blinking and rolling down your cheeks in glistening pairs, a half-stifled hiccup stuttering your chest. 

“Y-Yes,” you whisper, nose twitching. 

“What was that? Onii-chan couldn’t hear you.” 

“Yes, onii-chan.” 

“Good girl.”

And then his hips are snapping, hard and fast and immediate, fucking into you with such ruthlessness that it jostles your body up the bed, sheets collecting in little wrinkled bunches beneath you. Your nails sink into his shoulders, piercing flesh through the knit of his sweater, the muscles in your thighs tensing as your ankles hook around his waist, his shirt riding up, your heels digging into the those cute little dimples that cushion the base of his spine. 

It hurts, every pound of his cock producing a dull, throbbing ache low and deep in your gut, another torrent of tears rushing to flood your vision.

“Ch-Choso-nii, Ch-Choso-nii,” you whimper, face screwed up in pain, his name stuttered by his rapid thrusts.

“What’s the matter?” he pouts, and it’s so condescending, dripping from his lips in an over-exaggerated coo. “Can’t take onii-chan’s cock?”

The question wafts across your face in a panted breath and you lick at your lips, sopping it up with your tongue.

“N-No,” you say, and that telltale brattiness is back, watered down by his viciousness. “I can do it—I-I can do it for you, onii-chan.” 

A throaty curse escapes his lips, thrusts stammering out of rhythm for a moment as his cock twitches, and a helpless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

Even angry, he’s still so fucking easy. 

He regains his composure quickly, though, face hardened to stone but beginning to splinter with pleasure. 

“Brat,” he breathes out, though there’s mirth shining in his eyes, pure and fond and full of love. “You better.”

And even angry, he still sounds so fucking pretty; cracked moans and dense groans and choked gasps, all flowing from his mouth in a single stream, fractured by the piston of his hips.

The pain doesn’t fade, of course—it barely diminishes at all, the sheer massiveness of his cock making it near impossible to be dispelled, keeping the cramping pang in the pit of your belly steady and constant—but it does amplify the pleasure, nerves gnawed raw by the agony, left hypersensitive to the sparks of ecstasy that blaze through your veins with every quick, rough pump of his hips, every deep, hard slam against your bruised cervix, every rapid drag over that engorged spot.

It leaves you feeling high, leaves you feeling stupid, brain melting in a hot haze of lust and rendering you incapable of forming a single coherent thought beyond how incredible his cock is, his name and his title the only two things your sloppy, numb tongue can fully scrape together.

It’s all so much, too much, but it all feels so fucking good—s’good, Choso-nii, y’r so-so good—sentiment vibrating indistinctly in your chest.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asks, words gone wispy, fading into a whine. “Does your onii-chan’s cock make you feel good?”

Yes, yes, yes, onii-chan, it’s so good, you’re so good! 

Your head nods frantically, fingers curling in the collar of his sweater, a mess of affirmatives fucked from your mouth. 

“Y’know, you’re kinda cute when you’re too cockdrunk to misbehave,” he chuckles a little, biting back a moan as your cunt clenches at the compliment. “May-Maybe onii-chan should fuck you stupid more often, huh?” 

Oh, God, yes, onii-chan; oh, please, onii-chan! 

“Yeah, you’d like that a bit too much, though, wouldn’t you, you little sl—ah—slut.”

Drool dribbles from the sides of your mouth as you continue nodding, eyes wide and unblinking, encrusted with stars. 

“Y’so pretty, onii-chan,” you manage to mumble out, sentiment tangled in threads of spit, fingers flexing in the fabric of his sweater, as if they yearn to touch but can’t find the strength to carry out the action.

And he is, so beautiful it’s borderline sickening, strands of onyx plastered to his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, strung together in clumps and saturated in sweat; damp skin glittering in the waning moonlight spilling through the slits of his window, dewdrops catching delicately in the beams as he pounds into you, every drive of his cock accelerating his pace.

“W-Wan’your cum now,” you slur the demand through a lax pout, lids beginning to weight with exhaustion, heavy as they frame dopey eyes.

“Yeah?” he laughs a little, gaze shining with adoration, and it’s breathless, it’s beautiful, his affection wafting over your scalding face. “Onii-chan needs you to cream all over his cock first. Can you—” a grunt cuts him off, and he whimpers, pushing through his sentence, his voice strained. “Can y’do that for me, angel?” 

“Uh-huh, uh—uh-huh,” your head begins nodding more fervently again, pushing your lids open with some effort to stare up at him, pupils swelling with devotion and determination.

“Then show me—Show me how gorgeous my good girl looks when she’s making a mess all over her big brother’s cock.” 

Three more thrusts and your cunt is obeying, convulsing on his thick shaft as heat gushes around him, so much that you can hear it—a sick, slick squelching as he jackhammers into you, your essence coating his thighs in a shiny layer of arousal. 

“Oh, fuck,” his eyes shut tightly before springing open again, suddenly rabid, ravenous. 

The bed creaks as his hips speed up, skin sticky with arousal as it slaps against your own, the sharp sound mingling with his ragged pants and your hitched mewls.

“Onii—Nii-chan,” you nearly wail, fingers tangling weakly in the hair at the nape of his neck, nails scraping against his flesh. “Please, please, cum, gimme—gimme y’r cum!” 

“Greedy little thing,” he rasps out, voice cracking into a whine. 

But you don’t care, you can’t care, pleads spilling from your lips as your thighs tense around his waist, hips twitching in erratic little motions, crudely trying to fuck yourself on him.  

“Need it, need it, onii-chan, fill my belly with it, onii-chan, please!” 

“Christ,” he chokes on the curse, pace faltering as he finally gives his baby sister what she wants, cock throbbing almost violently while it fills you with hot, thick cum, so much you swear you really can feel it, stuffing your belly as full as it can be, tummy bulging cutely with his seed.

You must tell him that, sentiment slipping from your lips without your permission, because he moans again, his cock giving another weak spurt, hips stuttering as he tries to fuck further into you, grinding the head into your sore cervix. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you’re murmuring, hips rolling up to meet his own. “Push it into me, onii-chan, push it into my cunt nice n deep, do-don’t waste a single drop!” 

“You really are gonna be the death of me,” he whines, face buried in your hair as he collapses on top of you, hips still moving in lazy little circles, shudders of overstimulation rippling through his form. 

“Mm,” you hum, on the cusp of unconsciousness, nuzzling your face into his neck like a kitten, then lapping at a few droplets of sweat streaming down the column. “What are lil sisters for?” 

[ourmadmusings]

We’re no worse off than the worse of them - 

It was obvious how soft he was for you. Gwen noticed as soon as she joined, the way his smile lingered long after you’d left, the way he’d follow you around the citadel like a lost puppy when you came back from a particularly risky mission, the way he’d actually listen to your advice and hear you out. His word was not final with you around, an interesting shift in dynamic compared to what she was used to. Hobie and Peter B. saw it, too. The way the two of you worked together on missions was like watching a well-rehearsed dance, to which the steps were borne to you both so naturally. You both played nice together, an odd juxtaposition to his usual lone-wolf routine.  You teased at him, poked fun at the way he’d grumble at the team, reminding him to play nice, they all had the universe’s best interest in mind, no matter how differently they went about showing it.  “So, do you think they’re like, an item?” Gwen asked over lunch, Peter snorted a laugh at the idea.  “Ha - no, I don’t really think so,” Hobie chimed in between bites, a small smile pulling at his full mouth, “I don’t reckon anyone could get that close to the boss-man and live to tell the tale.”  “Guys, come on, he’s not hardly as bad as you’re making him out to be here, give him some credit,” It’s Pav this time, a hum of agreement from Peter, too. “I bet the old man’s got some game under all that scowl.”  “I’m sorry, old man?” As if on-queue, O’Hara stands with hands on his hips over the table, an eyebrow raised and lips drawn tight, “‘m not much older than Peter, you know.” They give a short chorus of gasps, chokes, and a few laughs before O’Hara lets out a heavy sigh, “don’t you all have somewhere you ought to be, or do you enjoy wasting my time having to hunt down your little breakfast club?”  “Oh, come on, don’t be like that. If you keep frowning, you’ll just give yourself wrinkles, Miguel.” You’re quick to peer around his back, winking at the table. “Don’t you have a basket of puppies to spit on?” His eyes widen as he looks down at you, face turned up just enough to catch a toothy grin thrown at him, and attempt to lighten the mood from his scrutiny.  “Aye, that’s a good point,” Hobie finally chimes in again, “I gotta go anyways, Gwen?” He stands and pushes her tray back, an invitation to wander off. She stands and follows, Pav joins, and Peter mumbles something about needing to head home to put Mayday down. They all stare on their way out, watching the disposition shift almost immediately.  “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that with them around.” His words hold no heat, he’s got the ghost of a smile playing at his lips and you slide around to face him, hands on your hips to mirror his stance, “well, someone’s gotta show ‘em you’re not all bad. Besides, what’re you gonna do about it?” Your smile stays wide still as you carry on the conversation, a longer one than any of them have seen that hasn’t devolved into an argument.  “Is that an invitation or something?” He’s cheeky about it, “you did hear what else they said, no? They think I have game.”  It’s the raise of his eyebrow that sells it, you can’t help the yelp of a laugh that comes from you, “They’re not wrong, but I don’t think it’s the type of game you’d wanna brag about.” The tips of his ears heat up at your teasing, “are you trying to get me to fight with you?” He’s shifted his weight, a genuine smile gracing his features for once, stooping to face you directly, “oh-ho, is that a threat, old man?”  “Old?! Come on, you’re gonna hurt my feelings.”  “Ah, see! There’s that smile I love so much.” Your cheeks heat up at his teasing this time, the kids were right, maybe he did have some game, you thought.   The group stares at the two of you through the interaction, wide-eyed, open-mouthed stares sent between them. 

A few weeks pass and their investigation leads Gwen and Miles to follow the two of you closer. They needed concrete evidence of your relationship before they could accuse you of anything.  “Wait, whaddya mean, he was flirting?” Miles whispers from his place, a healthy few feet away from the commotion. A stray Doc Oc had shifted into another world, you and Miguel had decided it was too risky to send more spider-folk, so he opted to take you along in lieu of a full team.  “I don’t know -shh!” Gwen sticks a finger up over her masked-mouth, “but if he finds out we’re here, he’ll skin us alive. Keep it down.”  Your usual grace is no match for this particular anomaly, a quick strike from one of the metal arms sends you spiraling into a support beam with a sickening thunk. Miguel hollers for you, with no response. Another metal arm is just as fast as it catches your skull and thrashes you into the beam again, you’re limp by the time Miguel can confine him.  Miles and Gwen make a swift exit after that, catching only a glimpse of O’Hara as he rushed over to where you lay, an uncharacteristic panic in his voice as he supports your head and shoulders - “Lyla, send someone, please, hurry.”  Never once had they heard him willingly plead with the AI.  They don’t get an assignment from O’Hara for a while, and feign ignorance when Hobie and Pav ask.

a/n: ok how about a break from the regularly scheduled freak shit I usually post about O’Hara. He deserves some soft shit too smh.  Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 -

[goldustwomun]

pacifier (s.b.)

pairing: sirius black x younger potter! reader

summary: something about your relationship with sirius black had never sit quite right with you, and now that he's back after two years of travelling the world, you're beginning to think that you'll soon find out what'll happens if the two of you finally fall over the edge of whatever precipice you've been teetering close to all these years. anyway, you've got to work with him all summer, so what's the worst that could happen?

warnings: allusions to sex (minors dni!!!), swearing, cocky sirius and like kind of an annoying younger sister reader (but also that's literally me lol), bad transitions between light hearted banter and angst but i'm trying my best RIP, i imagine sirius to be mid-20s and reader only 3/4 years younger (but everyone is OF AGE), mommy issues if you squint

wc: 4.9k+

note: soooo i'm back :D again :D i'm almost done with second year and actually somewhat ahead with all my papers (with very minimal finals; def recommend being a history major x) and i've just been missing the community so enjoy this! i had this first chapter posted a while back (like maybe a year) but it was actually ass so i've redone it a little :)))) as always, reblogs and comments are MUCH appreciated and i can't wait to interact w/ y'all over this because i have been DAYDREAMING about brother's bf sirius :')

Oh but, babe, you know I've tried and failed But you just don't know how it feels To lose something you never have and never will

“What do you mean he’s working at the shop as well?!” you all but screeched, chasing your Mother around the kitchen, feeling a lot like the pesky youngest child you were. 

“He needs some help so we offered to give him a job. Honestly sweetheart, aren’t you too old for this childish feud?”

“Too old? Shouldn’t you be saying that to him? He’s like– thirty or something, and still continues to be the bane of my existence. Fucking Bla–”

Your Mother whirled on you abruptly, brandishing the wooden spoon she was about to stir the boiling pot with right in your face.

“Oi, language! I would tell him the same but unluckily for you, you’re my daughter and currently living under my roof, so you get to hear it first.” She gave you a saccharine sweet smile, the kind that had you biting back the urge to roll your eyes.

“--now, he’s been gone for such a long time, and we’re all very excited to see him, so don’t ruin this reunion with any more of your tantrums.”

You opened your mouth once more, intent on not letting the argument die there, but your Father bounded into the kitchen at the same moment, ruffling up your hair with a “Hey there, kiddo,” before promptly moving on to snake his hands around your Mother’s waist.

“Looking as beautiful as always, my dear,” he cooed into her ear. She let out an uncharacteristic giggle that had you bolting from the kitchen before you were scarred any further.

Your parents’ tooth-aching affections for each other was just that: sweet, but sickly all the same.

Somewhere inside of you, in between the urge for unattainable perfection and the fear of failure, you yearned for a love like theirs. Something genuine but passionate, able to withstand the test of time.

James, your older brother, had found it with Lily, and their son Harry being a product of their young but no less intense love. 

You loved that kid like he was your own. Would beg James to let you come over, play with the babbling toddler for a few hours, even going as far as to offer up your weekends, encouraging the young couple to “go out, live a little!”. But they were about as infatuated with their own child as you were, and had a never-ending supply of friends who were equally as eager to help out.

And one of those always eager friends was currently pounding his stupid fist against your stupid front door, and you were already riled up from the news your mother had broken to you only moments earlier, head pounding and fists balled into shaking fists, that you couldn’t take seeing his face quite literally in front of you, as well. 

You shoved past James, knocking him back a step as his hand reached for the door to let his best mate in. You caught a glimpse of him on the doorstep, the first in almost two years– hair unruly like he’d just rolled out of bed, long, black strands; newly tanned skin blushing under the heat of the sun; those thick, brooding eyebrows that raised up in your direction – eughh. 

“What’s got your knickers in a bunch?” James called at your retreating figure, shouting loud enough to be heard over your heavy footsteps despite the carpeted floor. 

“Ask your best mate over there!” you answered back with a bite, slamming your room door shut.

“Fuck,” he sighed, defeated, yanking his confused friend in and a chucking a thumb towards the stairs. “How’ve you managed to piss her off before you even got here?” he asked incredulously. “Peace– we had peace in this house for the past two years since you’ve been off, and now look–! It’s a bloody riot!”

“Oi– I’ve done nothing,” he moaned indignantly, hanging his coat and scarf on the gold-crested hooks by the door. “--I think,” he added for good measure after a beat. "I mean, I've only just stepped inside."

Sirius had yet to quite grasp why you got under his skin so quick, squirming between his nerves like a misfired electrical impulse.

You’d grown up together, spent every waking moment in each other’s presence when he was at the Potter residence (which happened to be just about always given his own family situation). If books and movies were to be trusted, what with fiction being so reminiscent of real-life, he'd have expected be like some sort of brotherly figure to you.

But even the thought of it had bile creeping up his through, as if it was so unfathomably wrong his body refused to entertain the possibility of it.

So no. Something about you and your irritatingly know-it-all personality, shrill when indignant voice (which was rather often around him), your need to always be right – something about you brought the worse out of him.

Had him constantly searching for something new to point out, to irritate you all over again, hit the nail on your specific head - something to really push you that little bit over the edge. 

It wasn't even like he enjoyed it, watching you get all huffy, nostrils flared, brows knitted together, face verging on a flushed red. Sirisu was well aware that with every jab the two of you threw at each other, things got a little more out of hand.

Right before he had left, two years journeying through the glades of Scotland, then France, Greece, Türkiye, India, Taiwan (he'd been close to everywhere), he had made the mistake of aiming a particularly ruthless dig at you, and watching your face crumple, devastated and defeated, it had finally cracked him inside.

But there wasn't anything he could do about it then, what with leaving the next day, and two years later, it seemed a little too late.

The rest of the Potter family didn’t share your sentiments about Sirius, and rather adored him immeasurably. Had since he’d taken to hiding out in their house after a particularly brutal fight at home when he was only eleven. Heck, he’d even attended every Potter-family gathering, dinner, birthday, you name it, since then. It was why he came over every Sunday for a roast, pudding and some chat – he could never put into words what your family had done for him, the safety, security, home, even, they'd given him when he’d been lost and entirely clueless of what a real family looked like.

So he made the thirty-minute drive, every Sunday, much to your irritation. He plastered on the biggest smile for your Mum, complimenting every minute detail of the meal she cooked for the family, drank a glass of whiskey and smoked a cigar with your Dad; he was even Harry’s favourite, always humming quiet melodies into the youngest Potter’s ear.

With him away, he’d missed out on the family time he usually looked forward to every weekend. Mondays seemed a lot less dreadful after having a belly-full of Mrs Potter’s food.

Still, he’d sent postcards and printed pictures of everywhere he went, the sights he’d seen, people he’d met. It wasn’t the same, not without the lot of you to pester him but he’d needed some time to find himself.

He still wasn’t sure if he’d found what he was looking for, but the money had to have run out eventually so he was back home, ready to work and settle down in his life for once after graduating Hogwarts. 

Sirius followed James into the living room where he found Lily, sipping on a glass of red, sitting by the empty fireplace. Instead, a window had been cracked in to let the temperate wind in.

She perked up as they entered, waving with that soul-wrenching smile of hers that could persuade even the most strong-willed of men into submission. 

“Pads, you’re back!” she called from her seat. "And you've grown a moustache-- interesting choice of facial hair." Sirius, however, raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, ignoring her greeting-slash-judgement as he peered into the empty crib by her side, even going as far as to search under it as if the toddler might have escaped.

“Harry’s gone to bed in the guest room. There was a bit of a shouting match before you arrived,” James explained, sinking into the space beside his wife and pulling her into his side. “Actually, now that I think about it, there was a lot of shouting after you arrived as well.” 

Lily snorted, snuggling into her husband without hesitation, and Sirius couldn’t help but avert his eyes, feeling entirely like he was imposing on an intimate moment as the two of them whispered in the other’s ear.

“Well, don’t mind me. Sitting here, all by my lonesome, no company or polite chatter to partake in, not even my dashing God son to entertain me” he sighed, dramatically, to no one in particular. James rolled his eyes at his best friend’s antics, chucking a frilly throw-pillow at his face (that’s what they’re for, right?) which he just as easily caught. 

“Har-Har! Ever the clown, Paddy,” James mocked, flipping him off just in time for his Mum to walk in and see.

“James! Don’t aim such crude displays at my son,” she scolded, wrapping her wrinkled arms around Sirius’ shoulders from behind his chair. She leaned down, kissing the top of his head affectionately. Sirius only whimpered in agreement, leaning into her motherly touch and whining on and on about how James was being a right bully. 

“My sweet child, I’ve missed you!” She beamed down at him, and that longing Sirius sometimes felt for his own Mother’s approval, her devotion or fondness, it lessened. 

“But you didn’t– He was just!-- You missed– arghh!” James groaned defeatedly, head flailed back to rest against the sofa, receiving no sympathies from his giggling wife and glaring Mother. “I’m starting to understand why she hates you.”

Sirius’ eyes flashed at that– did you really hate him? Had it gotten to that point?

At the mention of your name but current absence, Mrs Potter ordered, “Go call your sister for dinner, I’ve set the table.” 

He began to protest, failing to come up with a half-decent reason why he can’t walk up the two flights of stairs and pull your petulant frame from your bed– but Sirius interrupted in time, before James could make any more of a fool himself in front of his own Mother.

“I’ll go get her. Got to figure out what I did this time,” he offered coolly. 

Euphemia, that is, Mrs Potter, had a strict no-apparting rule in her house, had lost too many expensive vases from James and Sirius’ apparition-sprees the second they’d turned seventeen.

You already had your licence, having been of legal age for some time, and had, since graduating (top of the class, as you tended to point out, much to your Ravenclaw friends’ dismay) from Hogwarts, found a job at a school in the muggle world, teaching children English Literature in preparation of some exam -- O Levels, you’d called them. 

Sirius thought it to be some sort of torture device - these O Levels – but you’d smacked him across the head in admonishment with whatever book was in your hand before he could say much else. Having a family-run bookshop made it so that the books, or the weapons (in Sirius' mind at least), were in endless supply for you.

Your love for reading had come from him, your Father, from when he’d stay up till the late hours of the night, hushed whispers under your bed sheet so your Mother wouldn’t hear, as he read you the Classics in animated voices that had you completely enchanted. He made sparks fly from the tip of his wand, bright colours that your little eyes couldn’t quite get enough of.

You loved being a wizard, were eternally grateful for the world you lived in and the undeniable awe of it all. But words, books, literature – they were enough magic for you, took you to places you could only ever dream to visit, and had you feeling such all-consuming emotions that sometimes, you wondered if you’d ever make it to the end of the page, or chapter, or book. 

“Oi– your Mum’s put out dinner, she’s calling you downstairs,” he called through the thick wood of your door. 

Sirius didn’t know why he such an uneasy feeling settled into the pit of his stomach, like he'd swallowed some moldy bread or a particularly strong cider.

He's known you your whole life, watched you graduate from pencil to quill, and then again from Hogwarts.

Two years was a long a time, and the thought of you holding what he had said all those months ago -- what he hadn't meant, not really -- he was dreading the confrontation.

He nudged the door open when you didn’t respond, only to find you slumped across your bed, glaring, silently, at the ceiling and the pale-orange ring of light from the lamp on your bedside table.

You certainly looked different– older, possibly? He couldn’t quite place what had changed, only that he knew something had. In the way you dressed, styled your hair, held yourself. Even the look of your room– no longer plastered in repeated patterns of owls and roses, but instead a single wall painted a burnt umber and with the remaining covered in tapestries and muggle band posters hanging across every wall.

A stack of vinyls were shoved into one side of your room, along with stacks of books, some old and missing a few pages, while others were untouched. 

You heard the door click open, sitting up on your elbows to see a Sirius, oozing an annoying amount of effortless confidence, and leaning against your doorframe. 

Something in your chest stumbled almost immediately. He looked the same as the day he'd scolded you before leaving, and those stupid, brown eyes of his, like murky swamps you wouldn't be caught dead looking into, were training on you.

Though, he might’ve managed to actually tan, now that you really looked at him, imagining the broad planes of his shoulders, hidden by a thin linen button up, were more sun-kissed than milky-pale now. 

Except you refused to even entertain the thought. You were not thinking of him or his skin or his bare chest or--

“What’s with your face?” you asked, already knowing you'd regret the answer.

“Was that meant to be a greeting?” His eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Hi Sirius-- what’s with your face?” you answered, again, between clenched teeth. 

“You changed your room,” was his only response, and really, what did he expect to say to that?

"I did. Figured I'd use your absence wisely," you snarked back, meeting his gaze as you continued, "--you know, finally grow up and all that."

And you hadn't forgotten, but he didn't blame you.

You got up at his lack of silence, walking the few steps up to him, head tilted like a cat, wary of her surroundings but curious nonetheless.

"Was there something you wanted, Sirius?"

And fuck if the way you said his name didn't have him fighting whatever foreign feeling, urge, instinct was shouting at him in that moment.

You walked past, trembling as your shoulders touched, making it all the way to the bottom of the stairs before you had your moment of revelation as well.

Somehow, whether it had been a slow process over his two-year absence or something far more sudden in the past few minutes, he'd wormed his way back between the cracks of your heart, and this time, you worried you wouldn't survive.

The quiet jingle of the bell tickled your ears as you opened the door to the bookshop, dust immediately invading your senses as you fought back a harsh cough.

Your Dad pushed in front of you, forcing the door to stay open by propping a stack of intimidatingly large books in front of it. You laughed silently to yourself, noting how they were all Dickens (he hated Dickens, said his novels were disturbingly boring and unnecessarily detailed). 

“So, you can dust a little, and sweep the floor, before we open. Count the money in the till, as well, that’s very important,” he noted off, and you suddenly wished you had a pen and a pad of paper to write it all down.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t been helping out at the shop since when you were younger, but this was the first time you’d been granted the responsibility of having it all to yourself (minus the inconvenience that was Sirius Black). 

You were deemed an adult now – loved to point it out any chance you got, and that meant that your Dad trusted you enough to not hover over your shoulder every time you took a shift. He was working fewer hours, though now, none, as he wanted to finish the novel he’d been writing for the past decade after melodramatically announcing at the dinner table that “It’s time!” 

You weren’t sure what that exactly meant, but you weren’t about to argue with the man paying you an overly generous ten pounds an hour. 

You didn’t need the money for yourself, what with still living at your parent’s house, but you wanted to contribute to the house and expenses and what not, even if it was a minuscule sum. 

“Another thing,” he added, stopping, rather abruptly, in front of you, voice worryingly grave as he placed his large palms over either of your shoulders. “Please,” he begged, brows dipping, “don’t fight with Sirius in front of the customers.”

“I haven’t even done anything and you’re already after me,” you objected, pulling back from his usually comforting hold and pulling the broom out from behind the counter. His hands fell defeatedly against his sides as he sighed, standing in your way before you could mope yourself into a tizzy before the work day had even started. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he ensured, pulling you into his tight embrace once more. “You know you’re my number one, sweetheart. Just don’t like seeing you so upset.”

James always teased you for being your Father’s favourite, and you’d never argue, relishing in his pointed fingers and sneering words, because it was true– there was something between you and your Father, an understanding that no one else had clued in on.

He eased your worries like no one else could, smoothed irked creases across your face, replacing them with belly-hurting laughter lines and a grin so wide, you were worried it would fall off your face.

Anyway, James was the same with your Mum. You found her difficult to communicate with, what with her being as hot-heated as you were, so as much as you and your Dad got along, you butted heads with your Mum just as much.

“It’s ‘cause you two are so similar, like twins, I tell you!” But it did little to calm your nerves around her, or stoke the flames of anger you so often felt. 

You were about to respond, ready to tell your Dad just how much you loved him, when someone crashed through the door, slamming into the counter you were standing behind. You turned, eyes connecting with your (late) colleague. He looked utterly windswept, as if he’d run – or been chased – the whole way there. 

“You okay, son?” your Dad asked, worry shifting from you to the panting, bent-over Sirius. 

“Me? Oh– peachy, just– peachy,” he answered between heavy breaths, waving off his doting hands. “Sorry I’m late, got a little carried away with something and lost track of time.”

You were conscious of how your Dad didn’t offer Sirius the same advice, to not pick a fight or argue or whatever it was the two of you did, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how he had everyone charmed.

So you busied yourself behind the till, doing as you were instructed and counting the money, writing down the number of each of the bills on a notepad you pulled from the drawer at your waist. 

Your Dad left soon after, turning the closed sign out front to open as he wished you, and Sirius, good luck. 

“Guess it’s just the two of us, little Potter,” Sirius pointed out, already sounding bored as he fell into a stool at your side. He leaned his head against his arm, stretching it from side to side as he groaned at his tense muscles.

You didn’t mean to stare, swore it wasn’t something you’d let become a habit, but your gaze immediately travelled to the exposed skin of his neck, zeroing in on the trail of newly-formed purple bruises  down the side.

You snorted, shaking your head at him, slamming the money compartment shut a little too aggressively so that it caught Sirius’ attention. He recognised your expression to be something close to amusement, jabbing you in your side until you were scowling and slapping his fingers away.

“What’s wrong with you– you’re acting like a fucking child,” you admonished, moving out of reach and resting a hand on your hip. 

“Why’d you make that face?” he asked instead of answering your question, nodding at you like it was you who had started it.

“It’s nothing,” you went with, hearing your Father’s words echoing in your mind from just moments ago. You needed to diffuse the situation before you really got mad, because past that point, you weren’t responsible for what you said– or did. 

So you ventured into the aisles of books, a curious Sirius on your heels, following you like a lost, yapping puppy. “If it’s nothing then why are you running away?” he pushed back.

You ignored him pointedly, stopping to stack a few books and dust along the shelves. No one had come in yet, still too early in the morning for any tourists to stumble upon your admittedly quaint but bursting shop. 

The sunlight barely filtered past the dense collection of books and mahogany shelves that lined the walls, but the windows stretched to the tall ceilings, and if you went up the spiralling staircase at the centre of the store, you’d find yourself in a cosy loft space, bathed in gold and stuffed with arm chairs and sofas for people to sit and read in. 

It was your favourite part of the store, and you were seriously debating hiding up there on your first day, just to get away from the walking-plague that followed you. 

“Come on– tell me,” he whined, standing too close for your liking. You side-stepped away, brushing a cloth against the worn covers of the Mystery section. He followed suit, returning to his previous position, and this time, you had no way out with the wall of books you’d met. 

You turned, facing him and finally acknowledged his presence. “You lied,” you stated matter-of-factly, loving that you actually had the upper-hand with him. As much as you prided yourself with being quick-witted, Sirius always seemed to find a way to stay on-top.

“Gonna have to give me something more than that, darling. Lied about what?” he countered, raising an eyebrow at you. 

You bristled at the endermeant but continued nonetheless.,

“You weren't busy. You were screwing some girl according to the bruises on your neck,” you stared pointedly at the affected area now, though it was covered by his hair in this position. His hand flew to his neck, as if hoping to shield them from your gaze.

“That’s none of your business Potter,” he countered, irritated. 

“It actually is my business when you’re both late to your job and lying to my Father,” you threw back, shoving forward and relishing in his slight stumble back– as if he hadn’t yet noticed the two of you were so so close. 

“You can’t–” his eyes were wide, worried, as he grabbed your elbow, forcing you to meet his gaze, “You can’t tell him. He’ll be so disappointed and I can’t–”

You frowned at the look of genuine distress written so plainly across of his face. If you two were anyone else, you might've let it go.

Might've--

“Well tough shit, Sirius. You’re an adult, now. This is the real world we’re talking about and not whatever fantasy you've been frolicking about these past two years." You were fuming, unnecessarily so, but both of you knew this was fight had been years in the making.

"I understand you lack the ability to form real, genuine connections but come on, Sirius. You're not a fucking teenager. Grow a pair and take some responsibility for once in your life!"

And really, you deserved it, now that you thought back. His anger was reasonable but your need to poke straight through his ribcage, wrap your fist around his heart and squeeze tight, was not. 

“Fuck you, Potter.” he bit out. “Just because you're not getting any doesn't mean the rest of us have to be equally as miserable."

It was already going to shit, Sirius was well aware of it, but he couldn't get himself to stop. To just shut up.

“Maybe if you weren’t so fucking uptight all the time someone might actually give it to you too," his voice now barely above a whisper with his anger deflated as he stared, pained, at your reaction.

And it didn’t take long for you to react -- for your hand to fly up and connect with his cheek, hard. You hadn't done anything two years ago but he thinks he saw you consider it. So the fact that you had finally, struck across the face, spoke to how different things really were. How different you were.

"Potter, I--" and he was speechless when he really shouldn't have been. He swallowed, trying again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered then, fighting the urge to look away from your glassy stare. “I’m sorry, Potter. You know I don’t mean it.”

What you hated most was that you did know. You knew you both brought out the worst in each other. Only, you could never figure out why that was. Why you wanted to hurl insults at him for every comment or look or the stupid way he’d string together the most perfect sentence and his irritating eyes and mouth and–

“Excuse me? Is anyone here?” 

You inhaled, all sudden, as if only just realising what you had done. You brushed past him without a word, needing, more than ever, to put some space between the two of you. If not for your anger then for whatever pesky emotion was seeping through your cracks.

You were (reluctantly) pulled from wherever your thoughts had been racing to as you called into the store, “Just one moment!”

Sirius debated if this was a sign for him to get back onto a train to anywhere you were not. It didn’t matter if he had no money or nowhere to be, but if it meant he could avoid maiming you with his words, he couldn’t quite see a way out of his predicament. 

“Sirius!” you shouted again, no longer faking your emotions but rather genuinely just exasperated by him once more. 

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” He managed to not get lost in the labyrinth of books, and found you by the travel section, chatting good-naturedly with a blonde in a tight dress.

“How can I help, doll?” he asked the blonde in question. His one tactic for almost every conundrum he’d ended up in was avoidance. And bloody hell was he good at it. 

He smiled at her, the customer, doing little to hide his admiration for the legs she had on display. She flushed a pretty pink, averting her gaze, lip between her teeth. Bingo! 

“Christ, you’re disgusting,” you muttered, mouth pouting and quiet enough that only he could hear.

“Only for you, sweetheart, only for you,” he bit back, not wanting the currently oblivious customer clue in on their conversation. “So, how can I help?”

“She needs that book–” you pointed to the top shelf, well out of reach. “--the green spine that says Amsterdam, but I can’t reach it and the step ladder is too heavy.”

“Alas! Only ever needed for my body, it seems,” he moaned with an irritating amount of flourish. 

“Whatever it takes to get the book down– do what you must, Black.” You patted his chest reassuringly, taking your spot, once again, behind the cash register.  

“So– planning a trip are you?” Sirius asked in between excessive displays of strength as he hauled the bulky ladder with a single hand. You glared at the girl as she swooned at him, wanting, rather unreasonably, for her to combust right where she stood.

But that was a ridiculous thought to begin with. You could barely stand to be even within a metre’s distance of the guy, let alone on the receiving end of his affections. You were tired, emotional and dehydrated. Must be. Though a glance at the clock had you realising it had barely been an hour since your day had started. 

So, maybe just emotional and dehydrated. 

“I’m going to get a coffee from across the street,” you announced, slugging your tote bag onto your shoulder as you walked past the preoccupied pair. Not waiting for a response, you stepped out into the early morning sun, frowning, for once, at the glare in your eyes and not the irritant you’d left behind. 

It was easier to refer to him as something pesky, infectious, fungus-like even, rather than the only person who knew how to break your heart (and despite your somewhat impenetrable facade, you let him do just that every time).

please please PLEASE reblog & leave some feedback <3 i'll boop you if you do x

[achilles-rage]

Hot Tub (pt 2)

summary: rocker has been flirting with you for months, and finally asks you out after a long day at work. you cave, and finally say yes, somehow ending up really close when you get into his hot tub.

word count: 3.3k

part 1

A/N: a few people asked for a part two so here it is! I'm still not super comfortable writing smut so hopefully this isn't too bad! i’m thinking of maybe writing another part about how they interact at work too so please let me know if you would like to read that! anyway, enjoy<3

warnings: lots of pet names, smut, fingering, cunnilingus (fem!receiving), unprotected sex (do not recommend), no use of y/n, plus size!reader, fem!reader, race inclusive!reader

MDNI- 18+ ONLY

You giggle as Rocker turns towards the patio door, his expression making him look like he’s on a mission.

“Put me down! I’m too heavy!” you squeal, arms tightening around his neck to balance yourself. You feel your stomach flutter, feeling his strong arms holding you, hands tightly gripping the back of your thighs.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I seem to be doing alright, don’t I?” he teases, tightening his grip on your thighs as he walks into the house.

You can’t help but smile widely as you bury your face in his neck, feeling giddy at his words. He looked strong, of course, but using his strength? On you? It causes desire to pool in your lower belly. You look behind you two as he steps walks through his kitchen, noticing the water dripping off of your bodies and onto his hardwood floors.

“Wait, we’re getting your house all wet, shouldn’t we dry off?” you ask softly, loosening your arms around his neck to look into his eyes. As much as you want to be in his bed immediately, you can’t help but feel a little bad about the mess you’re making.

“I don’t care right now. I’ll clean it up later.” he rasps, eyes full of lust as he meets your gaze.

“Okay…but don’t get mad at me when your whole house is wet.” you tease, biting your lip softly.

“Trust me, darling, I would never get mad at you. Besides, you’re worth every inch of water I’ll have to wipe up.” he tells you with a small smile. He tries to match your teasing tone, but dear god, all he wants right now is you under him, screaming his name. 

Once he reaches his room, he throws you on his bed gently, a predatory look on his face as he stares down at you, studying you. After a moment, he crawls on top of you, hands on either side of your head as he hovers above you.

“Such a gentleman.” you whisper, feeling your breath catch in your throat as he moves, lips parted ever so slightly.

“Just for you, sweetheart,” he starts, one hand moving to slowly caress your cheek before moving down, “no one else gets this side of me.” You feel his fingers ghosting over your neck, down to your chest, then down to your stomach. 

You swallow, biting the inside of your cheek as you feel his body pressing against yours, his hard length against your lower belly. You let out a shaky breath as you slowly reach for the string of your bikini top, holding eye contact as your breath quickens. Your hand shakes slightly as you slowly pull on the string of your top, self consciousness creeping into you as you watch how intently he’s watching you, how his eyes are staring at your chest hungrily. Your hand hesitates, not quite untying it as you swallow, exhaling softly.

He notices the way you hesitate, leaning down to give you a reassuring kiss before moving a hand to cover the hand you were using to untie your top.

“Just lay back for me, sweetheart. Let me do it for you.” he says softly, hoping to ease your nerves. 

You nod as you take your hand away from your top, letting him take over. He undoes your top, slowly pulling it away from your body, throwing it somewhere in the room. You bite your lip as he stares at your chest intently, face getting hot from his attention focused solely on your bare chest. 

He leans down, kissing your neck before slowly trailing kisses down to your collarbones. His lips move down to one of your breasts, slowly bringing your nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling it as your breath catches in your throat. As his mouth focuses on one breast, his hand moves up to the other, squeezing gently before slowly rolling your nipple between his fingers, eliciting a whine from your lips.

He chuckles softly, pulling back after a few moments to look at your face, his hand moving from your breast down to your stomach, fingertips tracing your stretch marks. Your breath catches in your throat as he gives your stomach attention, and he feels the way you tense under him slightly, but you don’t pull away.

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so well.” he tells you, eyes trailing down to your stomach, groaning softly as he sees the way your soft tummy moves as you take deep breaths.

He starts to move down your body, kissing your stomach as he goes, looking up to meet your eyes as you sit up on your forearms.

“Look at you. So pretty,” he whispers, continuing to kiss your stomach as he reaches a hand out to undo your swim suit bottoms. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” he tells you, smirking as the first string becomes completely untied. 

“I’m just laying here.” you tease softly, trying to calm your nerves, feeling slightly overwhelmed at all the attention he was giving you. You bite your lip as you see his other hand starting to work on your bottom’s other string, heat pooling between your thighs as his eyes scan you, full of desire.

“Doing just as I asked,” he corrects, matching your teasing tone, gently massaging your hip as he speaks before undoing the second string. He slowly pulls your bottoms off of you, leaving you completely exposed to him. “I think you deserve a reward.” he rasps, starting to kiss up your thighs, hands gripping them as you flinch slightly from the feeling of his stubble on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

“I already got that in the hot tub.” you tease softly, biting your lip as he moves closer to your core, breath quickening in anticipation as you look down at him.

“That was just an appetizer, sweetheart. I’ve been wanting to taste you for months.” he tells you, eyes darkening as he eyes your core, licking his lips at the sight.

He reaches up, thumb slowly teasing your clit as his eyes dart back up to yours, smirking as you let out a soft moan.

“Can I?” he murmurs, lips ghosting over your inner thighs, looking up at you with an almost pleading look in his eyes.

“Please.” you get out, your hips starting to buck slightly at the feeling of his thumb rubbing circles over your sensitive bud, aching with need.

“So polite. My pretty girl,” he teases softly, throwing one leg over his shoulder as one of his fingers pushes into you, curling slowly before he adds a second. You let out a whine, your head dropping back as you revel in the feeling of his fingers inside you. He smirks as he notices how wet you are for him, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your clit as his fingers continue to move in and out at a torturously slow pace.

“So needy,” he whispers as you mewl, squirming under him, “and yet you’re still so polite, so patient.”

He hums as he watches you, head thrown back but still leaning up on your forearms. He removes his fingers and leans down to your heat, the flat of his tongue licking a strip down your folds, groaning as he finally tastes you on his tongue. He continues to tease you with his tongue before moving to your clit, sucking on it gently as a high-pitched whine escapes your throat, dropping onto your back completely.

“So sweet,” he rasps, licking his lips before diving back in, his tongue slowly pushing deeper into you, causing you to arch your back. As he continues fucking you with his tongue, he feels your hips start to buck up against him, desperate for more, your hands going to his hair.

He chuckles softly against your core, sending vibrations through you. He grips your hips tighter as you squirm more under him, forcing you to hold still as his lips attach to your clit again.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out as his tongue begins to move quicker, pleasure building up in your stomach as he brings you closer to the edge.

He feels your body start to move under him with more urgency, and sensing that you are nearing the edge, he starts lapping at your cunt with increased fervor.

It doesn’t take long before your high is crashing over you, your grip on his hair tightening slightly as you arch your back, letting out a loud moan as your release lands on his tongue.

His pace slows as he helps you ride out your high, lapping up your juices with his tongue, his thumbs slowly tracing circles on your hips as he holds them in place.

He smiles as he pulls away from you, slowly kissing his way up your body again. You grab his face as he comes up, guiding him up to your mouth. You kiss him hard, still breathing heavily, tasting yourself on his lips as he groans softly. He decides then that that was the hottest thing he had ever seen. He loved the feeling of your thick thighs around his head, your taste on his tongue, how your soft body felt under his fingertips. 

As you continue kissing him, your hands trail down his torso, reaching for the strings of his swim shorts. Feeling your hands on his abdomen, he pulls back, standing at the edge of the bed to undo his shorts, letting them fall down his legs as his member springs free. He steps out of them as you sit up, moving to kneel in front of him on the bed, your eyes hooded with lust as you eye his impressive cock, mouth watering.

You wrap your arms around his neck as you begin to kiss his jaw and neck, then slowly make your way down his torso. Before you get too far down, he puts a finger under your chin, bringing your face back up to his, shaking his head slightly before kissing you softly with a hand wrapped around your neck and the other gripping your hip.

You furrow your brows slightly at this, pulling back from the kiss, your hand moving down his chest again.

“Wanna make you feel good.” you whisper, biting your lip as you think about taking him into your mouth. He shakes his head again as his thumb ghosts your cheek.

“Next time, sweetheart. Need you now.” he rasps, pushing you back down onto the bed, leaning over you again, one knee sliding up between your legs and hiking one of your thighs up to his waist.

You whimper as he hikes your leg up, hands moving up to rest on his shoulders. You look up at him, spreading your legs further as he reaches down, slowly teasing your folds with the head of his cock.

“God, you have no idea how many times I’ve dreamt of touching you like you’re a goddamn work of art.” he whispers, which earns him a whine from your lips. You look up at him with hooded eyes, hips bucking slightly as he teases you, still feeling sensitive from your orgasm. 

“Yeah? What exactly have you been dreaming about?” you tease breathlessly, growing desperate to feel him inside of you.

“Having you wrapped around me, clenching around me, cumming on my cock.” he whispers, slowly pushing into you, a satisfied whimper leaving your lips. His head drops to the crook of your neck as you take all of him, pressing a soft kiss to your neck as your grip tightens on his shoulders, getting used to his size. 

Once your grip on his shoulders loosens, he takes this as the okay to move, slowly rocking his hips into yours, loving the way you feel stretched out around him.

He increases his speed as your whines get louder, needier, moaning into your ear as his hips snap into yours.

“Let me hear you, princess. Wanna hear how good I’m making you feel.” he whispers into your ear, a hand going down to your thigh, pulling it up higher on his waist, allowing him to get that much deeper.

You let out a loud whimper as you arch your back, nails digging into his back, moaning his name softly.

“Touch me.” you plead, looking up at him with desperate eyes. He chuckles softly at your words, reaching down to tease your clit, groaning as he feels you clench around him, starting to feel close to reaching his climax.

Your brain feels so clouded by him that you’re unable to form words, only able to focus on the pleasure he was giving you. You bite your lip as you feel your high approaching again, your hips beginning to buck up into his again, your leg wrapping around his waist tighter.

“You gonna make a mess for me, pretty girl?” he asks, a cocky expression on his face as he notices you nearing the edge, his thumb moving in quicker circles against your clit.

You nod, closing your eyes as you tilt your head back, your high quickly approaching.

“You’re gonna have to ask. Do you think you can do that? Can my pretty girl ask properly?” he says in an almost degrading tone, fingers leaving your clit to grab your jaw, forcing your eyes open. He loved the way you looked right now, spread open for him and desperate.

“Wanna come on your cock, please. Want you to fill me up, please. Need to feel you.” you mumble, looking up at him with doe eyes as you feel his hips start to move in uneven thrusts.

He groans at your words, the way you’re clenching around him paired with your words sending him over the edge.

You groan as you feel him filling you up, his body tensing as he emptied into you, before he continues to rub your clit faster, causing you to fall over the edge as well.

He groans, face falling back into the crook of your neck as he feels you clench around him, his hips slow as you both come down from your high, both trying to catch your breath.

“You did so good for me, sweetheart.” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, keeping his cock inside of you.

You close your eyes, swallowing as you try to catch your breath, biting your lip as you smile softly at his words.

He stays inside of you for a few moments, pressing soft kisses to your neck, jaw, and face, before he pulls out. You whine softly, feeling empty as you open your eyes, looking up at him as he stands up from the bed.

“Gonna go get something to clean you up,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your forehead, “be right back.”

He disappears into the bathroom as you lay on his bed, your breath slowing down as you sit back up on your forearms, smiling at him weakly as he walks back into the room with a wet cloth.

He takes a moment to look at you, trying to burn the scene into his head, as if for some reason you were going to tell him that this was just a one time thing. He takes in the fucked out look on your face. The way your chest and tummy are rising and falling as you breathe. Your legs still spread, your mixed releases slowly dripping out of your cunt and onto his sheets.

He smiles softly to himself before moving to gently clean up the cum that had made its way down your thighs, kissing your plush stomach as he moves the cloth over your skin. 

Once he finishes, he throws the cloth to the side, crawling into bed beside you. He lays on his back, urging you to lay your head on his chest, letting one arm wrap around your shoulders, his thumb gently rubbing circles on your skin. The other hand moves to your thigh, moving your leg over his, his fingers gently squeezing your thigh as he feels your weight half on top of him.

After a while of enjoying each other's presence; listening to each other's breathing, and feeling one another’s heartbeats, you lift your head to look up at him, chin resting on his chest.

“What happens now? At work?” you whisper, slightly nervous, but desperately trying to hide it. While you knew it wasn’t as easy as just simply telling everyone, you desperately wanted it to happen. Despite you being wrapped in his arms, fingers gently tracing patterns on his chest, there was still a hint of doubt that he wanted anything more than a night with you. You were prepared to follow his lead, whatever it may be.

“Oh, you’re worried the team will find out, huh?” he teases softly, not picking up on the nervousness, your SWAT training coming in handy at this moment. “It can be our little secret.” he whispers, the hand on your thigh moving up to your side, tickling it.

You giggle as he tickles you, swatting his hand away, earning a chuckle from him as he moves his hand back to your thigh. You turn your head away from him, resting your cheek on his chest, smile disappearing from your face slowly.

“Is that what you want?” you whisper, nervousness slipping into your voice, sadness creeping into your eyes as the fear of this being a one time thing grows.

“Of course not, sweetheart. I wanna kiss you like you’re my goddamn wife.” he whispers, grabbing your chin, forcing your eyes up to meet his.

“Yeah?” you whisper as he forces your chin up, a hopeful look in your eyes. He really does want you. 

“Yeah, but there’s protocols for this. Honestly, I have no idea what to do.” he tells you seriously, feeling your face heat up under his fingers, looking down at you with a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“I guess we can’t tell anyone.” you whisper, sadness filling your eyes again as the realization hits you. You wanna be able to be with him without worrying about it, but in your line of work, this kind of thing is definitely against the code of conduct. You weren’t sure what to say. As much as you want to keep seeing him, in whatever way you could, you weren’t sure how much he was willing to sneak around.

“It doesn’t mean we have to stop.” he whispers to you, equally as unsure.

God, he wanted you so bad. In any way you’d let him have you. If you wanted to keep seeing him in secret, and not just for sex, he’d jump at that. He would take anything you allowed him to have.

“Okay,” you reply, a smile growing on your face as you bite your lip. “Do you mean just the sex? Because I’m okay with that, I just wanna know.” you whisper, averting your gaze from his eyes.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes as his grip tightens on your chin, forcing you to look back into his eyes, a smirk on his face.

“How can someone so gorgeous be so dense?” he teases softly, squeezing your shoulder, a smirk growing on his face. “I want you. All of you. I don’t just want sex, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I just thought-” you whisper, trailing off, your face growing hot as the smile on your face grows.

“Thought what? Baby, I don’t know what else I need to say to prove it to you. You remember me telling you how I’ve been flirting with you for months, right? I meant every word I’ve said, so don’t give me that ‘oh, I just thought’ bullshit.” he tells you, trying to mimic your tone, earning a soft giggle from you.

You rest your cheek on his cheek again, arm around his torso tightening slightly, a wide smile across your face as it sinks in. He wants you. You want each other.

At that moment, work protocol didn’t matter. Because your feelings for each other could not be stopped, and neither of you would stop them, even if you could.

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[fic-over-cannon]

Always and Forever

jason todd x f!reader

ao3 link

summary: jason tries to end things after a bad patrol. you won’t give him up without a fight.

tags: f!reader, smut, kissing, biting, piv sex, unprotected sex, fingering (mention) cock warming, orgasm denial (kind of), belly bulge, size kink (if you squint), overstimulation, creampie (if you think this is misproperly tagged please let me know) minors and ageless blogs do not interact

rated e (mdni) | wc: 5.5k

a/n: this is my first time writing smut (or a fic of this length) so please be gentle! if you find jason a little ooc, i’m still working on getting his ‘voice’ right, so just consider him one of the many versions we’ve all come to love. this started as a single smut scene and grew feelings and a bit of plot from there. this was definitely a labour of love so i hope you all enjoy it!

“We’re done. Us. All of it. You’re free to leave.”

The modulated voice of the Red Hood startles you. It’s nearly six in the morning, and you’ve been up since three when Jason didn’t return from patrol like he promised. He’s still in his Hood gear, hasn’t bothered to take off the helmet or even the boots crusted in who knows what. The leather jacket has taken a beating, and in the dim light of your apartment living room it glistens damply like he was caught in the earlier rain. He won’t even look in your direction, hands fisted at his sides, the darkened leather of his gloves taut across his knuckles. Jason didn’t come home like he promised and now he can’t even bear to look at you as he tears your heart in two. It’s understandable then, that when your voice returns to you and you can breathe around the lump in your throat, that your voice shatters the silence.

“Look at me. Look. At. Me.”

Only the way that his body locks up, somehow tenser than before, deflates you. A whole night’s worry and frustration drained away.

“Jay? Please take off the helmet and look at me.”

His black curls are matted to his forehead with sweat. His one white streak is dark with it,. Somewhere along the way he must have ditched the domino mask, because the sight of his bare face twists something tight in your chest. His beautiful eyes are red rimmed, tear tracks still staining his cheeks. His lips look bitten raw. He looks at you the way a dying man looks at salvation. Realization dawns slowly for you.

“You didn’t get caught in the rain, did you?”

A sharp nod, jaw clenching, but he doesn’t look away. Now you’ve noticed, you can’t stop. There’s a faint blood spray on the front of the helmet, barely visible from where Jason’s placed it on the counter. The leather jacket is soaked through with blood, darker splotches on his tac pants from where it’s followed gravity. The grime on his boots now looks rusty, though that might just be your imagination. Jason’s come home hours late covered in blood and is telling you to leave. This time, your voice is startlingly gentle.

“Jay we talked about this. You promised no life altering conversations when you’re covered in blood, remember?”

At the time, had been a joke. A promise made after a close call, when Jason was still loopy from sedation and painkillers and insisting he was going to duel Doc Leslie for your honour. Finally lucid, he had sheepishly promised no more dramatic ultimatums when he's covered in blood.

“But you need to—“

“No. You promised. What’s going to happen is you’re going to leave all your gear at the front door and we’ll deal with it tomorrow. You’re going to tell me if you’re injured and let me fix you up if you are. Then you’re going to shower. Then, and only then are we going to have this discussion.”

“I don’t—”

“Please.”

He caves at the way your whole body sags under the weight of one word. Carefully toes off his boots and socks, peels the stiff tac pants off, and lays his top and jacket on top of the whole pile. Reveals a smattering of bruises down his arms and along his rib cage. To get to the ensuite he has to walk past you and through your shared bedroom. The heat of him passing by has you turning after him, a star caught in his orbit, words curling to ash on your tongue. It’s only when he’s firmly out of sight that you allow yourself to collapse into the couch. Head lolling back, gaze fixed on the ceiling. Blankly you watch the headlights of passing cars loom and fade across the ceiling.

You do your best not to cry but wet trails burn down your face. You dash them away, but it does nothing to make you feel better. You don’t know if you’ll survive the coming conversation, a litany of “he doesn’t love me anymore, or at least not enough to keep me” is running through your head. Something is wrong, you think. Usually after a rough night, Jason can’t get enough of you. He comes home to your shared apartment and holds you, needs to feel the touch of your skin and the heat of your breath to truly know you’re alive. He's never the most talkative on the worst nights, but he always reaches out. Mumbles into your throat just to hear your replies, get you to distract him with chatter about your own day. He’ll act like he’s touch starved, press his split knuckles to the back of your hand, pull you into him until his nose is buried in the crook of your neck, pet and touch whatever bare skin is in reach. You're used to shaking off the vestiges of sleep to Jason between your thighs, fingers and tongue skillfully opening you up before he slides his cock inside, splitting you open just to feel you tighten around him. Tonight he hasn’t even reached out to hold your hand.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Jason stands in the doorway to your shared bedroom. Wet from his shower, the streetlight filtering through the curtains illuminating the water still beading on his skin. The bruises look less stark now. You look at him and feel love. You look at him and see the man you gave the most vulnerable parts of yourself to, ready to hand them back to you on a platter. Rolling your head to look at him properly, you notice he hasn't bothered to dress, wrapped in a towel like he couldn't wait to put off this conversation a moment longer. Your eyes meet, and it snaps whatever trance he's in. He shuffles over to you, eyes asking for permission to join you on the couch. The couch dips under his weight, and you turn on your side to face him, legs curling up to your chest.

"I'm glad you're home."

You reach out to brush his face, aching to remind yourself that's he's real but he shies back from the motion, denies you both the comfort of contact.

"Don’t. I'm not— I'm not good for you. We can't— I'm not gonna do this to you anymore."

"Do what to me Jason?" you ask, genuinely puzzled "Be us? I chose this, I chose you, and I have kept on choosing you from the beginning. I don't understand." By the end, you're truly pleading, begging with your voice and eyes and body for him to explain this to you. To explain why he's trying to make this choice for you.

"Bein' with me puts you in danger," he says slowly, carefully. "You think you know what you've signed up for but you don't. Not really. I painted a target on your back and now the worst of Gotham are gonna come sniffin’ at your door. You're never gonna be safe with me and I don't want to be the reason why you're hurt. You deserve better than me and a life of looking over your shoulder. I can't give you that, I'll never be able to give you that."

And oh, that hurts. The way he says it, dripping with self-loathing and certainty, cracks your heart open. It speaks of long held fears and convictions that he will never be good enough, that he is too broken and too dangerous to be loved.

"Did something happen tonight?" you ask, searching for a reason, anything, that would have brought old wounds to light.

"What?" Tension laces his body tight. There's a wild look in his eyes, shifting closer to green than blue.

"Jay, you made all of those risks clear to me before we were even real friends. So, what happened tonight to make you so sure that you'll be the death of me?"

Something about the way you state the question so matter of factly unsettles him enough to reply. "Heard some chatter down at docks about Black Mask setting up a new warehouse. Tonight was just supposed to be easy. Just about fuckin' with him, get B and Wing time to gather evidence on his new operation. He was waiting for us, probably set the whole thing up as a trap. Did a whole melodramatic monologue too 'bout how if we were gonna threaten his operation — the only thing that means anything to him — then turnabout’s fair play."

He's paused in his remembered anger, hands flexing against the couch cushions. You nod, trying to encourage him, not wanting to break the spell that got him talking in the first place. But you really don't like where this was headed. When he speaks again, its in a whisper.

"He knew your name. He knew who you are to me and he knew your fucking name."

The fear that jolts through you at that statement is matched by the intensity in his eyes. Distractedly you notice that you can’t feel your fingers. Heart racing, the only thing grounding you is the weave of the cushion under your cheek.

"Okay, we can— we can handle this. It'll be difficult but I can—"

"He's dead," Jason interrupts.

"He's what." All trains of thought come to a crashing stop.

"I killed him."

Its a confession and a plea for forgiveness wrapped in one. He can't quite look you in the eyes anymore, his whole demeanor screaming shame. Stunned and wide-eyed all you can do is drink him in, this incredible, ridiculous man. Car headlights cut through the shadows, lighting up the planes of his face and catching on the still too-green of his eyes. Somewhere along the way you've moved closer. His face is only a breath away and in the silence it feels unbearably intimate.

You can't help blurting out, "Can I kiss you?" The thought of being unable to touch him any longer is utterly unthinkable. Not when he's right in front of you, lips parted and waiting for you to pronounce judgement over him. He nods, shyly, and then you're in his lap. His face is cradled in your hands, eyes wide as he looks up at you. His lips are warm when you finally give in to the urge to taste him. They're rough from where he's bitten them but they're pliant against yours. Drawing back, you rest your forehead on his, unwilling to be any further apart.

"He had your name in his fuckin' mouth and I couldn't let him live for that. So yeah, I killed him. Him and every one a his lieutenants in the room that heard." Jason pauses, tries to gauge your reaction, continues on more self-consciously. "B and Wing couldn’t stop me and I didn’t want them to. He was a threat to you and I didn't know. You could have died and I wouldn't even've known what to protect you from." He tries to pull back from you, but you don't let him. Lets his motion pull you along with him, hands still cradling his face.

"Is that where all the blood is from? You're not hiding any injuries besides the bruises from me?" you ask worriedly. He's done it before, but you'd hoped he'd learned to trust you better. Jason goes to remove your hands from his face and you don't resist. He presses soft kisses to each of your palms before folding them to his bare chest right over his heart.

"Fuck sweetheart, I tell you that I've just killed a roomful of men and you want to know if I'm okay? You're not angry that I killed, again?" And oh he looks so ready for you to reject him. Waiting for you to turn away, to call him a monster, for your love to turn to horror.

When you speak, the words come out slowly, each syllable weighed out with care. "Am I bad person if I say that I'm grateful?" You can feel his heartbeat speeding up under your hands as you speak. "Because I am Jay, I'm so, so grateful. I'm grateful that I'll never have to worry about a bullet in the dark or getting taken off the street. Mostly I'm grateful that I won't be used to hurt you. But I'm also so very sorry Jay that you had to kill again." He shudders at that, closes his eyes and squeezes your hands tight tight tight. "I know that you were trying so, so hard not to kill, to live by your family's rules and I'm so sorry that you had to break that promise to yourself. Can you forgive me for putting you in that impossible position?"

"I— I don't need your forgiveness, not for this. But don't you see? I'm the reason you were danger. If I hadn't a been quick enough, if there's ever a day when I'm not fast enough, then you'd've died." At that he stops, swallows thickly, like he's considering a world where he doesn't save you. "This doesn’t end just ‘cause Black Mask’s dead. It’s every enemy the Hood has ever made knowing that my heart’s walking around outside my body.” And that, that makes your breath catch in your throat. Stuns you enough that you’re not fully prepared for what he says next. “So this, you and me, it's gotta be done. I'll move out tomorrow, pack things up later. I won't leave you unprotected, I'll— I'll still patrol but you won't have to see me again. You can have a clean start."

Now, now you are angry. Pushing off his chest you lever yourself upright, forcing him to look up at you. Straddled across his lap your balance is precarious at best but you need him to see you, to realize that what you say next is what you mean with every wretched part of you.

"No."

"No?" He's looking up at you, glazed eyes and mouth open wide with shock.

"No. Jason Peter Todd you do not get to make this decision for me." With every word you push your finger into his chest for emphasis, your whole body shaking with the force you're putting behind your words. "I knew the risks because you told me about them. I decided that I could live with them if it meant having you. I told you always and forever. I meant it then and I mean it now. So this, you and me, it’s over when I agree it is. I gave you my fucking heart and this is me not accepting it back. You tell me I’m free to leave anytime, well I’m not.” His hands have fallen to your hips where they clench and unclench. “You haven’t been able to keep me out of your sight lines for more than three minutes tonight. You can’t go a day without touching me, feeling me up and getting your cock wet. I know you don’t sleep half so well if I’m not in your bed and neither can I. I know the way you look when you think nothing you’ve done has ever been good enough and the face you make when you feel like a hero. I know you to your bones and you know me. You want me to live a life that you’re not a part of, well I won’t." Suddenly fed up with the chafing of the towel on your poor inner thighs you try to shift, when you feel him hard under the thin layer of the bath towel. You feel Jason freeze up, time crystallizing around you before speeding back up like a poorly wound tape.

“Off. Off now” You start pawing at the blasted towel unsuccessfully, before giving up and going for your own sleep pants. You’re half way through wiggling them off before Jason’s brain catches up with you and then he’s scrabbling to tear the towel off and get you bare. You grab his hardening cock and guide it to the entrance of your cunt. You’re still not slick enough for this, didn’t spend ages getting opened up on fingers first, but you’re desperate enough to make it work. His hands around your thighs are like iron, clinging to you like a life preserver. You take it slow, letting gravity do the work of spearing you open on his cock, unable to take him to the hilt in one swift motion the way you ache to. Jason’s a big man, always towering over you in size, and his cock is perfectly large to match. Already the stretch is just the other side of painful, the thickness of him cleaving you in two. You gasp like you’ve been punched with every inch downwards. By the time your hips meet his pelvis his stomach muscles are clenched and twitching from the effort of not just fucking up into you and taking what he wants. His fingers are buried in the couch cushions. Deliriously you wonder if the cushions will still be intact by the end of this conversation.

"So tell me again," you pant, "tell me why you think you can just walk away from me and all the love we have like it's nothing." Jason groans at your words, buries his face in your throat, hips still twitching with aborted thrusts.

"Please, please baby. Let me move— shit, let me make you feel good. God, sweetheart you're so fucking tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me." The growing roll of his hips is distracting. He's so fucking thick, this position making him feel like he's somewhere in your stomach, every flex of his muscles bullies him deeper, threatens to shake all the thoughts out of your head. That just won’t do. You take back control with a soft hand on his chest pushing him back until he's leaned right back against the couch cushions.

"You started this conversation Jay. It’s not done until you finish it. Besides, you’re the one that wants to put a stop to all this." You punctuate your words with a single calculated grind of your hips, make him claw at your hips with abandon. Revel at the weight of him inside of you. Trail your hand up his chest so you can thread your fingers into his damp curls. "Why should I let you move, hmm? Give me that list of reasons, and maybe I'll let you fuck me when we're done talking." His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the colour of his eyes anymore.

It takes a few false starts before he can put a coherent thought together. "Being— being with me makes, oh god, makes you a target. People'll go through you, tryna hurt me. You're gonna get hurt cus'a me, could die fr'me." He's trembling all over now, words slurring together and gasping for air. He settles a little when you run your other hand down his chest to trace his y-shaped scar, lean in and kiss him slow and sweet. Nip and tease at his already abused bottom lip.

"Love that ship went and sailed the first time you talked to me," you say. "There's no putting that back in the box and hoping everyone will forget that we were us." Taking your time, you mouth along his jawline, feel his hand slide under your shirt to come settle on the small of your back. "Say we split up, what then? Doesn't matter how often you swing by, someone'll always try and find a way. Tonight was just a reminder. How does breaking both of our hearts make that go away?" Nuzzling into that sweet space below his jaw, you can feel the way his pulse races and cock twitches in you. All the while you keep your hips tortuously still, warming his cock with your cunt, enjoying the stretch of him. A tug of his hair gets him talking again.

"I'm not a— not a good man. I've killed a lot a people, don't even regret most a'em." He can't look at you as he says it, eyes fixed on a spot over your shoulder. His hand on your back flexes, fingers tightening around your hip bone.

"Didn't we just go over this? Jay I'm glad you killed those men, and if that makes you a bad person so am I." This time its him that goes in for a kiss, latches on to the plush of your lips, licks his way inside. Cradles your skull and pulls you closer, has to stop kissing you to gasp when that shifts his cock inside of you.

"Sweetheart, you're the best person damn person I know," he breathes into your mouth. Traces over your cheekbone with the tip of his nose. "You're the best fuckin' thing to happen to me. But you shouldn't hafta decide if you're okay with me killing people. Shouldn't be something you gotta think about at all." There it is again, that tinge of self-loathing. And that's what it’s really all about isn't it?

"You're not making me do anything. You think I didn't know who I was saying yes to when you asked me out to dinner? That I was unaware of Hood's brand of justice? That unlike your family, I didn’t already approve of your methods? Love, I was grateful for you before you'd even walked into my life." Its a confession you hadn't said out loud before, but maybe you should've. Something about your faith in him has Jason whining at the back of his throat like a wounded animal. He tries to buck his hips but freezes when the hand in his hair forcefully tugs his head back, exposes the vulnerable line of his throat.

"Can't just say that sweetheart. Can't just say that and not let me fuck you full." Another tug at his hair has him moaning, the cords of his throat standing out. "C'mon, c'mon. You're so wet and so warm for me. I'll make you feel— feel so good." On the last word he tries to thrust up but you were expecting this, dig your knees into the couch to leverage up off of him at the same time he moves forward. You bite down on the soft skin of his throat before pressing a kiss to the forming bruise. Let go of his hair to clasp the side of his neck, rub your thumb over the hinge of his jaw. Let his head fall forward to your chest, resting his brow on your collarbone.

"I said after our conversation, didn't I? And those aren't your only reasons, are they?" you tease. "You can fuck me whenever you want Jay, you just have to be honest first."

He’s torn, you can tell. Caught between chasing his pleasure at the steep price of his darkest fears, but also wanting to do right by you, as misguided as this attempt is. But he’s been so truthful so far, deserves a reward for how good he’s been. So you clamp down, hard, feel his cock brush against that soft part of your gut that makes you shiver with pleasure. Enjoy the punched out sound that wrings from him. Grind your hips down in a filthy circle, once, twice. Then just as suddenly stop. Let him pant and shake, breath warm in the contours of your throat.

When he finally speaks, his voice is so small you can barely hear him. "M'scared." He shudders as he says it. Something in the curve of his spine screams vulnerable, sparks an itch in your fingers to touch and so you do.

"Think 'm too broken for you to love. Think 'm too broken to love you right. Scared one day that the pit's gonna burn too bright and I'll hurt you." Like a broken dam, the words come tumbling out so quickly now. All you can do is keep stroking his back, this giant of a man rendered so small in your arms. "That I'll wake up one day and it'll be my hands covered in your blood." The hate and self-loathing is almost palpable, an oil slick shadow creeping along the floorboards. You could cry from the way his voice shakes and cracks.

“Oh, love.” And this time it’s your voice cracking. “I’ve never thought of you as broken. There’s never going to be a day where I think you’re too broken for me to love. If the day ever comes that you do break, I’ll pick up all the shiny pieces with my bare hands if I have to. I’ll put you back together again even if it cuts me open because that’s what we do Jason. You don’t think there aren’t parts of me I’d rather smooth out too? You don’t have to love me perfectly to love me right.” He’s straightening up now, trying to get a better view of your face, needs to see the truth of your words. His arms have moved around you like a vice, holding on as if you’ll disappear if he lets go. “You’ve never hurt me Jason. Scratch that, you’ve never hurt me before tonight and your stupid, noble attempt to break up with me. But not once have you laid your hands on me and not once have I been afraid of you.” He tries to interrupt, opens his mouth to speak but you’re not finished. You lay finger over his lips, force him to let you say your piece. “But I know that the problem isn’t my trust in you, it’s yours. Besides Black Mask and his thugs, did you hurt anyone else tonight?” At the shake of his head you continue. “There you have it. Even tonight, when you had every reason to spin out of control you didn’t hurt anyone you didn’t mean to. So talk to me. We’ll figure this out. Hell, we’ll find you a therapist if that’s what you want. So trust me, at least, even if you can’t trust yourself.”

You’d swear there were tears in his eyes if you didn’t already know never to trust the early morning light. It’s past dawn now and in the silence Jason looks like something out of a fairytale. The weak golden light makes him look so alive, so vibrant. He sits there still as stone, holding you tight in his lap, dumb with the weight of your love and acceptance. His grin, when it breaks over his face, is a little watery but possibly the most precious thing you’ve ever seen.

“There’s really no scaring you off, is there?” It’s a weak joke, but he’s trying.

“No. There isn’t.” If your words don’t convince him then the tone of satisfaction ringing through them would. Pushing at his shoulders you maneuver him as close to lying down as you can manage on your old couch. Tearing off your oversized sleep shirt (stolen from Jason of course), you’re finally as bare as he is. Perched over him, you enjoy the view of him splayed out like an offering. Reaching for his arm, you find his hand, place it on the curve below your belly and lace your fingers over the back of it. You push his palm down into you to feel the hard swell of where his cock is curving you out, carving out a place in your guts and moulding your cunt to the shape of his cock. You can see the exact moment his restraint snaps when he realizes he’s feeling himself through you. Let him jack knife up into you, feel the way his hardness moves under his palm. Enjoy the way it feels to finally have him drag his cock through you. But he’s trying to be respectful and you haven’t given him the go ahead yet. He restrains himself to shallow rocking motions, unable to stop himself completely, but the effort this is costing him is clear by his straining muscles and wide eyes.

“You paying attention Jay? This—” and this time you clench down on his cock as you press his hand to the shape of your womb just to hear him choke, “is yours. And you left it aching and empty for hours. You made such pretty promises earlier.” For this last part you lean down real close, brace yourself with an arm over his shoulder, wanting to make sure he doesn’t miss a thing. “And our conversation just ended.” He takes it as the permission it is and slams into you, deeper than before like you can feel him in you throat. Hands an iron grip around your waist, pulling you down to meet each sharp rolling thrust. Bullies his cock into you until he finds the angle that has sparks running under your skin, keeps hitting that angle with all the precision and aim of a sniper with his marksmanship. At this angle, his head’s at the perfect height to mouth at your breasts. You can feel him smiling around a nipple as he listens to you moan, only detaching to give the other breast the same kind of enthusiastic attention. Your arm finally gives out, falling down onto his bare chest. Limp, you let him manoeuvre him how he wants you, a rag-doll for your mutual pleasure. All the while he doesn’t stop fucking into you, any semblance of earlier control gone.

“Fuck, sweetheart you don’t know— don’t know what you do to me.” He’s gasping between each word, but the meaning of them still makes their way to your blissed out brain. The slick drag of his cock head along your clenching insides making everything else fade away. You can feel your orgasm building, heat pooling and growing with every thrust. Jason can feel you tightening up around him, knows the signs of your body so well. He starts circling your clit with his fingers, alternating pressure with his thrusts. The long drag and stretch of his cock, almost too much for you to take, never falters. It bumps up against your cervix, fills you up so completely that there’s room for nothing else but it and the pleasure it rips from you. Your release tears through you like wildfire, and for a moment dark spots cloud your vision. You know that you’ve clamped down, tight and hot and slick by the punched out groan from Jason, the way his head falls back onto the couch. But through it all he still keeps pumping into you.

He bites and sucks at your throat, a distraction from your over sensitivity. He leaves your clit alone, stops assaulting all your senses so viciously. Listens to you mewl from how sore and sensitive you are from having taken his cock nearly dry, having held it in you for so long before getting your cunt battered by it. “M so sorry sweetheart. Didn’t wanna hurt you. Gonna— gonna make it up to you. For the rest a m’life.” Now he’s rutting into you, all rhythm and finesse gone in pursuit of his own pleasure. Fire is running through your veins, gathering in your cunt and burning you whole. Your legs are weak and trembling where Jason’s placed them, hands trailing down your thighs to hook under your knees and pull your legs wider. Like this you’re trapped, pinned against him by the spread of your cunt, clit wet and grinding against his pubic bone every time he fucks back into you. You’re so close to another orgasm, quicker than you’ve ever been before.

“Please— Jay please, don’t— don’t stop. Need you. Need you har— harder. Jay. Jay” Jason being Jason, obliges. Your whole body jolts from the force of him inside you. You’re so frustratingly close, dancing on the knife’s edge of oblivion. Jay’s close too. You can tell by the way his breathing speeds up, the way he wraps one arm over your shoulder to keep you in place as he fucks your cunt raw. What sends you both over the edge is Jason taking his other hand and pushing down hard on the swell of your abdomen, the both of you feeling his cock kick and spurt inside of you. Heat paints your walls, and it’s that combined with all consuming pressure of his cock remaking you in his image that has you crying out your orgasm. Jason doesn’t pull out right away. Stays inside you and lets himself grow soft. Kisses featherlight over your face and eyelids. Strokes your flanks and combs his fingers through your hair. Soothes you into a light sleep.

When you wake up, it’s to full sunlight streaming into your bedroom. Turning your head, Jason meets your gaze, propped up on an elbow to watch over you. The both of you are still naked under the blankets but he must have cleaned up the mess between your legs. He pressed a kiss between your eyes before you can get too swept up by your thoughts.

“Hiya sweetheart.” The corners of his eyes crinkle up when he smiles like this. You think they’d make him look kind when he’s older. “I’m not going anywhere now, I promise.”

“Always?”

“Forever.”

[rosenotactuallyquartz]

“so this… is earth!”

we know from chille tid that pearl’s never had a dream before. we also know that she doesn’t like to eat and she doesn’t really immerse herself in (a lot) of “human things.”

at least, not on the level that rose did. she loved interacting with humans and doing “human things.” that makes me think she liked to eat and sleep as well. you know, the basics.

it’s all because of her adventurous personality. rose loved experiencing new things and she was incredibly playful. pearl, on the other hand, is incredibly smart, logical, and doesn’t like trying new things as much.

so, rose would be doing something, and she’d have millions of questions. pearl would explain everything to her. she also saved rose a few times from getting sick or being in danger.

i have an inkling that one of the reasons she watches steven sleep is because she used to watch rose sleep… & with rose’s many terrible memories, i feel like she had nightmares often.

i can imagine pearl trying to wake rose up while she’s having a terrifying dream about white diamond’s cold voice, her laugh. or maybe she’s locked in the dark room, or trying to convince the other diamonds to listen to her. rose is talking in her sleep, & then when she wakes up in tears, pearl comforts her and neither of them need to say anything about it because pearl knows everything.

the only thing she needs to say is, “always make sure i’m in the room & we’re somewhere safe if you want to sleep,” hinting to rose that she was talking in her sleep–about something that no one else knows about.

she bakes + cooks really well, and i have an inkling that she learned these skills because of rose. she doesn’t like eating, but she did like watching rose enjoy something that she made for her.

now, pearl was never completely opposed to trying some human activities. she had so many new experiences with rose. they had a cabin since the first year cabins existed where they would spend time together, just the two of them. eventually, they–thatstheendofthispost

[cinnam0roll143]

can you make a oneshot where eunhyuk has a crush on the reader but has no balls to tell them, until some guy shows up and he got jealous, so he ends up confessing his feelings 😭🙏🙏

I’m back!!~ Finally! I’m so happy to start writing again and I hope you guys enjoy!! XOXO

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

Unknown Feelings

Eunhyuk POV:

_______________________________________________________________

Dear insert reader ,

 This may be shocking news for you but, I like you, I like you so much it’s like my heart will explode when I don’t see you for a long time. The way your hair dances with the wind, Your laugh is my favorite sound, The way your eyes glimmer like the moon, The way your skin feels so soft and delicate

________________________________________________________________ 

I crumble the paper and throw it away in the trash can filled with many other failed attempts at writing a letter to reader, “Aish! I don’t know what to do anymore..” as I bang my fist on the table a picture of me and reader falls on my notebook I have been writing on. ”reader, why are you torturing me like this..” Next Day.. reader POV “reader, come on! We’re gonna be late!” Su-ae, my bestfriend shouts as I get ready, ”Hold on! I’m almost ready!” putting on my shoes and quickly styling my hair. ”I’m here! Let’s go!” I exclaim.

 As we arrive at school I see my friend Eunhyuk across from us, ”Enhyuk!” I shout and wave, receiving a wave ”What’s wrong with him?” Su-ae asks, ”What do you mean?”. ”He just suddenly started walking a bit faster..” Su-ae says suspiciously, ”It’s probably nothing, maybe he’s just running late.” I shrug.

In our classroom, I guess you could say it’s a bit noisy.. and messy. ”Hey! reader, I heard that a boy from another section likes you!” one of my classmates say, ”Stop saying such nonsense! I don’t even interact with any of the students!” I shout, ”Haha! Maybe, they’re admiring from afar” They continued teasing me about this guy, when I see Eunhyuk looking at me weirdly. ”Just stop it already! Do you want to die!? Don’t drag reader into your nonsense stuff!” Su-ae shouts. As Su-ae scolds the boys the bell finally rings. ”Finally! If we were stuck in that classroom for another minute I would’ve punched the boys right there!” I laugh, ”Don’t be too harsh to them Su-ae!” I continue laughing

Suddenly someone approaches us, ”Hey reader.. Can I talk to you?”, ”Hm? Who are you?” I ask. ”I’m insert name, a student from the classroom beside you.” ”Ahh, Okay..” I said as he led me to a nearby hallway. But, unbeknownst to them, another person was listening.

”So.. What do you want..?” I asked, ”Well uhm.. I just wanted to say that I like you a lot.” He says. ”Oh..” I said, shocked by the sudden confession. ”I’m sorry but I can’t reciprocate the feeling.. I don’t really know you that much and uhm.. I already like another person. Is it alright if we can still be friends?” ”Of course, that’s fine with me! I totally get it.” He reassured me. But.. Eunhyuk POV As I saw a random boy and reader go somewhere, I secretly followed them. I immediately hid behind a wall when I saw them stop and talk. ”So.. What do you want..?” reader asked, ”Well uhm.. I just wanted to say that I like you a lot.” He said. ”Oh..” was the last thing I heard reader said, when I immediately left and went back to our classroom.

While I was dozing off on my chair, I heard reader and su-ae talking. ”Did he actually confess to you? Straight up?”, ”Yeah.. But-” I stopped listening and put on my earphones while we waited for our teacher.

Should I confess?

You should! I know she likes you back

Stupid, Somebody already confessed to her, she probably likes somebody else.

You should’ve confessed earlier! If you weren’t such a shy boy, maybe you would’ve confessed first! ”Stop!” I woke up from my nap, realizing that it’s already 4:03, meaning it’s time to go home.. Confess…

Confess

Confess! I immediately grabbed my bag and started to look for.. Reader. ”reader!” I shouted,

Looks like there’s no backing out now.

reader POV “reader!” I heard someone shout my name while me and Su-ae were leaving school, ”Oh? Isn’t that Eunhyuk?” Su-ae checked behind us and turned to me, ”You should go talk to him, I’ll get going!” Su-ae suddenly exclaimed. ”O-okay?” I answered. ”Eunhyuk, is there something wrong?” I asked. ”reader, there’s something you need to know..” ”What is it Eunhyuk?” I waited patiently. ”I-”

”I.”

”I like you.”

My eyes suddenly went wide and stepped back due to the sudden confession. ”Wh-what..? Eunhyuk..”. ”I know you already like someone else, and I know that it’s wrong to confess, I just couldn’t get it out of my head.”

”I like you too. Eunhyuk” Eunhyuk POV ”I like you too. Eunhyuk” I immediately felt surprised and happy at the same time. ”Really? You mean that reader?” ”Of course I do, I’ve been waiting for you..” She smiled. ”Is it okay if I.. hug you?” I asked, ”Of course..”

We hugged for a solid minute when somebody suddenly took a picture of us. ”Yah! I’m gonna cry, you two are so cute..”, We see Su-ae holding her phone on one hand and doing a fake gesture of wiping tears on her other hand. ”Well congrats to you two! Now I'm the best friend who’s single..” Su-ae fake sobs and sniffles while walking away..

I smile and look at reader

Told you she likes you, stupid!

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

Yay!! Finally, I can totally relate to Su-ae being the single one out of a duo.. *sobs*

[thedemoninme141]

Her Heartbeat, Chapter 4: Her Walls.

Summary: The therapy session is torture for Wednesday, made even worse by the fact that you seem to enjoy it.

Warnings: NONE STILL NOT IN A MOOD TO BRING THE ANGST!!!!

Previous ChapterWorklist.

Wednesday fully expected you to be insufferable during the maths class. She braced herself for your annoying chatter, the constant whining about how boring the class was, and pointless attempts to get her attention. But to her surprise, you were... tolerable.

A part of her kept glancing at you, expecting something, waiting for you to break the silence and turn back to throw some insipid remark her way. But you never did. Instead, your head remained down, taking notes as if nothing else existed in the world but the math equations she learned years ago.

It felt.. weird.. Wednesday couldn't understand it.

After class, Wednesday didn’t see you. Of course, your schedule was different. She was relieved, or at least, she told herself she was. Other students, having witnessed her outburst in the quad, avoided her path as if she were a rabid animal. Good. She preferred it that way.

Still, as she walked into fencing class, she couldn’t help but notice Bianca’s absence. Pathetic. Bianca could’ve at least tried to channel her anger into something productive, like giving Wednesday a real challenge. Instead, she chose self-pity. It was disappointing, really. But there was another problem: none of the other students wanted to spar with her either. Even the coach didn’t bother forcing anyone to step up. So Wednesday sat through the entire class, watching others clumsily clash swords, her grip tightening on her sabre with each passing second. She’s going to maim Bianca next time they’re in the same room.

By the time she returned to her room, she felt a strange, simmering tension in her chest. She washed up, as usual, but for some reason, she found herself standing in front of Enid’s mirror, checking her appearance. Why? Why did it even matter? Annoyed with herself, she forced her mind back to the present.

It's time for torture and not the good kind.

When she arrived at the therapy building, she saw you leaning against the wall outside, cheap headphones covering your ears. Your eyes were closed as you hummed softly, lost in your own little world. Wednesday’s gaze lingered on you longer than it should have. She took in every detail—the way your lips moved ever so slightly with the melody, the way your fingers tapped gently against your leg in rhythm, the faint smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

The sound of your humming... it did something to her. She couldn’t place the feeling. But there it was again, like an itch she couldn’t quite scratch. “Hey,” you greeted, pulling your headphones off. “So, what’s the plan for today’s therapy session? Maybe you can tell me more about how much you don’t care.” Wednesday gritted her teeth. "The plan is for you to sit quietly and not bother me." You chuckled, clearly not taking her seriously. “Got it. This is going to be fun.”

David beamed and clapped his hands. "Wednesday! Finally found a partner, huh? That’s great! I’m so proud of you! The first step is always finding a friend." Wednesday’s eyes darkened, and she shot him a deadpan stare. “If I were you, I wouldn’t confuse necessity with friendship. We’re not going to hold hands and braid each other's hair.” David's smile remained annoyingly the same, “Well, you know, every relationship starts somewhere!” Wednesday muttered something unintelligible under her breath, most likely about wishing she could bury him somewhere. You stood beside her, fighting the urge to laugh at the interaction. Your lips curled into a smirk, and you elbowed Wednesday lightly. "See, he's already proud of you. That's progress!" “Be silent, or I will make you regret ever breathing,” Wednesday hissed in return, but you just chuckled. David’s smile was still the same, "Well! Let’s get started, everyone!"

The room was already filled with other unfortunate souls, each paired off with their so-called “partners.” They all sat in a circle, as though that would somehow make this agonizing process more bearable. “Alright, everyone’s here, so let’s get started!” David said, clapping his hands together. “Today’s session is all about why we chose our therapy partners. The person who’s helping us on our journey to be better, more balanced people. Alex, why don’t you go first?” Alex scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Uh, yeah, so, Milo’s, like, my best friend, y’know? He helps me not punch walls when I’m mad at my dad. He’s super chill and doesn’t, like, ask too many questions. That’s why I picked him.” Milo just nodded, looking half asleep. “Yeah. We vibe.”

Wednesday felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. She glanced at you, expecting to see a similar expression of exasperation, but instead, you were trying (and failing) to stifle your laughter.

David nodded with excessive enthusiasm. “That’s wonderful, Alex! Learning to control our impulses is such an important step. Okay, Rick, your turn.” “Well, I chose Ashley because I know where she hid the body,” Rick said casually, causing Ashley to elbow him sharply in the ribs. The room went silent, everyone staring at them. Wednesday's interest piqued for the first time since arriving. Congratulations, you are hired. David, slightly flustered, cleared his throat. “I... I think we’re going to pretend we didn’t hear that, Moving on! Brooke, how about you?” Brooke, a girl with bright pink hair, clasped her hands together dramatically. “I chose Mike because... because I believe we’re destined to help each other. You know, like twilight.” Mike blinked at her, clearly bewildered. “You met me like, ten minutes ago.” “Exactly! Fate.” Brooke grinned widely, completely unbothered by Mike’s confusion.

Wednesday facepalmed, wishing the earth would open up and swallow her whole before this circus of a session continued.

“Okay, Carl and Eddie, how about you?” David asked, his enthusiasm unshaken. “I chose Eddie because... well... he’s my cousin. And our family said if we don’t start ‘working on our issues,’ they’ll stop letting us come to Thanksgiving.” Eddie nodded solemnly. “Can’t lose the turkey, man.”

Wednesday clenched her fists, trying to maintain her composure. This was, without a doubt, the worst form of torture she’d ever endured. Worse than Bianca. Worse than Enid’s surprise hugs. Worse than your smile— “And last but not least, Wednesday and Y/n,” David chirped, turning to her expectantly. “Tell us why you chose your partner!” Wednesday groaned, already dreading this. She didn’t choose you. She got stuck with you, and that was an entirely different situation. Not that it mattered. David would twist it into some sick, heartwarming story about growth and friendship. “I helped her kidn—” You quickly cut Wednesday off “She helped me take care of my brother’s kids. So, I’m helping her in return.” The room fell silent. Wednesday’s eyes snapped toward you, narrowing dangerously. Taking care of kids? That was your excuse? Of all the ridiculous things you could’ve said, that was what you went with? And yet, somehow, it worked. The group nodded as if you’d just revealed some profound truth. David, predictably, beamed. “That’s wonderful! Helping each other is exactly what this program is about!” Wednesday’s jaw clenched. She hated this. She hated the entire scenario. But what she hated most was how easily you had manipulated the situation. How easily you had turned the group’s attention in your favor. You were playing a game—a game she was determined not to lose. You leaned back in your chair, clearly enjoying yourself. Wednesday shot you a look that could’ve killed, but you merely smirked. You are insufferable, she thought, her irritation reaching new heights. And then, as if things couldn’t get worse, David announced the next activity: a communication exercise.

This day just keeps getting better.

The collective groan that echoed through the room was almost palpable. Even the most upbeat participants looked deflated. Wednesday, however, remained silent, though her jaw clenched slightly at the thought of partaking in this ridiculous charade. David, as usual, didn’t notice the room's resistance. He pressed on, walking over to the whiteboard and scribbling “Empathy is Key” in bold, enthusiastic letters. “Remember, it’s all about empathy! We’re learning to understand each other better, to grow emotionally, to have control over our emotions, to understand other's emotions and to support our partners in their personal journeys.” You leaned over toward Wednesday and whispered "This must be your favorite part." Before Wednesday could reply with the dark retort brewing in her mind, David began calling out pairs to start the exercise. "Alright, let’s have Rick and Ashley go first. Rick, why don’t you tell us about a recent challenge you’ve faced?" Rick, still smirking from his earlier comment about the hidden body, shrugged. “I dunno. I guess I’m struggling with how to keep my drug selling a secret from my mom.” David shot him a look, clearly unsure whether or not he was joking. “Okay, maybe let’s keep it a little more… grounded, Rick. Something real, something you’ve been working through emotionally.” Rick rolled his eyes but finally relented. “Fine, fine. I guess it’s dealing with my anger issues. Like, I tend to fly off the handle whenever I get stressed out at school, and I took it out on my mom the other day. I didn’t mean to, but I just snapped, and now I feel kind of guilty about it.” David nodded, his smile now one of understanding. “That’s a great start, Rick. Now, Ashley, how do you think Rick felt in that moment?” Ashley, who had been mostly silent up to this point, glanced nervously at Rick before speaking softly. “I think... I think he felt frustrated and maybe overwhelmed. Like, he didn’t know how to deal with the pressure, so he lashed out.”

David beamed. “Exactly! It’s about understanding where the other person is coming from. Well done, both of you!”

Wednesday groaned inwardly. What's next? Group hugs?

One by one, each pair shared their challenges. Most of the stories were mundane—failed tests, fights with siblings, petty grievances about social media. But Wednesday barely paid attention. Instead, she was counting down the seconds until it would be over.

And then, it was your turn.

David turned to you with that same eager expression he’d had since the beginning. “Alright, Y/N and Wednesday! Who wants to go first?”

You gave Wednesday a playful nudge. “Ladies first?” Wednesday shot you a cold glare, her fingers tightening around the edge of her chair. “No. You will go first. I refuse to partake in this farce until absolutely necessary.” You chuckled but didn’t argue. “Alright, alright.” You turned to David, scratching the back of your head as you thought for a moment. “A challenge I’ve faced recently, huh? Well, I guess... it’s been trying to balance everything. You know, school, family stuff, and figuring out what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. It feels like everything’s happening at once and... everything is going extremely fast." David nodded sympathetically. “That’s a very real struggle, Y/N. It’s common to feel overwhelmed when there’s so much happening at once. Wednesday, how do you think Y/N felt in that moment?”

Wednesday stared at you, her expression unreadable. She didn’t want to indulge in this ridiculous exercise, but she knew David wouldn’t let them leave until they participated. So, she took a slow breath and answered, her tone flat and clinical.

“You felt lost,” she said simply. “Like you were being pulled in different directions, unsure of which path to take. You hate having pressure, having to choose between two things, I won't say it's selfishness, it's curiosity."

You blinked, slightly taken aback by the accuracy of her response. For a moment, there was a flicker of something between you- something in Wednesday's eyes that you couldn't catch.

Wednesday’s walls went up again, and her gaze hardened.

David’s eyes widened, clearly impressed. “Wow, Wednesday! That was... really insightful! You nailed it.”

“I only said what was obvious,” she muttered, crossing her arms.

David, clearly overjoyed by how “well” the exercise had gone, clapped his hands together again. “That was fantastic, everyone! Great job today. I think we’re really making progress. I have to go out of town tomorrow so gonna have to move our schedule" Finally some good news. "Don't worry, something special awaits then." OF COURSE "Also, it will be the other person’s turn to discuss their recent challenge next.” He glanced pointedly at Wednesday, who sighed inwardly.

You stood up, stretching lazily before turning to Wednesday with a grin. “They are kinda.. umm.. different.” Wednesday stared at you blankly. “I’m considering taking out a restraining order on every single person in this room.” You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re fun, you know that?” “I am not fun,” Wednesday spat, clearly disgusted by the notion. You laughed, clearly enjoying her irritation. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad. Besides, you did pretty well. You’re good at reading people.” Wednesday rolled her eyes. “Reading people is easy. Dealing with them is the real challenge.” You raised an eyebrow, that familiar smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “Is that your way of saying I’m a challenge?” Wednesday glared at you, she felt something inside, something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge yet. “You are an inconvenience. One that I intend to rectify.” You chuckled again. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment."

As you both stepped out of the therapy building, you took a deep breath, savoring the brief moment of freedom from the exhausting session. Wednesday walked beside you, her silence heavy but not unwelcome. Without thinking too much, you broke the silence. "Hey, want to grab a coffee?" Wednesday stopped in her tracks, her dark eyes narrowing as she turned to face you. “What is with you?” You blinked, confused by her sudden sharpness. “What?” “This.” She waved a hand between you. “All this. You trying to spend time with me. Your part is just the therapy, so why do you keep pushing for more?” Her question caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected her to be so direct about it. There was an answer you could give, one you weren’t quite ready to say aloud yet, but you couldn’t let the silence stretch too long. “I didn’t mean to offend you with my forwardness,” you began, choosing your words carefully. “I just wanted to get to know you, since we barely had the chance since yesterday.” “Why? Why do you want to know me? What is your real intention?” “Wednesday...” you sighed, searching for the right words. “People can get close to you without any real intention, you know?” “No. They always have an intention. Tyler did.” The name felt heavy, and for a moment, there was a glint of something in her expression—bitterness. “The sheriff’s boy from Weathervane Café?” you asked, “He always gave me the creeps. What’s with him though? I heard he was the monster killing people in the woods. Was he close?” “He tried to court me.” You winced. “Gee, you have a taste.” Wednesday rolled her eyes, her irritation palpable. “I didn’t know he was the Hyde then, idiot.” “Ah yes, the classic ‘your love interest is the killer all along.’” She shot you a glare. “What now?” “Nothing,” you waved it off. “Anyway, I can’t turn into a Hyde, but I do wish I could turn into a cat and sleep all day. Aaaand, you can give me some remark about how you’d rather drink acid than have coffee with me. I wouldn’t mind. I would just go for the coffee alone.” You turned and began walking away, pretending to dismiss the whole interaction casually. You could feel her eyes boring into the back of your head. What were you even doing? Pushing Wednesday like this? Wednesday wasn't even wrong, you did have an intention but it wasn’t something you could explain—at least, not yet.

After a few steps, you suddenly felt her presence beside you. Surprised, you glanced over at her.

“I am only going because I want to,” Wednesday muttered. “And you are paying for the coffee.”

Next Chapter [Sorry for the late update, Had to cook]

[jellyfishbeansontoast]

10 things I hate about you

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair

ok this is the first part of the series so i hope you enjoy!! a massive thank you to @demxters for literally everything to do with this <3 Word count: 1023

“I’m gonna do it” Mike declares at the lunch table, sliding into his usual chair in the process.

“Do what?” Lucas asks. 

Mike looks around quickly before leaning into the group, “Ask her out.”

“Who? El? Good luck with that one.” Dustin teased. 

“What do you mean? Do you not think she’ll say yes?” hurt and insecurity flashes across Mike’s face, his previous confident demeanour disappearing. 

“Oh I’m sure she’ll want to say yes but she’s not allowed until Y/n starts dating, Hopper’s rules.” 

Mike almost chokes on his sandwich “but she’s like really scary, has she ever even dated anyone?” he looks around the group in desperation “Maybe she’ll say yes anyway? Hopper doesn’t have to know?”

“You can try your luck if you want” Dustin nods his head to a vending machine at the back of the cafeteria where El’s standing, cursing at the machine. Mike stands up, anxiously wiping his palms on his trousers before walking towards El. He turns to the group before he reaches her and mouths a hurried ‘wish me luck’.

“Need assistance?” 

“It won’t give me my stuff” she grumbles.

“Yeah you kind of have to-” he shakes the machine until the chocolate bar that was previously teetering over the precipice finally falls to the bottom, he retrieves the bar and hands it over to the now much happier girl in front. 

“Thank you Mikey! I owe you, do you want some?” He’s caught off guard by the nickname, coughing and spluttering in a way he can only imagine is wildly unattractive, just what he needs right now. 

“No, thank you though,” he fidgets with his hands “I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me somewhere-” he takes a nervous breath “like a date?”

“I’d love to,” Mike almost cheers aloud but realises it’s too soon for celebration when he notices her chewing on her lip “but Hopper won’t let me till Y/n starts dating, and there’s no way she’ll date anyone, she’s scared off like every guy who’s ever asked.”  

“I get it, don’t worry about it.” he mumbles, feigning indifference. She smiles apologetically and they begin to make their way to the table, the rest of the group pretending not to have watched the whole interaction. 

“So?” Dustin elbows him in the ribs as soon as Mike sits down, although he’s sure he already knows the answer.

“Hopper” Mike replies in a dejected whisper, careful not to let El hear, after all he doesn’t want her feeling bad for something she can’t control.

Dustin’s face contorts almost as if he’s in pain. “Woah you okay over there?” Lucas calls from the other end of the table, earning a few snorts of laughter from around the table.

“Shut up I’m thinking”

“Oh that’s what that is?”

The curly haired boy holds up a finger in retort, cutting him off from any further rude remarks. “What if-” he begins, a sly smile sneaking onto his face as he looks between El and Mike “we got someone to date Y/n, then according to Hopper’s rule you two would be free to date and we wouldn’t have to hear Mike pining about you anymore.” He directs the last comment towards El. 

Mike hangs his head, a furious blush spreading over his cheeks “I don’t pine.”

“Sure you don’t.” 

“But we don’t have anyone who’ll date Y/n” El points out.

“So quick to doubt my plan” he shakes his head with a playful tut, “Steve.”

“Steve?” comes the incredulous response from everyone around the table, even Will who had refrained from taking part in the plan making so far. 

“What? You don’t think I can bribe him? The man needs the cash and also, I saw him checking out ‘Sixteen candles’ for himself the other day.”

“We’re gonna pay someone to date my sister?” 

“Got a better idea?” 

She shakes her head resignedly “Fine, but she can’t find out, I don’t want her getting hurt.” Dustin imitates zipping his lips before the conversation turns to something DnD related. 

-

“Steve” The older boy looks up at the line of teenagers forming in front of him “ We need your help.”

Steve looks around the almost empty Family Video store checking for customers “You want me to rent an age restricted film for you again? I’ll do it one last time but don’t come to me when it freaks you out like the Poltergeist did, I warned you”

“We don’t need a movie.” Dustin cuts in.

“Oh? What do you want then” He rests his elbows on the counter, settling his chin on his hands. 

“We need you to date Y/n.” 

“No chance, anything else I can help you with today?” Steve folds his arms across his chest. 

“You haven’t even heard what’s in it for you” he complains. 

“I heard the last man to try and take Y/n out on a date ended up with his car keyed and his tyres slashed,” He flits his eyes towards his car in the parking lot “that can’t happen to my baby.”

“It was just the tyres” corrects El, her nose wrinkling in disgust at the pet name usage for Steve’s car.

Dustin leans across the counter, coming face to face with Steve, “I saw you check out Sixteen Candles, what would people think of King Steve renting out a chick flick?”

“King Steve is long gone, now I hang out with kids” he sighs dejectedly. 

It’s Mike’s turn to beg “Please Steve, Hopper won’t let me date El until Y/n’s dating someone, you’re our only chance.”

“What’s in it for me?” finally they’re getting somewhere.

“Cash?”

Steve groans, already regretting what he’s about to do. “I’ll do it.” The group cheer in sync “But only because this lovesick thing you two have going on is disgusting” 

“Yeah yeah, thanks for your help.” 

Taglist: @johnricharddeacy

[joanofexys]

here is your reason to talk about emeryk wesninski 👉👈

Emeryk Wesninski my beloved (not really. I also forgot he existed and debated killing him dead again instead of confronting my embarrassing ocs)

If it isn’t obvious he’s intended to be Neil’s brother, which I’m probably gonna skirt around as much as possible due to my own shame lmao

Emeryk Wesninski:

25 years old

he/him

queer idk he’s not gonna sit there long enough to slap a word on it

played striker

was supposed to start on the Ravens lineup with Emiko their freshman year

dropped the sport for academic and familial pursuits (also cause he was not about to major in fucking business)

We’re gonna pretend I know why the hell I decided having an Em (Moriyama) and Em (Wesninski) was a good idea cause I did create them at the same time but honestly? fuck if I know.

Pretending I can do math I think there’s a six year gap between Neil and Emeryk. Or at least it’s around there. So when Mary and Neil went on the run Emeryk was 16 years old and pretty deeply involved in his father’s business. Not that he enjoyed it. He and Mary knew there was a far smaller chance of success survival with three of them instead of two and Neil had the better chance. So he told her to just him and go, with only a little resentment.

Emeryk escapes some of the worst parts of his father’s work through a series of deals with the Moriyama’s, specifically Ichirou. He and Ichirou aren’t far apart in age and now he of course wonders what the hell was doing, but he would rather have indebted himself to Ichirou over Kengo. And he knew one day Ichirou would be in charge, he just didn’t expect it to be quite so soon.

So instead of getting sucked in deeper (to the Wesninski’s business at least), he’s able to somewhat save himself. He enrolls in Edgar Allan University at 18 and doesn’t sign a contract to play with the Ravens. Despite it he and Emiko still become friends and he has some, albeit limited, interaction with Kevin, Riko, and Jean.

He studies criminal justice and goes on to study law. All of it, of course, being put towards working for the Moriyama’s. But at least he’s not actively killing people.

He spends a lot of his time covering up any tracks Mary and Neil leave behind. Whenever he can find them, he knows that means someone else will, and he does his best to remove any sort of paper trail or hint to their existence. Even if it’s just confusing Nathan’s men. Anything that gives them enough time to create a new identity and move.

He’s not exactly happy about it but he does feel like it’s part of what he agreed to years ago. So he lets the resentment build and does it anyway.

And when Neil shows up at Palmetto, seemingly not even trying to be subtle, he is so fucking pissed. Everything’s undone. He can run his mouth and mess things up as much as he wants but he knows it’s only a matter of time.

By the time Baltimore occurs Emeryk is so far removed from the Wesninski’s and so deeply involved with the Moriyama’s that he doesn’t even see it coming. At least not fast enough. When Stuart reaches out to him he reluctantly agrees to work with the FBI, temporarily, to find Nathan.

That’s the first time Neil and Emeryk see each other in years. Emeryk’s pretty sure Neil doesn’t remember half of it, blacked out from pain. And he sure as fuck wasn’t going to stick around to visit him in the hospital. He gets out of there with the intent of talking to the least amount of cops he can.

He forms a bit of a relationship with Neil after that. Mostly “don’t talk to cops”, “seriously get a fucking lawyer”, “have you considered not running your damn mouth?”, and the like. But ultimately he doesn’t give a shit what Neil gets up to. Not his business (though he can’t help but keep a worried eye on him to make sure he’s not getting into too much trouble. He spent too long doing it to stop. And if it has the added benefit of seeing his brother happy and healthy, somewhere he can call home, no one else to needs to know)

While Emeryk didn’t wind up a full blown serial killer he’s still a worse person than like Emiko. He’s very much out to save his own skin. He’ll always go with his best chance of survival. For now that lies with the Moriyama’s. But if a better opportunity ever presented itself he’d take it in a heartbeat.

And idk that’s just a little bit about Em (Wesninski) who I made 4-ish years ago and forgot about until now

[imabillyami]

Still thinking about this show, specifically about a conversation between them (main character and her friend) in Ep 9.

The whole thing made me feel so *seen* and I started crying uncontrollably cause YES. All of that! That’s how I constantly feel in this world!

Always overwhelmed and like I don’t fit and as if people attend some secret club where they learn how to do life and all these social interactions and rules and cues that I somehow keep messing up (and it always always always pisses people of that I don’t speak their secret language of silent expectations and assumed logical and rational behaviors).

Makes people look down at you constantly when you’re always three steps behind. And just… no matter how hard I’m trying to learn, I’m just never catching up. But it’s just so exhausting and confusing having to base your actions on the things people *don’t* say. Wouldn’t it make more sense if we all just actually said what we mean? Like… that would make things a lot easier objectively, wouldn’t it? And like… whose idea was this whole social etiquette and unspoken rules & cues anyway?

Anyway. I’m rambling.

-> My point: This convo is hands down the best moment on this entire show. <-

Convo under the cut. Spoiler alert 🚨

Harriet: *sees people laughing and making fun of Toby for his special interest*

Harriet: Toby, could I ask you something?

Toby: *walks up to talk*

H: Do you ever feel slightly lost? Or out of place like um… like a polar bear in a rainforest?

T: What kind of rainforest?

H: I don’t know, does it matter?

T: Yes, different rainforests have totally different vegetation. Some have more ground foliage in which case there’d be more uh, cutting plants with your paws, and… But yeah, you’re speaking metaphorically, aren’t you?

H: Yeah, I am.

T: Oh, yeah, okay. Got it. Then yes, yes I do.

H: You do?

T: Mm.

H: Because sometimes I feel like I’m made wrong. Um, or… or rather not wrong just… definitely different like I’m not made for here and I’m just constantly searching for somewhere safe, somewhere—

T: Snowy, where the other polar bears are.

M: Yeah. I don’t know how to find the other polar bears and it’s exhausting and scary and I just constantly feel like I’m wandering around on my own.

M: *stims by pulling her fingers*

T: *hands her his pocket watch (he uses for stimming), so she can stim with that*

M: *stims with pocket watch*

T: You’re not on your own. But I know someday it’s gonna be more… challenging than others.

M: *keeps fiddling with pocket watch*

T: Look, polar bears are awesome. Well, we’re the largest living land carnivores in the world. We’ve got big paws that we can use to catch fish out of rivers and given our genetic relation to European brown bears I think with a bit of practice we’re gonna climb trees too. Even the really tall ones.

M: But we still don’t fit in. And everyone else can see it. Does that not bother you, Tobes?

T: *long contemplating sigh*, *contemplating look at stage prop horse he’s still holding onto* Nope. *exhales deeply* The rainforest is a dangerous place, most animals end up getting eaten. Just try to enjoy being a polar bear. We can be quite powerful at times. Plus, though it’s not a specific category of competition, we do have the biggest, fluffiest paws.

H: *chuckles and smiles big and hands back the pocket watch* Thank you, Toby.

T: You’re so very welcome, Harriet.

H: And good luck.

T: Oh, thank you. *shakes horse and neighs before walking off*

[revserrayyu]

2.2 Penacony thoughts [part 5]

**Major story spoilers** as we’re finished the main story here. Going to be chatting even more about Acheron and our time in the Horizon of Existence, the real final boss, as well as all cutscenes that follow, so if you haven’t finished the whole story yet, I encourage you to come back and read this all later if you wish to do so after you experience everything for yourself first.

I gotta start off by saying that I absolutely love how this scene looks. Yeah it’s upsetting to learn that Acheron’s companion here is actually dead, but all the rain falling upon that red glow is just really nice to look at. Of course Acheron is slaying as usual too. I even dig the shadowy look of this man despite his circumstances.

Is Acheron kinda of like a grim reaper of sorts? At least that’s the feeling I’m getting when she says she’s guiding lost souls. And correct me if I’m wrong, but he is the one who wanted flowers on his grave, right? He just doesn’t remember I assume? It also seems that “Acheron” is just a river and I vaguely remember Acheron mentioning one during her conversation with the “Dreammaster” inside the park.

So I guess this is what all that red text meant? It wasn’t something we should have feared but a way to guide us forward, onto the right path? That’s how I’m interpreting it. Anyways, name drop reveals that this man was actually one of the Nameless buried at Dream Flux Reef.

Soon enough we arrived at the Horizon of Existence with Acheron and I’m like 99% sure this set of questions she asks us are close to the same exact ones she spoke of when we met her inside that first dream. I wish I remembered my choices to her questions from back then, because with the game only giving us one option to choose for each question, I wonder if it’s giving us the same option we picked when we first answered her because that would be amazing.

SHE. SAID. THE. THING!!! Acheron real name confirmed!!! Even though it’s pretty much what we all expected from the very beginning, it’s great for it to finally be true and not be a total secret.

A big ol’ cutscene begins and it reminds me of how little we actually received about Boothill, like yeah he shoots that fancy relic bullet up into the sky because he’s the only Galaxy Ranger around who can do so, but he didn’t do much else? I mean I absolutely enjoyed seeing him interact with Dan Heng and everyone else but to not even get the chance to fight a battle with him seems weird after 2.1 gave us the chance to really use both Acheron and Aventurine and test our their gameplay whenever we switched to their perspectives. Same thing happened with Robin too. We walked around as her and Boothill for brief moments but that was pretty much it, making the switch seem kinda pointless to me.

I got no words for this. It’s just an incredibly beautiful screenshot of her. I’ll never get tired of seeing all that red whenever this monochrome world takes over. Makes me regret skipping her every day but next time I’ll pull her for sure.

Yet another line she told us during our first encounter with her. Also, if this is the last time we see her in the story, I’m gonna be sad.

The crew!!!! I’ll admit it does look a little silly that we’re only armed with a hat while everyone else has a reasonable weapon, but I love each one of us so much!! It felt perfect for me to have Himeko in my team during the upcoming fight too.

While I figured we were gonna be blessed with Robin’s appearance and one of her songs during the fight, can I just say that I was not expecting the assist mechanic to be the mother-forking Express?? I had joked somewhere sometime ago that if Pom-Pom were to ever become playable, that their ultimate would be running the enemy over with the train and color me surprised, because that’s pretty much what happens!!

So the final battle itself went pretty well. Took a bit more damage than before but still an easier fight overall than how Aventurine’s went for me. I knew I didn’t have to bring in our dear gambler in since the fight itself granted us shields, but his helped me just fine along with all those follow up attacks.

I think my Trailblazer managed to do pretty well too? I stressed so hard to break that 145 on speed to access that secondary buff of the Talia planar ornaments, so that’s why other stats may be a bit lacking. At least I have break effect at 197%.. is that reasonable?

Anyways, as much as I adore Serval, I had to use the train to deliver the final hit.

Pfft, ain’t no way. Sunday is really over.

Look at us protecting March, aww!

Trailblazer pulls off some last minute talk-no-jutsu to get through to Sunday’s head and with a heartfelt embrace from Robin, I think it’s time to start crying.

C’mon, look at how gorgeous this is!! Such a beautiful sunrise to witness after all the chaos is over.

Surprisingly, the credits roll again only this time it actually feels like a proper ending to the story. It even lists Acheron’s true name, yet March still remains a mystery. When will we ever learn? Who knows.

Final cutscene of the patch begins and what do you mean Argenti saved Aventurine??? When and how and why didn’t we get to witness such a moment with two of Star Rail’s most beautiful men!

Aventurine betting his own life once again.. oh dear, you never learn. Then again, it seems you never lose either so, go ahead sweetie. Go get that promotion you so rightfully deserve!

This scene also bums me out a little because I was really hoping we would actually get to see Jade arrive in game this time around, but it seems we’ll have to wait even longer. Cutting it a bit close to her release with it being in the same patch but at least she’s phase two. I’m pulling for her day one though. I don’t care what happens in the story, it won’t change my mind about her! (to be fair, I’ve seen some leaks about her gameplay and, oh my god..)

Boothill unexpectedly enters the room after knocking out the two IPC guards outside the door and we’re left with yet another cliffhanger. Definitely not as strong as a final scene as the previous two versions but no way a random name drop could match a sudden surprise death either.

And finally, that’s all for now. Penacony remains to be a story full of mysterious twists and there’s plenty more to see.. hopefully. We still have no clear idea what happened to Firefly, then there’s all those bombs Sparkle was handing out to everyone, we still have to officially meet Jade and see what she and Topaz have planned. Sunday and Robin were last seen falling from the sky so they gotta land safely and I haven’t a clue if we’ll even see Acheron again. Here’s hoping 2.3 ties up all loose ends and gives Penacony the finale it deserves!

[akehoshimystar]

Kiho's Personal Story

Roka: To this wonderful night... Cheers!!

Kiho: Cheers.

Roka: Mika!

Takeru: Sure, sure.

Roka: Fufu... Fufufu.

………

Flap

Kiho: Oh.

Roka: Zzzzz…..

Takeru & Kiho: ……..

After saying a toast for countless times, Roka slumped against the counter with a smile on his face. I looked at him for a few seconds. I caught sight of Mika behind the counter, and we both laughed and said, “Good work”.

Takeru: As always, the way he fell asleep is just like a baby. He was noisy until the very end.

Kiho: I thought he’d ask for another round of fortune telling. He ran out of energy now.

Takeru: Seems like he played putter golf with Shinobu and others on the rooftop during the day. He must have been pretty tired from the start.

Kiho: The rooftop here?

Takeru: Yeah. He bought a toy set from somewhere, and was playing in the office at first, but Ai-chan kicked him out.

Kiho: Must have been tough for Ai.

I took the glass, which is now filled with nothing but ice, from Roka’s hand and handed it to Mika.

Takeru: Thanks. What about you, Kiho?

Kiho: I don’t mind if we call it a day now…... But let’s see…. Can I have just one more drink?

Takeru: Of course. I’m about to start cleaning up now, but don't worry about me. Just take your time and drink.

Mika gracefully poured me some Ginjo and began closing up the bar as previously declared. As I watched him while enjoying my last drink of the day… I heard a muffled voice next to me.

Roka: ...I’ve come up with a great idea...

Kiho: What is it?

Roka: Nagashi somen for Christmas.

Kiho: We already did that last year. Water got all over the floor and Urara scolded us like we have just killed someone. We learned it hard way, didn’t we?

Roka: Fufu... Nghnnnn...

Takeru: Seriously, you’re way too sociable. Why bother replying when he’s already in his dreamworld?

Kiho: To my surprise, he can remember things when I ask him later. Maybe his brain is still up and awake.

Takeru: Even if that's the case, when I see you two together, I still feel strange.

Kiho: What’s strange about it?

Takeru: Who would have thought that you two would become such good friends for this long?

I gulped down the chilled sake in my mouth. And laughed lightly at what Mika said while he was polishing the sink.

Kiho: Mika, didn’t you say the same thing in the past?

Takeru: Oh, really? Well, I've been thinking about it for quite some time now.

I do understand why Roka is attached to Kiho, but Kiho also accepted him and that's why we’re where we are now.

I can’t guess at all what would lead you guys to this point.

Kiho: Accept him? I don't mean to act like I was playing hard-to-get.

Takeru: I think it's difficult for you not to act that way when that’s what you are. Well, not that I care.

Back then… Kyoya, Sei, Shizuka, Mao... Not sure if I should say this, but didn’t Kiho like hanging out with that kind of people?

Kiho: Interesting conclusion you’ve reached there. Well, if I were to sit next to someone on a long trip, I'd prefer someone among that list.

Takeru: I know right. In fact, I've never seen Kiho close the distance with someone crazy like Roka. That's why I find it very strange.

Even if he was one-sidedly attached to you and you found him annoying, you could have dealt with him however you wanted, but you didn't.

Kiho: Dealing with him?

Takeru: Smiling while giving him a cold shoulder. You're good at that, aren’t you?

Kiho: Oh. Now you’re slandering me.

Takeru: Who said I did? I don't think you have to worry about it, though.

Kiho: Haha.

I see... So that's how Mika sees us.

Then, I could say the same. The fact that Roka got attached to me is certainly strange.

Takeru: Maybe it’s not rocket science at all. Perhaps, it’s simply admiration.

Because Kiho has a lot of things that Roka doesn't have and wants.

Kiho: ...I'd be honored if that's the case.

Takeru: It's like crying for the moon. I think it's more or less a feeling that arises when people interact with each other.

Well, it's not every day that you find someone as dynamic as Roka. “A calm, intelligent leader who is respected by everyone”

Kiho: Haha. I feel bad for Roka, but I can't imagine that at all.

Takeru: I kind of agree. However, if I have such a dynamic idiot close by….

I might be able to think it's silly to worry about such trivial things like having high expectations or wishing for things that will never come true.

Kiho: …….

He makes me think that everyone can want what they want, step forward, reach out and grab it. I think anyone with self-strict personality would feel comfortable around Roka. There's a level of force and carefree attitude that allows you to surrender yourself to him.

Takeru: Unexpectedly, he can save the day.

Looking at Mika, who suddenly stopped and looked at Roka with gentle eyes, I thought to myself he is also one of the people Roka has "forgiven".

Kiho: (Crying for the moon, huh?)

Kiho: ......It hurts.

Takeru: Huh?

Kiho: Ah... Sorry. I’m just talking nonsense. My head just hurt for a moment.

Takeru: Oh no, are you okay? You still have that migraine after all.

Kiho: No, I probably just drank too much and got a little carried away today.

Thanks for the drink. I'll take Roka home.

Takeru: Just sit down for a bit. I'll call Shinobu now.

Today he went to the dormitory to clean Shizuka's house. After that, he would be drinking with Soyogu and others, but I think they should start talking about leaving now.

If he comes over here and I tell him he can take a taxi home with Roka, he’ll be happy to come and pick him up for sure.

Kiho: He’s drunk as a skunk and a bit of a pain right now, are you sure?

Takeru: That kid is probably drunk too. Here! Drink this and wait.

Kiho: Thank you.

After quickly handing me a glass of water, Mika went down to the staff room.

Kiho: (.…I ended up making him worried. I should have made a different excuse.)

(I can't think straight at all. I'm really a little drunk tonight.)

Roka: …….

Kiho: ……

I stared at the back of Roka’s head, motionless and as quiet as a dead body. I vaguely thought that it's been a long time seeing that his hair has gotten this long. I couldn’t really remember how short his hair was when we first met.

Roka: Hey, Misumi. I'm thinking of growing my hair out too, is that okay?

Why? There's only one reason. I want to be cool like you!

Not just as a host. As a human being, too.

Kiho: (.….Idiot.)

He has had something special from the beginning, but only he himself doesn’t know its value. Without realizing it, he chased after someone else, harboring unnecessary admiration. He's stupidly pure, he tries his best, and he loves people. There’s just no way anyone can hate him. He's the kind of person who is destined to be loved.

Kiho: It's not that I didn't reject him. I just couldn't, Mika.

I murmured the words I hadn't said earlier to the empty counter. I could see it from the moment we first met. If I had negative feelings about “this”, it would be the end. So I accepted him, and I won't reject him even in the future. If no one can see your true feelings, it's the same as not being there.

Kiho: (That's why….. You'll probably never know for the rest of your life.)

I reached out for the card I'd put aside in the corner. And flipped it over and saw what’s on it. I couldn't help but let out a dry laugh, which made Roka flinched. I find a tip of his hair swaying like a tail annoying for some reason, so I chuckled.

Kiho: Get up. Time to head home, Roka.

…….If I hate you, I’ll be swept away for sure.

[marvelsage]

Wednesday & Wick

CHAPTER: TWO

SETTING: Weathervane Cafe

You had been sitting in the back corner of the cafe when Wednesday had entered. You didn’t put too much thought into her conversation with Tyler until he offered to drive her to the train station in Burlington. You watched as her attempts to bribe him failed, and opted to just wait. Scanning the cafe and she stopped on you and decided to approach.

“Hello, Wednesday.” You greet continuing to read an old family journal.

“Y/n. What are you doing here?”

“Reading.”

“Reading what?”

“A journal.”

“What’s it about?”

“Wednesday, do you really care or are just wasting time until coffee boy takes you to the train station?” Finally meeting her gaze over the rim of the journal, as usual she had an emotionless expression but you could see it in her eyes she found it the tiniest bit amusing to annoy you.

“How did you know he was taking me to the station?”

“I have ears, darling. And you weren’t exactly whispering.”

“Are you not going to inform Principal Weem?” Sighing you decide to just close the journal for now since you were stuck reading the same line over and over again.

“It’d be a waste of my time.”

“Why-”. Before she could question further the bell chimes above the door and the mayors son and his friends come. You sit up and put your journal away as they head straight for your table.

“What are Nevermore freaks doing out in the wild?”

“This is our booth.”

“Why are you three dressed like religious fanatics?”

“We’re pilgrims.”

“Potato, po-tah-to.” You silently laugh as you lean back and watch the scene unfold enjoying the way Wednesday was handling the situation.

“We work at Pilgrim World.”

“It’s takes a special kind of stupid to devote an entire theme park to zealots responsible for mass genocide.”

“My dad owns Pilgrim World. Who you calling stupid?”

“If the buckled shoe fits.”

“Guys, back off.” Tyler appeared behind them.

“Stay out of this, Galpin.”

“Yes, stay out of this.” You sat forward anticipating Wednesdays next move as she stands.

“So tell me, freak…you ever been with a normie?”

“I’ve never found that could handle me.” You could feel her dark aura surrounding her and your hand twitches to reach out for it. Instead you focus your attention elsewhere, like the two goons at her back.

“Boo!”

“Hey!” In a split second you grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back using the momentum to shove to the side. Easily dodging the other ones attempts at swinging at you.

“All these years of bullying people, you’d think you know how to throw a punch.” Grabbing his fist, he tries to yank it back but you don’t budge instead you grab his head and slam it into the table and let him fall to the ground whining.

“I could’ve handled that.” You survey the scene around you and then her.

“I know.” You mentally roll your eyes as Tyler steps up next to her. You tune out their little chit chat and gather your stuff as the door opens and incomes the sheriff.

“Dad.”

“Tyler, the hell’s going on in here?”

“They were harassing customers, and they put them in their place.”

“Wick, I can see that for you. But this little thing? Did you step in?” You rolled your eyes at the comments.

“Dad, I swear, I wasn’t involved.” Principle Weems rushes in and you straightened out knowing it was time to go. She apologies and ushers us along, briefly stopping when the sheriff announces to the whole world about Wednesdays dad.

“I’ll see you at the school Principle Weems. I have an appointment.” You gesture behind you somewhere.

“As soon as you get back to school to my office immediately, do you understand?” You jokingly bow to her.

“Of course, Lady Weems of Nevermore.” You send a wave to Wednesday as she remains stoic but gives a slight nod.

(A/N: Sorry slowly working in the Wednesday and Y/n interactions. Thank you all again for the love and support! A few people have asked so if you would like to be tagged pls let me know and I’ll start tagging on the next one!)