#i wonder what happens when Ghost comes back

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 11 - More Then Friends

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: mentions of blood, its all fluff.

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

Price, Ghost and Gaz left first. Leaving before the sun was up in a somewhat hectic rush. Their plan was to get over the border then commandeer a car or something. Price said it could be a few days before you hear from them but they will send word. 

Soap sulked down the stairs an hour or so later, when the sun was just peaking through the clouds. You can’t wait to leave here and never come back. The whole blood soaked place can burn to the ground for all you care.

“They left already.” You say as he comes to sit on the sofa next to you.

“I know. Si- Ghost came to say bye.” He shuffles on the couch rubbing his burnt arm. You’ll need to change the dressing before you leave. “We should get going soon. We need to get a car. It’s easier to do while it’s still dark out.” 

You follow Soap’s orders in silence, the lack of sleep is finally catching up with you. You change the dressing as Soap grits his teeth complaining about itching. You have no idea if it’s healing or if its still supposed to look the way it does. It’s only been a day or so anyway. 

When you’re done Soap steals some supplies- mostly food -from the safehouse and you set out to look for a vehicle. It doesn’t take you long to find a rather old looking car, you keep an eye out while Soap hotwires it like he’s done this a thousand times. Before you know it you’re on the road driving back to Sakhra.

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks after at least an hour of silence, you were starting to doze off. His question jolts you awake and you look over at him. 

“Why did you kiss me?” You ask. He smiles.

“I just had to, you’re stunning lass.” He says, it makes you blush. You turn to look out the window of the car. 

“Don’t falter me, a few days ago you would have put a bullet in my head.” 

“Yeah, we’re not merciless killers though.” You scoff, they’re soldiers, they're trained killers. You sit there in silence. 

“You’re a good kisser.” He says suddenly. 

“What- I mean. It was just a kiss.” You say feeling embarrassed, he just laughs. That annoys you, he’s being so chill about it, what if Price found out? What if he finds out then decides you’re a liability?

“You all seem close.” You say trying to move the subject on from you and Johnny. 

“Closer than you think.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“We’re a close unit. Worked together for years. When you spend so much time together, you develop a strong relationship.” He says switching between watching the road and your expression. You have an eyebrow raised, you expected him to continue. 

“Brothers in arms right?” You say, you’ve heard that before from soldiers.

“More than that.” You shake your head scoffing. He’s playing with you, trying to wind you up. What's closer than brothers? 

“You fucking each other or somthing.” You joke back. He doesn’t say anything, you turn back to look at him frowning. He’s just smiling, the cheekiest grin you think you’ve ever seen. “Really? You’re messing with me.” He just laughs, it doesn’t help you decide if he’s joking or not.

You let out a sigh looking out at the winding road. You’re not far now.

____

When you make it back to the ULF base the place is almost empty. You both head straight to the doctor who fixes your stitches and tends to Soap’s arm as well as giving him a pot of burn cream and instructions. 

When you’re done you both go to see Farah. Alex is with her, they both look tired. The table is filled with maps dotted with big red X’s. You look round as Soap catches them up on what happened. You wonder if Price has sent word yet, you hope they’re okay.

“-We take out Konni, before they make it any further south.” Farah says, you look over at them, catching the end of the conversation. 

“We don’t know if Konni are moving or not. Price will be able to give us some idea.” Soap says.

“We could be waiting days for that.” Alex says crossing his arms, he doesn’t have a sling anymore, maybe his arm was just sprained.

“They attacked their own bases?” You ask pointing at the map. 

“They want to shift the blame to us.” Farah says.

“The fact they used American weapons on civilians has got the US all wound up.” Alex says.

“They’re spreading us thin, I’ve already lost 20 men. We can’t fight them on the front without leaving ourselves open to attacks.” Farah sighs.

“You have weapons from the US, why not fight back?” You ask. There’s silence, people look around at you like you’ve just asked them to do something impossible. 

“If we fire on them we lose our advantage.” She says.

“Which is?” Soap asks.

“If the Americans come, they won’t be after us.” She says. You look down at the map, the new line Al Qatala have formed. There’s no news if Konni or Al Qatala forces have made a move from the border, it seems like they’re waiting for the ULF to make a move first. 

It’s too many targets for Farah to handle alone. 

“What about hitting them at the source? Take out the rest of their weapons.” You say pointing at the farm you know they’ve been storing munitions and rockets.

“They were fired from Russia.” Alex said.

“No, they were fired from inside the country. I bet if it's going to be anywhere it’s there.” You tap the map. Farah and Alex look at eachother. 

“A full scale raid is not possible.” She says, stepping back from the table.

“We could go in quiet.” Soap says. “Just the 4 of us.” 

“The place will be heavily guarded. They could have also moved them elsewhere.” Farah says.

“Even if we don’t find the missiles we will deal a pretty big blow to their resources.” Soap says. “You need all the help you can get.” 

“Okay. Tonight, you should get some rest.” Farah says. Soap smiles at her and Alex. He grabs your arm gently pulling you out of the room. You’re heading down to the sleeping quarters before Soap grabs your arm pulling you into a store room. 

“Hey!” You call, you almost trip over something as his hands grab your shoulders and he pushes you up against the wall. Before you have a chance to say anything his lips lock onto yours. His kiss is needy, his tongue pressing into your mouth. You hum, closing your eyes and letting your hands drop to his waist. 

“Johnny.” You breathe as he pulls his lips off you, his mouth moving to your neck. His hands 

“What?” He asks, he’s not stopping though, running his tongue up your neck.

“What if Price found out?” 

“What do you mean?” He says. “Want him to join, I reckon he’ll be down for that.” He chuckles, now you’re convinced he's winding you up. You push your hands up his shirt and he grip your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, you’re sure he’ll be leaving marks. You run your fingers up his chest, feeling each muscle and scar. He’s hairy, you don’t care, now you’re getting needy, his lips running over you sucking on the sensitive spots on your neck. 

He looks up down at you, his hands come to hold your face. “I’m so glad I got you first. I thought I was going to have to fight off Gaz, or Price.” You frown at him but before you can press him further he kisses you. You drop your hands from his chest, gripping his waist and pulling him closer to you. 

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door. You freeze, you didn’t think anyone knew you were in here.

“Soap? There’s word from Price.” it’s Alex’s voice. Johnny smiles down at you.

“We’ll finish this later.” He says quietly before reaching over to open the door. You feel yourself blushing as Alex raises an eye at you both. Johnny slaps him on the shoulder and they walk away.

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[sxmmerberries]

Bottled Emotions - choi soobin x reader

✦ genre: angst

✦ pairing: choi soobin as your ex-boyfriend

✦ word count: 1, 559

✦ warning: mentions of depression and drinking

✦ summary: a stranger called your ex, soobin, who you broke up with and ghosted months ago, to take you home as you got drunk at a bar

Soobin was just about to call it a night, but before he could do so, his phone buzzed with an unknown number. He frowned, wondering who would be calling him so late at night. He answered the call and spoke in a cautious tone, “Hello? Who is this?”

“Hey, is this Soobin?,” the unknown voice asked with a hint of urgency in her tone.

"Yeah, it is. Who is this?,” He asked warily, a bit suspicious of the person on the other end of the phone.

“So I met this girl, Y/ N, in the bathroom of the bar. She is really drunk. She apparently came alone, and I went through her phone for a contact to call her and found your number,” the stranger explained.

Soobin's heart clenched as he heard the mention of Y/N's name. The pain of the break up was still fresh in his mind, and he had been avoiding you as much as possible.

He had been trying to focus on moving on, and now he was being dragged back into your world. He sighed, conflicted about what to do. On one hand, he doesn't want to ever see your face again, and on the other hand, he can't just leave you all alone and abandoned at a bar when you were that drunk. He knew what you were like when you get drunk, running off in any random direction and being a cute idiot.

“And what do you want me to do about it?,” He tried to sound nonchalant as if he didn't give a damn about what happened to you even though he was worried sick for you within.

"I was wondering if you could pick her up and take her home. She's a bit of a mess right now, and I don't know where she lives. I don't think she'll appreciate a stranger taking her home,” the stranger spoke in a pleading tone, hoping that Soobin would agree to help.

He unknowingly let out a bitter smile as he reminisced about the times he dragged you to bed after you were drunk and how he helped you with your hangover as you grumbled in the morning or how you used to drunkenly confess all your love for him cutely.

“Fine, I am coming to pick her up. Text me the address,” He sighed, grabbing his car keys and heading out to his car.

As Soobin made his way to the bar, his heart was about to burst with emotions. He couldn't deny the fact that he still cared for you, despite the pain you caused him. He knew that he was doing this as a favour, but he couldn't help wanting to see you again.

It had been months since he had last seen you months since you guys had broken up. Months since he had heard your voice, seen your face. He had spent so much time trying to get over you, trying to move on, and now this. The “Let's never see each other again” rang through his head constantly as he drove.

When he arrived at the bar, he parked his car and got out, walking towards the entrance. He could already hear the loud music and lively chatter coming from inside.

The bar was crowded, with people talking loudly and music playing in the background. Soobin searched for any sign of the drunk, finally spotting you sitting in a corner with an unknown girl standing with her.

He approached her and took the glass away from your hand and smiled at the stranger, “Thank you for taking care of her. I'll take her home now.”

“No problem, I just wanted to make sure she went home safely,” The stranger gave you one last pat on the head and left to be with her friends.

“Soobie, is that you?,” Y/N looked up as Soobin stood in front of you, your eyes widened in surprise.

“Can you walk?,” He asked bluntly, taking in your flushed state.

“Yes, I can,” Your lie was exposed immediately as you tried to stand up from the tool and fell on the ground.

Soobin sighed at the sight before helping you stand up and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes despite your protests and walked out of the bar

He reached his car and carefully placed you in the passenger seat, making sure she was buckled in before shutting the door and getting into the driver's seat. The silence in the car was tense, and Soobin couldn't help but steal glances at you as he started the engine to drive away from the bar.

“Soobin? I am sorry,” You apologized in your drunken state, your words slurring over.

“Sorry doesn't fix anything, Y/N. I don't want to hear anything,” He focused on the road, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

You slumped in your seat in disappointment as you felt a pang of guilt in your chest. The rest of the ride was silent with Soobin ignoring your existence and you looking out of the window as the neighbourhood you lived in came into view.

He couldn't help but feel a mix of frustration and resentment towards you. He had pushed his feelings for you to the back of his mind, but now, seeing you drunk like this, brought back all the pain he had gone through when you broke up with him.

“I'll just drop her off and never ever see her again,” He thought.

Finally, you reached your apartment building, and Soobin parked the car. He got out and went around to the passenger side door, opening it and helping you out.

They slowly made their way to your apartment door, and Soobin waited as you fumbled with your keys, trying to find the right one. He side eyed you as he huffed in annoyance.

“Just give it to me,” He snatched the keys out of your hand and unlocked the door for you.

He pushed the door open and guided you inside, flicking on the light switch on. Soobin had been here many times before, and the familiar surroundings hit him like a wave of déjà vu.

He helped you to the couch, making you sit down on it before bringing a glass of water for you to drink from the kitchen.

"Drink it all,”

“No, I need to apologise first. I don't think I'll ever get a chance like this ever again,”

"It's a little too late for apologies, don't you think?,” He crossed his arms and looked down at you, with a cold look.

“I am so sorry for everything. I shouldn't have pushed you away or walked away without any explanation that day,” You apologized, staring at the ground, not having the courage to face him directly.

"You think sorry is enough? You think just saying sorry will magically fix everything?,” Soobin let out a bitter chuckle.

“I am so sorry. I didn't want to burden you any further,” You winced, feeling the coldness of his tone.

"Burden? Is that what you think I saw you as? A burden?,” Soobin stared at you blankly.

“I didn't want you to waste your time on me…You didn't deserve to be constantly walking on thin ice because of me. You didn't deserve to be constantly comforting me for things beyond your control. You didn't deserve to be kept awake for nights just so I don't have another nightmare. You didn't deserve to be constantly abandoning things just to take care of me. You deserve so much better, Soobin” Your voice cracked at the end as you kept your tears in.

"You think I didn't want to be there for you? I loved taking care of you. I did that because I love and I care about you,” Soobin knelt down to your level and cupped your cheeks in his hands.

“I wish you'd have just talked to me about it. We could've figured out something together,” He sighed, wiping away the tears that escaped.

“I am sorry for being so selfish, but I miss you a lot. I miss you every day, every hour, every minute, every second. Everything reminds me of you. Please just stay. I am sorry. I won't do it again. I'll do better. Please don't go,” You begged, grasping his hand in yours

"You can't just push me away and then beg me to stay. You broke my heart and ghosted me for months, Y/N. It doesn't work like that,” Soobin removed his hand away from yours, his resolve slowly dissolving.

"I am so sorry, please. I want-no-I need you. I'll do anything you want, please. Please don't go,” You grasped his hand, gripping it tightly as if he'd disappear any second.

Soobin's eyes widened in shock as you begged him to stay. He never saw you this desperate for something ever.

“We need to talk about all this properly. Not like this when you're drunk,” He sighed, pulling you off of the couch and heading towards your room with you following behind him.

“Sleep, we'll talk in the morning,” He helped you get into bed, tucked you in before closing the door behind him and taking a seat on the living room couch.

“This was such a long night,” He sighed as he ran his hand through his hair.

©sxmmerberries

more txt fics

beta reading: @arafilez

networks: @moadiarynet @k-films @kstrucknet @starlit-network

[clxssified-mirxcle]

God, I'm so Lovesick ᯓ★ Satoru

Satoru Gojo isn’t normal. Not as a sorcerer, not as a coworker, not as a friend, and certainly not as a friend with benefits. After all, why does he keep insisting on doing all the things that a couple does when you two clearly aren’t? It's almost like he likes you or something!

Containing:

Friends with Benefits, Satoru and you being complete idiots, Obliviousness, Unrequited (not really) love, Implied suggestive content, Denial is a river in Egypt...and also in Reader's head apparently, Impulsive confession

Notes: Mimi tries to avoid use of phrase "Y/N" at all costs; Wrote this with Fem!Reader in mind but tried not to mention it very often. Any feedback is appreciated esp when it comes to writing x readers in general!

Nowadays, it feels like you're waking up in his bed more often than not. Silk sheets, sun rays streaming through the floor to ceiling windows of the penthouse, and that grin of his. His hand messed up your hair when he noticed that you were awake, tangled from the activities that have become more and more frequent ever since you two made that deal.

Six months ago..

"Aren't you supposed to be on a date or something?"

You looked up from your paperwork- your students had just come back from another mission with a grade 3 curse. It was your co-worker, white hair and blindfolded in black. You sighed, wondering how he always knew. It'd been going on like this for a while now- you'd find someone to talk to, and just as you were to go out on a date, they'd cancel last minute or ghost you- it made you wonder if it was a curse sometimes.

"Does that Six Eyes of yours count towards other people's love lives or something?" You asked, rolling your eyes and signing the last page before filing it away. You hadn't even bothered to dress up this time- you felt like something happening was inevitable. You and Gojo were somewhat close, you supposed. Not enough to be on a first name basis, but enough to be friendly. He always laughed and said you were being too picky about it, to just call it being friends. So that's what you did.

You called it being friends, but with you both being sorcerers, it wasn't the most normal of friendships. He'd barge into your office proclaiming that the two of you should hang out, which often ended up with him lying on the couch and talking while you did your paperwork…and his as well.

It was nice, though, listening to him talk. You couldn't tell half the time whether his stories were real or not, and he'd usually bring sweets with him. Whether or not you had to bribe him to get them depended on how nice he felt that day about sharing.

"Shame. They're losing out," He commented as he swung your office chair to face him, a hand on one of the armrests. "We should go out for drinks then. You can drink your sorrows away, and I-"

"Gojo, you don't drink. It messes with Infinity, doesn't it?" You said, cutting him off with an unimpressed look. He probably just wanted to laugh at you while you cried and take blackmail photos. The man had a folder full of Megumi photos; he probably had one filled with ones of you at awkward angles too. It was comical how dramatic his face was as it fell, looking like you'd killed a puppy in front of him.

"You're such a party killer…but that's not a no to going out, is it?" He grinned, switching back quickly and leaning back. "Let's get milkshakes, then. I know this one American-style diner in Harajuku that specialises in them."

"…Do I even have a choice?" You asked, crossing your arms in your chair. When it came to sweets, the man was nothing short of ravenous.

"Nope!" Gojo chimed, using the sleeve of your uniform to pull you up and tug you with him as he headed out the door. "And stop with that 'Gojo' stuff, will you? Call me Satoru, like a normal friend."

The ride to the diner was…relatively uneventful, though you could feel his eyes on you the entire time if you weren't looking. You both were looking through the menu before you got fed up with his staring- he'd been staring, almost studying you over his menu.

"Spit it out, Gojo." You sighed, still holding up the pretence of looking through the menu. You'd decided on what you wanted a while ago, anyways.

"What do you mean, spit it out? I'm not doing anything of that sort." He said, a faux-innocent expression on his face as he put down the menu, calling over a waiter to order.

You finally looked up from your menu as the waiter took them and gave your order, leaving with a strange look at Gojo's white hair and blindfold. Your eyes narrowed as you both waited for your drinks. "You keep staring at me weird. Spit it out already." It was probably just a prank that he wanted to pull on Nanami or something.

"You ever heard of an arrangement called being friends with benefits?" He asked casually, one arm resting over the top of his booth chair, already talking before you could answer. The milkshakes had come by, and while they looked delicious, they sat abandoned for now. "I'm interested in one. With you. You don't need to worry about feelings, anything like that. If you're not into it, then I understand, and we can-"

Your first instinct was to say no. That it was a stupid idea. Your second was that it was a prank. Your third…considered it. After all, Gojo wasn't bad looking. Far from it, to be exact. White hair that you knew was soft because of how he once spent an afternoon talking about his hair products that perfectly matched his eyes. Oh, those eyes. You'd only seen them twice, but they were unforgettable. They had to be the prettiest ones you'd ever seen, a cross between some sort of gemstone or crystal and blue glacier ice.

Fuck it, you're sorcerers. You'd have to be dreaming if you expected to live a long life...though Gojo probably would, being the 'Honoured One' and all.

You were so caught up thinking…or admiring, sipping on your milkshake, that you didn't notice that he was still talking when you answered.

"I'll do it."

"That's totally fine! I don't want to pressure you into anything and- wait what?" You'd never seen Gojo so stunned before. You couldn't see his eyes behind that blindfold of his, and he was ever so thankful for that because he just knew that the way his eyes widened was embarrassing.

You couldn't help smiling, leaning back against the back of your booth as you relaxed. "I said that I'd do it, Gojo."

"Then call me Satoru. It's only right if we're going to be in this sort of relationship," His mouth turned up into a grin that you knew meant he was about to say something weird. "After all, I can't have you calling me by my last name while we're-"

You silenced him before he could say anything else by shooting him a glare. "Gojo, I swear to God-"

"What're you thinking about?" His voice, slightly rough from sleep. He had one arm around you as he leaned down, pressing his lips to your neck before you playfully swatted him away. "C'mon, tell me!"

"Ack- Watch it Pretty Boy! I just woke up!" You giggled, burying your body further in the sheets. "Just thinking about when we first made the deal." According to the man, you'd become a lot more cheerful lately, and you were inclined to agree. Probably because you two started spending time together a lot often.

"Oh yeah? Well… I don't know about you, but I'm thinking about spending the day together. I have a vision and everything." Satoru grinned, sitting up and tugging on your arm like he had that day, when your relationship with him changed. You couldn't help but laugh as he all but pushed you into the bathroom, closing the door.

He'd changed since then, too. Or rather, his behaviour towards you did, at the very least. Sure, there were the times when he'd barge into your office, but you'd rarely see him outside of Jujutsu High. Since the previous November, you found yourself seeing him nearly every single day…and often every night, with the nature of your arrangement. It was almost like having a boyfriend. Almost. Because he wasn't your boyfriend. The way he'd take you out, for dinners and to places that could've passed for dates? The way that he'd make breakfast for you in the morning while you were asleep even though he preferred to just reheat food? How he'd grin just a bit wider whenever you called him Pretty Boy?

It made you almost double guess yourself sometimes.

Because sometimes, you'd wake up to him asleep, his arm holding you close to him like you'd leave the moment you woke up, and you'd almost believe that this whole arrangement was something more. Because he'd sense that you just weren't up to it occasionally, and instead say "Let's just sleep tonight, I'm tired and it's late. You should just stay over,"

And so you'd wish for something more.

It was an impossible dream, really. He was Gojo Satoru, for heaven's sake. The strongest, whose birth shook the world of Sorcerers and humans alike to its core when his eyes opened to reveal a power that hadn't been seen for at least a century. It'd take nothing short of a miracle for someone like him to become remotely interested in you.

You came out of the shower to a new dress laid out on the already made sheets. He was clearly planning something fancy; from the soft fabric to the floral blue pattern that sprawled across the white cloth. It was beautiful, and not the first outfit he'd gotten you, but as you put it on…you couldn't help but wish that he'd given it to you because he liked you. Not as a friend, not as a co-worker, not as whatever you were now, but as someone to love. God, he confused you. He had to know what he was doing, acting like this.

He wouldn't tell you where you two were going no matter how much you pestered him, meaning you had to rely on your memory. He took you from train station before you two finally got onto a bullet train and watched as the city turned into countryside. Getting off onto some station in the middle of nowhere, Satoru grinned as he ignored your questions and linked your arms together, pulling you close to him.

"Sorry, Sunshine, but I couldn't have you figuring out where we were going." He murmured, winking. You hadn't even realised that he'd neglected to put on the blindfold today.

"Pretty boy, what do you mean-" Your voice was cut off by your own yelp as you felt the familiar rush of queasiness as your surroundings morphed.

Of course something felt off. He hadn't fucking teleported them.

"Satoru, I swear to-" Your voice that was about to raise faltered, as you looked around. "…Where are we?" Your lips whispered, mind, body and soul utterly entranced by the sight that lay before you.

It was beautiful. You and Satoru were standing on the bank of a lake that was filled with floating red lotuses, the overhead sun making the water that you could see shimmer with flecks of pale yellow and gold.

"Somewhere in Northern Thailand. Nice, isn't it?" He answered from where he was standing, one arm around you- you hadn't even noticed when he'd done it- with a smile on his face.

The words 'Nice is an understatement' were caught in your throat as you turned to look at him, lips slightly parted open in what was normal to him, but to you was in absolute awe.

Satoru was always a good looking guy, handsome even. But oh, he was radiant. His white hair was striking on a normally, but in the sun on a day like this, you swore that it was glowing like a halo around him. Blue eyes that looked like they were made out of stained glass and long lashes that looked almost frosted in snow that would never melt. You both were in your mid 20's, but the one word that came to mind when looking at him was boyish, and it made a smile rise to your face as he took your hands in his.

"Dance with me, C'mon!" He said, eyes sparkling in a way that made you second guess everything again, eyes widening and cheeks heating up in a way you knew you had many times before…though you were pretty sure Satoru never noticed. You nodded, slightly stunned as he started leading you in something resembling a waltz, a giddy laugh escaping your lips.

"There's not even any music to dance to!" You spoke, laughter seeping through the pauses of your words as you took one hand off his shoulder to try and get hair out of your face from how he spun you around.

"I got it all in here, don't worry!" He smiled, guiding your free hand to just over his heart, and you prayed that he couldn't feel how warm your skin was or how your own heartbeat sped up.

"You're so stupid…" You mumbled, looking away as that smile got to you again.

Really, you had to get a hold of yourself. This was getting unbearable.

"Stupid? After I got you this?" He asked, a shit eating grin on his face as he turned you around, taking out a small jewelry box. "I'd be crushed if you thought that of me after this."

You felt the smooth chill of metal against the skin of your neck, instinctively looking down. He'd gotten a necklace. Aquamarine set in silver, the metal swirling around it in fibers so thin they looked almost liquid in the sun. It was beautiful.

And so, so wrong. Because a gift like this was something you got for someone special, and you…you weren't special to Satoru. Not in the way you wished it to be. Not enough to warrant what you were pretty sure was a custom made necklace that clearly cost more than double your monthly rent

So why did it create that familiar pit in your stomach? That blockage in your throat which didn't go away no matter how hard you swallowed?

You turned around and could barely get the words out, voice quiet as you whispered, "…Satoru, I can't-"

"You can't what?" He asked, a mix between a confused look and smile on his face. "I know I've never bought you jewelry before, but-"

"I can't do this anymore!" The words came out of your mouth faster than you realised. His mouth was still open from when he was speaking, and his eyes were wide in what one could only describe as utter shock.

Silence fell over you both. He was looking at you like you were someone special.

Oh. You'd messed up.

Oh.

You felt wetness on your cheeks. Strange, it wasn't raining.

You were crying, weren't you?

Looking at Satoru, he was about to cry as well.

"Satoru, I- I-" Your lips were wobbly as you slowly stepped away, barely holding yourself together. You were trying to look at anywhere else but him, really, hands fisted in your clothing with enough force to worry about the fabric ripping.

"I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore. I just-"

You were cut off by Satoru's voice so quiet yet so loud, faltering in a way at the end that just made your heart break. "Did I do something wrong? Tell me, please. I can- I can make things better. I'll make it better. Whatever it is, just tell me and-"

"No, you really can't." You whispered, forcing out a smile as you wiped your tears, the necklace, as delicate as it was, weighing like a thick chain of solid steel on your body. "Because you make everything better, you see. And that's the problem. I've not been a very good friend with benefits to you, you see."

"I've gone and fallen for you, and the worst part is that I don't even know when it started. I just look at you and feel dizzy with how my heart starts beating so fast."

That's strange. Why was he smiling with the purest form of relief on his face when he had been fighting a look of utter despair beforehand? He had to have lost it. Congratulations, you're to be credited as the person who made Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer, lose his mind faster than any curse. Fantastic.

"That's embarassing. I arrange all this, get you nice jewelry, and you still steal the first confession?" He said, half to himself as he ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe I should've listened and told you sooner."

You couldn't do anything else but stare, mouth agape with confusion as he stepped forward towards you, eyes filled with nothing short of adoration on his face.

"I had all planned out, really. I honestly had half the mind that you already knew." Satoru grinned, staring at you like you were the only one in the world. You were so close to him. Sure, you'd been closer, but everything felt different. Lighter. As if the necklace had lost all its weight since he had put it on you.

"You didn't know at all?" He asked, his fingers briefly resting on your hand before traveling up to rest on your cheek, bring your face closer to him.

"Not one bit." You breathed out, as you both leaned in, eyes closing and lips meeting.

It wasn't your first kiss, not by a long shot.

But you were pretty sure it was your favourite.

Taglist: [2/50, Comment to be added!]

@evilari111 @the2ndl

Credits ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Made everything myself on Canva! Got images from Pinterest!

© 2024 clxssified-mirxcle. All work belongs to @clxssified-mirxcle. Do NOT repost, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms. clxssified-mirxcle does NOT consent to having her work used to train AI in any form and does NOT support any form of AI 'art' whatsoever.

[breadvidence]

Why each Jean Valjean can't fuck. And yet...

The Brick: The first time you come on to the man, he smiles. The next time, he gives you money (hey, you're not too proud). Then? He ghosts you. So much for physical prowess; the two of you never made it to first base. Whether out of choice, trauma, or authorial fetish, the man's a committed virgin. And yet... you have to admit, the sweet memories of how those muscles looked during the whole cart debacle have done more for your alone-time than some in-person performances.

'34: The strength, the money, the air of dignity—he's got the same appeal as the original, and if he embodies his sadness with the aesthetic of a melting candle, well, that's a phallic-adjacent image, ain't it? Awful shame he's just as caught up in his penance and his duty, too. With a sorrowful (if somewhat aggrieved) shrug, he's off to the sewers, and that's not any kind of euphemism. And yet... you've seen how he can balance a guy on his back and not bat an eyelash. A person has got to wonder about natural talent.

'35: You think you can get between him and that young woman he raised, do you? And yet... if you did, that's a lot of built-up frustration, isn't it? And he's mediocre handsome; maybe it's all a matter of how lonely the night is.

'48: You hear he's into this identity play, right? Well, you appreciate a man who can play a role. From all you've heard, it'll be as explosive as an inexplicable outbreak of violence in a foundry. He takes out a cane—hell, yeah. Then a pair of sunglasses—well, maybe—no—is he pretending to be blind?—is this ableist—?—you're pretty sure—good grief, this hasn't gone in a direction you expected. And yet... you know he got another guy to enter a hole despite there being zero sense to the thing; maybe the same will happen to you.

'52: There are men who could fuck if they could learn to appreciate what they've got, and this one can't; multiple boyfriends in the wings and what's he got eyes on? That young woman he raised. And yet... something makes Robert come home every night, doesn't it?

'58: What's he look like? what's he say, or do? You can't quite remember. You keep forgetting to add him to your body count. And yet... you can't actually say he can't fuck, with the memory so vague.

'67: This fuckin' party time rolls down the tracks until it drinks too heavy and falls right off. You can't even call it bad so much as absurd, but you can only go so far off-script before it's certainly not good. And yet... how many friends have you told about it, eh?

'72: Fucking a glacier would be a less chilly experience. And yet... he'll give you the silent disappointed daddy look the whole time, if that's your kind of thing.

'78: This fella's wearing a promise ring for someone else. Or, a sacred vow ring? In any case, he's pretty sure all that sweating and grimacing would be bad for his skin. And yet... there's a clueless virgin trope in a certain kind of fiction for a reason, right?

'98: His belief in worker ownership of the means of production and strong ACAB stance might get you in the mood, but this Valjean hasn't gotten to the point in his politics where he's unpacked the impact of heterosexism on his ability to express vulnerability, by which I mean he's absolutely not going down on you. And yet... he survives the story and still has time to learn and grow, and it's hard to beat a sugar daddy who hands out company shares.

'00: No. And yet... no.

'07: The impediment of being a cartoon aside, makes it real hard to be skilled when his mustache mostly stands in for his mouth. And yet... the potential of cartoon physics, am I right?

'12: With that little fluid in his body the only flag this babe's raising is at low tide in a dry-dock. And yet... your nostalgia does a lot to shine a positive light on the performance he can muster.

'18: I've seen what it looks like when he roars into a mattress and can tell you not to bother; nobody's that frustrated who's been having a good time, and he'll pass the energy along. And yet... maybe I would have a different opinion if I'd been viewing him from behind?

[h50europe]

From Evan Buckley With Love... also on AO3

Tonight, Fire Station 217 is transformed into a scene of elegance and festivity. The station's gritty atmosphere is replaced by twinkling lights and decorations as everyone dresses up for a special charity event. The goal is to raise money to renovate the children's wing of a nearby hospital, and the community has come together to make it happen.

Tommy and Lucy take to the dance floor, their laughter and joy contagious as they sway to the music. On a hunch, Tommy eagerly buys several raffle tickets, hoping for a stroke of luck.

As the drawing progresses, anticipation builds. When Tommy's number is finally called, a cheer erupts from his colleagues at their table. Grinning from ear to ear, he makes his way to the stage to claim his prize: a beautifully wrapped lemon loaf, one of his all-time favorite treats. The loaf is adorned with a cute tag featuring a hand-drawn fire engine, adding a personal touch to the prize.

Returning to his table, Tommy is greeted with applause and hearty congratulations from his fellow firefighters.

Tommy turns the tag over and his face falls. His stomach clenches, and his lungs feel like they're being sucked dry.

"What's the matter with you, Tommy? You look like you've seen a ghost," Lucy says worriedly.

But Tommy remains silent, clutching the tag and staring at it as if it were a cursed object. In a way, it is. The text on the tag reads From Evan Buckley with love. "This is a bad joke," he mutters. He can't believe he bought the ticket that would win his ex-boyfriend's handmade loaf.

How could Tommy have known that Evan had gone into a baking frenzy after their breakup? When his family and friends couldn't take another loaf, he spent a weekend wrapping and labeling them. He donated five loaves to charities around town, and one of them ended up at the 217.

What were the odds that Tommy, of all people, would win one in the raffle? Was it fate? Or was someone playing a cruel joke?

Tommy couldn't tell. But whatever it was, it killed his mood and brought back a wave of emotions and memories.

"Excuse me, I need some fresh air," he mumbles and runs off, leaving the loaf on the table.

His colleagues are wondering what happened. Curious, Lucy looks at the label and immediately knows what caused Tommy's strange behavior, but she keeps it to herself and gets up. The others watch her curiously.

"I'll go check on him," she explains and follows Tommy outside…

Tommy bursts through the side door of the 217 and into the fresh night air. The city is alive with the sounds of distant traffic and the occasional honk of a horn. The cool breeze carries the faint scent of blooming flowers from a nearby park, mingling with the aroma of street food from a vendor down the block. Neon lights from the surrounding buildings cast a colorful glow on the wet pavement, creating reflections reminiscent of a kaleidoscope. But Tommy remains oblivious to the vibrant display, leans against a lamppost and tries to catch his breath.

The night sky is clear, the stars twinkling like distant memories. He can hear the muffled laughter and chatter from inside the venue, a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling inside him. The air feels heavy with the weight of the past pressing down on his chest.

Lucy steps outside, her heels clicking softly on the pavement. She spots Tommy and approaches him cautiously, her concern evident in her eyes. As she walks toward him, her mind races. All this because of that note? she wonders. I knew they had a rough breakup, but this…

The city buzzes around them, but now it feels like they are the only two people in the world. Lucy's thoughts drift to the times she saw Tommy and Evan together and how happy they seemed. "He doesn't deserve this kind of pain," she thinks, her heart aching for her friend.

"Tommy," she says softly, "are you okay?"

Tommy looks up, his eyes reflecting the neon lights, and takes a deep breath. "I just… I wasn't expecting this," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lucy nods, understanding the unspoken words. The night air envelops them, a silent witness to the resurfacing emotions.

"I'll be here for him," she decides, determined to help him through this moment. "Do you want to talk about it?" Lucy asks quietly, coming closer.

Tommy shakes his head, then sighs. "It's just… seeing his name again, on something so personal. It brought it all back."

Lucy puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I get it. Breakups are hard enough without unexpected reminders popping up."

Tommy nods, grateful for her understanding. "I thought I was over it, you know? But this… it just hit me out of nowhere."

"That's normal," Lucy reassures him. "Healing isn't a straight line. Sometimes things like this happen, and it feels like you're back to square one. But you're not. You've come a long way."

Tommy looks at her, a small smile forming. "Have I? Should I even be over it? After… After eight weeks, two days and a few hours?"

Lucy smiles at him, "Don't tell me… You made that up, didn't you?"

"What?"

"That eight weeks, two days thing." She stares at him.

"No, it's true," he replies without blinking.

"You know that's unhealthy behavior." She decides to distract Tommy from his dark thoughts and suggests, "Let's go for a walk, clear your head a little."

Tommy nods. They link arms and walk down the street together, the city lights guiding their way. As much as Tommy tries to avoid thinking about Evan, one memory stands out in Tommy's mind.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and they had decided to bake cookies together for the first time. Evan, a stickler for detail, insisted on following a complicated recipe he had found online. Tommy, on the other hand, preferred to wing it. As they mixed the ingredients, flour ended up everywhere—on the counter, on the floor, and even on their faces. They couldn't stop laughing at the mess they were making.

The real fun began when it was time to shape the cookies. Evan tried to make perfectly round cookies, but they kept coming out lopsided. Seeing an opportunity for fun, Tommy began to shape his cookies into ridiculous shapes: one looked like a dinosaur, another like a starfish. Evan tried to keep a straight face, but soon he was laughing so hard he had to sit down.

When they finally put the cookies in the oven, they realized they had forgotten to set the timer. They ended up sitting on the kitchen floor, watching the cookies through the oven door and betting on which ones would burn first. In the end, the cookies were a disaster - some burned, some undercooked - but they didn't care. They spent the rest of the afternoon eating their misshapen creations and laughing until their sides hurt.

It was a simple, silly moment, but it was one of Tommy's happiest memories of their time together. It reminded him of the joy they had shared. He sighed heavily. Even though he had initiated the breakup, it had left him devastated.

more here on AO3

Does anyone want more of it?

[catboysooyoung]

Speaking of!!

I honestly think about the Fox Counselling Room all the time. It's a very interesting "benefit" that the company provides for its employees. I also feel like it's some of the most insight we are provided on Kim Soleum and his character as a whole. Some points.

The fox counselling room is a ghost story. Similar to the dokkaebi workshop in the bureau, it's a ghost story that's considered to be "safe" enough to be used semi-regularly by trained employees, who are high up enough the ladder that they can be considered to be competent enough to use it, so long as they adhere to the guidelines. It's interesting that "contamination" by ghost stories can be treated in this ghost story. As the contamination seems to be supernatural in nature, it seems that only a supernatural guidance can provide the proper assistance. I guess it's sort of like getting a ghostly vaccine in a sense. However, as it is still a ghost story, using it is not without its own risks of contamination. I guess it's not that odd, given that regular medicine also has their own side effects if the rules of use are not followed, or if the sufferer has pre-existing conditions that can interact with the treatment.

The method the counseling room adopts is to have the "fox" imitate the subject or object related to your trauma, and "create a scenario where the situation is resolved". Kim Soleum mentioned that most people "who immerse themselves deeply" felt some sort of emotional catharsis for this. It seemed to work as a sort of simulation for them to vent out their frustrations and work out their troubles. The way he worded this is interesting though, does he not immerse himself in his emotions? He even wondered if the therapy would have any effect on him, since he "already knew everything", when we clearly know by now that KSE is pretty avoidant when it comes to his own feelings & bodily awareness. Beyond what's necessary, he just pushes it to the back of his mind. Makes him a great employee, but very vulnerable to contamination. Everything is A-Okay until he crashes and burns.

Unsurprisingly, the fox imitates KSE himself, or more accurately, the truer version of himself. Here, fox counselor!KSE looks somber, tired, and much more disheveled than KSE considers himself to be. This gap unsettles KSE, most likely because he's made aware of his...glaring lack of awareness of his own state. After dodgingly answering a few questions relating to his well-being, it's revealed that he was carrying a contaminated object (the rule book) the whole time, thus confirming the fox's initial claims...

Is Kim Soleum really not contaminated anymore? He felt better after having the contaminant taken out, but the way he worded it was funny. He claimed he was then "just another weary, exhausted office worker", which cannot be more untrue. He's still in denial. He was no longer just another tired office worker like in his previous world. I don't believe he's fully recovered. I mean, I've met Park Moondae. DS. Back's protags are the same. The lizard boss also confirmed my suspicion by literally saying it to KSE's face lol I love him.

Kim Soleum's... Family? This is the real kicker for me. By the end of the session, the counselor told KSE that he's lucky to have family and friends who care for him here. Friends, KSE could understand to be his close coworkers/squad mates. But family? One of the most notable things that happened to KSE in the early chapters is that his family's contacts disappeared from his phone, only the contacts he got from college remained, and he seemed to have been transported back in time to when he was struggling to look for housing after graduating. But still, why would that erase his family's contacts? Does that mean his family is not in this world? Strangely enough, KSE did not dwell too much on this back then. Could be the effects of the Ghost Story World or he's just not that close to his family. The only other time he's mentioned anything relating to his family is when he met Agent Bronze/Ryu Jaekwan and "explained" how he got the silver heart badge. Here, he took advantage of the misunderstanding that his parents are "not in this world" / "watching from the heavens", likening the merch box to "family". He also mentioned that his parents had warned him not to go into the financial sector (side note.. KSE was a finance bro?). But that's it. So this brings the question... What did the fox mean by "family"? He pointed to the Socius tattoo, which was given by our dear Yongyong (the blue dragon mascot). Does this mean... Yongyong considers him family? Or is there another explanation? Come to think of it, KSE has been very... Casual about the mention of family. It could be that he, again, just wasn't that particularly close to them. But usually, unless they have particularly bad blood, isekai protags would often reminisce about their old world, their original family included, thus laying the emotional foundation for their goal to go back.... So again, is it just the usual emotional distance, is it a protective mechanism, or is he more impacted by entering this new world than we thought?

[forestshadow-wolf]

Soap doesn't smoke.

Didn't.

Does occasionally.

Sometimes.

When he needs it.

Routinely.

Any chance he gets.

He didn't used to. Not for any morality reason or whatever. Lord knows he already lacks enough of it. Just sometimes it was easier to literally run himself to the ground then go to the shop. There was just no real reason to attach himself when he could just as easily pick his skin of his fingers raw while he got lost in his head.

Plus his mam always said "John, donnae you even start on this, you know how granda was." Granda was a 78 year old bugger who died of lung cancer, and he must've smoked a pack a day. Pretty good for a fucker killin' himself, soap reckons. 'Course he respects the hell outta the man still, and he'll never tell his mam about blond stranger he bummed from once as a teen. There was never any reason to wake a, perhaps, dormant gene.

Never any reason until there was.

It was only bumming a cig once or twice when it was offered. A rare occasion. Waiting for exfil from a salty mission with nobody but the grass and the breeze to witness. Nothing to say. Just have a smoke about it. All that happened. Everything they survived. The parts they almost didn't. But Soap doesn't smoke.

Ghost would never admit it but he gets snippy when he doesn't have his smokes. So Soap carries a pack on him just in case. Just in case Ghost loses his own. It happens sometimes. When it does he'll offer his pack to Ghost, take one for himself too. No reason not to. But it's not like he smokes. Not really.

Usually after the team gets out of debrief from a tough mission Ghost needs a smoke. It helps him unwind. Brings his mind out of survival mode. Brings the lieutenant back to the Ghost. Soap finds he often needs it just as much. Less so for the nicotine, more for the silence, sometimes for the motions. It helps remind him how to to breathe properly again. But he doesn't really smoke.

Ghost likes to have a smoke after meal times. He doesn't even invite Soap anymore, expects him to follow. Like clockwork morning, afternoon, and evening smoke. Soap switched to Ghost's brand. Every time, without fail, Ghost would forget his pack of cigs after lunch and bum one off Soap. And every time, without fail, Ghost would routinely complain about the piss quality of his cigs. But it's not like Soap smokes all the time.

Until he did.

It was Soap's own fault too. Picked a fight over some meaningless topic that he can't remember. Some things were said. Some things were unsaid. He made Ghost the villian in his story. Next thing he knew Ghost was packed up and shipping off to the other side of the country. Soap said some gnarly things. Things he wishes he couldn't take back a thousand times over again. But worse than that it's what he wishes he hadn't left unsaid out of fear. Wasn't even the three big words. Just one. One pathetic work that he couldn't utter. And Ghost would have stayed. Now his clothes smell like smoke, his room, his blanket, his kit, his sketchbook. When he wakes in the morning. Around his breakfast. In the gym working out. Cleaning his fire arms. Doing paperwork. Fixing the broken shit on base. He still smokes Ghost's cigarettes. He was right, his old ones were piss. But more importantly they smell like him. Everything smells like Ghost. Reminds him what he lost. What he chased away. Just how he wants it. Let the memories and hurt really sink in. Ghost said he'd be back. Some day. Soap will return to his cheapest quality cigs. A harsh reminder of what he lost. But for now he smells like Ghost, and he won't easily give it up.

[pinkcadillaccas]

Anyone else feeling the relentless march of time on this Saturday night

[whoslaurapalmer]

my mom: you on a roll? me: no. i've yet again reached 'am i writing this character right' my mom: of course you are!!!! don't doubt yourself!!!! me: NO. I ALWAYS DO

[bi-writes]

cw: protective!ghost, allusions to civilian!reader being (physically) assaulted at work (18+)

"l-lieutenant?"

ghost is nearly startled by the little voice that practically squeaks behind him. he's been huddled in his office for too long, driving himself mad with paperwork and sergeants too stupid for their own good. he blinks, turning around, and he blinks when he sees you there in the doorway, hands shaking as you try and collect yourself.

when he looks carefully under the fluorescent lights, he can see there are tears in your eyes. it's then that he notices how you look, really look. there's a bruise blossoming on your jaw, the skin swelling a bit where there's a cut on your lip. your shirt is askew, and you're panting and sweating, like you've been running. he's never seen you this way. fuck, he barely sees you at all, except when he goes out during drills, and he's only ever spoken to you once or twice, just to receive some papers or to excuse himself as he tries to get around you in a crowded hallway. you are always quiet, always shy, smiling at him if you are near and trying to keep out of the way.

he doesn't know why it enrages him to see you in this state, but it does.

"the fuck happened t'ya?" he rasps, and he realizes it comes out harsher than he means. he isn't used to being nice.

the slamming of a door against a wall keeps you from answering. just like that, you're moving, about to scramble away, run, when ghost reaches out and grabs your wrist. he tugs you towards him, just quick enough that whoever is coming for you skids into the doorway.

it's a sergeant he recognizes. cocky, full of shit, who never hits his target. he's big, but not as big as ghost. he pauses when he realizes where you are and who you're with, skidding backwards as he tries to contain his anger.

"wot the fuck is goin' on?" ghost snaps, and you sputter, not able to make out your words properly.

"'m sorry, lieutenant," the sergeant huffs. "i'll take care of this."

when he lunges for you, ghost shoves you behind him, tilting his head to the side as he stares down at the little shit.

"did i fuckin' tell ya t'move?" ghost growls. "this how ya answer ta y'r superior, you fuckin' knob?"

"no," he spits back, but his eyes flash when ghost puts a gloved hand against his chest and pushes him back far enough to put appropriate distance between them.

"did y'hit this civilian?" ghost asks, a humorless laugh leaving him. when the sergeant doesn't respond, ghost turns finally, looking at you, and he clicks his tongue to get your eyes on him. "did he put his hands on ya?"

you tremble a little, moving the back of your hand over your eyes before nodding. you don't really register what happens next. you see blood on the tips of your kitten heels one moment, and you cover your eyes the next.

in the bathroom later that evening, ghost is careful as he dabs at your lip gently with a cool cloth. he has taken the gloves off (they were soaked with blood), and you try not to shiver as he holds your face with one big hand and cleans you up with the other. you can see the shadow of tattoos peeking out from under his sleeve.

"why'd y'come t'me?" he asks after a few minutes. you blink up at him, swallowing hard, and he stands back a little to get a better look at you.

"i've read your file," you whisper, looking down, a bit ashamed. "i just thought...you'd understand."

or maybe you wondered what he would do if he found out.

he hums a little, and you miss the feeling of his touch as soon as he lets go of you, washing his hands at the sink. you fixate on his stature, his size. the thick of his thighs, how the holsters there bulge and stretch to try and hold onto him.

just as he starts to leave, you stand from your seat, making your way to him. he hears you, stopping, and you hold onto his bicep gently as you get on your toes to kiss his cheek. he flinches a little, but he relaxes finally, leaning in for you to kiss him there again. when your eyes meet again, you think you see something there.

he kicks the door closed with his boot, trapping you in the room with him. you smile when the lock clicks.

[artstaeus3600]

I've seen the concept of Kon either having a third parent in his DNA or instead of Lex Luthor it was someone else, so what if we replaced Lex's DNA with Danny's?

Danny's been the Ghost King for hundreds of years now his family has long since passed, Dan isn't around anymore since he's been helping Clockwork with Timeline screwups (something to do with flashes? He wasn't really paying attention) and well Dani's off exploring and discovering places, I mean she comes back occasionally but not as often as Danny would like, so Danny decided why not visit a human realm, and so he does, he explores the cities and stars, he doesn't really hide he's not human looking with his pointed ears, long fangs, and glowing eyes, and while he was there some lucky bastard got some of his DNA. This person also just so happens to be the person to switch Lex's DNA with a much stronger candidate (aka Danny)

Danny hadn't noticed at the moment cause it was a busy train ride, but he did immediately notice when a new life came to be, immediately claiming him as one of the parents, so of course he immediately went to go look and see what that was about cause he doesn't remember sleeping with someone? And he hasn't even been here that long for a baby to be born? And after some searcing he finds a lab and a baby in the tube and we'll, he went completely feral at the sight and destroyed the building, which caught some of the Justice League's attention and all they find is a destroyed building owned by Cadmus.

Danny is now back in the apartment he was renting while he was taking a vacation from being the Ghost King (he was lonely), with his brand new baby he'd guess around 3 months old but he's not an expert, and he just falls in love with him the same way he did with Dani but the thing is the baby isn't a Halfa like him even with his DNA he's more like Jazz with being extremely liminal (so mostly all the instincts of a ghost but none of the powers), and we'll Jazz couldn't ever really stay long in the zone before she'd end up a permanent resident, so taking this baby with him back to the zone was a no go, at least not for long periods of time.

So that's where he's been for the last two months with his baby who he named Conner Nightingale, Nightingale after his fake ID for this human life, and he's just adoring being a father and sure he wonders sometimes who the other parent is but he can't exactly take Conner to a normal hospital, cause of the ghost biology, except the few checkups with Frostbite telling him the other parent isn't human, Dani was also told about her new nephew and loves bringing him new toys to see if he'll like it whenever she comes around.

While Danny has been taking care of Conner the Justice League has been trying to figure out what happened with that Cadmus building was doing before it got destroyed, and found out it was a cloning lab, who they were trying to clone they haven't found yet cause of the scattered/destroyed files...

Edit: Part 2

[nezuscribe]

as somebody who was raised differently, there were certain things your sisters got than you. sure they had better tutors and trainers, but they always had the best of the best. the best dresses, shoes, friends, the best attention.

and they always got complimented. you would listen and observe, wondering if you looked or acted so inherently different from them that caused people to totally brush past you. for a while you felt like a ghost, wandering around life as people ignored you. your sisters were the light of everybody’s life, and you were just there. always in the back.

but with arranged!gojo, it’s so different.

he always finds a way to say something good about you, things you never considered before. sure he compliments your baking (a part of you wonders if it’s only because he wants more), but he tells you that your horsemanship is stellar or that your penmanship is amazing. it slips out to, as if he actually meant it.

you’ve spent your entire life believing that you weren’t remarkable. you spent years trying to mimic the way your sisters talked or acted, hoping that maybe if you were like them people would notice you. but with gojo it seems like the more you you are, the more he enjoys your company.

one day when you’re trying on some new gowns, courtesy of him of course, he happens to find you in your shared bedroom, having a little break in between his counsel meetings and training.

your eyes meet his in the mirror, widening as you turn around with a bright smile.

“satoru! you’re here! how’d you get here?” you ask, happy to have seen him in between his busy schedule. the tension in his body melts upon seeing and hearing you, eyes softening at your genuine excitement.

“i had some time to spare, decided to drop on by,” he answers nonchalantly, but you can tell with the slight blush on his cheeks that he intently came here, knowing you’d be trying on your new garments because you told him that last night.

you roll your eyes, looking back to the mirror as you survey the gown, pursing your lips. you feel him coming closer, close enough until his hands wrap around your waist and he’s staring at you staring at yourself.

“i liked those ones,” you point to the pile of gowns on the bed, “but i think i look ridiculous in those,” you point to the ones on the chair. alina offered to help you, but you promised you’d be fine. bedsides, this was something you preferred doing in your own.

“ridiculous? nonsense,” gojo snorted, his fingers tracing the beaded work on your stomach.

you lean back into his chest a little, silently looking at yourself in the mirror.

“i don’t think i look pretty in this,” you mutter, tugging at the sleeves.

“what?” gojo frowns, looking down as you and the clothing your staring heavily at, “i think it looks gorgeous on you.”

you huff, chewing on your cheek.

“i don’t know,” you murmur quietly, feeling embarrassed, “my fathers wife always said i looked worst in red.”

gojo feels his brows furrow even more.

“the old hag?” he tries to tease but there’s an underlying bite in his voice.

he’s watched you for a while now, silently. though you talk about your old life here and there, there are some things that have weighed in on you that you never voice.

he’s aware of how your fathers wife and sisters treated you. he knows you were just the spare, an extra part of the family they never liked to include. you told him once how your excludes from the family portrait that hangs tall in the foyer, or how you’ve been erased from the will. he can’t do anything but listen. and he knows he’ll never understand just how badly they treated you there, but every passing day he seems to find out more and more.

“i think you’re very pretty,” he whispers softly, kissing the side of your head as his hands squeeze your waist, his eyes catching yours in the mirror, “and i think you look beautiful in red.”

your gaze wavers from his and to the table, not used to this.

gojo sees the way you fidget with your fingers and the way your breathing hitches. he can only imagine how many times you’ve been told otherwise, forced to think the opposite.

because he wasn’t just saying it to say it. gojo truly believed you were the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. he knew it from the moment you met when you were teenagers, and he knew it now. there’s a certain beauty that you possess that everybody else lacks.

“thank you,” you say, swallowing thickly as you smile a little at him, “i think you’re very pretty too.”

gojo feels his heart clench at the quietness in your voice, the unassuming way you thanked him, not filling believing his words. and sure he’s been called all sorts of good things under the sun, but to hear the genuine kindness laced in your tone, it made him want to bottle you up and keep you everywhere he went.

his hands squeeze your wait tighter, pressing more kisses to your neck as your squirm, smiling widely at the feeling.

“you are always pretty,” he says as he turns you around, leaning your back on the drawer, “always.”

his hands rest on your hips, blue eyes searing through yours.

you duck your head a little bit, heat biting at your cheeks.

“really?” you ask, looking up at him as he sees a shine in your eyes, trying your best not to shed those tears.

gojo feels his hands tighten on your dress, the fabric snagging under him as he breathes deeply through his nose.

he wonders if this is the first time anybody’s ever told you that. he doesn’t want to know if that’s true.

“really,” he repeats, his voice caught in the back of his throat. sometimes, you find a way to reduce him down to a few words. this man who’s been trained to sway others with his speeches, and he can barely speak around you.

you smile again, bashfully, your eyes creasing and cheeks full. gojo chases after your smiles, your happiness.

because though people might’ve whispered nice things when they know you couldn’t hear, those words never reached your ears. they never drowned out the waves of things you heard around your old house or from your family. and perhaps you spent a while thinking that you were just okay, never pretty or smart or funny enough, just okay.

but gojo says it all, and he says it loud. and you lived in the quite for so long that loud is strange. but it’s new, and you think you like it.

you look down at the gown, admiring the bead and needle work. it truly was a beautiful gown.

“i think i’ll keep it,” you say after a beat, and gojo smiles, a happy smile that he only shares with you.

he leans down, pressing a soft and sweet kiss to your lips, feeling the way you melt into him, holding him close to your chest. you hope he can’t feel the sting of tears at the corners of your eyes, or hear the way your heart beats erratically.

“good,” he murmurs as he pulls away for a second, “good.”

you smile.

“good,” you say, tilting your head a bit to find his lips again.

[dilf-docs]

It Always Leads To You

joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: it's been a year; now you're back. how can joel be so sure of those old summer feelings in your eyes when there's a new hand holding yours?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, toxic relationship, cheating and infidelity themes, mutual pinning, kinda dark!joel, smut, p. in v., pussy pronouns, oral (f. receiving), fingering, manhandling, lowkey forced creampie, ANGST, the taylor swift evermore (2020) references go wild, happy ending cause y'all weak asses voted for it and i love to keep my citizens happy!

word count: 5,199 words

side note: my joel miller era is alive and breathing after this tlou re-watch i'm doing my brother swears it's for him but it's mostly me and my fic/womanly reasons, yes we love gaslight girlkeep girlbossing in here gotta say, finding inspiration for this amidst my wattpad duties and christmas movie marathon was harder than i thought lol. was it worth the wait? please like, comment and reblog to let me know! it's based on this request (they're still open btw!)

part: I / II

Holidays linger like bad perfume.

Your eyes wander through the streets: the roads you've got to call home, the ones where you grew up. They're familiar, but so foreign, it's hard to believe they're the same ones where you scrapped your knees at ten and kissed Joel just last winter. It's as if both timelines, your life, feels more like two separate lives, miles apart.

"Hey, you okay?" tender, from the driver's seat; you're still getting used to the soft.

There's a reassuring smile your way, his hand finding yours to give it a squeeze. You notice his palm is the same size as yours. It fits perfectly, but there's a ghost of what it feels like to have it all wrapped up, looming over your itchy palm like all the yearning's a joke.

You nod. "Just tired. That's all"

He sighs. "If I wanted you to lie to me, I would've just asked"

"I'm not lying" you defend yourself as his pickup truck parks on the sidewalk.

He makes a funny face, and you laugh.

"I'm serious, Nick" your lips purse, a thing you do when you lie, yet he still hadn't noticed, like Joel. "Don't worry"

He doesn't look that convinced, so you take off your seat belt and grab his hand.

"C'mon. Mom and dad must be waiting for us"

"Hey" Nick calls you out.

"Yeah?"

"Who lives there?" and he's pointing behind you.

It's his. Joel's house.

"A friend of my dad's" you answer, dryly.

It was last december when you stood there in his porch, begging. It feels like time has stopped ever since, and you're still right where he left you.

"So will he be here?" Nick asks. "You know, since he knows your dad"

"Don't think so" you shrug, "he's got better things to do anyway. Bitter old man" comes out, with more venom than intended.

"Oh! Alright, sorry for asking"

You come back to your senses, realizing you've shared more than you should.

"No, I'm sorry. It's not that important; let's just go inside"

Your mom and dad greet you as soon as you cross the door. Last year, you'd basically fled away before New Year's, with a poor excuse and a broken heart. They both greet you as if nothing happened, although you're sure they remember your tear streamed face coming back from Joel's house, where it all ended.

As your mom corners Nick with kisses and embarrassing questions, your dad whispers to you:

"Joel asked what happened" you quirk and eyebrow, "wanted to know why you left"

"Eh, it's not important" you try to dismiss. "Definitely not as important for a guy like Joel to know"

"What is that supposed to mean?" your dad inquires. You often wonder if they knew.

"Nothing" you laugh nervously. "Listen, why don't you go and meet Nick, yeah? Did you know he likes fishing too?"

The distraction works with your dad; the same can't be said about you.

There's conversation flowing, but through the snow covered window, your eyes keep glancing back to his own. The view is dark, and you ponder if he's fled as well, the town plagued with memories too painful to reminisce.

You can still feel his hands roaming your body, the lust filled gaze that hid warmth. Every time he touches you, you have to remind you he isn't there: that the lips that kiss you, don't taste like his, that the hands that hold you, aren't big as his, and that the face that looks at you like they'll never choose another, is one you haven't learned to love yet.

Joel's memory cuts like thorns: they sink their teeth into your heart, that bleeds with that blood-colored sadness you're all too familiar with. He's poisoned you. But-- isn't it his love also the antidote for this disease he's gave you?

You abruptly stand up, plate half eaten.

"I-I need some air"

It's cold outside, but you don't care. All you want to do is sit on the porch, and drop some tears, something you can do inside too, but the fear of your muffled cries being able to be heard stops you.

You walk towards the stairs, to sit there like you do on summer days, yet there's now a difference: the snow. So you end up slipping, falling with your butt on the floor.

You yelp, embarrased although no one can see you.

"Need help?"

That you're wrong, apparently.

You don't even need to raise your view to know who that voice belongs to: you know it like a record, spinning in circles on your head.

He offers his strong hand your way, and although the cold wind hits your face, you're back to spring on the cabin: wet feet, bright sun and beating heart.

"I can get up myself" you reject his help, pushing the hand out. You keep avoiding his gaze, so you don't see how he's reacted, yet you hope he feels bad about it.

You walk up to the front door, and it takes you a while to realize he hasn't left yet. On top of that, it seems like he's following you. Just what you needed.

"What are you doing here?" you question, but your tone sounds like you're offended.

"Your folks invited me over" Joel answers, "Says they got a special guest"

"Yeah" this time, you do look back, finding him to be much closer than you thought he'd be. Yet you stand tall, defiant even. "It's my boyfriend"

You savour the way his expression falters, before the stoic façade takes over again.

"Boyfriend?" Joel scoffs, as if you just told the funniest joke ever.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" you bite back. "What? Think a pretty girl can't get a new man?"

"Never said I'd doubt'it" he clicks his tongue. "Y'a could get any man you'd want, sugar"

Ironically, the only man you want stands before you.

"Right" you chuckle dryly, "I think it's kind of funny of you to say that"

Joel's eyes bore into yours, a clash of emotions circling in his chocolate orbs.

"Y/n-"

"Don't" you stop him. Then sigh, defeated. "Let's just go inside"

As soon as you both arrive on the dinning room, your parents both greet Joel. Then, they introduce him to their guest, just as promised.

"Joel, this is Nick, y/n's boyfriend" your father speaks. "Nick, this is Joel, a dear old friend of mine"

Nick, as the gentleman he is, offers his hand. Joel accepts, but you can see the barely desguised displease behind his eyes.

"Wow, strong grip" Nick comments before joking, "you can let go now, I'm not going anywhere"

The hidden meaning of his words, whether intentional or not, hit Joel in the face. It's obvious by the way he backtracks, letting go of Nick's hand.

As you sit again, Nick leans to your side and whispers.

"Is this the guy who lives in the house across the street?" you nod. "Thought you'd said he had better plans. But, see? I told you: no plan's more important than coming to your house"

He's always making jokes, trying to make you smile, but it's done the opposite now. The food has gone cold long ago, yet you cut through the meat with a violence so palpable, even your mom tells you to slow down.

The nerve of Joel, showing up to your house like it's nothing, talking to you like he's unaware of his spell on you, acting like Nick is some sort of competition when he pulled out of the race himself a winter ago.

"So, Nick. How did you two meet?" your mom adresses him, eager to know details.

"It was at a party, actually, through mutual friends. Not a very spectacular story, that I know. What's funny is, she asked me what hour it was. And what did I say?"

"He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said: For you, I'm available any hour" you answer.

Your parents laugh, but Joel remains quiet. You wonder what he's thinking.

"You know" looking at Nick while cutting the steamed vegetables a little too agressive, "y/n actually hates parties"

"Joel" you warn through gritted teeth.

"Really? I didn't know that!" Nick seems so genuine, Joel can't help but hate him. He looks at you, concerned "You didn't tell me"

You can't believe he would rat you out like that. The appropiate word isn't hate, and you don't know how to describe it, but parties aren't really your environment; if you can, you'd choose to be anywhere else.

He'll pay for that.

"Joel" you seethe, an ugly smile painted in your features, "did you know Nick knows how to fish?"

It's a direct jab at him. He feels stupid for letting you get to him. The inferiority complex towards some random guy he just met, years younger, is actually laughable.

"I like-" Nick wants to add on that.

"Well" Joel interrupts, looking at you. "You never taught me like ya' were s'pposed to"

"You never cared to learn" you reply, acidic.

He sips his drink, trying to hide the smirk that's formed on his lips. You can't shut up, and he loves you've stayed the same.

"That means I've got some classes to take" Joel leans back on his chair, relaxed like he's won this round. "Just tell me when"

The tension cuts like the storm that's just formed outside.

"You should stay over, Joel" your dad offers when he takes a peak at the climate, "it's too dangerous outside"

Joel seems indestructible, like not even a snow blizzard could pierce through the rough old man. But he agrees, much to your dismay.

It's probably midnight already, and all you've done is toss around the bed. Nick peacefully snores next to you, and you envy how easily he falls asleep. You've always find it hard to sleep, the nighttime plagued with too many loud thoughts that fill the silence.

You get up carefully, heading downstairs for some water. You sip with tranquility when a noise jolts you from your sit.

The wooden floor creaks, making you aware you're not alone anymore.

"Can't sleep?"

You don't answer, seeing his sturdy figure emerge from the shadows until the dim moonlight shines over his aging features. Silence settles in. Outside, the wind howls, bumping against the windows with violence, like your heart does now against your chest.

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

"There's nothing to talk" cuts your response through the thick tension, the air suddenly suffocating.

You take another sip, but the tremble of your hand doesn't go unnoticed by Miller.

"Right" Joel sits next to you, on the kitchen island. "Won't even look at me, sugar? You've got eyes" his voice drops, "use 'em"

"What are you doing, Joel?" you ask looking at him, tears threatening to spill, making your bright eyes shimmer with pain.

He gets up abruptly, like he's woken up from a trance. He's seen his own pain on your eyes, and he hates it.

"Joel?" you ask again, demanding but softly.

He can't answer. Instead, he leaves.

"Goodnight, y/n" voice raw, many emotions boiling, hidden on the inside. It hurts.

If you hadn't changed, Joel too stayed the same.

A goddamn coward.

Two days have passed since, and now it's Christmas Eve.

You kneel, putting the presents under the tree. Normally, your parents would have much more people around for the holidays, but thanks to the storm, it's just them, Nick, Joel and you.

"I'm gonna miss Mrs. Stone's cookies" you pout, "I wish she could be here"

"It's a big loss for tonight" your dad sighs. "Next time, yeah? Christmas will come again faster than you think"

You nod, still absent as he walks away.

"Hey" Joel pops up behind, seemingly from nowhere.

"Hey" you reply, voice laced with tiredness just at the sight of him. How will you manage to survive until New Year's? You have no idea, the task harder if he's staying in the same house as you are.

"Put this in there, will ya'?"

He hands you a box, neatly wrapped up. What stands out the most is the silver bow on top. Your stomach drops: it's your favorite color.

"Y-yeah" you stammer. When the present falls in your hands, you notice it looks like Joel did it himself.

"Didn't know you were capable of nice things" you whisper. There's no anger in your voice, only loss.

"I'm trying" is what he says, before leaving you alone. Until then, you realize he had been touching you, the skin where his hand was on your shoulder burning.

Dinner goes by swiftly, conversation flowing easily courtesy of Nick and your father, who both have in common the love for talking. It may be your brain messing with you, but his eyes never leave you, fixated on your every move, savoring when your lips open and take a bite; when you lick them afterwards, salt in your mouth he'd love to take off in a movement of his tongue. The ghost of your lips haunts him, cruelly playing with his yearning now that he's got you across the table. It's a few centimeters, really, but it feels like you're miles away: and it's his fault. You're no longer his, and he's reminded of it every time your boyfriend kisses what he once had.

Now it's time to open the presents, and you excitedly raise your hand to go first.

"Alright, sweetheart. You know I can't deny you anything" your father beams, "go ahead. Choose any present you'd like to open first"

Joel's eyes are on you, and you know he's desperately waiting for you to open his first. Maybe partly in courage, maybe partly in fear, but you choose Nick's first: something safe to start with.

"That's mine!" he chirps, and Joel mockingly imitates his kid-like joy under his breath.

You unwrap the present, finding a small box inside.

"Please, don't be another box" you joke, and he laughs.

"You think that low of me? Please"

You keep unwrapping and find a bag. The bag has a small tag that reads: Gotcha.

"Nick! God, you're so corny" you tease as you open the bag. Inside, there's a velvet box, and by the looks of it, you can tell it's jewelry. You gasp, pulling out a silver charm tied to a silver thin chain: it's a marlin fish. "Nick..."

"I know. Marlin isn't your favorite fish, but that's all I could find" you get up, wrapping him on a tight hug. Aware you've got an audience, he leans and whispers "I knew fishing was special to you, because of your dad and childhood. Maybe now" he takes it from your hands, carefully putting it around your neck, "it can also be our special thing"

Joel sees the scene unfold in front of him, his grip tight on the cloth of his jeans until it's white. His jaw clenches at the affection display; all he sees is red.

"What about that one?" your mom points out Joel's present. A pit of nerves forms in your stomach. "I don't remember seeing it there"

Before you can grab it, your dad moves faster, examining the box on his hands.

"It's Joel's" he makes a pause, "for y/n"

You pretend to be shocked, and you can tell Nick tenses at your side.

"You didn't tell me you were close"

"Used to" you correct quickly, despite the knot on your throat. "Not anymore"

"He still got you a present, though"

You don't get to answer because your dad leaves the box on your lap.

"Open it" it's soft but feels threathing for some reason, "I'm curious"

Joel's resting hands tremble as much as yours while you open the present. You reveal the simple white box under the wrap, opening it up.

Your voice comes out shaky as you call his name. And he can see it: the muffled laughters on the shed, the warmth of the cabin's fire, the fogged up windows of his car, the bruises on your tits and that voice, so vulnerable, he can see you on his porch, saying those three words that terrified him so much, his solution was breaking your heart.

"What is it?" your dad asks.

"It's a scarf" the fabric tickles your fingers that wander through the loose strands.

You remember it all too well.

"Oh, it's vintage!" your mom comments when she sees the worn-out aspect.

But just as your affair with Joel, you keep the secret of it's real owner.

"It's perfect" you mutter, remembering better times: ones where he'd wrap the scarf colored as the leaves on the ground around your neck, covering bruises he'd just made while you joked you'd steal it, and Joel would say he'd just let you, that it looked better on you anyway.

You've forgotten the good, so used to thinking of Joel at your worst, like a punishment to endure and sink your shipwreck even deeper. You felt lost, replaying memories that seemed stuck on a loop. Since last december, all you've known is pain; creeping up through the cracks in your fleeting happiness, one you've tried to find to no avail. One day, past the curses and cries, maybe there'll be happiness. But as for now, that day seems terribly far.

As he sees your teary gaze, Joel often wonders were it went wrong. When did hurt was all you had for him in that gaze of yours he can't bare to look that long, not before he's reliving all those seasons by your side, replaying his footsteps on the snow, grass, water and fallen leaves, trying to find the one where it all went wrong. The torture he now wears like a second skin, his agony painted words addressed to the fire of a house that feels so empty and alone.

"We should continue" your dad speaks over the silence, "there are still many presents left"

The night moves slowly, and the scarf you've chosen to wear is now suffocating around your neck. But you can't take it off. This is the closest you've been to Joel on a year; it still smells like him. As the presents run out, you excuse yourself early to bed, only to wake up again in the middle of the night. You want to pee, so you exit your room and walk to the bathroom, your bare feet against the cold wood sending shivers down your spine that only seem to augment when you walk past his door, next to the bathroom. After being done, you splash some water on your face, as if that would make some sense get to you.

"What are you doing?" you ask yourself in the mirror. Your tired reflection stares back at you, in silence.

You open the door, ready to go back to bed when a hand covers your mouth and shoves you inside.

"Don't scream" your cries go muffled against his hand, the calloused digits pressing against your soft skin, "wanna wake 'em up?"

You shake your head, so he lets your mouth free.

"Joel" you call out, but he's facing the door, his back all you see. No sound can be heard, aside from his uneven breaths.

"I'm sorry" he says, and then you hear the small click of the door's lock.

"What the hell?"

This time, he faces you, but his movements are so quick you don't register his lips on yours until it's too late. He kisses you like a starved man who hasn't had a meal in years, eating you out while your body acts up on it's own, the urgency embarrasing even.

"No" you pull back. Your mind screams in guilt at how much you want this, and that's all you can hear aside from his ragged breaths.

"No?"

"It isn't fair"

"To lover boy out there?" he teases, "I know he ain't treating you right, or ya' wouldn't look me the way ya' do"

"Don't, Joel" your tone is icy, "Nick treats me better than you ever could"

He laughs, darkly. "You know I ain't meant that" he corners you against the sink, the material cold against your bare legs; you don't sleep with nothing but an oversized t-shirt, despite the weather.

"Riddle me this, sugar: if he treats you so well, why are you so fucking wet?"

Your heart beats so fast you fear you'll die. He gets closer, his hot breathe prickling against your ear.

"It takes a man to please a woman" he tucks a loose strand behind your ear, "and I ain't leaving my baby displeased"

His fingers pull down the panties until your clit is exposed.

"Look at 'er" he traces a teasing finger over the puffy skin, coated on your slick "missed me, didn't she? Gonna treat 'er so good, she won't ever feel lonely again"

He softly kisses your neck, the trepidation and regret tying your stomach in knots.

Joel teases your needy core with his finger.

"Tell you somethin', sugar" Joel finds it hard to hide his adoration, "I missed 'er too"

He stares into your eyes while pushing two rough fingers inside your cunt. You bite your lip, holding back your moans.

"Need summ help?" he kisses you roughly, smirking when he feels your shaky breath against his lips. He pushes them in and out faster, making your walls squeeze tightly around his fingers.

"Did he ever have you comin' this fast? I'ont think so" he whispers against your neck. You whisper his name through labored breaths, making a smug smile adorn his features. "Good girl"

He proceeds to kneel down, despite the creak of his bones. You see him leave a trail of kisses down your thighs, your legs opening wider in response. His tongue gives rapid flickers against your sensitive bud, aware of the lack of time. He slurps the pulsing cunt, his head moving back and forth while he sucks, coating his moustache on your juices. Joel goes back to the quick movements, tongue knowing your spots and twisting fingers as aid, causing your back to arch.

"Fuck" you curse as you come, gripping the sink a bit too tight.

Joel then pulls away and places his fingers coated in your arousal in his mouth and licks them. He sees the obscene display in the fogged mirror, satisfied.

"Goodnight, sugar" Joel bids goodbye like it's nothing, kissing your lips that taste like you. "Still as sweet as ever"

It's New Year's Eve.

"You're leaving?" you sound so sad, Joel can't help but scoff. In the end, he'd stayed long after the storm had passed, your father arguing holidays weren't meant to be spent alone. So he stayed.

And now, Nick is leaving.

"I'm sorry" he apologizes for the millionth time, "but granny is sick. I don't know if she'll make it another year, so say the doctors. I would love to stay, really, but I have to be with her"

You understand, having lost your grandad years ago. But that doesn't mean you're okay with it: Nick leaving means a clear path for Joel, who didn't stop with him sleeping next room, and certainly won't now, despite not having interacted with you since he ate you out on the bathroom.

He pulls you into a long hug and a kiss that doesn't feel the same anymore. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah" you nod, "I'll miss you though"

"Well, I'll be all yours when you get back"

You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"See you, y/n. I love you"

Your lips purse after you utter those three words back.

Later at night, the house is filled with guests. The lively environment is restored, and you feel less confined to Joel's claws, so many faces to speak and distract yourself with, compared to Christmas and the past couple of days. You clutch the marlin charm tightly, mind busy wandering to places it shouldn't. Joel stares at you from across the room, eyes trained on you as he sips his drink calmly, like he's won; you don't know why he's keeping score if he already knows it. You wander off to the kitchen, and Joel follows you.

"You have to stop" you speak as soon as he enters, aware he would follow you.

"I ain't do shit"

You turn around, facing him. "Bullshit, Joel"

"Tell me, what'd I do?" he comes closer, and despite your erratic heart and fear, you stay still; challenging.

"You did this, Joel" his expression falters for a second, the weight of last december's crimes dawning on him. "Don't try to make me feel guilty"

"I ain't. That wasn't your fault" he sighs, breath dragging long like a cigarrette. "But this" he motions with his hands the reduced distance, "this it is"

Your breath hitches.

"We can't keep doing this, Joel. Nick doesn't deserve it"

He pins you against the counter with force, gripping the skin of your wrists until you're sure you'll get a bruise. Joel's eyes darken at the thought of your frail and soft body under his rough figure and belly, his strength and your weakness making the job of putting you under his will, so much easier.

"Don't say his name" he whispers, his breath laced with alcohol, "he ain't here anymore. Ain't nothing to stop me now, right, sugar?" Joel purrs as he steps towards you, taking your face in his hands before starting a heated kiss, making you stumble.

This was so wrong, but it felt so right, the missing pieces falling like dominoes.

He was your pain divine: you needed his hurt to bleed and feel alive again. Maybe the red of the blood and the blue of your sadness could paint your darkest grey skies with a happiness you've craved since you lost him.

"Tell me to stop" Joel whispers, tempting like a devil as he kisses down your neck, littering it with hickeys.

"Don't"

Next thing you know, you're excusing yourself upstairs and then Joel goes missing too, both inside of your bedroom.

Your dress was the first thing to go.

"Wear it for me?" you're about to answer, lips pursing, but he cuts you off, "and don't lie, sugar. Don't get too used to the bad girl schtick"

"I only wore this dress so you could take it off"

He kisses you desperately, legs wrapped around his waist while he carries you to bed, and the memories of your first flood you as he drops you down to your back, watching the way you bounce. He has you just like he wanted: moaning his name while he leaves tender kisses on the soft bare flesh.

"Joel-" you gasp. Despite the chatter downstairs and music, you try to remain low as he wraps his lips around your nipples. He then moves to your breasts, covering them with his kisses and hickeys. He hadn't touched a woman ever since you left, the feeling of the rosy innocent skin on his rough teeth making him loose all common sense, the real thing even better than what he would try to conjure when he fucked himself in the bathroom at the memory of you.

He groans when he feels your hands roaming over his back, nails digging on the scarred skin.

"Someone's eager" he teases, seeing your damp underwear. "Is this 'cause of me?" you don't answer, too busy removing the cloth, only for his strong fingers to grab you and stop you. "Don't be shy, answer baby. We got a whole new year, yeah?"

"I need you Joel" you whine, not laughing at the joke "cut the crap"

He pushes you gently back down to the bed. "So needy sugar, want me to help ya'?"

You eagerly nod, making him laugh. But there's no mock, only love behind the sound.

"Will you let this old man take care of ya', pretty baby? Just use your words, and I'll be all y'rs"

"Do it, Joel. Just do it"

You gasp as your folds begin to be prodded open by the fat head of Joel's cock. You curse, feeling him push in just the tip, the sweet burn of your walls welcoming his size making you grab his arms that stand at the sides of your body, caging you in.

His tummy pushes against your stomach as he adjusts himself, his weight sinking your body on the creaking matress.

"'S just the tip, ready for the whole thing?"

You needed him, all of him.

"Yes, Joel. I want you" You say and he pushes in slowly, feeling his cock fill up every empty space that craved for him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as his hips roll back pulling out about halfway before rocking back in. His sloppy thrusts pick up a familiar pace that makes you moan and beg for more, head falling against the sheets as his pace speds up until he's fucking you senseless.

Joel's brain goes blank at the sight of you creaming on his dick and the obscene sounds leaving your pretty mouth. Did he really give this up? He'd definitely go back in time and slap the fuck out of his past self, because there is simply nothing better than having you under him, screaming his name like that's all you can ever say.

"Does he fuck you like this, huh?" Joel angles his hips, resuming his brutal pace. Your body jolts with each snap. "Is he enough for you?"

"Yes" his stomach drops, dark eyes now hesitant, "but he isn't you"

He pushes himself back in, your eyes fluttering shut almost immediately.

"Tell me you'll leave him, y/n. Look me in the eyes and tell me who ya' really belong to"

Your eyes snap open at the possesiveness clashed with jealousy that drips from his sweat-soaked lips.

The confession falls easily, as meant to be. "Yours, Joel. Always was and will be"

He could cum just at the sight of your loving doe eyes.

Downstairs, the countdown begins, but in your room, all you can hear are his soft groans and your pathetic whimpers, and if the people would stop shouting, you could probably hear the squelch of your dripping cunt sucking in his girth with each thrust.

After a few more erratic thrusts, you feel his warm cum fill you up. Joel was always obsessed with how his cum seeped out of you and around his cock. Without thinking, his rough fingers push deep in you, making you yelp as he makes sure he isn't wasting a drop behind.

The countdown ends, and fireworks erupt outside as your head rests on the crook of his sweat covered neck.

"I love ya', sugar" those words you thought you imagined that one time, now real, so goddamn real his voice quivers and eyes get tearful with grief, "'S okay if ya' don't say it. I just wanted you to hear 'em. 'M just tired of wastin' my time"

He wraps your lips with his with tenderness you had only dreamed of. There is still a lot to talk and heal, but this time, his arms hold you like a promise. And you let yourself believe it.

Y/n's New Years' purposes: 1. Break up with Nick 2. Try to explain this seasonal mess to mom and dad 3. At last, try to be happy

[deadsetobsessions]

Ghost King Phantom was an odd addition to the League. J’onn was often the last to find others odd but from the get-go, Phantom was the only quiet spot he’d have in his telepathic field. At first, it was off putting as most of the people that slipped beyond the reach of his immediate field tended to be villains and the like. But as Phantom remained in the Justice League, J’onn had come to learn to appreciate the calm spot in the turbulent sea of his friends’ and coworkers’ thoughts.

“You have taken to me faster than the others. Why is that?”

Phantom hummed purringly, another peculiar sound that J’onn had yet to see any of his human or alien heroes recreate with any success. They sat at their usual spot, face facing the cosmos and backs guarded by their friends. Plus, J’onn and Phantom could look directly into the sun without painfully loosing their sight.

“I guess I’ve always been fond of the stars. Of space, and everything in it. What about you? Why did we become friends so fast?”

J’onn shook his head, a human motion he’d learned a long time ago to imitate. “No, we became slower friends than most, as my telepathic abilities allow for easier communication and understanding of one another’s motives. With the exception of Batman but I have found he is often the exception to most expectations.”

“That checks out,” King Phantom laughed. “Well, I’m glad we became friends. It’s very cool to meet a Martian. Space is one of my Obsessions, you see.”

J’onn nodded. “I see. I am sorry that I am the only Martian you will meet.”

“You are?”

J’onn nodded again, slower. Sadder. His facial muscles, in this form, does not imitate human patterns well and he knew that most people could not pick out his emotions without his verbal expression.

Intuition tells J’onn that Phantom knew regardless.

“Would you mind telling me what happened?” His voice is gentle, the emotions that Phantom pushes at him are gentle and questing, but not demanding. It has been a long time since anyone has asked him of memories he clung to. And so, J’onn J’onzz speaks in the way that was natural to him, the way his people communicated.

With his mental voice flowing into Phantom’s head, J’onn tells him of the wonders that used to be his home. He provided images and sounds of how his home shone as the sun rose, how the shadows that fell when the sun dipped beneath the horizon felt as comforting as a Martian’s first telepathic cradle. He tells Phantom of his twin brother, grief and agony entwined in the memories of someone he had loved. He spoke of his wife and their daughter, and their cozy home on the windswept plains of Mars.

King Phantom sat still with him as the Watch-Tower moved along, around a king and his friend who was recounting the stagnant grief of his past.

J’onn tells him of the virus, borne of his twin’s hatred, and how he watched everything around him burn. How he had desperately tried to prevent his wife and daughter from using their telepathic abilities. He spoke of his failures. He wove together a tapestry of insanity and grief, built upon the burning bodies of his wife and their beloved daughter. He tells Phantom how the Mars now was just ashes and dust of his former home. How he could not look upon the planet and not see the shades of his wife and daughter and parents and friends, walking upon a barren planet that no longer held anything familiar to the last Martian.

Phantom had hummed again, a soothing rumble. Sadness dripped from the edges of his consciousness.

“If it was not for the Doctor, I would be dead and shattered.” J’onn spoke for the first time in three hours. “It is… less painful to live. I have purpose.”

“I am glad that you are not either of those things.” Phantom stood. “Come with me. I have to show you something.”

J’onn trusted Phantom, and thus followed the king into the glowing green portal.

They flew past many doors, Phantom often glancing at him before shaking his head and changing directions.

They stopped at a door that felt familiar. J’onn knew it from somewhere.

“Go ahead, open the door. But know that you can’t stay long. You don’t belong to this realm quite yet. Not for quite a while.” Phantom moves, hand gesturing towards the door without a knob.

“How..?”

“How else? You have telekinesis, don’t you?”

J’onn blinked. Right. He opened the door and- oh.

The door warped with the screaming storm of grief and love and oh-how-I’ve-missed-you that J’onn unleashed.

Because there in front of him were M’yri’ah and K’hym, his wife and daughter.

The door was an imitation of his home, back when he had not known true loss.

“Impossible,” he stumbled back.

“You are in the realm of the dead. You didn’t think the title of the Ghost King was for fun, did you, J’onn?” Phantom smiled and- a move J’onn would definitely engage in petty payback for, later after he’d gotten over the shock- pushed him flying right into the room.

M’yri’ah and K’hym cradled him with telepathic swirls of love and husband!-dad!-love-love-love-safe!

And J’onn shuddered and gathered the his world in his arms to say goodbye.

——

[nightingale-prompts]

Ghost Courting is Dangerous-DC x DP prompt

This post comes from the Accidental Ghost Courting AU > HERE

Warning: Graphic Descriptions

One thing the other ghosts didn't tell Danny was the phases. The infatuation is strong but it happens so early in the courting that the other phases rarely have time to kick in before the bond is made.

So what comes after intense infatuation?

Obsession.

Not the cute or romantic kind.

The kind only ghosts had and were dangerous to humans.

Danny felt the first stirrings after spending the night at Tim's apartment. They ended up falling asleep on the couch mostly because Danny leaned on Tim's shoulder. Now he was resting on Tim's chest. But waking up the immediate thought that entered Danny's mind was to bite. Not in a cute nibble way. Danny wanted to take a bite out of Tim. To taste his blood and feel it run down his chin.

Danny wondered how perfect Tim would look when the light left his eyes.

Immediately Danny beat those thoughts with a bat back into the darkness. He would never want to see Tim hurt or dead.

What Danny didn't know was that courting was way more complicated than he thought. It doesn't follow human logic.

This mantis like behavior twisted Danny's thoughts.

Just looking at Tim caused them to return.

"I wish I could carve open his chest and crawl inside. Feel his warmth around me. I want to hold his heart in my hands." Danny thought.

Clockwork decided to give him the talk.

It wasn't that Danny wanted to kill Tim. Not at all.

It's just that ghosts are nebulous with blurred lines of their physical forms. Their energies mingle without physical touch. That's how they communicate on a deeper level. That was how Nocturne constantly told Clockwork that he loved him without saying a word. The more ancient the ghost the stronger the project was.

Danny's thoughts were just a projection of his desire to get closer to Tim.

Clockwork was still critical of Danny's choice to court a moral.

"The next stages only get worse. You must find a way to satisfy these urges and quickly. Your partner seems to be getting cold feet. He moves too slow."

Tim however was still unaware that he was being courted and was just as little sad that his good friend Danny had been acting weirder than usual around him.

[demonic0angel]

DcxDp

Danny is living on the streets in Crime Alley the main issue is that he was deaged into a six year old by the GIW and had to run. The Fenton Parents were across the country at a ghost hunter's convention and Jazz was away at college. Danny's been on the streets for a few weeks now, his phone was broken during his escape meaning no contact with Sam and Tucker.

Red Hood had just finished a report on a joint case with the other bats concerning a drug ring trying to set up in Gotham and Crime Alley, when this tiny six year old with a white shock in his black hair and bright blue eyes and old bandages from multiple injuries popped out of a dumpster holding a pack of unopened hot dogs that were only a day passed the sell by date.

The two immediately make eye contact and Danny just slams the lid on the dumpster and wiggles intangibly out of a rusted out hole on the back of the dumpster and runs when his intangiblity flickers and fails as soon as he's out. Jason isn't exactly sure what he saw for a moment but when he realized what happened he's immediately on the search for his tiny doppelganger.

Jason snatched up the little kid. For a moment, he paused to think, ‘Am I seriously kidnapping a kid?’ before he recollected his thoughts and explained to himself, ‘Yes, because this kid needs help.’

The kid wriggled in his hands, frowning and pouting. He kicked his little legs as he cried out, "Kidnapper! Kidnapper! Help! Someone help!"

"Kid, where are your parents?" Jason asked. He held the struggling kid and brought him closer to his chest.

Something like an electric current from static buildup zapped between them. Jason flinched and the boy stilled.

Then he went quiet and sniffled, cuddling closer to Jason's chest plate, rubbing his chubby cheek against the bat-symbol there.

Jason awkwardly moved his face away from his taser and asked again, "Kid, where are your parents?"

"... gone," he mumbled. "My sista can't find me."

Jason gently patted his back, bringing him closer into a hug. The kid buried himself closer and Jason wondered if his initial fight was due to fear or something. "What's your name?"

"... Danny."

"Okay, Danny. Let's find your sister, okay? Want to come with me?"

Danny nodded silently and Jason resisted the urge to smile and coo. He was quite cute, with his pouty expression and teary eyes. Jason used his thumb to rub away at some dirt on his cheek before adjusting his hold on him.

"Alright, kiddo, what can you tell me about your sister?"

——

Danny stared at the strange, liminal man who was afflicted with ectoplasmic rot, as he went on a vague tangent about Jazz.

He was pretty sure that Jazz and his friends were already searching for him, since he had been gone for awhile now.

He was also pretty sure that if he gave up too much information, this man would've been able to find her too quickly, which prevented Danny from giving him the help that he needed.

Danny sighed.

Who knew that after he would be deaged, he'd have to adopt a grown man?