#imagine them at parties they would be so good

[lovieku]

HANDS ON ME ⋆ 정국

𐙚 if you like what you see, baby put your hands on me.

it’s about to look like jeongguk’s birthday everyday with you.

based on this ask

from the grande series ୨ৎ

pairing: nerd!jk x popular!fem reader

genre: smut

ratings: 18+ / mdni

warnings: lower case intended, jk is inexperienced and sooo whipped, it’s his birthday!!! and he’s getting it hhhh, lowk dom!oc x sub!jk, size kink, tit play, dry humping, brief coochie play, cum eating omfg, blow job, cutest babies ever

word count: 3.9k

a/n: first thing i saw this morning was that ask, so of course i had to write this. like THANK U ANON that was such a good idea yes yes yes. hope u enjoy 🩷🩷

🏷️ perm taglist: @ceellliiinee @jaytheatiny @dolligguk @luvismenu @theyloveyams @stillwjk-channie-lixie @bookstoread199 @girlygguk @vieviela @myngiii @angelxkoo @nnybtitts08 @mpbrinkss @https-mei @lyywst @mhdelu @apobangpogirlyyy @khadeeeeej @awrkive @nooooooooonnneeeeeee @vantelover1306

────୨ৎ────

jeongguk didn’t wish for his birthday party to look like this.

the second he casually mentioned that his parents would be out of town on the very same day he would turn 21, his small friend group (consisting of the two nerdiest guys in college, probably even battling him for the top spot) took it on them to turn what he imagined would be a calm, quiet night spent with the comfort of jimin and taehyung in front of video games into a contending rival of a literal frat party. in his own house. when he never approved of it, nor asked for it.

there’s an inestimable amount of faces he has never seen before this moment, but they all seem to know him, congratulating him every time he comes in their vision. then, they go back to drinking, kissing, soft-fucking on his couch, and seemingly pumping up the volume of the music more and more with each blasting and ungraceful song.

that is probably why he’s struggling a bit more than he usually does with breathing. he’s a huge germaphobe, and having all these strangers barge into his space and lean on every possible surface with their greasy, alcohol stained hands has him close to hyperventilating.

he still hasn’t figured out how his two friends did it, but they managed to involve what looked like the whole uni into coming at jeongguk’s 21st birthday party like it was an unmissable event. it truly did seem like one, though, the birthday boy looking around in a confused awe and realizing this is all he’s ever missed from his teenage years. meh. not all that.

what really got him struggling to breathe is you. you, the most popular girl in college, talks about you on the mouths of all guys and girls in the hallways, loved yet envied by every single one of them, are here. and when you greeted him, you did so with a kiss for each of his cheeks. he stood there like he truly was going to let his lungs stop working, and you just smiled up at him through your long lashes and big eyes.

you’re not popular for the cliché reasons a girl in college might be. you’re not mean, you don’t square uncool people from head to toe with a judging look, you’re not known to be scary and unapproachable. the reason why you’re surrounded by a devoted swarm of bees is because you’re the literal definition of an angel.

an angel always ready to help anyone who seems like struggling, flash them with pearly whites, and be impossible to resist with bug, wide eyes conveying all your most honest emotions.

you’re known for genuine reasons. he’s never even heard many rumors about you, and if he did he assumed it was coming from way too envious people. the only thing he allowed himself to believe about your privacy, is that you’re very caring in bed.

he won’t admit it, feels disgusting for it, but he’s touched himself to that thought a couple of times. maybe more.

it doesn’t matter now, because you’re closer to him than you’ve ever been, and you sit in the overwhelming circle that has formed on the floor of his living room, people he has never even talked to proposing games and pushing drinks into his hand since he’s now 21.

unlike most people, that number doesn’t mean a lot to him. he’s not that thrilled about the knowledge that he can now get his hands on anything that was previously denied to him, alcohol and substances of those sorts. he never liked them, and he doesn’t think he will just because of this newfound freedom.

he’s now getting the full experience when someone, sharp-eyed and drunk on audacity, spots the wooden door to his dad’s wine cellar left slightly ajar and suggests seven minutes in heaven with the kind of enthusiasm jeongguk imagines newton felt when that apple hit his head.

on his right, jimin panics for jeongguk, “you’re not going to fuck in mr. jeon’s wine cellar.”

“who said anything about fucking?” dahye, a friend of yours, the complete opposite of you with a mean aura and sliced eyes, intervenes and has everyone laughing.

jimin rolls his eyes and plops down from where he straightened up on his knees, and jeongguk stays silent. he gave up fighting long ago, when the first drink spilled on his carpet.

he just gives a tight-lipped smile when his blonde friend tries an apologetic look, shaking his head and studying the room. jeongguk gulps when his eyes inevitably fall on yours, and he finds you already staring, an intensity he hasn’t seen often. when he’s sure he’s perfectly resembling a deer caught in headlights, you tilt your head amusedly, and he hastily focuses back down on his lap.

“well, since jimin is so afraid we’re gonna break his boyfriend’s stuff,” dahye continues, feeding off the childish chuckles coming from around her, and maybe also off jimin’s annoyed glare, “why don’t we let the birthday boy go first?”

at that, jeongguk’s head snaps up, his fluffy hair bouncing with the sudden movement, and he looks around wide eyed. he’s not sure what the game entails, he just knows something is supposed to happen, but he’s not sure exactly what the people hungrily gawking at him are expecting.

taehyung is about to add something when dahye interrupts once again, resting her hand on your lap beside her, “he can go with ___. i know that would make his day.”

sitting at her left, you’re the only one who doesn’t laugh at the sneaky implication; instead, you glare at your friend, who shrugs in response.

both jimin and taehyung fall in total silence, their eyes alarmingly looking at their friend in the middle. jeongguk seems a hundred times more panicked, but not because of the same reasons.

while his two best friends are simply excited at the prospect of jeongguk’s every dream coming true, eagerly expecting a positive answer from his mouth, jeongguk’s whole focus is on you, and your seemingly impassive face. his mind spins with haunting worries, giving at least twenty different interpretations to the way you’re looking at him, brows subtly twitching up.

he clumsily parts his lips to say something, but with absolutely no senseful thought swarming his brain, nothing comes out.

a beat of anticipated silence goes by before you gracefully stand up, all eyes following you, and even if quiet, your voice goes through the music, “let’s go, gguk.”

jeongguk loudly gulps, and he hopes the sound isn’t heard, but he doubts it since he’s receiving a scary amount of attention that goes over what he’s received his whole life.

if it wasn’t for the two guys at his sides pushing him to stand up, he would have stayed with his ass perched to the floor. instead, he stumbles and almost trips, meeting your eyes with awkward shame as you just softly smile at his gawkiness.

you don’t wait for him, daintily walking to the room victim of the game, pushing the door open and curiously peeking inside. jeongguk hastily jumps over the people sitting on the ground, still quietly observing the scene, and he’s at your side way faster than the time it took for him to even realize what was about to happen.

he exhales loudly at the proximity, standing behind you and basking in the height difference, your head barely reaching his chest, and he thinks he truly sees heaven when you turn around to look up at him, grinning delicately as you tilt your head back, “wanna go in?”

jeongguk is sure he has lost the capability to speak. no matter the sounds he tries to force up his throat, they’re not strong enough to fight their way out. he simply closes the door behind the two of you, and he’s glad when it significantly helps drown out the loud music and drunkish chatter.

he’s less glad for it when it means he’s officially left alone with you in a relatively cramped space, the silence almost more suffocating than the room and its strong smell. but he’s convinced you must be an angel when you don’t complain, not even slightly, your face the expression of composure.

he stands in the middle of the cellar while you explore it in a circle, letting your heels click on the parquet floor and your fingers carefully brush the wine bottles.

the simple action makes him feel hot, naughty mind conjuring up images of you tracing his skin with such care, and he releases a shaky breath before you can stop him, blurting his messy thoughts out, “we— we don’t have— have to do anyt—”

“sit on that stool, gguk.”

the command is anything but harsh, your voice a soft melody of calmness, but it still startles him. no, it shakes something in his chest, traveling all the way down to where he’s starting to feel a strong urge.

you point to a wooden stool in the corner of the room, which doesn’t look too high, but when he obediently goes to sit on it with his knees wobbling, you promptly place yourself in front of him and grin at the way he’s still almost at face level with you, his forehead reaching only a little under your chin.

his huge proportions compared to yours have always managed to make your head spin and thighs squeeze together whenever you managed to sit next to him in the few lectures you shared, lashes fluttering seductively to have him fix nonexistent bugs on your computer just to see his wide hand close to yours on the keyboard.

now, with his puppy eyes staring up at you expectantly, his drawn up brows only emphasizing his yearning, you need to steady yourself with hands on his shoulder to hold back from quite literally grinding on him. you whisper, “good.”

his orbs shake impossibly more, and from the corner of your eye you see his fingers fidgeting in his lap, fighting a delirious need. his legs are spread just enough for you to be standing right in the middle of them, but you push yourself further into him, his chin lifting up even higher to never be forced to look away from your firm gaze, hanging from your lips when you voice an apology, “i didn’t bring a gift, ggukkie.”

jeongguk is almost panting, the endearing nicknames only adding to the warmth of your sweet body, your vanilla scent clouding his senses and gouging the truth out of him, “th—that’s okay, ___. i—i’m very happy you’re here.”

you smile, but it’s one he’s never seen on you. it’s not one of those you flash when you’re grateful, understanding, or even amused. it’s mischievous, almost belittling. “are you saying i’m your gift?”

his eyes widen, and he’s ashamed of the way your accusative tone causes him to throb in his jeans, and in his speech too, “huh— oh my god. i’m so sorry. that must sound so—”

you chuckle, stroking his broad back with your hands sliding across his width, “hey, slow down. it sounds so very cute coming from your lips.”

jeongguk appreciates your efforts at trying to put him at ease, truly. but your soothing touch and words only have him in a state of alert, even more when your fingers travel up his nape and find home in his locks. you’re impossibly close now, and he feels your voice resounding within him, “but i’m still not satisfied. i wanna give you more, make you forgive me.”

your whisper fans over his lips, and he unconsciously parts them for you, his eyes hooded by the second and glassed over with desperate want. you smirk.

stepping back enough for his neck to rest at a comfortable angle, he whimpers deliciously at the loss of your touch, but you shut him up just as quickly when your dress is off you and on the wooden floor in a swift motion.

jeongguk is definitely panting now, breathing manually and focusing too much on having his heart pump oxygen for him rather than the view of your exposed body in front of him.

he gradually realizes he could care less about dying right now if it means the last thing he’s going to be faced with is your nipples hardening with the cool, and hopefully something else, and your lacy white panties barely covering your core.

jeongguk stares like a starved man being met with his first meal after weeks of seeking, his hands trembling on his thighs and squeezing into suppressing fists.

his gasp turns into an awfully high-pitched moan when you hook a finger under the hem of your lingerie, sliding it daintily down your legs and walking out of it, never breaking eye contact with him. only thing you’re left with are your high heeled boots.

the next thing you do has the organs that keep all his vital functions going completely stop working, his heart missing more than ten beats and catching up with an alarmingly fast speed, causing his voice to shake, “___, wh—what are you—”

swinging one of your legs, you sit on him with your ingloriously stained panties pressing right on his crotch, hands placed back on the base of his neck, basking in the way you can feel his rapid beating under your fingers.

you lean into his ear, “if you like what you see, you can put your hands on me, baby.”

jeongguk throws his head back for air, his chest heaving with trembling exhales before he finds your eyes again, and in the fraction of second he needed to look elsewhere if he didn’t want to bust in his tight pants already, you’re a whole different person.

your eyes are sliced, pupils blown and hooded, and your parted lips stretch just enough to paint a wicked smirk over your face, its effects flooding right down his stomach and making you feel his hardness through the material.

his hands dance a panicked rhythm hovering over your sides, not sure what to do, not deeming himself deserving of feeling your skin under his touch. but you take it upon yourself to guide them, pressing his palms against your hips and letting them ride up your exposed breasts.

he whimpers, fingertips unconsciously testing the sense of the soft curve of your boobs with a subtle press, but it’s not enough. you can’t feel him.

with your hands still on his, you arch yourself further into his touch and have his thumbs slice over your sensitive nubs, letting out a moan of your own that goes over his low groan. you lick your lips and struggle to find your breath and words too, but you whisper them through an already too fucked out smile, “see? you can touch me, just like that.”

the go-ahead is all he needs for him to dive his head right into your chest, his tongue catching your nipple in an unpracticed hunger, messily sucking on it and quickly leaving your skin soaked with spit. he works clumsily with his hand on your other tit, movements uncoordinated and unsure.

but the fact that he seems to not care about his inexperience, willing to learn right at this moment all it takes for you to keep whimpering and trembling when he touches, has your usually composed senses lost in a haze of desire, the need to give your all to the nerdy boy that is finally being properly touched just as he turns 21 clouding your senses and pushing you to unconsciously buck your hips against his.

he moans with his mouth full of you, his free hand gripping your thigh, and he tries to stop it but he can’t help the way he meets your grinding, snapping up as if he lost all sort of control over his body. he quite literally wails in desperation, “fuck— don’t— don’t do that. i’m gonna— oh, god.”

“you’re gonna cum?” you sound just as crazed, hips rutting at a faster speed on him, the slickness smearing all over his jeans and leaving a wet patch right where his dick stays confined.

“no! i— i mean, just give me a second, shit. i swear, i—”

“ggukkie, this is about you. i’ll make you cum, hm? how’s that sound?” the sweet sound of your promise has him seeing stars, eyes squeezing shut as he feels himself getting close to a point he doesn’t think he’s ever reached before.

until he’s back to zero.

you lift your hips off his, helping your weight up by placing your hands on his broad shoulders, and you sport a devilish smile when he opens his eyes again, protest ready on his tongue. his brows are furrowed and there’s tears ready to spill out from his eyelids, but you don’t let them.

the huge palm that was still fondling your breast is now being led by you further down, until it disappears between you. you have him cup your wet core, the intensity of the moment only heightened by your gaze never leaving his, “touch me.”

when panic flashes over his expression once again, you instruct him through it just how you did minutes before, and he quickly gets the hang of it. you always appreciated him being a fast learner, but you couldn’t imagine that it would come handy in a scenario like this one.

you hum when his ring and middle finger trace your slit, only to come up to try and find your clit in a surprisingly good attempt, “good, get all of it. make your hand wet.”

the moment squelching sounds reach your ears, you leave your seat from his lap and stand on your heels again. he whines, unknowingly reaching for you, but you halt his hand and redirect it on the zipper of his jeans. you tilt your chin, “take them off.”

he’s quicker than he was at the beginning of his seven minutes in heaven now, freeing himself from the tight pants, boxers going along with it, and his cock springs free deliciously, standing tall and proud against his tummy.

you groan, almost already falling to your knees like you are planning to do soon. it’s an adjective you don’t think you’ve ever used on any of the guys you’ve been with, but jeongguk’s cock is pretty. its pink tip matches his lips, swollen from the harsh biting, and it doesn’t look rough. it has just the perfect length, girth, and when it twitches under your awe, you see it bend subtly to the right.

you smile, meeting his face again, delirious need written all over it, “stroke your cock with the hand you touched me with,” the second the order is out your lips, he’s already working himself. you can see him trying to go at a merciful speed, his grip loose, and it makes you grin amusedly, “mh, aren’t you so obedient. let me have a taste, gguk.”

you clearly have noticed that he’s not as quick on his feet as he usually is, brain clouded, so you once again take it upon yourself to lead his hand, this time introducing two of his fingers in your warm mouth. you hum loudly around the thick digits, eyes rolling back, and you speak around them, “fuck, you wanna try that?”

you don’t wait for him to reply, knowing it would get him minutes that you sadly don’t have to formulate a senseful answer, and you simply feed him his own fingers, carefully watching the way he lets his cheek hollow around them. you chuckle feverishly, “we taste so good together, don’t we?”

he nods eagerly, eyes glassy with more tears, and you think you can see one drop at the side of his face just as you fall to your knees in front of his seated body, your pretty figure even smaller from his view, and he’s graced with your bug eyes staring up at him through long lashes.

you don’t waste any more time, knowing there’s not much left in the heaven you’ve created for your own, and you wrap your ravenous mouth around him, showing none of the previous mercy in your speed.

he lets his mouth hang open, moans uncontrollably loud, and he needs to grab the sides of his stool to get the illusion of some sort of power still left within him. he closes his eyes in bliss, but quickly snaps them open when he realizes what he’s missing.

you’re bobbing your head up and down his length, and you still manage to maintain that dainty elegance that characterizes you, slim fingers gripping around the base and making up for the spots you can’t reach. he pants on the verge of a heart attack, pitch high as he begs, “fuck. look— look up at me, please.”

you do, aligning yourself better to meet his frenzied state, eyes communicating all the words you can’t say, too engaged in having him unravel all over your lips. he groans at the eye contact, thinking back to all the times he’s seen this exact scene flash behind his closed eyelids, and he’s a fool for even believing his mere imagination could compare.

it will never be enough, never again. not after this. not after knowing what you look like as you devote yourself to him, precise movements getting him closer, the way your tongue flickers out to reach down further and how you let his tip meet the back of your throat finally causing him to snap his hips up involuntarily, and before he can say something to warn you, he’s painting your warm mouth with his cum.

ropes of white, hot liquid spill out from you, but you promptly collect all of it, making sure not a single drop is missed, gulping it down with eager want. you wordlessly smile up at him, infatuated with the way his chest heaves and his lips part, trying to regain some composure.

he thinks he will need hours to fully recover. and he’s not even sure he wants this moment to end, blurting his predominant thought out before he knows it, “i wanna make you feel good, too.”

you chuckle as you get up, quickly soothing your knees before collecting your panties from the ground and walking back inside them, “it’s okay, baby. this was my birthday gift for you, hm? besides, we don’t have much time left before the others come in.”

“but…”

jeongguk helplessly watches as you get dressed, cringing at the stickiness of your wet core but nonetheless slipping your flowy dress back on. he just had the best orgasm of his life from the girl he firmly believes to be the love of his life, and he doesn’t get to give it back. oh, he feels like an absolute asshole.

you seem to read it all simply by scanning his face fondly, words soft, “that doesn’t mean you won’t get to do that, you cute boy. you will, and soon.”

when you’re done fixing the creases over your clothes, you walk to him and help him back in his jeans. tucking his softening length in, you lift up the zip of his pants and you’re glad for the way the patch of your wetness seems to have dried.

standing between his spread legs, you brush a hand through his hair, tenderly watching the way his curls fall and tickle his forehead. you smile and whisper quietly, “i got your number from dahye. i’ll text you, okay?”

he gulps, nodding hastily at your rhetorical question and feeling the blush creep up his neck. god, he must look like a total fool, “o—okay…”

humming lowly, you press your lips to his cheek, then to the tip of his nose, “you’re so pretty, you know that? don’t be sad.” next, your mouth rests on his, molding in a kiss that has his eyes shooting wide, and that ends way before he can even realize what’s happening. you chuckle at his expression, and you can’t resist another peck before promising, “happy birthday, gguk.”

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (09)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 4.7k

Aliyah's Notes: y'all are getting fed cause this chapter and the next one are gonna be cute asf so enjoy :)

Three days before the engagement party felt like an endless marathon, with every hour packed to the brim with decisions and errands. The morning started early—too early for your liking—as Aisha and Nina practically dragged you out of bed.

Nina, ever the “mom” of the group, had already prepared an itinerary. She stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, her phone in hand, while you slumped in a chair, still clinging to the remnants of sleep. “Alright, ladies,” Nina began, her tone brisk, “we’ve got a packed schedule. Venue first, then flowers, then caterers. We’ll fit in the designer appointment after lunch, assuming someone,” her eyes flicked pointedly toward you, “doesn’t take forever to make decisions.”

Aisha smirked, sipping her coffee as she leaned against the counter. “You know she’ll take forever. She was debating the color of napkins for twenty minutes for her birthday party.”

“Because they matter!” you protested, sitting up straighter, your natural energy kicking in. “The wrong napkin can throw off the entire table aesthetic. Imagine gold chargers with plain white napkins—horrible!”

Aisha groaned dramatically, while Nina pinched the bridge of her nose. “God give me strength,” Nina muttered in Tagalog under her breath before clapping her hands. “Alright, let’s move. The decorator is expecting us in twenty minutes, and I’m not letting us be late.”

The three of you piled into Nina’s car, and the drive to the venue was filled with your endless chatter. You couldn’t help yourself; you were excited. Ever since your night at Rafe’s, you’ve been walking around with a weight lift off your shoulders, and a smile on your face. “Okay, but seriously, do you think white and gold is too basic? Should I add a pop of color? Like blush pink? Or emerald green! Oh, that could be so chic—”

“Breathe, Miss. Yapper,” Aisha interrupted, shooting you a look from the front seat. “You’ve already settled on white and gold. Don’t backtrack now.”

“She’s just overthinking again,” Nina said from the driver’s seat, her voice calm but firm. “You always do this, sweetie. Just trust your instincts. They’re good… most of the time.”

“Most of the time?!” you repeated, feigning offense.

“Girl, you’re the one who almost ordered heart-shaped balloons for your ex’s retirement party,” your best friend deadpanned.

“He always complained about his job, alright! I thought he was happy to retire.”

The two of them burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help but join in. They always knew how to make you laugh, even when your perfectionism threatened to take over.

When you arrived at the venue, the decorator was already waiting, surrounded by samples of linens, centerpieces, and lighting options. The grand ballroom looked beautiful even in its unfinished state, with its high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows letting in streams of sunlight. But you could already see a million tiny things that needed to be fixed or adjusted.

Nina took charge of logistics, confirming delivery times and setups with the decorator, while Aisha kept you in check. Every time you tried to change something—a table arrangement here, a floral display there—Aisha would cross her arms and give you a warning glare.

“Focus, Y/N. You’re going to drive this poor decorator insane,” Aisha muttered as you debated, for the third time, whether the table runners should have a satin or matte finish.

“It’s not insane to want things to be perfect,” you argued, though your voice was tinged with doubt.

“It’s insane when you’re deciding between two things that look exactly the same,” Aisha countered.

“Pale beige and normal beige are completely different—”

Nina swooped in to mediate, her tone soothing. “Look, kids, both options are gorgeous. Y/N, pick one and move on. We still have three more stops today.”

You sighed, finally nodding and pointing to the matte finish. The decorator gave you a grateful smile, and you moved on to the next decision.

By the time you left the venue, your head was spinning, but there was no time to slow down. The next stop was the florist, where the three of you pored over bouquets and arrangements.

“Peonies are elegant, but are they too soft for the theme?” you mused aloud, holding up a sample.

“Peonies are fine,” Nina assured you, already checking her phone for the next appointment.

“Roses are boring,” Aisha chimed in, inspecting a cluster of orchids. “But these could work. They’re dramatic. Like you.”

You stuck your tongue out at her, earning a rare laugh from Nina. “She’s not wrong,” Nina said with a small smile.

The florist walked you through the arrangements, but your perfectionism struck again. You wanted everything to complement the aesthetic without feeling overdone. Nina stepped in when she sensed you starting to spiral.

“Y/N, just pick a theme and stick with it,” she said gently but firmly. “You can’t have every flower in the world at your party. Less is more.”

Aisha nodded in agreement. “Listen to her. She’s right. For once.”

Nina rolled her eyes but didn’t dignify the comment with a response.

Eventually, you settled on a mix of peonies, orchids, and eucalyptus, feeling a little more confident as you left the florist.

Lunch was a quick stop at a café, where you barely had time to scarf down a sandwich before heading to your next appointment. The designer fitting was a whirlwind of fabrics, sequins, and pins, with you trying on dress after dress while Nina and Aisha offered their unfiltered opinions.

By the end of the day, you were utterly spent. You stumbled through the door of your apartment, exhaustion hit you like a ton of bricks. You kicked off your heels, letting them clatter onto the floor, and flopped onto the couch with a moan. Your feet ached, your head was pounding, and the thought of the work you have for tomorrow made you want to cry.

Just as you were debating whether to order takeout or crawl into bed and call it a night. Your phone buzzed—-your new phone that you bought yesterday after losing your original one and your keys at the charity event—-on the coffee table. You reached for it, squinting at the screen.

Rafe: “Longest. Day. Ever.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite your fatigue. You propped yourself up against the armrest and typed back.

You: “Tell me about it. I’m so dead! Who knew choosing flowers could feel like a full-body workout?”

His response came almost immediately.

Rafe: “Yeah? Well, at least you didn’t have to run for AN HOUR!!! My legs feel like they’re about to give up on me.”

You: “Poor baby. Want me to send you a trophy for Most Exhausted Future Fiancé-to-Be?”

Rafe: “Ha. Ha. So funny.”

Rafe: “Are you sure we’re not married yet? You already sound like a nagging wife.”

The audacity of him made you chuckle and roll your eyes. You typed quickly, unable to help yourself.

You: “Excuse you? If I’m a nagging wife, then you’re a whiny husband.”

Rafe: “Whatever you say, nagging wife.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you sank further into the couch. The teasing back-and-forth was an oddly comforting way to unwind after such a chaotic day.

You: “Seriously though, did you at least eat? Or are you surviving off your ego again?”

Rafe: “Does a protein bar and water count?”

You groaned audibly, your fingers flying across the screen.

You: “No, Rafe. A protein bar and water do NOT count. A protein bar is not food; it’s a snack. Please tell me you’ve got something decent in your fridge.”

Rafe: “Define ‘decent’…”

You: “I’m going to kill you.”

Rafe: “That’s very romantic, baby, but you’re avoiding the question. What’s the verdict? Is my fridge decent enough for you, Your Honor?”

You: “No.”

You: “Knowing you, it’s probably full of water bottles, expired vegetables, and mystery leftovers. Am I wrong?”

Rafe: “I don’t like this attack on my character.”

You: “Answer the question, Cameron.”

Rafe: “Fine. Maybe you’re right. I don’t have the energy to argue. Or to cook, for that matter.”

You sighed again, a twinge of concern sneaking past your teasing. You guessed he pushed himself hard during training, but the least he could do was take care of himself after.

You: “Alright, what do you feel like eating? I’ll bring you something.”

Rafe: “What? No. You just spent all day running around. You don’t have to do that.”

You: “Too late. I offered, and I’m not taking it back. So, what’ll it be?”

Rafe: “...You’re really doing this, huh?”

You: “Absolutely.”

Rafe: “Fine. Surprise me. Just nothing too fancy. I’m starving.”

You: “Got it. Be there in an hour.”

Rafe: “Angel.”

Shaking your head, you pocketed your phone and headed to the kitchen. After a quick assessment of what you had on hand, you decided on a simple but satisfying dish: chicken biryani. 

Cooking helped you relax after the chaotic day. The process of measuring spices, chopping onions, and stirring the pot grounded you, your mind focused on creating something warm and filling. By the time the dish was done, the air was fragrant with the scent of saffron, cardamom, and cloves.

You packed the biryani into a container, added a side of pudding kheer for balance, and grabbed some naan for good measure. After a quick freshen-up, you were on your way to Rafe’s penthouse.

When he opened the door, the sight of him hit you like a punch to the gut. Rafe stood there in low-hanging sweatpants that clung to his hips, no shirt in sight, leaving every inch of his toned chest and sculpted abs on full display. His damp hair was a tousled mess, drops of water clinging to his skin, catching the light as they slid down the defined lines of his torso. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his gaze raking over you with a mix of cocky amusement and exhaustion. The lazy grin tugging at his lips was enough to make your pulse stutter—and the way his voice dipped, low and teasing, when he finally spoke didn’t help. 

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Look who showed up. My nagging wife bearing gifts.”

You rolled your eyes, forcing yourself to focus on the container in your hands instead of his sexy, very sexy abs. “You want dinner or not, Cameron? ‘Cause I can take it back?”

He instantly straightened up. “Come in, Your Honor,” he stepped aside to let you in, his grin widening when he saw the bag in your hand.

The penthouse was dimly lit, the warm glow of the city skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You set the food on the kitchen island, trying to ignore the way he was watching you with that infuriating smirk.

You looked at your attire, and rolled your eyes. “Stop staring at my ass and grab plates,” you ordered, sounding stern.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, clearly amused, but he obeyed.

The two of you sat at the island, the meal between you. You put your hair in a bun, and said; “So, this is chicken biryani—” you pointed to it. “—and this is kheer and some naan.”

“This looks amazing, Y/N,” he let out a groan of appreciation.

You blushed at the compliment. “Thank you. You ever had Asian food before?”

“I had sushi and ramen with my team—”

You chuckled. “I meant South Asian food, Rafe.”

“Oh. South Asian…”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “You know, Indian, Sri Lankan, Pakistani, etc… Did you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t remember. I eat basic white man food, to be honest.”

“I realized,” you laughed. “Well, eat well.”

Rafe took his first bite, and his eyes widened. “Yo! This is delicious, what the fuck?”

You smiled, watching as he devoured the food like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Told you protein bars wouldn’t cut it—”

“You’re not going to eat?”

“I already ate,” you lied.

“Bullshit,” he said, giving you a pointed look. “Have some with me. I don’t like eating alone.”

You hesitated for a moment before giving in, grabbing a fork and joining him. The two of you ate in companionable silence, the tension of the day melting away with each bite.

For a brief moment, it didn’t feel like you were preparing for an engagement party or navigating the complicated arrangement that had brought you together. It felt easy, natural—like something that didn’t require overthinking.

You stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, rinsing off the plates and containers. Warm water rushed over your hands as you scrubbed away the remnants of biryani and naan. The scent of spices lingered in the air, a comforting reminder of the meal you’d shared. Behind you, Rafe leaned against the counter, his tall frame relaxed but his eyes fixed on you.

“You know,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the faucet, “you really don’t have to do this.”

“You’ve said that already,” you replied without turning around, focusing instead on rinsing the plate in your hand.

“Because I mean it. I can clean tomorrow,” he quipped, folding his arms across his bare chest.

A chuckle escaped you, and you tossed him a look over your shoulder. “Some of us were raised to clean up immediately after eating. It’s a brown girl thing—no one leaves the kitchen messy in my house.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. “Ah, so it’s cultural?”

“Hell yeah,” you replied, turning back to the sink. “If my mom ever caught me walking away from a pile of dishes, I wouldn’t live to see another day.”

“Sounds intense,” he teased, though his tone was laced with curiosity.

“You’re just white,” you shot back, and he laughed. “But also… I kind of like it,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “It feels wrong to leave things undone. Like you’re disrespecting the meal or something.”

Rafe was quiet for a moment, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you, not with judgment but something that felt closer to admiration.

“You’re kind of incredible, you know that?” he said finally.

You blinked, caught off guard. “For doing the dishes? Your standards are low, Cameron.”

He laughed, the sound deep and genuine. “No, I mean… just in general. You don’t have to cook for me or clean up after me, but you do it anyway. And you don’t even make a big deal out of it. You’re just… thoughtful.”

His words made you pause, your hands still under the running water. For a man who often masked his feelings behind sarcasm and cockiness, the sincerity in his voice hit you harder than you expected.

“Well,” you said, trying to keep your tone light, “don’t get used to it. Just because I cleaned your kitchen tonight doesn’t mean I’m signing up to do it forever.”

Rafe grinned, stepping closer. “Noted. One-time deal.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you shut off the faucet and reached for the dish towel. “Besides, I wasn’t cleaning for you. I was cleaning for my own peace of mind.”

“Still,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “thanks. For all of it.”

You glanced over at him, caught off guard again by the softness in his tone. The cocky grin he usually wore was replaced by something more subdued, more genuine. It made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t ready to think about.

“It’s not a big deal,” you said, your voice quieter now. “Just food and a few dishes.”

“To you, maybe,” he said, leaning against the counter beside you. “But it’s been a while since anyone’s done something like this for me. I don’t even know the last time I had an actual home-cooked meal.”

That admission tugged at something deep inside you, a mix of sympathy and affection you weren’t quite prepared for. You focused on folding the towel in your hands, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your cheeks warmed.

“Well, someone has to make sure you don’t live off protein bars and bad decisions,” you said lightly, trying to steer the conversation back into familiar territory.

Rafe chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Guess I should count myself lucky it’s you.”

Your eyes flicked up to his, and for a moment, you forgot how to respond. The way he was looking at you—soft, unguarded, and almost reverent—made your heart skip a beat.

“Alright, stop,” you said, breaking the moment and brushing past him toward the counter. “You’re making it weird.”

“Making what weird?” he asked, following you with an amused grin.

“Everything,” you shot back, grabbing your bag. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you slacking off while I did all the work. Next time, you’re cleaning.”

“Deal,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “As long as there’s a next time.”

You hesitated at the door, looking back at him. His smirk was still there, but so was that softness in his eyes, the one that made it hard to look away. Bag slung over your shoulder and shoes slipped back on, ready to leave Rafe’s penthouse and head home for what was left of the night. The day had drained you, and though the quiet domestic moment you’d just shared with him was nice—unexpectedly so—you still needed to recharge for tomorrow’s chaos.

“You don’t have to leave yet,” he said, almost too casually, as if trying to disguise the sincerity in his tone.

You paused, glancing back at him. “Rafe, it’s late. I’m exhausted. You’re exhausted. We both need sleep.”

He shrugged, his mouth curling into that boyish grin that usually meant trouble. “So? Five more minutes won’t hurt. Sit down, relax. You’ve been running around all day.”

You narrowed your eyes at him but relented, curiosity getting the better of you. “Fine. Five minutes,” you muttered, dropping your bag onto the floor again and heading to the couch.

Rafe followed you, sitting on the other end of the couch, though he shifted closer. His arm rested along the backrest, his entire posture relaxed in a way that only made you more aware of him.

“So,” he began, his tone lighter now, “what did you actually do today? Besides fighting with tablecloths and flowers, I mean.”

You groaned, leaning back into the cushions. “It feels like that’s all I did. The decorators kept bringing me options that were either too tacky or too plain. And don’t even get me started on the florists. Nina kept trying to keep me on schedule, Aisha rolled her eyes at every single arrangement, and I was stuck in the middle.”

His laugh was low and warm. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

“It was,” you said, though there was a faint smile tugging at your lips now. “But somehow, it’s all starting to come together. Slowly. Painfully. I think we’re making progress.”

He tilted his head, watching you with that quiet intensity he always seemed to have when you weren’t paying attention. “You really care about this party, huh?”

You hesitated, the weight of his gaze making it harder to brush off the question. “Yeah, I guess I do,” you admitted softly. “I mean, if we don’t make it believable then I’d have to go back to my country, and I can’t let that happen.”

Rafe was silent for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours. The soft light in the room cast shadows across his face, making him look more vulnerable, less guarded than usual.

“You’re putting so much thought into it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “More than anyone else would, I think.”

You shrugged, your gaze dropping to your hands. “Just doing what needs to be done. Nothing special.”

“It is special,” he said, his tone firm but gentle.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze for a moment that felt like it stretched on forever. There was something unspoken in his expression, something soft and unfamiliar that made your heart stutter.

“Okay, your turn,” you said quickly, needing to break the tension. “What did you do today, besides run yourself into the ground?”

His smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Practice, drills, meetings. The usual.”

“You make it sound so thrilling,” you teased, crossing your arms.

“Oh, it’s a blast,” he said with mock enthusiasm. “Nothing like running suicides and lifting until your arms feel like they’re gonna fall off. And then sitting in a room listening to people tell you how to market yourself better.”

“Sounds glamorous,” you said, leaning back into the couch with a small laugh.

Rafe chuckled, his gaze softening as he watched you. “It’s not. But then again, you make flower arrangements sound like boot camp, so I guess we’re even.”

You smiled, letting the comfortable quiet settle between you for a moment. The hum of the city outside was faint but constant, a reminder of how late it had gotten.

“I should really go,” you said, breaking the silence and sitting up.

Rafe’s hand reached out, brushing against yours as he spoke. “You don’t have to.”

The softness in his voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, you stayed still, his fingers lingering near yours. The space between you suddenly felt smaller, charged with something neither of you were ready to name.

“Rafe,” you said gently, pulling your hand back, though your voice betrayed your hesitation.

“Stay a little longer,” he said, his eyes searching for yours. “This is… nice. Just sitting here. Talking.”

Your heart thudded in your chest at his words, and you looked away, pretending to straighten your bag. “I can’t. I’ve got another long day tomorrow, and so do you.”

He sighed but didn’t argue, leaning back into the couch. “Alright. But you owe me another five minutes next time.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you stood. “Sure, Cameron. I’ll pencil it into my busy schedule.”

He followed you to the door again, his presence warm and steady behind you. As you stepped into the hallway, you glanced back at him, your smile softer now.

As you moved toward the door, your bag slung over your shoulder, Rafe trailed behind you, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his sweatpants. The quiet between you was comfortable, a marked contrast to the constant noise of the day. Just as you reached for the handle, his voice broke the silence.

“So… my dad called today,” he said, his tone light but deliberate.

You paused, turning slightly to glance at him, curiosity flickering in your expression. “Oh? What about?”

Rafe leaned against the frame, his posture deceptively relaxed. “He wanted to ask about you.”

The corners of your mouth lifted in a faint smirk. “Me? Why? Should I be flattered or scared?”

He chuckled, though it came with a hint of exasperation. “Because you’re about to be my life, and you should definitely be flattered. He’s been… curious, I guess. You’re kind of a hot topic at the moment.”

Your brow furrowed as you adjusted the strap of your bag. “What do you mean?”

Rafe shrugged, though his eyes flickered to yours briefly before looking away. “He’s been asking when he and Rose can meet you. Sarah’s been on my case about it too. She wants to meet you again. It’s like they’re more excited about this whole engagement thing than I am.”

There was an edge to his words, not quite bitterness but something close to it, and you stepped back from the door slightly, your curiosity deepening. “Is that… a bad thing?”

“No, it’s not bad,” he said quickly, though his jaw tightened ever so slightly. “It’s just… predictable. My dad’s all about appearances, and this engagement makes us look good. You make me look good.”

His words were meant to sound casual, but the weight beneath them was unmistakable. You softened your tone as you leaned against the couch. “Rafe, if you’re not comfortable with all this, you can tell me. I’m not going to—”

“It’s not that,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “It’s just… complicated.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “How so?”

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “My family has this way of… making everything feel like a performance. You know? Like, they’re not just happy about this engagement because it’s a good thing for me. They’re happy because it’s a good thing for them. My dad’s already talking about how it’ll ‘strengthen the Cameron name,’ and Rose keeps mentioning how much she ‘adores your poise.’”

You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Wait, your step-mother said that? About me?”

He laughed lightly, nodding. “Yeah. I think she’s obsessed with you already.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Wow. And here I thought winning over your dad would be the hard part.”

“Oh, don’t worry. He’ll grill you like a steak the second he gets a chance,” Rafe said, his tone teasing but his smile tinged with something softer. “He doesn’t trust anyone, especially not when it comes to me.”

You frowned at that, your arms crossing instinctively. “Why not? You’re… I mean, you’re his son. Shouldn’t he trust you the most?”

Rafe’s smile faltered for a split second before he masked it with another shrug. “Let’s just say my track record isn’t exactly spotless. And my dad… he’s always been more interested in results than reasons. This marriage? It’s a result he likes. That’s all.”

The raw honesty in his words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. Finally, you stepped closer, your voice quieter now. “Rafe, if this is too much—if your family’s involvement is making it harder—I can talk to them. Set boundaries or whatever.”

He shook his head, his eyes meeting yours. “You don’t have to do that. It’s not your problem to fix.”

“Maybe not,” you said, your gaze unwavering, “but it’s my problem now too.”

“Such a good wife already,” he caressed your cheeks softly, the corner of his mouth twitched, his smirk returning faintly. “You’re really taking this whole ‘teamwork’ thing seriously, huh?”

“I’m a perfectionist,” you replied, matching his tone. “Can’t help it.”

He chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You’re too good at this, you know. My family’s already halfway in love with you, and you haven’t even met them yet.”

“Maybe I should be worried,” you teased, though there was a softness in your voice now.

“Don’t be,” he said, his tone quieter as he let his hand down your face. “If anything, they’re the ones who should be worried. You’re gonna walk in there, charm everyone without even trying, and leave me to deal with their unrealistic expectations.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and Rafe found himself leaning just a little closer, caught up in the warmth of the moment.

“Well, if they’re anything like you,” you said, your voice still tinged with amusement, “I’m sure I’ll survive.”

Rafe’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something softer, something you couldn’t quite name. “They’re nothing like me,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moved. His gaze lingered on yours, steady and unguarded in a way that made your breath catch.

“Rafe…” you began, your voice trailing off as his expression shifted ever so slightly, something unreadable flickering across his face.

But just as quickly as the moment had come, it passed. He straightened, his usual smirk slipping back into place like a mask. “You should probably get some rest,” he said, his tone lighter now. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift, but nodded. “Yeah. You too.”

He followed you to the door, his presence steady behind you as you stepped into the hallway. As you turned back to glance at him one last time, his expression softened again, his blue eyes holding yours for a beat longer than necessary.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“Goodnight, Rafe,” you replied, your chest tightening slightly as you walked away, the weight of his gaze following you long after you’d gone.

chapter ten

[cherryblossomshadow]

you like it and it's unfamiliar, and then suddenly it's familiar too and you love it (comment courtesy of @earhartsease)

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as you get used to a sound, it get's easier to process, and the easier-to-process a stimuli is, the more you like it (processing fluency hypothesis) (comment courtesy of @detectivejenko)

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My logic's always been that it takes time for me to process all the different sounds (and the lyrics if the song has any), once I've done that I can appreciate them as a whole, if not they sound a bit jumbled (comment courtesy of @coffee-addict-kitten)

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Your brain learns just enough of the patterns to get a feel for the song overall, so it starts to appreciate the deeper parts of the music that aren't as obvious upon first listen. You'll notice that it works in the opposite way for super catchy music. (comment courtesy of @despondent-beauty)

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The mere exposure effect also works on people - this is why you are more likely to be friends with the people you hang out with every day, be it coworkers or high school classmates etc (comment courtesy of @selkienight60)

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its because you found a character to imagine an AMV to it with (comment courtesy of @orchuris)

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Listen 1-2: gaging the overall vibes, possibly assessing the band's overall style if its your first time listening to that band, or judging its vibes compared to other songs from the band if they are familiar to you.

Listens 3-5: pouring over the lyrics for narrative substance, trying to decide of you morally agree with the song's messages. Also checking for how well the instrumentation supports the themes of the song, and if the pacing of the rhythm and melody either matches or contrasts that messaging enough to make a meaningful harmony between the two.

Listen 6: recontextualizing the song for how you want to listen to it in the future; if you were to put that song on a Playlist, would it be a "chill study" or a "hard-core party" mix? Often the reason why we don't vibe with a song on initial listening is because we simply heard it in a time or a place where it didn't match the energy you were hoping a certain, different type of music would bring.

Listen 7: True enjoyment. You know the melody, the meaning behind the lyrics, and you have made a conscious choice to play it in a setting that compliments those elements . It was always a good song, but now you have unlocked its full potential (comment courtesy of @enby-denby)

the idea of music growing on you is so weird. what's going on in your brain that makes it go "mmmmm :/" for the first 6 listens and then "ok!! ❤️" on the 7th

[planetsstarsandmoons]

Synastry observations (partly) based on personal experience, part 6:

(18+!!)

(Back after a year! Lol🌜🌛)

Moon conjunct mars: can be one sided asfuhck. I’ve seen it play out. Fully accepting that deeply personal intimacy of having someone’s sex aspecting your deepest emotions and/or the other way around is a sort of intimacy that some people just.. don’t…. want with that other person. This comes as a shocker because to most people, having a synastry aspect automatically means you have to like that with the other person, but Some people are just not into the other person like that! Or have trouble with intimacy. And even though the very primal emotional bridge between (possible) intensity of emotions and (possible) intensity of sexuality really ‘clicks’ and hits like no other, it doesn’t mean that the emotions or sexuality of both of the people will be intense within themselves… or that they will be seen in the same way. Many times I’ve seen this aspect play out in two people who worked really well together, were natural kissers and such, had almost iconically amazing fullfilling sex together, but one person wanted to marry and move into the other person and the other person simply did not want that, got the ick maybe, or simply closed themselves off from that meaning to the connection that one party attached to it but they themselves could not get in touch with, and either abused that power dynamic as much as they could or they ran away. Meanwhile thatother person, and I’ve seen both the moon and the mars person in that situation, is left completely addicted and insecure and an unstable mess because of this, because this aspects didn’t cause them so much to be in love, it caused them to have an addiction to this perfectly fullfilling passion and intimacy that they fundamentally lack in their life. They wanted to marry this person because of that. A friend (the mars person) of mine once puked when they saw their recent mars-conjunct-moon-synastey ex (it was a 1,5 month relationship) walk into a room. He later discovered that for some reason, that extremely intense feeling heartbreak didn’t really have anything to do with her, but more about the affection he lacked from an absent parent in his childhood, and the (obvious to everyone else) fact that he was bordering on a complete burn-out. He desperately needed that dopamine and those endorphins. Meanwhile the moon person was nowhere near in the headspace to have that kind of emotional intimacy so fast in her 1st relationship, so she started finding him less and less attractive, and then it was over. I once had an international student (moon) I think fall in love with me (and later stalk me) after 2 dates. He was a lonely international student in this Nordic country and his mother was sick in Egypt. We could not hold an interesting conversation on our own if we tried, but we were -very good kissers-and the almost-sex was extremely good. I didn’t want to cross that line, because for lack of better words I felt like it would go on to mean too much, be too emotional and too intimate and the thought crossing that border with him gave me the ick/ a fight or flight response, like I would just let this man be wayy too intimate with me if it happened, so I cut it off 🤷‍♀️ All the hormones of interpreting yourself to be totally ‘in love’ are there in the synastry, but it’s not *really* that, and most people in the sorry position even secretely know that, even though it’s confusing because they forever remain adamant that there here was something bomb in their connection.. because there was. But imagine: the moon feels emotionally hit in their core by mars’s… sexuality/attractiveness. Mars sees the deepest inner emotions of the moon and feels… turned on. You see where I’m going with this? The intensity and intimacy is great, but for a real love connection you need synastry on things that lead to mental, spiritual and emotional connectivity too. Can you even have a good conversation with this person for longer than 25 minutes? Do you even.. care about them? and vice versa? Would you love them if they were a worm? I have even more stories but they’re for another time 💆‍♀️

Moon trine mars: so. This one is kind of different. What do I mean? Well I believe that in synastry aspects, planetary influence comes to exist in the context of the aspect. Mars conjunct a planet will get all of mars. Mars square a planet will get the worst/most challenging side of mars (brought out by both). Mars opposite will get the antihero kind of mars -the conjunct mars on a possible (and needed) character delevopment journey if you will- and mars trine and sextile will get the harmonious benific, kind of ‘angelic’ sides of mars. He becomes the Aiden from Sex And The City, the soft woodchipper. This mars is in relation to the moon person a 10th house oriented, responsibility taking man who makes you laugh in the form of making you smile. The moon person becomes enamored with the mars person’s standing for something, his way of solving problems, overcoming obstacles, his professionality and his energetic form of taking action. The mars here becomes the kind of mars that is serious about protecting and heartily keeping what he feels is hitting his mars, instead of fighting with it or having sex with it necessarily. The moon’s emotional being becomes like his healthy objective, that he will protect and will fight/work himself up for in a way that he can control. A trine is harmonious which is kind of how you’ll see the mars person get into that civilised and gentlemanly role (to the emotions of the!!👌) moon partner. Where mars squaring the moon is like a mean alcoholic to the moon, the mars trining the moon will be a driven, shaved man in a suit or a spencer, kissing his wife goodbye before going to work. The moon in this aspect is different too: like water, the moons energy decides to flow depending on the factors and tides of the environment: If the moon has no reason to feel stabbed all the time, the moon won’t act overly sensitive or insecure or reactive to every little thing. Being shown the harmonious and safe/secure part of such a powerful planet like mars, the moon person will let their guard down big time. Typically, in this aspect, the moon person opens up, becomes very emotionally comfortable and shows their real and raw private selves to the mars person in a way that even surprises the mars person. There will be lots of oohs and aahs from the mars person who is *absolutely thrilled* to discover that the moon person is actually way softer than they come across in their personality, or more insecure than they wear on their sleeve, or are actually way weirder than anyone would expect. This is like an emotional theme in the relationship for mars. Granted to mars, it actually is a kind of odd way of special, because Real selves are often only shown to others in despair, crisis, moments of survival, very few deep talks, or during sex, but here the moon person is comfortable being their quirky and complete and utter selves with the mars person just during ‘daylight’ so to speak, as if they were alone in their room doing a talk show monologue in the mirror. It’s because mars made themselves this safe haven but is also a good reason to get excited and happy. So this aspect isn’t so much about physical/primary (so sexual attraction) passionate intimacy as you see, it becomes a personality thing of more mental and earthy(?) substance imo. In couples this aspect creates a forever-kind of ‘fondness’ of each other. In this relationship it’s the sex that becomes the highest feat of romantic bonding, not commitment to each other or affirming affection like with the conjunct or the square, which needs those components to make or strengthen the connection as a romantic one.

Mars conjunct mercury: best friends aspect! Being able to talk for hours, do any activity together, spend an entire day doing stuff together or going to a daylong event with just the two of you without it ever being awkward. Being able to do groceries together for a pregame with each other before going to do an activity that you’ll also be doing together. Energy, jokes, and things to talk about never run out. Mars’s energy lets mercury’s thoughts and mind race through multiple subjects and important comments at once, and mercury’s thoughts excite slash fire up mars’s energy. Their response becomes fuel for mercury again and so fort. I know two best friends who have this in double whammy almost exact and they are *always* together. Like in the same day, they would hang out, go to do something else/hang out with someone else, then go hang out with each other again, then in the evening one would visit the other at work. I have this aspect with one good friend that I can talk for hours with. Catching up is never awkward and we constantly learn from each other, plus we’re interested in the same things, because his mind/daily thoughts/the things he pays attention to and tells me (his mercury), fires me up and consistently happens to catch my fixation (mars). And what I *do* in my life, the things that were motivation by nature of taking action, triggers his insight! Isn’t that the perfect combination? This aspect makes you very good and close friends, but this alone doesn’t grant an emotional bond. Those two best friends I talked about lacked in moon connections, so they kept surprisingly much of their feelings and what went on in their life/emotional world private from one another, including crushes they had on mutual friends 💀 like how was that possible?

Moon square moon: a link is a link, an attachment is an attachment, so moon square moon is that too. You will ‘see’ each other for who that person emotionally is from the inside. You will acknowledge it, you can even understand it, but trying to emotionally ‘relate’ or connect to the other’s emotional world causes a short-circuit. This sounds like a finished deal, and marriage it often is. This aspect imo means kind of sacrifing a part of crucial understanding of the other partner. But there is another important part: some people do not have moon to moon aspects in their partnerships. Some people can connect with a moon through their sun mercury venus and mars for example, but not be able to deeply feel the other person next to them with their own moon, like what’s possible in a moon to moon aspect. With moon square moon, the two people deeply *see* each other. It’s hard not to because the friction of the square makes them very neon noticable to each other. One moon person might not be able to touch or soothe the other moon person from and with their own emotional angle, because through the square it will inherently cause a (n immediate often) frictive disconnect, but their presence will be enough. They will learn from each other and with enough respect for the other, (seriously) they will be able to teach themselves how to manually get their moons to relate, by in their empathy intuitively touching and patting to learn what the other person feels, and sleutelingen on their own emotional patterns. With the man I had this with. I completely saw and understood how he was. We, to each other’s emotional automatic ways of thinking, understood each other, but could never relate, so in our most intimate conversations we saw each other raw, but were also like.. damn,, you live like this? you do you! 😂

Male Venus conjunct woman’s moon, but the man has venus square moon natal: so this is really too specific, I know, it’s from my personal life, but the observation is such an almost lawful rule that it needs to be said. So the man has a problem with women in a romantic or otherwise emotionally intimate sense. He either sees them as charmless but safe, emotional, and boring ‘kin’, who fullfills his emotional needs but in a way that cannot fullfill his romantic wants, because they fundamentally clash, or he sees them as these charming, pretty, sexy sensual creative people or muses that fullfill his wants and desires, but cannot fullfill his emotional needs because they fundamentally do not mesh/are able to ‘melt’ with each other. So men with this aspect are doomed to have a lonely romantic life where they deeply hurt a lot of women but in the long run also themselves. This is ofc unless the man is capable of self reflection and is willing to do the work and *respect* the challenge that squares require, but since misogyny is a thing that challenge and perceived radically different worldview of the woman practically never gets respected, found interesting/compelling enough for the man to study, or romanticised like the way in which women will handle a natal moon square mars for example. BUT! If a woman’s moon conjuncts that squared venus, they kind of crack the code in a weird sense!? And become sort of “the only woman that can tame this man blabla that he actually respects”. Because the woman becomes like a domineering mother to him. In his moon square/battle/tension her moon, so where his emotional ‘needs’ are challenged by another person’s needs, his moon yields to the woman’s moon because his venus is enamored by the woman’s moon emotional world. You will get two people who are weirdly intimate friends, because both square moons emotionally ‘acknowlegde’ each other’s emotional life and wavelength, in a kind of bizarre to witness way that will have the woman wear the pants and the often so misogynistic and macho guy follow her and her needs around like a (doggo)💀, acting like each other’s bf/gf, but sitting too close to each other?? Kissing? The thought of having s**?? Will make them revolt. From an astrological standpoint, this may be the most significant planetary relationship with a woman that this man will ever have in his life.

A woman’s venus conjunct that sort of man’s moon I have never seen, only conjunct other planets, but I imagine it would be the same but the other way around at the same time. I think she would be only possible romantically intimate partner for the man, the only girlfriend to exist, only girl that he can wholeheartedly register as ‘girlfriend’, who will hold that *romantic* muse place forever, the only one to forever fullfill his emotional needs like a romantic partner does and can, but he doesn’t like her as a person, he couldn’t be friends with her, can’t talk with her, was never even his type, wants to cheat on her, can’t admire her really. This female venus is the sensual and sexual but disrespected girlfriend to the female moon’s sexless but elevated wife. If that man ruled the world and had all the money and the woman who marries him would win the universe, these were both equally bad but extremley solid places you would want to be in, because you’d be one of the only two women that he will ever seriously consider in his life.

Venus square jupiter: I have this with almost every man I get involved with, because their venus is in that way also conjuncting my scorpio sun and mercury. I’ve found with these people that they are confused if they should be charmed by the grand/optimistic/philosophical side of me, or cringe. Either way they are overwhelmed. Venus in crush-mode will be especially interested in jupiters views and opinions and outlook on situations and jupiter is enthusiastic about the romantic muse that they see in venus and become a kind of a philosophical rant-y person near them, in a good way, because they see venus as an equally inspiring and interesting and beautiful (big ideas and emotions) creative peer of their outlook on life. Venus listens and is in awe. Jupiter is like a positive-energy bomber to venus and venus can be confused, overwhelmed, but gets all the butterflies and wants to be swept in. This is an aspect where the other knows or can relate to what the other is feeling the least, because jupiter is making venus live in their own world and venus is in their head thinking out loud. Astrologers say this easily dies out because of it, like an inflated balloon, but I don’t agree. Don’t let your relationship completely ride on this aspect alone and you’ll be fine and it won’t end with a big bang, but stay flickering like smoldering fire like any other venus or jupiter aspect.

Saturn conjunct moon: saturn wants to snatch moon off the market and moon is like “yeesssss”

Mars overlaying 8th house: it’s true what they say… i won’t elaborate 😶‍🌫️ just kidding I will of course. Having been the 8th house person, it’s actually very straightforward: whenever we talked about serious matters like trauma, (lost) finances, our heritage, and our secrets, fears, that’s when I became most attracted to his masculine/sexual side. Those were the moments I would find myself like ‘daym’, just like a 7th house having mars overlay there would have that during moments of romance and partnership.

Moon opposite mars: I talk about this aspect a lot because it just fascinates me. Moon opposite mars in the context of all the other mars aspects is almost funny because in the beginning, when the insane kind of unsettling attraction is noticed between two people, mars doesn’t really want to be in this situation and moon doesn’t like the fact that it exists at all. I feel like it’s a karmic aspect for mars and somewhat for the moon. Moon will feel every single jab from this aspect but because that jab fundamentally hits them in their *feelings* they will just think: “what was that, what even is that? Who is this mars person making me feel single intense emotion at once?” Even typing this synastry aspect out is making me laugh. It’s moon doing what? Opposing. Oh god. And the lucky planet it’s being opposed is… mars 😂🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️! Imagine the moon one day going like: “f*ck you! And you, and you, and you,” then pointing to mars “and ESPECIALLY you!” Mars turning around and saying: “what are you saying f*ck me for?” looks at moon, boom, falls in love. Kind of disrespectful, but it isn’t meant that way? Which can in short make the connection even more uncomfortable for the moon, or completely the opposite. The intrigue in this aspect lies in how fundamentally foreign (because they’re opposites!!) these people are to each other. This aspect is an up and down and up and down one, because to have the closeness that they both desire and even need, they have to do the work and understanding to become closer and win each other’s trust and affirmation. Mars is challenged to channel powerful frictive energy from the fixation that the opposition creates into creating an environment that caters to the moon’s emotional needs. It challenges itself to encompass all of mars’s qualities, both the ying (harmonious) and the yang (not necessarily that) in a hyperaware manner, and that’s one of the reasons he comes to have like ‘multiple personalities’ in this aspect. It doesn’t help that mars always manages to come across the wrong way to the moon person, can hurt the moon unintentionally, but can also in a burst of martian energy try to fight with the moon when aggravated (caused by their opposing natures), can come across too sexual and disrespectful by the moon person when they intensely show their attraction and preferred treatment to the moon. When Mars tries to be nice, it doesn’t come natural for them to do that imagining what the completely opposite person would want. When mars succeeds, a very real and mental bond is created that is extremely raw. In the healthy romantic version of this, the moon isn’t really easy sex for mars like I’ve seen male astrologers describe it. I’ve seen men describe it as ‘deer’, which can create reaally different outlooks depending on your respect and goodwill to the more vurnurable person. Goodwill especially can make or break this aspect. I feel like this can either be one of the most pain-in-your-stomach disrespectful cortisol aspects, or the sweetest and most genuine and wholsesome emotionally intimate aspects.

A little story I wanted to share: an astrologer on 27th november 2023 gifted me a moon badge on tumblr and I only opened it on 21th november 2024, because I thought it the little pop-up present on my home page was a tumblr advert 🥲 I almost cried because it was such a lovely present around my birthday and as it goes I didn’t say thank you or acknowledged it for a year even though it was an awfully sweet gesture and I really appreciate her 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[cherrycranes]

Real Cowgirls Ride (Emmett x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Emmett (A Quiet Place 2) x Fem!Reader Summary: When you go to a bar in upstate New York with your girlfriends for a bachelorette party, you encounter a hot rugged man who´ll teach you how to ride like a real cowgirl. Word count: 4,248 Contents: (Minors DNI). No apocalypse AU. Age gap (Reader is 24, Emmett is 39), Oral sex (fem receiving), a little bit of ass licking (fem receiving), fingering, P in v, protected sex! Author's notes: Once more, a collab with @fuckiingloser cause that's my wifey. Mandatory "english is not my first language" disclaimer. Enjoy the ass licker.

It was the first time you ever stepped a foot in this rural upstate New York town. Certainly an interesting choice for a bachelorette party, but your friend: the bride, and her future husband had grown up here. It was nice, though. A very appreciated change of scenery from your busy downtown New York City life. It had been a 3 hour drive to get here, and you planned to just have a good time.

The party had a cowgirl theme and you had gone all out: a borrowed pair of red cowgirl boots that you had never imagined wearing in your life, a pair of dangerously tiny Daisy Duke jean shorts and a white cropped t-shirt that said “Budweiser” across the front. All topped with a matching cowboy hat sitting on top of your head. Your girlfriends showered you with compliments, you played the part so well.

It was around 11:30 pm now, and after several stops of the bar crawl, you all walked into a smoky, dark dive bar. The neon signs gave the entire room a dull glow. It was moderately full, mostly with old blue collar men tired from a long day's work. Some of them gave your group a few stares that only your tipsy state managed to ignore. You had come here for fun, and that’s what you would have. 

You got a big table, ordered some drinks and shots and cheered for the bride, wishing her all the best with the love of her life. And, in secret, you hopelessly wished that you would find yours too… You were painfully single at 24 and your only one previous boyfriend had cheated on you after a year of dating. You were still young but loneliness stung.

To distract yourself, you ordered a few more shots and just went along with the vibe of the bar and your friends’ laughter. Some moments later, you wandered over to the old school jukebox that sat alone on a dark corner to flip through the endless pages of song options. Some you knew, some you didn’t, and one you picked before a rugged voice behind you interrupted you:

“Excuse me, miss...” You turned to look. “I just have to have a look at these fancy red cowgirl boots up close...” The man in front of you said with a charming little smirk and with his baby blue eyes looking down at your feet, then at your legs, your body and, eventually, meeting your eyes. 

You looked him over too, with his plain white t-shirt, blue wrangler jeans, dusty work boots, scruffy beard with a few silver strands in it and a ball cap with some brown curls peeking out underneath it. Quite handsome. His little excuse to come over and talk to you was pathetic but cute, it had made you smirk a little. And when you looked into his beautiful eyes and saw that pretty smile again, you decided to give him a shot.

“Honestly… My buddies over there were givin’ me a hard time and said that I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t say something to the pretty girl in the red cowboy boots...” He gestured over to his friends in the booth in the other corner who gave you a wave and smile. You turned back to look at him, and gave yourself the luxury of eyeing him up and down again. He was definitely older than you, but not exactly old enough to be your father. He must have been in his early 40’s at most. He was sort of rugged, most likely a blue collar man. Some tattoos poked out from under the sleeve of his t-shirt. He was not the type of guy you were used to encountering in New York City. “I'm Emmett..” He smirked, and you chuckled a bit at his words.

“Hate to break the news but I borrowed these from a friend… I’m not a real country girl.” You admitted with a smile. Emmett laughed softly and leaned against the almost forgotten jukebox.

 “Well… They look good on you either way… That’s for sure…” He looked over your body once more, shameless infatuation irradiating from him. His boldness made you smile again, and admittedly, it also turned you on. Like clockwork, the first notes of the song you picked started to play and Emmett gave you an approving smile.

“Good choice… You’ve got good taste obviously… Would you like to dance, beautiful?” He asked, his voice like velvet in your ears. You felt a sweet heat rush to your cheeks and you nodded.

“I'd like that.” You smiled and he took your hand with a gentleness that was to die for, pulling you closer and wrapping his strong arms around your waist. In return, you wrapped your arms around his neck and followed him along. Butterflies flew in your stomach like they hadn’t in so long when his arms tightened around you.

You chatted a little, dancing slowly in the middle of the dive bar with his rough hands rubbing the exposed skin of your back. In the background of the slow song, you could make out the voices and giggles of your friends who must have been staring in amusement and support. 

In between the small conversations and the dance, you found out Emmett owned a farm nearby. Mostly horses and some crops. You also found out he was 39 years old. Never married, currently single. Then it came time for questions about your life, your work, your age, where were you from…

“Ahh, so you’re a city girl, makes sense… Never seen someone as hot as you around here before...” Emmett whispered, still swaying with you and still holding you tight. You blushed, something not everybody did to you, but there was something about him. His looks, his charm, his rough hands. You couldn't help yourself.

Guided by that feeling, you kept talking. Now telling him about your failed relationship, your cheater ex-boyfriend and your 8 month-long singlehood. Emmett’s brow furrowed upon hearing that.

“Fuckin’ asshole… Who would ever wanna lose you? You need a real man… Not a little immature boy..” He whispered, shaking his head gently and tightening his tattooed arm around you ever so slightly, just for the butterflies in your stomach to go even wilder. 

Your song ended and the jukebox went silent. Emmett immediately asked to buy you a drink, and how would you even say no? Next thing you knew, you were sitting on a barstool with him standing in front of you, a hand on your thigh making you swoon. He leaned over to order, the scent of his almost worn-off cologne sending more heat towards the right places.

“Two miller lites please, thanks.. ” The bartender cracked open two beers and pushed them towards Emmett. He handed you one along with a sly smile, his other hand still on your thigh.

“Well… Cheers to a good night that I'm hoping gets even better.” Emmett held his drink up to yours and clicked them together with a nice melodic sound. 

“Cheers.” You chuckled, arousal pooling in your lower abdomen and burning steady for the entire time you and Emmett talked and flirted in between sips. Some guilt crept up on you at having practically abandoned your girlfriends, but every quick glance towards them made you find them winking and putting their thumbs up. So you focused back on Emmett, laughed at his jokes, touched his arm, gave him your best smile…

“Can’t believe a pretty girl like you is interested in an old man like me.” He rubbed his hand softly on your exposed thigh, and you couldn't help but let out a sincere chuckle.

“You're hotter than any guy I've met in the city by a million honestly… A real man who works with his hands and knows what he wants and isn’t shy about it…” Every word of yours was soaked in a sensual tone and your eyes never looked away from him now. He had the most beautiful pale blue eyes you had ever seen, his pupils were long dilated from looking at you, and they seemed to get even more when he heard you talking like that.

“Well, you sure know how to flatter a guy… I’ve gotta say you’re one of the sexiest things I've ever seen.” Emmett leaned in to whisper into your ear, his lips giving you a featherlight touch. “My hands aren’t the only thing I’m good with…” His warm breath sent a satisfying shiver down your spine. “And I do know what I want… I wanna see what’s underneath this little crop top and these tiny jean shorts…” 

Your breath hitched ever so slightly, the hairs at the back of your neck stood up. His rough hand gripped the soft flesh of your thigh firmly, the sensation, along with his words, going straight to your core and now dampened panties. 

It was 12:45 am now, the clock upon the wall ticked in front of Emmett’s eyes with an eager question. 

“It's getting pretty late… Whaddya say you come home with me tonight… And I can teach you how to ride like a real cowgirl?” He whispered through a seductive smirk, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear and effectively making your clit pulse. You bit your lip, took in the pale blue of his eyes and leaned a bit closer.

“You wanna be my teacher?” You asked him, holding his gaze. Emmett nodded before taking a swig of his beer, finishing it and putting it on the bar.

“I'm sure a girl like you could teach an old dog like me a few tricks too…” 

Your smirk turned into a grin before his eyes and your wet pussy fluttered again. God, he was so smooth and beyond sexy. The kind of man you needed.

“Take me home cowboy.” You whispered, ripples of arousal traveling around your body as you watched Emmett pull out his wallet and slap a 20 dollar bill on the counter to cover for your drinks and tip, before taking your hand like a gentleman.

Your girls cheered when they saw you walking out with him, and you so graciously gave them a playful middle finger that made them laugh out loud.

Emmett held the door open for you and all the exposed parts of your body felt the cool summer breeze of the night air. Not for long though, his truck was just a few steps away, and as the gentleman he was, he opened the passenger seat door for you and helped you in. The inside was rather cozy, an air freshener hung from the rear-view mirror along with a, quite fitting, tiny cowboy hat charm. You flicked it with your finger as Emmett got in the driver’s seat. 

“Before we leave...” He started, leaning over the center console. Before you could ask him anything, his lips met yours in a hot, sensual kiss. Inevitably, your hand reached up to touch his beard, and you delighted with the taste of beer and faint mint gum in his mouth.

“Wow… All this is yours?” You asked softly, admiring the vast space bathed in starlight.

 “Sorry, I just had to… Couldn’t wait another minute.” He whispered against the softness of your lips, forming a smile. He sat back in his seat and started the truck up, making it roar to life. His left hand held the wheel and his right hand found his new favorite spot: your thigh. Soft rock born from his radio barely made noise as he drove you down the mostly empty country roads to his home nearby. You raised both eyebrows when an old farmhouse and several barns came into view.

“It is indeed, pretty girl.” Emmett smiled, pulling up next to the house and getting out of his truck, this time helping you out of it, upholding the true gentleman behavior. 

His arm wrapped around you once again, his body warmth fighting for you against the chill summer night’s breeze. You smiled when the front door opened for you and you were the first to step foot inside the cute little farmhouse. It was rather lovely, perhaps too minimally decorated but it was to be expected, he was a 40 year old man living alone. You seemed to be the most feminine thing in this house. 

“I love it… So cozy.” You leaned against the kitchen counter, attracting Emmett to you. His hands found your hips and he looked down at you with that flirtiness that made your pussy wetter. 

“You haven’t even seen the bedroom yet.” He whispered, closer and closer to you until another sensual kiss captured your lips. Your mouth gave his skillful tongue entrance and with a delicious groan he picked you up easily. Your legs wrapped around his hips and his hands supported you by holding your ass. He swallowed a moan from you and walked you both across the house, towards the stairs and into his bedroom. There, he laid you down on his big bed, his lips reluctantly leaving yours for air.

You propped yourself up to your elbows, granting him a visual feast for his eyes to devour. Your exposed midriff, your little shorts and those cute little red boots. Since your cowboy hat had been lost somewhere on the way to his bed, your hair was slightly messy, and your lips glistened from his saliva. He didn’t know where to begin with you. 

“Fuck, you’re sexy…” He admired you, reaching down to pull one of your boots off, then the other one. Both joined his wooden floor. “I need to see this perfect body naked for me…”

You giggled, his hands now occupied themselves with your jean shorts. In a couple of seconds they also met the floor.

“Would ya look at that…” Emmett let out a flirty whistle upon seeing what you hid underneath the denim: a little red thong that made his cock twitch in his jeans, another reminder of how painfully hard he was. His calloused thumb didn’t resist and ran over your clothed pussy, slowly making its way between your folds and marveling at the feeling of the damp fabric. He growled in approval. 

“Someone’s wet…” He looked into your eyes and you felt a rush of blood divide itself to reach both your cheeks and your needy cunt. You bit your lip, your body ablaze.

“Flip over for me, baby… Face down ass up.” He ordered after playing with you over your panties a little bit. You, incredibly turned on and obedient to any sexy command he could throw your way with that deep voice of his, didn’t even think about it twice.

“Yes, Sir.” You played along, flipping over for him with your ass in the air and your cheek against the duvet cover. 

“Fuuuck…” He groaned at the sight. You knew very damn well your little thong was covering absolutely nothing from behind. “I wanna make sure this little pussy is prepped for my lesson…” he said, peeling the thong off you slowly. 

Anticipation pooled at your cunt, the flimsy red fabric left your body with his help. Once you were free, Emmett palmed both your asscheeks and spread them slowly. He moaned at the sight of your glistening pussy and tight asshole, all fully waxed.

“Jesus Fuckin’ Christ…” He breathed out, feeling his heart skip a beat. “I could come just looking at you…” He whispered just inches away from your needy cunt.

You moaned softly at his words, feeling completely exposed yet so turned on. Nothing else could matter to you anymore.

“Please...” You whimpered so needily, he couldn’t resist leaning in and letting his tongue slide between your slippery folds. A guttural groan of his made your pussy reverberate, the taste of you on his tongue so addictive, so divine.

“Oh my god…” Now, you moaned. Emmett’s hot tongue licked a fat stripe from your clit all the way to your ass, flicking against it. The sensation was so good you could barely comprehend it.

You moaned over and over, his thick fingers pumped in and out of you in a slow but firm motion. He watched hungrily as your tight cunt took them in so easily and so greedily.

“You taste like honey…” He purred to our flesh before spitting on your pussy, his saliva slowly dribbling down between your lips and making him groan in approval. Two of his fingers gathered some of that spit on them before circling your aching hole, slowly pushing inside of you from behind. 

 “Fuck… Feels so good…” You spoke in between moans that only got louder when Emmett curled his fingers inside you, hitting that special spot. “Holy fuck…” 

The louder you moaned, the faster his thick fingers moved and curled. Your eager pussy had his index and middle fingers completely wet and glistening.

“That feels good, pretty girl?” He asked with a smirk. “Gotta make sure this little pussy is ready to ride my big cock…” he growled hungrily. 

“I-I’m ready… Please…” His pumping fingers had you bucking your hips in desperation and stuttering, almost out of your mind. Emmett loved every single detail about it, you looked just so beautiful when you were this horny and needy. Mercifully, he pulled his fingers out of your begging cunt and slowly brought them to his mouth, groaning at the taste of you.

“Flip over, baby.” He commanded, the sound of the zipper of his jeans making your ears perk up. You did as he said, catching the glimpse of his pants hitting the floor and his shirt being pulled over his head. He tossed it aside, the view of his toned, hairy chest and arms, along with those sexy tattoos of his made your pussy feel even more needy. Your eyes feasted on him, from his chest to his hard on in his briefs.

“I think you’re ready for your lesson…” Emmett crawled onto the bed and laid on his back, dark curls resting on his pillows. Right away, you sat on your knees, watching the way his arm flexed as he reached over to the side table and opened the drawer. Touch guided his way to a gold wrapper.

“A little help?” He smirked, looking down at his hard cock still tucked in his underwear. You smiled and nodded, your fingers hooking on the gray waistband and gently peeling the fabric down his legs. His big hard cock immediately sprung free for your eyes to devour. A throaty groan resonated from him. It was much bigger than what you had pictured, it was impossible to not stare at it in all its veiny, throbbing glory. 

Emmett ripped open the condom wrapper with his teeth, rolling the latex down his thick cock and looking up at you with a sexy smile.

“You ready to be my cowgirl?” 

Immediately, you snapped out of your trance and nodded.

“Yes, sir…” Your voice came out sweet and so lovely, his hand motioned towards him.

“C’mere, baby…” Emmett cooed and you moved to stand above him. You lowered down slowly on him until your sensitive folds felt the covered tip of his cock, making him groan a little at the friction.

“Mmm, slow baby…” He coached you in a soft voice, putting his hands on your hips and guiding you. “Sink down slowly…” And slowly you did it. His cock slid inside your tight hot ready entrance easily, with all the time in the world. You sank down further, each of your knees on either side of his thighs almost trembling at the stretch. Loud moans escaped you both in unison as you adjusted to him and he adjusted to you. You felt so full, for a second you even doubted if it all could fit, but, as if his cock was designed for your tight little cunt, he fully slid right in with ease. 

“Oh, fuck…” You breathed out, looking into his beautiful eyes through your fluttering eyelashes. “So deep…” Words came in soft whine. Soft, clingy hands supported you by touching his broad, hairy chest. Emmett smirked, a perverted gleam in his eye from watching you adjusting to his thick cock.

“You feel me in here, baby?” He whispered, voice thick and heavy with lust. One of his calloused hands moved from your hip to your lower belly, pressing into your soft flesh and creating an erotic pressure that you could only moan and nod to. You felt him so deeply, all over and inside you.

“You feel so fucking good around me…  So tight and warm. I think this pussy was made to ride my cock.” His voice was low and rough, both hands moved to your hips again, ready to begin.. 

“Now, just go with the flow and get into a good rhythm baby… I’ll help…” He coached you with a sly grin that made your cunt clench around him. He was just so sexy, and he knew and reveled in it. “Just relax and enjoy the ride…” 

After exhaling a needy breath, you started to swivel your hips a bit, riding him slowly. Emmett groaned, his eyes closed in utter pleasure. His hands stayed glued to your hips and guided the slow rhythm your rolling hips set. You both moaned. His hips moved a little under you, encouraging you more and more.

“Look at you cowgirl...” His voice was already a little breathy, his groan took over the last letters of the word “girl”. His cock throbbed inside you at the sight of your pretty tits moving under the Budweiser logo. He helped you out with that, pulling your cropped shirt off your body and hungrily taking in the view of your bare chest as you bounced on his dick.

You moaned more when the tip of his cock hit that deep spot, and the more you spent riding him and earning yourself the title of cowgirl, the more he entertained an idea. 

After a minute or two, Emmett pulled you down, making you chest to chest with him and wrapping his toned arms around you. A searing, sloppy kiss entered your mouth while his hips pistoned from beneath. Your sweet tongue melted into his before he whispered against your lips.

“Now it’s time for you to relax and I'll do all the work baby…” His hoarse voice tickled your skin and he planted his feet on the mattress, gaining the support he needed to immediately pick up the pace and pound into you relentlessly from underneath. No thoughts registered properly in your brain from that point forward, it was all just a hot, wet pool of pleasure. A series of curses left your lips with no particular order and with no respect for anything.  

“Oh-fuck… Oh my fucking god... Fuck!” You cried out into the skin of his neck, the sound of your voice mixing with his low groans and the slapping of skin.

“You fuckin like that?” He panted into your ear, his hips never stopping as you moaned non stop.

“Yes... Yes... Fuck, yes!” You cried out as his hands moved to spank your ass, hard. You almost screamed, the sting nearly sending you over the edge. It was so overwhelming, you didn’t fully realize just how close you were until that moment.

“Jesus… I think I'm gonna come…” You whimpered and his hand came down again hard on your ass, definitely leaving a red mark. Emmett held you so tight against his chest, holding you in place for his thick cock to slam into over and over.

“Come for me..” He looked right into your eyes with pure want in the blue of his irises. And as if on command… You did. 

Eyes squeezed shut so tight you saw lights, a whiny moan was born from the depths of your chest and your sweet, slick cunt clenched around him tight. Your legs couldn't stop shaking and your orgasm took over every single sense. All your being was just a giant orgasm that still could feel him pumping hard into you.

“Holy fuck..” He breathed out in awe watching and feeling you succumb to all the pleasure. 

“Good girl..” He whispered, praising you right before capturing your lips in a hot kiss. “I'm coming too..” Even in your state, you could tell. His thrust had gotten sloppier and his breathing was much heavier. He wasn't able to hold back much longer. Inside the transparent latex, you felt him pulse and fill the material with his warm cum. He groaned, his arms held you tight and kept you there until the last drop was out.

Panting like you had just ran a marathon and with hearts beating fast, you laid there chest to chest. You put your forehead against his in a sweet moment, in response, his hand rubbed your back slowly.

 “Jesus… that was...” He whispered, still a little out of breath looking right into your eyes. You couldn't help but blush and put on a shy smile. 

“...the best sex i’ve ever had…” You softly finished his sentence. 

He pulled out slowly and sat up with you still pressed against his chest. His eyes studied your face for a minute before speaking. “I think you may be a real cowgirl after all…” There was that sly smirk once more, one that made you return the sentiment and lean in with him for one last soft kiss.

Pinterest board with our visual inspo for this fic, made by @fuckiingloser

[frogchiro]

Been thinking about Chris in the college AU…

I think he’s a fuckboy, but at his core he has trad sensibilities (because he’s an asshole). So he fucks around with girls at college, but his ultimate goal is to find a nice girl to marry who can stay in his house and raise his kids so she never has to use that pretty little college degree.

Maybe he’s a sophomore now, so he’s still looking to chase tail, not quite ready to find his wife, so he’s not looking very hard.

But then Leon keeps talking about you. And poor Leon… he has no idea that him talking about his crush on you and all of the things he likes about you is like dropping bleeding prey in a shark tank. If Leon had kept his crush a secret, you might never have been noticed by any of them! But now it seems like every guy in his frat wants a piece of you!

And Chris sees you occasionally around campus, in class, almost never at any parties. You’re a good student, well dressed (mostly modest!), with great hips and a great rack (childbearing!!). And one day he sees you sitting with Ashley for coffee, and you take a napkin to wipe some whipped cream from her mouth for her, and Chris has to run back to the house to take a cold shower because he can so easily imagine you doing the same thing to his babies when you have them. What?

You’re almost never at the frat parties, cause you’re a good girl. And when you are, he never sees you go off with any guys, never lets them feel you up, you never get sloppy and drunk like that other sluts that come to these things. You just delicately sip from your cup, smiling and laughing with your little group of friends. You wear such nice jewelry— his ring on your finger would fit so perfectly with your look. What?

And the way you brush off Krauser and Leon when they’re being sleazy and quite frankly, desperate. He might’ve fallen for you at the exact same moment as Krauser. And Chris has such a superiority complex about his attraction to you. Leon just has a stupid little boy crush, Krauser wants to dick you down stupid, and to be honest… he’s not entirely certain what Luis is angling for, but he knows it’s probably not anything virtuous. But Chris wants to make an honest woman outta you 💖 so in his mind, he’s the only one pursuing you for the “right” reasons.

And if you’re friends with Clair, he’s totally taking advantage of that. Fishing for information about you, asking if you maybe have somewhere to go during holiday break…

-🐱

Yeah tbh that sums Chris really well up ;; Also I apologize for not answering sooner I just had a lot going on with uni work and it really hindered my writing attempts </3

And yes, Chris is definitely that type of guy that will fuck any girl that is willing but they are the sluts!! They are the hoes who don't respect themselves and are only after the dick!!1 And he is the nice guy who will fuck them and throw them out afterwards bc he 'doesn't do feelings' or shit like that.

Chris is here only for a good time and ofc experience! Like you said, despite being an asshole and a obnoxious party and fuckboy, he has weirdly traditional values at heart; white picked fence, a sweet stay at home wife with a baby on her hip for who he will gladly provide for as the loving and caring husband and will need all the sexual experience to make his wifey feel good...But he still has time! He is in college for 'all the experiences' more than the education itself and he's not the sharpest tool in the shed with how reckless he is but that's fine!

...Until it isn't

It was all fine and dandy until Leon started to bring you up, some girl he met in class and was gushing over you. Okay, weird enough since Leon wasn't really the gushing type but fair enough, nothing to worry over. But then it started to escalate and Chris started to wonder what is going on with his friend. Leon stopped going on those casual dates, stopped hooking up, never even glanced at another girl and his whining about you got even worse.

The final straw for Chris was when he caught Leon jacking off and filming himself while whining something about 'please respond I send you a cumshot video, now you have to send me a pussy pic, please even a tit pic please-' and Chris knew he had to get to know this girl that made Leon so pussy whipped without even seeing it as far as he knows!

And yeah Chris probably saw you for the first time during that one party where you and your little friend rejected Krauser's advances and Chris almost snorted his drink out and spat on the girl he was flirting with; suits that blonde asshole right, and you're...You're honestly incredible in Chris's eyes. So assertive and composed...Your clothes on the more revealing side, your tits almost spilling out of that dress, fuck...But still nowhere slutty like other girls!

Chris definitely has a weird superiority complex; despite the fact that he's arguably the worst hypocrite out of the group he still believes that his love for you is the only 'real' one; Leon is a dumb horny rich boy with a middle school crush, Krauser will sleaze over pretty girls all the time and Luis is a certified ladies man, he refers to himself in that way for fucks sake! And then there is Chris who wants to wife you up! Isn't he charming?? Just please ignore those girls who complain about the hookups he had with them, they are probably just bitter that he threw them out <3

[consistantly-changing]

[Image descriptions in order: a twitter thread by

@AlexandraErin "Alexandra Erin" which says "The Shirley Exception is a bit of mental sleight of hand that allows people to support a policy they profess to disagree with. It's called the Shirley Exception because... well, I mean, *surely* there must be exceptions, right?

"Let's imagine that in response to suspicions about overbroad use of service animal rules, a city somewhere decides to just swing the pendulum 100% in the other direction. Restaurants, public accommodations, etc., no longer have to recognize any service animals.

"And in the aftermath of the change, existing rules about where animals may and may not go apply full force.]

["A lot of people would back the change because Obviously Some People Take Advantage. (Positing that someone, somewhere is taking advantage is a great way to get the masses on your side in our politics, sadly.)

"Now if you point out the existence of a blind person or an epileptic person who has a service dog for everyday navigation of life or for life-saving purposes, the Good People who just don't want anyone to take advantage will tell you:

"No one's talking about legitimate cases."

"And if you point out that the rule that they're backing would affect what they call "legitimate cases", the response will be:

"But surely there will be an exception."]

["If you back up an anti-abortion activist to the point where they actually have to grapple with a case where the parent would 100% die delivering a 100% non- viable fetus, you'll get the same answers:

"No one is talking about those cases." and "But surely there will be exceptions."

"All of those studies of people in Trump Country USA who were shocked, shocked, that the kind man next door who is a good father and a great neighbor and a real part of the community was dragged away by ICE?

They all thought that surely he'd be an exception.]

["If you point out that the laws/policies they're talking about *don't* offer such exceptions and in some cases explicitly forbid them, if you say "So let's put those exceptions in writing."... well, then you're back to Surely People Will Take Advantage.

"See, the people who are sure that Surely There Will Be Exceptions are very comfortable with the idea of justice being decided on a case-by-case basis. They've always had teachers, bosses, bureaucrats, even traffic cops giving them some slack for reasons of compassion and logic.]

["I mean, if Officer Smalltown von Cul-De- Sac could give them a warning when they were caught with recreational amounts of pot as kids because it was harmless and they Had Futures, then Surely there must be similar exceptions for everyone?

"That post about "I never thought the leopards would eat my face, sobbed woman who voted for Face-Eating Leopards Party" is very true, and it goes farther than personal immunity to a very generalized and broad Just World Fallacy.

"Surely, they think, surely the leopards will know to only eat the *right* faces, the faces that need eating, and leave alone all the faces that don't deserve that.]

["But if we try to lay out rules to protect faces from being eaten by leopards, people will take advantage. Best to keep it simple and count on decency and reason to rule the day.

"So moderate conservatives, what we might call "everyday conservatives", the ones who don't wear MAGA hats or tea party costumes and think that Mr. Trump fella should maybe stay off of Twitter, they will vote for candidates and policies that they don't actually agree with...

"...because in their mind the exact law being prescribed is just a tool in the chest, an option on the table, which they expect to be wielded fairly and judiciously. Surely no one would do anything so unreasonable as actually enforcing it as written! Not when that would be bad!]

["And then they are confused, shocked, and even insulted when people hold them accountable for their support of the monstrous policy.

"I didn't vote for leopards to eat *your* face! I just thought we needed some face-eating leopards generally. Surely you can't blame me for that!"

"The old "Defense of Marriage" laws are another textbook example of this.

Many of them included language that expressly forbade giving similar benefits (like hospital visitation) to same-sex relationships.]

["Yet the people who voted for them, in many cases, wanted it to be known that No One Is Talking About Stopping You From Visiting Your Loved One In The Hospital. And Surely There Will Be An Exception.

"The Shirley Exception is how people who are only mundanely monstrous, moderately monstrous, wind up supporting policies that are completely monstrous.

And when they do, they always want credit for their good intentions towards those they see as deserving, not the outcomes.]

["I'm describing a phenomenon here and I don't have a solution to its existence. While convincing people that laws that don't specify exceptions functionally *don't have them* might work sometimes on (ironically) a case-by-case basis, what is really needed is a broader shift.

"People need to get used to thinking about the harm policies will do as a real part of the policy, not a hypothetical that Reasonable People of Good Will Can Surely Work Around.

"Maybe the tack of saying, "If it was your life on the line, wouldn't you want that to be in writing?" would work. I don't know. Like I said, I don't have a solution here. This is just a thing that happens."]

The Shirley Exception

[emrikae]

aot cast modern au jobs in my head:

eren: cybersecurity specialist. i feel like erens one of those kids that suck in subjects like lang-lit or fucking geography but have an impressive talent in anything techi. i think growing up eren was a competitive gamer and i imagine him being pretty rich in the sense where doctor daddy grisha and also big bro zeke are always spoiling his brat ass with the latest technology. he gets so good, he initially goes into uni wanting to become a game designer but after a brief fallout with his dad when he dropped out and eventually had his allowance cut (a period where i think eren dips into underground hacking and also modelling?) he falls upon the sexy salary in cybersecurity (and saw how thrilling- and damn easy !for him! - the job is) he changed course. i think eren eventually builds his own successful company and becomes one of those rich folks who say that school aint shit.

mikasa: president of a major sports team. mikasa takes over pretty young (like early 30s) after old uncle kenny was involved in some ‘reiss scandal’. initially mikasa was labelled ‘princess’ (derogatory) by dumb angry hooligans who thought a woman would curse their current standing, jokes on them cus that same season the club broke their 20 year curse by reaching the championships. i also think old pictures of gothkasa gets leaked on the internet but it only brought her more praise. but i actually dont think mikasa stays in this job for very long, shes always wanted a quiet simple form of income anyway so when her baby brother comes of right age and maturity she passes the baton to him and lays back as just a shareholder before shes even 40. i also believe mikasa in another universe wouldve loved to be an archivist.

armin: celebrity marine biologist/activist that went viral online during lockdown. he gets his own fanbase and is termed ‘biologist bae’ cus of his cute looks. a tv producer who fell into his corner pretty much fell in love with him after seeing armin deliver a spiel about endangered dugongs. invites him to a bunch of talk shows and the viewership goes so high (a large portion of it being teenage fangirls who want to ‘save the ocean’ too!) he manages to score his own show where he eventually meets his future wife.

annie: senior tv writer who got with armin after working with him on his show. she usually works on sporty reality shows and competitions even though shes a big time introvert. known for her sharp dont fuck with me work ethic, annie gags at how easily she fell into ‘biologist baes’ charm, hates how shes just like the 14 year old fangirls who try to sneak into their shoots. but anyways, annies the ace at her job been going hard for about 15 years but ultimately decides to retire early after having her second child and really liking how ‘biologist bae’ was making enough dough for the whole family.

sasha: influencer cus shes so pretty and fun. was a design major so all her vids have a ‘aesthetic’. now she prettily promotes lifestyle hacks for all the girlies. she also has a set of vids called “what my chef husband cooked for me today” . i think also further on she ends up being one of those moms who shoots vlogs and reviews with their kids.

jean: jeans a classy guy with artistic talents so i imagine him being a successful automotive designer for a luxurious car company. a mommas boy, he used his first fat pay-check to buy his mom a sleek ride thats a little too fast for someone her age. dudes insta page is what you’d expect from a posh car enthusiast with flashy posts of either him, his car, his mom or all 3.

connie: real estate party man. he really climbed his way up and becomes a man of many stories, friends with everyone and plenty of connections. the old hustle got him familiar with the best locations in the city, and now with his excellent salesmanship dude manages to sell at least 3 huge properties a week. i also feel like connies one of those dudes to finally settle down in his 40s -50s (with someone half his age).

historia: i believe queenbee was made for wedding planning. she has her own company before her first job ever but damn is she good at it. being brought up filthy rich, historia is familiar with the highest quality of things, knows whats on the market that only the small percentage of rich people know and will get clients their dream wedding to a t. moreover, she also loves to play cupid (canon!) and is always up to planning her friends weddings (and baby showers, and birthdays parties, and…)

ymir: i imagine ymir being on the board of directors for a bunch of ngos. she had a tough upbringing, was probably moved around from one home to another and could see how hard life is for anyone working at minimum wage. she grew up to be a little spitfire in school, hadnt taken it seriously until she reached senior year and bonded with a school staff named Ms Ymir Fritz. With the wisdom and kindness she learnt from her old teacher, ymir wanted to pay it forward and decided to make a living helping those in need.

reiner: idk why, but i feel like reiners a softie at heart and i imagine him having a nice cozy candy shop. probably fighting old childhood demons and the parental neglect he faced, his cute little shop comes as part of his healing journey to compensate what he missed out on in his youth. its sweet (but a little heartbreaking) that reiners favourite part about his job is getting to witness and be a part of the joy that emerges between families when they enter his shop.

bertholdt: a nurse just cus i think bertholdt would know how to be gentle with the patients. hes got a soft way of speaking that makes vulnerable people feel safe and comfortable. hes also wildly knowledgeable in flexibility and keeping your muscles in good shape that he conducts morning stretches and sometimes yoga in one of their recreational halls.

[bitchfitch]

His house was haunted by the ghost of his childhood imaginary friend. Evan knew it as well as he knew that describing Evi as his "Childhood" imaginary friend was... deceptive at best.

The cabinets opened on their own, Evi's favorite sorts of items would vanish from their place around the home and reappear under Evan's bed, he would wake up in the middle of the night to the feeling of someone crawling into his bed and laying beside him. An ice cold hand on his chest, a smooth mask of a face would tuck itself against his side as Evi wormed his way under his arm. Evi's voice, sweet and cracking like poorly annealed glass, would seep into the spaces between his drowsy thoughts as he fell back asleep. The words as saccharine as they are vicious.

Evi used to be his muse, the beautiful world they'd made together had been the inspiration for the music that launched Evan into stardom. Evi gave Evan everything that was good in his life. How could Evan leave him? Why was he left to be forgotten all those years ago?

How dare Evan call him back from the obscurity of memory now that his life was over.

In the morning there would be burns where Evi's golden claws dragged against his skin.

His house was haunted by the ghost of his imaginary friend and it's presence was as much a balm as it were a thorn. Like the injectables that used to make Evi feel as real in the waking world as he did in their dreams.

Evi broke things when he got bored. Framed pictures. Gifts from people more real than Evi but who's friendship with Evan had been just as imaginary. Anything from the period Evan spent in rehab after he followed Evi out of a third story window at a party.

Evan would find those ruined fragments of his life when it was at its peak, his mind would tell him he should mourn the broken flower pot that was painted by the first girlfriend he'd had who cared enough to discourage his smoking habit. That he should be furious with Evi for breaking it even though it had been Evan alone that ruined that relationship. He wasn't. He was numb as he picked up the pieces and set them back on the shelf Evi had knocked them off of. The small memories it had held, the beads from broken bracelets and guitar picks with concert dates written on them were left on the tile for the maid service to deal with next time he cared enough to call them.

His pill bottles kept going missing too, when he found them their contents would be gone. What Evi did with the antidepressants and pain killers was a mystery, but Evan had caught him dropping the sleeping pills into his drinks. He wondered where Evi learned that trick every time he poured them out and what it said about the man Evan used to be or the company he used to keep that the childish figment of his imagination knew about the concept of date rape drugs.

Ambien had too strong of a taste to really work the way Evi was hoping it would.

The ghost of his childhood imaginary friend was haunting his home and he had no desire to do anything about it. The mess of jealous destruction, the quiet humming from just over his shoulder, the nights spent frozen by sleep paralysis while Evi straddled his hips and traced his claw along the strap holding Evan's breathing tube in place. It never felt like a threat. He Knew Evi too well for that.

The dark gave the illusion that Evi was really there. His weight and the chill of his glass skin, the soft clink of his body brushing against itself. It was so easy to drift off with the impression that Evi's invisibility was merely the fault of his human eyes.

It was a comfort after the months of isolation. Of doctors appointments and lawyers and every relationship in his life dissolving like the pills Evi kept dropping in his drinks.

Unlike every friend he'd made into a household name, unlike every industry contact he'd made richer than God, Evi didn't care that he chose life over his career. If Evan let him speak again, if he took the plunge back into the same maladaptive fantasies that made Evi so real, he would be pissed with Evan as he was probably right to be, and then so sweet as he wrapped them both back up in their dreamed world.

All Evi ever wanted from him was his companionship, and he had abandoned him in favor of people who wanted him to sing for their pocketbooks until he suffocated on tumors.

The ghost of his imaginary friend haunted his home. Everyday Evan let himself become more certain of it the less ghost like Evi got. His words cut further into the waking world, his humming turned to singing the songs Evan wrote about him. Not the ones that made the most money, but the ones Evi liked the best. The ones no one but Evi had ever heard.

Evan would see him out of the corner of his eye. A flash of bright pink hair or wine bottle green legs crossed neatly beside his as they watched the movies and shows they used to talk about together for hours.

He wanted so badly to reach out to him.

He'd spent years breaking himself of the habit of doing so. He'd spent years killing Evi the only way a thought could be killed, by thinking about anything else. Evi had almost killed him. Betraying him like that had been necessary for survival. It still was.

Evi was a drug more potent and addictive than anything you could buy. The imaginary and the dreamt engulfed the real world around him, battling it like a wall holding back a tidal wave. The only way to chase him had always been to force himself deeper and further from that protection and into the storm. Every step Evan took towards him and away from shore would have Evi drifting another mile deeper.

He still wanted... He wanted what it had been when it was at its best. Evi hanging off his arm at party after party. His laugh and words so real everyone who'd partaken in whatever was on offer that night could hear him too. His muse, beautiful and adoring, would bring him water for the hangover next morning, pain killers and sleeping aids so he could drift back to their castle in the clouds where pain existed only to further the story and pleasure wasn't limited by flesh.

The first step into that sea was buying, framing, and hanging another copy of the poster he'd sold years ago. It was from an old movie that had either been lost to time or never made at all. Evan's father had been the one to hang the original up in their home when he was still just a boy.

A man stood at the front, his sword held high as a woman in a tattered white dress clung to his nearly naked, sweaty body. Beneath them, under the man's foot, was an alien with glassy skin and bright pink hair. Her face was turned away, the valley between her breasts shattered by the warriors blade as a battle raged in the background.

As a young boy Evan had fantasized about saving her. Maybe the movie gave reason for why she deserved to die, but he would never see it. He would battle the so called hero and bring the broken woman to her people who could heal her shattered heart. She'd call him her knight and kiss him like he were the sort of man who starred in these sorts of movies.

She became Evi so gradually that Evan couldn't remember when each little change came. He did know it was the other boys at school making fun of him for having a girl imaginary friend that made her into a him though, even if Evan still thought of Evi as a woman in the secrecy of his mind.

If Evi cared he'd never said anything. He called himself Evan's king just as often as he called himself queen. A creature as fluid as the thoughts that made him.

His house was haunted by the ghost of his imaginary friend. Evan could hear him clearly now when he stood in his in home recording studio where the poster hung between panels of sound dampening foam.

"I miss you, my Knight."

"You've been asleep for so long but still I guard you here in our castle. Our bed is warm with you, your body hasn't aged a day, your strength remains. Please wake up. Please come home so I'm not alone anymore. You promised to save me. You promised."

"What did I do to anger you? Please I'll kneel at your feet and apologize until you believe me. I'm so so sorry. Please wake up. Please my Knight."

It's been weeks since another living person spoke to him.

He was right to kill Evi. He was. He was. He tells himself that in his home that's too large for one man.

Evi took the real world away. Made life boring. Made him walk out a window thinking he'd fly. Evi would kill him without ever meaning too.

The life he'd killed Evi to lead dissolved the second he refused to let himself die. He was right to go through with the surgery. He was right to set himself onto this path of isolation. He'll live a long life. A long life with too much money and too much empty space around him.

He knew Evi better than he knew himself. He'd made him after all. There was no one around to encourage his bad habits anymore. No one pushing heroine and designer MDMA into his hands. He'd even quit smoking.

Before Evan lived that rock-star life, Evi and his maddening influence was as benign as the water lapping at the shores of a still lake. He made reality glow instead of disappear.

It wouldn't hurt to indulge in one addiction now that the others were gone. He's been handling Evi for nearly 30 years, he can hold him close and be fine. He can.

Evan didn't need sleep aids to find his way to their dream, but with how often Evi tried to slip them into his drink, it felt right to take a half dose stood there before the poster. He couldn't speak to tell Evi he was on his way so the gesture would have to do.

Evi's voice snapped out of existence the instant he turned from the poster, but he felt Evi's hands on him, heard his feet clacking on the floor as he pranced in excitement, felt him grab his hand to drag him to his bedroom like they were eager lovers.

He woke up in a bed surrounded by crystalline flowers. The ceiling above was hidden from view by a fog of starry clouds. When he breathed, he felt the air rush through his sinuses and down a throat cancer had never touched.

Evi was on him in an instant, his hands dove into Evan's hair as he kissed him like he was attempting to make up for the time they spent apart. Evan returned the enthusiasm, licking into the sugar of Evi's mouth as he grabbed his hips to keep him close while Evan fought to sit up in their bed.

He hadn't realized how ruined his waking body was until he felt no pain for the first time in years. His back didn't smart at him, his hip didn't try to lock up, his shoulders were strong enough to support his and Evi's weight when he braces on one hand. There was no low thrum of sickness in his blood, no exhaustion. Just life as it was meant to be.

When he and Evi parted, his words froze in his throat. How did he forget how gorgeous Evi was? The fan of his turquoise eyes, the needle fangs behind his split upper lip, the earnest bright joy he bore like it was his gift to the world.

He cupped Evi's jaw, his fingers pressing into the dripping waves of his molten glass hair. Evi waited for him to speak first, those eyes tracing along the features of Evan's dreamt face like it was the first time he was seeing him.

Evan hasn't spoken since he left his speech therapist in a fit of disgust at the sound of his new voice. Maybe if he hadn't built his worth around the sound of his voice. Maybe if he had forced himself to keep practicing. Maybe if he had been a different man, he wouldn't have returned.

He holds Evi, one hand still on his hip the other petting his thumb along a new sea-foam green scar on the edge of Evi's jaw. And he speaks.

"I've made a horrible mistake-"

"It's all ok now. You're home, you won't leave me again, my Knight" Evi cocks his head his darlingness takes on a razor's edge of warning "Isn't that right?"

[sarah-denial-cq]

I'm on my knees, looking at another girl who's on *her* knees, looking at me. Someone is standing behind me, my long braid wrapped up in their hand. The other girl looks scared.

"strip.". We're both wearing identical matching bra and panties. We both look away from each other as we take them off, too nervous to look- until I feel a yank, hard, on my hair. "No, look right in each other's eyes. Look at her tits. You're both fucking porn, act like it. "

I feel the hand slap my ass. The other girl winces, seeing the pain on my face. "Tell her she's just porn, just like you. She's nothing."

I look at her carefully. Her makeup is running from crying. She's already been beat quite a bit. "You're just porn. You're nothing." She just looks at me silently. "Keep going".

I look right at her. I try to summon up my contempt for her. She could have been so much. Now she's here on her knees in front of me stripped and crying. So vulnerable. "You're a stupid, stupid bitch" I start laying into her. "You're pathetic. No self respecting woman would let this happen to her.". The girl starts sobbing. I feel the approval from behind me and I can't help but start insulting her and betraying her for the approval of the force of that hand in my braid and the validation I know I'll find there if I just do a good enough job tearing down this victim.

I'm going to make her a victim.

"you're shit. You're barely a person, you just sit there and strip and cry.". I start getting into it. I'm masturbating on my knees staring at this helpless naked loser crying. "Go on, cunt, touch yourself while I insult you.". She's touching herself, one hand between her legs and one on her nipple. I can't tell if she's doing it to impress the one behind me or just to self soothe or because- "fuck, you actually like this? You sick puppy. You're not even rape bait, because I don't think you're even capable of having an opinion on who gets to use you. Nobody thinks of you as anything other than a slutty, easy, fuckdoll. You're going to remember this moment for the rest of your life. I hate you. I hope you get drugged and passed around a party. You deserve to be pinned down by somebody and fucked dry. You, oh my god," the hand is twisting in my hair and this poor girl is absolutely sobbing at all the abuse and I'm filled with traitorous contempt as I realize her flush is half crying and half arousal and I see- "you whore. Don't you dare cum. You sick fuck, you rug munching cock sucking ass eating porn making easy access " I think the bitch is actually going to cum, I feel all the approval in the world from behind me as I realize this is what they want, they want to see if I can truly betray this victim they brought for me to abuse to get them off, this is my value to them, to hurt this girl, I go harder, I feel a hand on the back of my neck, "failure, nobody takes you seriously, everybody just imagines putting you on your knees any time you open your stupid mouth, people on the street look at you and imagine raping you, your colleagues call you names behind your back, you're going to be like this forever, you stupid, stupid, stupid-"

I feel, somehow, the pull on my braid that tells me to shut up. I look at the girl I've been tearing down to earn approval. She's quietly crying. Both her hands have come up to her tits. I hear the voice behind me. "Spit on her."

I... hesitate. Do I really hate this poor girl enough to do that, is she, okay with that? Do I care about that more than I care about doing what I'm told? She looks so afraid. She looks so... you know what? She looks like she deserves it. She deserves it.

I spit on the mirror.

"good girl", I hear.

[zepskies]

And I'm SO happy you're back, my lovely Wayne!! Of course, you decide to spoil me with this review the minute you dip back into this hellsite. 😘

(yesss, and don't think I didn't see that chapter you dropped of Polaris! When I get back from my vacay I will be diving into that. I need to know what happens next with our favorite cowboy sheriff 🤠)

I'm very glad and grateful you made the time to start ESC! I had so much fun figuring out Russell Shaw and the Tracker cast -- especially with all them Deanisms. 😏

Diving into the rest of your awesome comments below!! 💕

First of, Professor Goldstein is a piece of work... 😒 I wouldn't blame her for spitting into his coffee every time he calls her sweetheart. But Russell, I see you. She's gonna be so annoyed with him 😂

Oh he's a piece of something, all right. 🙄 She could def pull a Rachel on his ass. And Russell...lmao, you already saw where he's heading with this. 😂

Ooooh, another professor character paired with some rugged Mountain Man 😏 I'm addicted to those couples. She's all business up front, and he's all party in the back (seat of his Chevelle) 🤪

LOLL the way it didn't even occur to me when I was writing this (at first) that I was writing another professor paired with a law enforcement (sort of, in Russell's case), man of action type, like in Take Me Home with Beau Arlen. 😝 I came at it with the thought of, "what if she was Dory's best friend, and they worked together at the university?" I must have a thing for writing nerds who get the rugged, sexy Mountain Man. Not at all fulfilling a personal fantasy.

UGH. The nerve!!!!! Massage therapist????? How about I step on your back with my high heels, bro... And then to go on about his trip and parasailing... Guess it's true. Ignorant people are happier 😂

Fuck YES, I'd be high-stepping up and down his spine fr. 🤣 Ignorance is bliss, I guess? 🤷🏽‍♀️

Or why are campuses so big in general? My university actually had several faculties strewn throughout the city. Sometimes it took an hour and several subway rides to get to your next lecture 😅

Oooh my God, now THAT's crazy! A whole subway ride(s)?? I've worked/gone to school on some big campuses, but that takes the cake. I guess you get your daily workout one way or another lol!

Please tell me Russell's in the room when she said that 😄🤞

Big YEP lmfaoo, and he likes her already because of it. 😂

Ooooh, right! I wonder how much she knows about the Shaws. Not something that comes casually up in the cafetaria I imagine 😅

No it would not, lmfao! But that is something that will be explored (how much she knows) in the chapters to come, for sure!

Love this whole exchange. You're making my dreams come true, babe 😘

Ahaha I had to do the little callback to sriracha fries (and figure out how tf to spell sriracha, first of all. 😂)

I keep thinking he probably has that look now because he was in the army for so long. Young Russell was pretty much young Dean Winchester in a uniform (hello there, soldier 😏)

Ooh that's SUCH a good point (and yumm). It's making me hope that we get a flashback of Russell in his military days someday in Tracker.

Well... It's a toss-up, I'd say 😆

Oh, very much a toss up/personal preference there lmao. I've loved Justin Hartley since his Smallville days as Green Arrow. 😆 But in this case, I felt like Russell would try to claim top billing there loll.

In. His. Car 🚩🚩🚩😂 If any strange man said that to you... 🚩🤣

Honestly, it's amazing how many red flags you ignore when someone's charming and handsome. 🤣🤣🤣

Well, at least, Colter has an Airstream 😅🤷‍♀️

Ha!! True, it's beating out Russell's crusty motel of the week by far, I'd say.

He is a professional flirt. Kind eyes...

Oh don't worry, we're getting to that callback. 😏

Dear God, he does not stop, does he? 😆 (On the show, I loved his persistence with Reenie too, even though it was mainly just to annoy Colter. But you captured him beautifully here with this sort of charm 🥰) PS: schmutz, schlep... I love the sprinkles of Yiddish in this 🤓

In fact, he does not! lmfao That was what I loved about it too -- like maybe half of him is serious, and the other half just wants to needle Colter. 🤣

Aw I'm glad you caught that! lol I'm not Jewish, but for some reason it just felt right for these characters. 💜

STOP IT! And he upgraded too!!! 🤣

He absolutely did!! And this time, it actually worked! 🤣🤣

I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS! Gah, this was fabulous! I'm hooked! 😍👏 Are they gonna stay casual? Something about her brooding and reluctance tells me it's not usually her style? Which means, will he eventually settle? Get out of the dangerous hitman-nomad life?

Ooh my goodness, I'm so glad to hear that, friend! You're right. I don't think I full on state it, but "casual" is typically not her style. Also, Russell is Dory's brother, so she doesn't want there to be any weirdness or awkwardness between them if something happened or fell out between the reader and Russell.

She already knows his relationship with Dory is kind of fragile, in that they're still in that "reconnecting" phase. You'll see more of that dynamic and her thoughts in Part 2, but the rest of your questions will most definitely be explored throughout this little series. 😏

And then there's the stories about their respective families. We already know some about Russell's. How is she gonna react if she learns everything? And there's something odd about her private life as well. Can't wait to dive into that bombshell 😂

There's a lot to unpack there, right? There's a great deal that she already knows through Dory, and some things that are going to be revealed along the way...

Zep, my sweet genius Alex, you've outdone yourself once again. Bravo!!! 👏👏👏

You make me blush!! Thank you so much. 😭🥰 If you like this chapter, then I think you're going to enjoy the rest of the series. I hope it's as fun for you to read as it was for me to write!! 💕💕

A Line and a Half

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: When Dory’s eldest brother comes to visit her at Wyoming University, you don’t know quite what to make of Russell Shaw. But he knows exactly what he wants to make of you.

AN: Okay, here’s my first toe-dip into the world of Tracker with Russell Shaw! 1x12 gave me too many ideas not to explore this intriguing character. This is set before episode 12, but I have a little series I want to sketch out that will continue after this one-shot, so think of this as a “Part 1,” if you will. 😉

Word Count: 3.2K

Tags/Warnings: A kind of “meet cute,” attempts at flirting, and hints of setup for more to come…

You watched, silently simmering, as Dr. Goldstein added yet another packet of internship applications from his graduate students onto your desk.

Applicants that he, as the History Department Chairman, was supposed to review himself. Instead, he’d been adding these hours quite literally onto your desk. 

“If you could review these for me as well, sweetheart. Thank you,” he said. “Get ‘em back to me by Thursday, okay?”

As a Professor of History with two doctorates in your name, you once again grated internally at sweetheart, but you tried to keep that cringe off your face as well.

Goldstein barely even met your eyes when he dropped off his burden, and then aimed to leave your office.

“Uh, Paul,” you called out, raising a finger. You stood from your desk as quickly as you could in your pencil skirt, but the man was already out the door. You followed him out, your heels clacking on the tile floor. 

Damn it. Knew I should’ve gone with pants, you said, continuing to hasten after your boss.

“Paul! Just a second,” you said. That finally managed to turn the man’s head off of his phone. He glanced at you while checking his watch.

“About the internship applications…and your midterm exam essays for that matter. Don’t you think—” you started to say, but the man spoke over you.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to run. Meeting my massage therapist at noon,” he said, and rolled a seemingly stiff shoulder under his tailored blazer. “Something’s just not right here after my trip to Cali last weekend. I don’t know what I did, pulled muscle or something. But hey, they do say parasailing is a sport.”

You quirked a brow. “Do they?”

You weren’t sure that being strapped into a parachute for a nice air glide over the Pacific counted as a sport.

Goldstein shrugged at your question and he kept walking down the hall. Though he turned back to toss you a pointed finger.

“Need those by Thursday. Thanks, you’re the best,” he said.

You watched him go, as proverbial steam began to escape through your ears. Slowly you pivoted on your heels, and you went back to your office. You grimaced at the large stack of applications. You were pretty sure he padded them with an extra section of midterm exams.

Tapping your nails on your desk, you grabbed your phone next to your desktop and checked the time. 11:30 a.m.

Screw it. I’m going to lunch, you thought.

Dory had to be out of her Intro Physics class by now, which meant she’d be in her office, ready for you to drop in on her a little early. You took up your purse and almost made it out the door…but at the last moment, your anal brain made you turn back to grab a shoulder bag and the pile of applications. Maybe you could knock out a few during lunch.

Friggin’ doormat, as your brother would say. Laughing at you, probably.

You rolled your eyes and headed back out the door with your haul of papers, purse, work bag, and keys, locking your office behind you.

Why, oh why did the Sciences building have to be on the other side of campus?

It was damn near a mile walk from your Humanities building over to Dory’s office on the second floor. Your hands were laden with packets that couldn’t be contained by your heavy work bag, your purse was slipping off your shoulder, and these heels were killing your feet.

It was a miracle you and Dory had ever met on this campus. On your first day of teaching, you’d of course been hopelessly lost. Somehow you ended up at the tail-end of one of her classes in one of the science auditoriums.

She’d been gracious enough to help you, and even walked you all the way to the Humanities building so you could find your World History class before the students decided to just get up and leave. (And after fifteen minutes, they very well would.)

That day, she became your first real friend at Wyoming University. In the three years since, she’d become your best friend.

And now, her door was mercifully open halfway. You pushed it open and stumbled just a little from the transition of tile to carpet inside her office. Your papers nearly flew from your hands, so you struggled to right yourself and contain them all back into the semblance of neatness.

“Hey, girl. You better be ready for lunch because Jesus fucking Christ. Goldstein’s up my ass again and all I’ve had today is a crusty donut from the teacher’s lounge, which I’m pretty sure was stale,” you said, with your brows furrowed in frustration.

When you finally looked up from your struggles, you realized that Dory wasn’t alone. She smiled at you in amusement, sitting at her desk beside a man who made you pause. Your eyes widened.

He was leaning casually with an elbow propped up on her desk, dressed in jeans and a worn, pale green jacket—a good match for his eyes. He looked a little rugged for Dory’s tastes, but you couldn’t fault her, with the cut of that bearded jaw, and the smile raising the corners of his lips.

“Hey,” Dory laughed. “I see you’re having a good day.”

You bit your lip in embarrassment, probably smudging your lipstick.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve knocked first,” you said, though you could see she seemed to be having an actual good day. Office picnic? Or maybe the handsome stranger was getting ready to take her out.

Dory just waved you in. She stood and set a hand on her companion’s shoulder, and he got up along with her.

“It’s okay. This is my brother, Russell,” she said, and she introduced you in kind.

“Well, hi there,” he said. He subtly took you in with his eyes as he held out his hand. Already you felt your face heating up with more than just embarrassment.

You were a bit shocked as well, to say the least. Dory had told you some…interesting things about her family, including the fact that she had two older brothers. You wondered which one this was, the middle child, or the eldest.

“Hi! Sorry. Again. Nice to meet you,” you said. You tried to hold your hand out to reach his, but a few papers began to spill out. You clutched at them on reflex, but Russell drew in quickly to help you.

“Got yourself a load there,” he said. You agreed with an awkward laugh and a shrug of your shoulders.

“My boss’s idea of extra credit,” you said wryly.

“You can set it down on that chair over there,” Dory said, pointing to one against the back wall, next to a tall filing cabinet.

You and Russell meandered over and managed to set down the stack without casualty. You were able to pull up the straps of your bag and your purse from falling off your shoulder and give him a grateful look.

“Thanks,” you said.

“No problem,” he said, giving you an easy smile back. “I actually crashed in unannounced, so if you two wanna to head to lunch, you go right ahead.”

“Uh, no. I haven’t seen you in months! You should come with us,” Dory said. She grabbed her purse to join you and Russell by the door.

You raised your hands in placation. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude, especially if it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other. You guys should catch up.”

Dory shook her head and grabbed your hand.

“Uh, uh. I want to hear the latest on Paul’s bullshit, and why you’re carrying half your office across campus. Let’s go,” she said, and gestured at your work bag. “Leave that here. You’re gonna eat and talk to me. No working involved.”

You laughed, but you agreed to her cajoling. With another glance at her brother, and those green eyes that seemed to be dancing, you joined them for lunch.

The three of you ended up at a diner that you and Dory frequented at least once a week. The food was good, the service was quick, and it was close to campus. Wins all around. Russell seemed to be enjoying himself, as he hummed in delight after the very first bite of his Philly cheesesteak.

“Sriracha on fries, huh?” you remarked, gesturing at the man’s plate. Your brow was quirked, but he shot you a smile.

“I said avert your eyes,” he teased. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sweetheart.”

Ugh. Another sweethearting man. You narrowed your own eyes at him a bit. He caught the look and raised a hand in defense (the one that wasn’t holding his cheesesteak).

“Uh oh. What’d I do?” he asked.

“You gave her some PTSD,” Dory said with a laugh. “Dr. Goldstein likes to sugar coat his demands with sexism.”

Russell noted your souring look with apology. You’d just finished recounting your morning for your friend, and recapping years of “sugar-coated demands” for Russell.

“Why don’t you just tell him to cram it up his…uh…” he paused. Seeing his little sister’s look of amusement, he amended. “Or you know, stuff it.”

A smile twitched at your lips. “Oh, believe me, I’d love to tell him to stuff it. But he’s technically my boss, and the department chair. Even though I’ve basically been doing his job for two years now.”

“Well, that sucks,” Russell said. “And I feel for ya. I’ve had my share of shitty bosses in my time.”

You sighed and accepted his commiseration with a nod.

It wasn’t fair, but Goldstein planned to retire early in a few years. Must be nice.

When he did, it would make you the most likely candidate to replace him as department chair. The way you saw it, this was giving you plenty of practice before you (hopefully) inherited the position.

Anyway, you shook your head. You didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You were more curious about one Russell Shaw. You now knew he was an army vet, and he carried himself like one. Calm, controlled, even though his smiles came easy. His tousled hair and beard, while well-trimmed and neat, still gave him a roguish quality.

“So let me guess. You’re…the eldest?” you asked. You blotted at your mouth with a napkin, having finished your chicken panini.

Russell treated you to another one of those smiles, though this one held a hint of more.

“Guilty. Though I’m the handsome one,” he said with a wink.

You found yourself smiling behind your napkin.

“I’m sure,” you replied.

Dory rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. Apparently my brother’s an incorrigible flirt.”

He chuckled and sipped at his beer, but then he grimaced.

“Ech. Friggin’ weak,” he said. “I brew better than this outta the trunk of my car.”

 You raised a brow at that. “You make your own beer?”

“Damn straight,” he said. His gaze turned a hint more playful. “Next time I’ll bring you some. You can tell me what you think.”

You shared a telling look with Dory.

“Next time, huh?” you asked.

“Sure,” he inclined his head. “I pop into town from time to time. Gotta check in and pester my little sister, the physics professor.” 

He laid a hand on Dory’s shoulder, squeezing warmly. You could see the pride in his eyes, and it warmed you as well.

She turned to him with a smile, reaching up to cover his hand with hers.

“You don’t pester me. I’d love it if I got to see you more often,” she said.

“Ah, I know, I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her. “My job’s got me all over the place. But I’ll be here for a week or so on this gig.”

That intrigued you. “What do you do for work?”

“Ah, well, you could say I'm a contractor. Private security mainly,” said Russell. His shoulders shifted as he became a little more guarded, you noticed. “My company connects me with the client for as long as the job lasts. Could be a few months, sometimes a few days, depending.”

“Oh, wow. Do you live here in Wyoming?” you asked. He paused, but tilted his head a little, back and forth as he considered your question.

“I kinda bounce around,” he said. “Just go from one job to the next. Sounds a bit unorthodox, I know, but it’s a living.”

“Interesting,” you nodded, but inside, you thought that sounded like a hard way to live.

Unstable…and lonely. 

“You know, it’s amazing how much you and Colter have in common,” Dory said. She folded her hands on the table and met her brother with a pointed look.

He huffed in response, though he glanced at you, then back at his sister. As if he was saying, You really want to do this now?

Dory had told you before that Colter was a “rewardist,” or some kind of bounty hunter. The nature of his work kept him busy, and seemingly too busy for his sister. But you also sensed there was an edgier history here.

For the first time, you felt like you were intruding in a moment between brother and sister that went beyond words.

After a moment, Russell shook his head.

“Look, I tried with him, all right? He won’t talk to me,” he said. He went back to eating, polishing off his fries. He offered you one that was half-smothered in sriracha.

“Come on. Live on the edge with me,” he teased.

You eyed the sauce-covered fry in distaste, but after glancing up at his more playful smile, you accepted his offer. You chewed in contemplation, and found that the tangy hint of kick wasn’t so bad. 

“Eh? Eeeh? Delicious, am I right?” he said, his hands going wide.

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded in agreement.

“It’s all right,” you replied.

“Yes!” Russell’s hands swept up higher, like he was celebrating a touchdown. "See, I told ya."

You couldn’t help but laugh. Dory shook her head fondly and gave him a clean napkin for the bit of schmutz she spotted at the corner of his mouth.

“Here, wipe your sriracha face.”

“You really don’t have to,” you said, as Russell helped you gather your stack of papers and slung your work bag over his shoulder.

“No, no. I’m a bonafide gentleman. Ain’t that right, D?” he asked his sister. She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes again, but she did give you a knowing smile.

“Oh, his intentions are pure,” she said.

 And by that, you both understood her meaning. His intentions couldn’t be any clearer than a mallet over the head, but you kind of found it endearing.

This man really carried your stuff from the Sciences building across the entire campus to your office. All the while, he asked you about how you and Dory met, the kinds of things you two did together, and if you thought she was happy working here.

You had a feeling he was trying to learn more about his sister’s life. On one hand, it was rather sweet. On the other, it made you realize that there was distance in this family, both literal and figurative. You were glad to hear that Russell, at least, was trying to bridge that gap with his sister. Dory deserved to have more of that in her life.

As you explained to Russell while you led him down the hall to your office, your friendship with her had just…clicked. From the very beginning.

“Dory, you know. She’s more than kind,” you said. “She’s a real one. I can rely on her, even when I can’t rely on my own family.”

Russell hummed at that. “That sounds like a story.”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing away for a moment. You smiled and met his gaze once more. “Maybe one for another time.”

“So you’re on board with a ‘next time.’ Good to know,” Russell remarked. Your smile deepened.

It was good timing when you two finally reached your office. You unlocked it and let him inside, so he could set down your bag, and the god-forsaken stack of internship applications back onto your desk. You’d probably be stuck here working late on those.

“Well, thank you so much. You really didn’t have to schlep for me,” you said.

When you turned, Russell was a bit close. Not uncomfortably so, but enough to make a trill of something zip up your spine. You smelled more intensely his cologne, woodsy and warm. Looking up at him, you once again found his smile.

“It’s no problem,” he said, but his eyes met yours for a moment, as if he lost his train of thought.

“What?” you asked, a bit nervous.

“Anybody ever tell you, you got soulful eyes?” he asked.

It took your brain a second or two to compute, but when his words registered, you had to laugh. You held it behind your hand, while the other went to steady yourself on your desk.

 “Well, that’s a line if I’ve ever heard one,” you said, shading your “soulful” eyes with a hand.

You didn’t know it, but Russell’s face warmed in slight embarrassment. He recovered though, taking in your pretty laugh, and the shade of your hair, let loose around your shoulders, and yes, your eyes, when you let him see them again.

If he hadn’t known before, now he was convinced.

He wanted to see more of you before he left town.

“Hey, now that was 100% genuine,” Russell said, but his grin spoke volumes. When your mirth died down, he scratched the back of his head.

“Okay, cards on the table. Would you be interested in grabbing a drink with me sometime?” he asked.

You took in a breath at that. You actually did consider his offer, because homebrew and sriracha fries be damned, there was something more to him. It was lying in wait, behind those eyes that were drawing you in.

However, this was also a man whose job basically made him a nomad. It didn’t exactly scream relationship material.

Which only left the alternative: something…casual.

You just didn’t know if that alternative was such a good idea. Not with your best friend’s brother.

“Just a drink. No frills, no more grilling you about my sister,” Russell said, breaking you from your deliberation. He gestured a hand between the two of you. “Just this. You and me.”

Eventually, you sighed. Your lips raised into a more genuine smile.

“Sometime, huh?” you asked.

He smiled back. “Tonight?”

You hesitated, but despite your better judgment, you nodded before you could change your mind. You still weren’t sure what to make of this guy, but you were willing to find out.

“Sure,” you said. “Howley’s at eight?”

“Well, all right,” Russell said.

He surprised you by sweeping up your hand into his. You looked up at him, curious, but not wary. Anticipation tingled down your spine.

He pressed his lips to the back of your hand. Soft shock made your eyes widen as you blushed, feeling the subtle graze of his beard against your skin.

Who is this guy, Cary Grant? you thought.

But when he pulled away, you had to remind yourself to breathe. Again, you caught sight of his cheeky grin.   

“See you tonight,” he said.

AN: He is beauty he is grace, he is Mr. Sriracha Face. 😆

Let me know if you guys liked this! 💜 It's my first time writing a character based solely on one episode, but next up is a series that will continue this one-shot. It's called Every Second Counts.

Next Time in Part 1:

“Are you absolutely sure?” you asked, with your hands on your hips. 

You wanted no miscommunication here, no read-between-the-lines mishaps, no subtext or nuance to bite you in the ass later. So here you stood in the middle of your best friend’s office, still on the Wyoming University campus after your last class.

Dory had to laugh at you. She pushed away from her desk and threw her hands up.

“Yes, for the love of God, you can grab a drink with my brother,” she said.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 1

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Russell Shaw Masterlist

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Russell S. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

[tryingahandinholdingapen]

it occurs to me that whilst I've read several (tobiizu) fics in which there's mutual secret identity shenanigans, if either of them discover the other's identity without immediately blabbing, it's always Tobirama who discovers Izuna's identity, and not vice versa

to be fair. this does make sense! both from an in-universe practicality point of view and a writer's plot-wise point of view

as far as in-universe practicality goes, since it seems to be generally accepted that it's harder to hide your chakra than more or less any other characteristic, and Tobirama is amazingly good at sensing chakra, it just makes sense logically that Tobirama would catch on to Izuna before Izuna would catch on to him

from a plot-wise point of view, well...look it's far more easy to believe that Tobirama would find out that his rival/lover/partner/?? with the unknown identity is Izuna and immediately go "This Is Fine" and start playing 5D chess with himself to rationalise why he can be pragmatic about having to kill Izuna and yet still care about his 'unknown' fixation, actually. this allows for fun, overly complicated plot stuff!

it's really difficult to believe that Izuna would find out Tobirama's identity and NOT immediately either react 200% based on "this is Tobirama therefore I will instantly go kill him" or "this is my rival/lover/partner and I love him and I KNOW HE LOVES ME (this is a fact of the universe he loves me he would die without me don't breathe a word otherwise or I will kill everyone on this planet and then myself)...therefore the right thing to do after breaking his trust by discovering his identity is to immediately go tell him my identity. and also kiss him" which like. That's also incredibly fun to read but you don't get as much ridiculously complicated shenanigans for the plot or fascinating internal monologues from a POV character doing insane mental gymnastics. it's just instantly All Or Nothing if Izuna is the first to uncover the other's identity

anyway as soon as I realised this about the fics I've read so far I started craving a fic with the same general premise (tobiizu in which they initially hide their identities from each other and THEN become freaks about it AND THEN one (BUT ONLY ONE) of them discovers the other's identity and proceeds to keep that shit to themself)...except Izuna is the one to discover Tobirama's identity first

the thing is I really really genuinely am struggling to imagine a scenario in which this would happen?? like what could possibly lead up to that scenario. convulated enough to make Izuna discover Tobirama's identity first, but to make Izuna keep his mouth shut about it whilst continuing to meet Tobirama?? how

the closest I can think of is like. a really ridiculous plausible deniability scenario, somehow. in which they both KNOW but they're pretending they do not (and the other party may or may not realise their identity has been exposed)

[shewasverynice]

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen 

⚠️ SPOILER HEAVY ⚠️

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death 

Full tags/warnings on Chapter links post

Major Characters: Original Character, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Ieiri Shoko, Yaga Masamichi, Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu, Tsukumo Yuki, Choso

‎‧₊˚✧ Chapter 15 ✧˚₊‧

While Suguru went to relax at home, enjoying the peace of being with just his parents again, and Shoko visited her father, Satoru was busy sighing for what had to be the 100th time in the last hour. The New Year's Eve party at the Gojo estate was always overbearing and irritating in the worst way, spent in an uncomfortable formal kimono and greeting old people who don't give a shit about anything but their status.

He sat in his spot at the long head table, every guest coming to reassert themselves as someone he probably needed when he became the clan head officially. Not that he gave a shit anyway, but in this life he'd determined it would be better to play along rather than rebel and do as he pleased. If he was going to rally everyone together, he needed a good position and good enough standing. Good enough being key, because he certainly had no interest in schmoozing with shitty geriatrics.

Some kind of introduction, a few false compliments, marvel at his eyes, New Year's wishes and rinse and repeat. It was all the same. All they knew how to do. If he asked them to kiss his pale ass they'd probably do it.

He'd heard his Grandfather already asking about daughters and knew that talk was coming too. The attempts to marry into more power and create more heirs for later. A dozen or so pretty but boring women would eventually be lined up for him to ignore as usual. That wasn't going to change this time for sure. No matter what, he would not put anyone else into a position they didn't really want.

Speaking of which... One came to him shortly after he overheard. She was in a lovely purple kimono, the long furisode stitched with cranes and tree branches. She was older than him, but not by much. Bold of her to approach directly. She must have been power hungry. Or money. One of the two.

"Good evening, Gojo," she said with a deep bow and a demure smile.

He resisted the scoff that threatened his throat, and just gave her a polite nod. But unfortunately she didn't take the hint. That or she really was very bold.

"How are you enjoying the party?" She asked, subtly standing up straight to present herself to him.

Tall. Thin. Soft features. Long silky black hair. Very pale. She was, just like the others, a proper Japanese woman raised for this purpose. A willing broodmare if it meant she could live a comfortable life and please her parents. Nothing made him more disgusted than someone who'd submit to someone else's whims.

"Honestly it kinda sucks," he huffed, resting his cheek on his hand. He wished he'd kept his sunglasses on so he could ignore her.

"Oh," she continued, "Yes, I'd imagine you'd prefer to be with your friends."

"Yeah," he said shortly, giving her an "alright that's enough" look.

Still, she persisted.

"Perhaps I could keep you--"

"Perhaps you could find someone else to chat with," Satoru said, plastering on that cocky smile, "Not interested, doll. Thanks." Then he waved at her dismissively, picking up his cup to sip.

She stared at him, painted red lips parted in surprise. He wanted to laugh, but he wasn't feeling like being cruel just yet. Only if she kept it up...

Which she didn't. She bowed and scurried off with her head down.

"Satoru," his mother chided softly, "That wasn't very kind. You should really make an effort to meet with them."

"Nah, I'd rather not Mother," he said, rolling his eyes.

She said nothing more, silenced by him. He sighed, feeling a bit guilty. She was just as much a victim of the marriage contract scheme herself. A perfect little flower plucked by a Gojo and blessed with the six-eyes as her child. She wasn't a weak willed woman, he knew that. He'd seen flashes of who she really could be, but the idea of the "Perfect Japanese Woman" had been ingrained and become her mask.

He got up, picking up his phone from under the table and heading out of the room. A few hours of this bullshit was all he could stand.

Down the hall and into his room, he tore off the kimono as soon as he stepped inside. Throwing on a hoodie and sweatpants, he got comfortable on his futon and flipped open his phone to check his messages. Just a few from Suguru showing photos of his hometown and what he was up to. Shoko had sent exactly one message complaining about soba noodles. Sarah sent him a few stupid jokes, hoping to lighten his mood.

He wished he'd stayed at the school. He still had two more nauseating days of ass kissing while they visited the New Year's shrines and ate all the fancy New Year's food.

He looked at his messages from Sarah and smiled. She was probably watching that "No Laughing Batsu Game" show. He'd never actually had the time to sit down and see it, but she insisted on last year's New Year it was the funniest thing. Apparently Suguru loved it too, so maybe he was watching it this time?

Satoru: What is the name of that show again?

Sarah: Gaki No Tsukai! You gotta turn it on! It's so good! It's a high school theme this year and I almost pissed myself!

(⁠✷⁠‿⁠✷⁠)

Satoru: (⁠☞ﾟ⁠∀ﾟ⁠)⁠☞ I'll check it out

So he rolled over, flipping on the TV to his room. He vaguely recognized the name from his first life. This had become a regular yearly show, but as always he was too busy to sit down and watch it the day of and when he actually did have time it wasn't something he remembered to do.

Clearly he was missing out!

He recognized the main duo of course, Downtown was always the best comedy pair in Japan. Cocorico was really good as well, and Yamazaki of course. The whole idea was amazing! And the set ups! Holy shit! He was laughing so hard his cheeks hurt!

He texted Suguru about it and his eyes widened when Suguru immediately called him.

"You're watching it to?" Suguru said excitedly as soon as he picked up, "Jimmy Onishi trying to count to 100 almost killed me!"

"Holy shit, yes!" Satoru laughed, "This is amazing! Sarah is watching too!"

"That's so awesome!" Suguru said. Satoru could hear him shifting in the background, probably sitting in his room.

Satoru bit his lip. He wasn't sure if this was the right time, but then again would it ever be? He hesitated for a split second before he said, "I wish we were watching it together." His voice had come out softer than he meant and he cringed immediately. Was it too soon? Would Suguru catch on? Did he want him too?

"Yes," Suguru agreed with a sigh, "I wish we could too."

Satoru's heart raced and his word caught. He wasn't sure what to say, so he just settled on, "Yeah."

"Next year we should all get together," Suguru said.

Oh. He meant with everyone. Before he could even stop himself Satoru was already saying, "I meant with just you. Alone."

Suguru didn't answer, but Satoru could hear his breathing still. It felt like an eternity before Suguru simply said, "Oh, I see."

"Too strong," Satoru cringed internally, he was coming on way to strong. Suguru was only fifteen after all and Satoru had only ever heard him talk about women in his last life. Was he even interested in men? Would he try it?

Satoru's face was heating up as the silence dragged on. Did he fuck this up? He was a grown ass man internally and still this made him feel oddly shy and foolish. And a little sick on some level, if he was being honest. The last thing he wanted to do was push Suguru into something he didn't want like some nasty groomer or something. But all of this was so new to him, he wasn't sure what the furthest boundaries should be in the first place!

"I think it would be better with all of us," Suguru said quietly after a moment and Satoru's heart fell.

Shit. It was too fast.

"Ah, yeah... I guess so," he said sheepishly, his hand wringing the futon blanket. He fucked up. He knew he did. "I... I didn't mean anything weird by it--"

"Sorry, Mom is calling me. Talk to you in a bit?" Suguru said, and promptly hung up.

Satoru stared at his phone, his mouth fallen open. "Shit," he mumbled, "Shit shit shit..."

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

To say his return to the school was nerve-wracking was an understatement. Satoru hadn't slept well for the last two days of his visit home, constantly worried he'd ruined everything with Suguru forever. He hadn't heard a word from the guy, not even a text or any pictures or anything.

When he reached the top of the steps, he saw Sarah and Shoko waving excitedly to him and he gave them a little half-hearted wave back. Where was Suguru? Surely he wouldn't just... Avoid him right?

"Geto!" Sarah called and Satoru froze. He swallowed thickly, turning to see Suguru about halfway up the stairs.

They locked eyes and it felt like everything slowed down. His expression was unreadable, and Satoru wasn't even sure what he should say. Suguru seemed to be at a loss as well and he stopped in his tracks.

"Hey," Satoru managed, quieter than he intended.

The moment turned violent in the blink of an eye. One moment Suguru was halfway up the stairs, brushing snow off his coat, and the next, he was blindsided by an unrelenting force that drove him hard into the icy ground. The impact echoed, sharp and brutal, as Suguru slid down a few steps before catching himself. 

“What the hell?!” Satoru shouted, eyes wide as he processed what had just happened. 

The blur that hit Suguru materialized into Toji Fushiguro, his presence as sharp and lethal as the blade he wielded. Satoru’s heart sank as he recognized the man who had haunted his nightmares and memories—a predator without cursed energy to track, armed with the inverted spear of heaven. 

Suguru groaned, rolling to his feet, and Satoru felt a surge of panic. “Suguru, get back!” he barked, already moving to intercept the man. 

Toji swung the inverted spear with ruthless precision, forcing Satoru to backpedal. The blade hummed ominously, cutting through the air with a deadly promise. Satoru felt the weight of his past crash down on him; this wasn’t a fight he could afford to lose. 

But then he heard it. 

Sarah’s shriek. 

His head whipped around, his mind snapping to Shoko and Sarah. To his horror, he saw Shoko crumpled on the ground, clutching a nasty gash on her arm as Sarah stood over her, gripping a clump of snow like it could fend off Toji. 

“No.” 

Satoru moved without thinking, the world around him blurring as he appeared at their side. “Are you okay?!” he demanded, kneeling next to Shoko. 

“I’ll live,” Shoko muttered through gritted teeth, already working to heal the deep cut. Her fingers glowed faintly with cursed energy as she knit the wound back together. Despite her pain, her eyes were calm and steady, locking with Satoru’s for a moment. 

Sarah’s face, however, was pale with fear, her hands trembling as she tried to shield Shoko. She looked at Satoru like he was her lifeline, her only hope. “He—he’s gone. I don’t know where he is—” 

Satoru turned his head sharply, scanning the area, his six eyes struggling to detect Toji. Nothing. No cursed energy, no presence—just the ghost of danger lingering in the cold air. 

“Stay close,” he growled, his voice low and serious. “Don’t move unless I tell you to.” 

Sarah nodded, her grip on her improvised snow weapon tightening. 

Suguru was already rushing up the stairs to rejoin them, his face set in a grim determination. Satoru’s relief was brief; he couldn’t let his guard down for a second. 

Toji was faster than he remembered. Much faster. And more unpredictable. 

Satoru’s brain worked overtime, calculating every angle, every possible move Toji could make. He couldn’t feel him, couldn’t predict his movements, but he could anticipate. 

“Stay alert,” he said, his voice sharp and commanding. “He’s playing games. He wants us off balance.” 

Suguru reached them, positioning himself beside Satoru, his cursed spirits swirling protectively around him. His face was hard, but there was an edge of unease in his eyes. “What’s the plan?” he asked, his voice steady despite the tension in his stance. 

“We wait,” Satoru said, scanning the shadows. “Let him make the first move.” 

The air was heavy, every second stretching into an eternity. Snow fell softly around them, the silence broken only by the crunch of their shifting feet. 

And then, like a serpent striking from the dark, Toji reappeared.

Toji moved like a shadow with substance—impossible to pin down, and yet his strikes landed with brutal precision. Satoru and Suguru worked in sync, as they always had, yet Toji stayed one step ahead of them both, weaving through their attacks with a precision that bordered on superhuman. 

Satoru growled under his breath, his fingers glowing faintly with cursed energy as he aimed another blast at Toji. “He’s too damn fast,” he muttered, frustration creeping into his tone. 

Suguru wasn’t faring much better, his cursed spirits snapping at Toji like wild dogs only to be evaded or neutralized in a blink. “We can’t keep this up,” Suguru admitted, his voice tight. 

Toji smirked, his blade flashing in the dim light as he lunged at Satoru, forcing him to backpedal. Satoru gritted his teeth, catching the blow with a barrier of cursed energy that rippled like glass under pressure. He pushed back hard, the force sending Toji skidding across the icy ground. 

“Now!” Satoru shouted. 

Suguru took the cue, lunging forward with a burst of energy. He channeled his cursed spirits into a single strike, aiming to knock Toji clean off his feet and down the stairs. The plan seemed to work—Toji staggered, his balance faltering as he tumbled back. 

“Yes!” Suguru exhaled, relief washing over him. 

But Satoru’s heart dropped. 

“No. No, no, no,” he muttered, his six eyes flaring as he pieced it together. 

Toji’s fall wasn’t a loss—it was a calculated move. Satoru could see it now: the deliberate way Toji had shifted the fight, pulling them further and further from Shoko and Sarah. 

The bastard played us.

Without hesitation, Satoru vanished in a blur of speed, reappearing near the girls. His heart pounded as he scanned for Toji, but the scene was quiet. Too quiet. 

Then it hit him. 

Double bluff.

Satoru spun around just in time to see Toji move like a phantom, closing the distance to Suguru with terrifying speed. The gleam of the inverted spear of heaven flashed in the dim light, and before Satoru could react, Toji struck. 

“Suguru!” 

The blade slashed through Suguru’s chest, the force of the blow sending him reeling. He stumbled, his footing lost, and with a sickening inevitability, he toppled backward, careening down the icy stairs in sickening thuds.

Time slowed. 

Satoru’s body moved before his mind could catch up, every muscle screaming to reach Suguru before he hit the bottom. But Toji wasn’t done—he turned on Satoru, readying for another strike. 

“Stay back!” Satoru barked, unleashing a wave of cursed energy to force Toji away. The effort left him exposed for a split second, but it was enough to reach the edge of the stairs where Suguru had fallen. 

Suguru lay crumpled at the base, groaning softly as he tried to push himself up. Blood dripped from his side where the blade had cut deep, staining the pristine snow in a vivid red.

Above him, Toji watched with a cold, calculating gaze, his weapon held loosely at his side. He didn’t pursue, not yet. 

Suguru’s coughing rattled like broken glass, his breaths shallow as blood seeped from the corner of his lips. His dark eyes fluttered open again, his gaze unfocused but stubborn. He started to speak, but Satoru shook his head urging him to stay still.

A scream split through the night air—Sarah’s voice, raw and filled with fury. 

“Stay back!” 

Satoru’s stomach twisted into knots as he whipped his head around, torn between staying with Suguru and rushing to the others. He clenched his teeth so hard he thought they might crack. This was the game Toji was playing: forcing him to make a choice. 

Suguru or the girls.

Satoru’s mind raced, weighing options he didn’t want to consider. Shoko was fragile in a fight, and Sarah was technically immortal. She could survive things others couldn’t. She’ll come back, he told himself, his jaw tightening with the bitter thought. But guilt still clawed at his chest as he made his decision. 

With a burst of cursed energy, Satoru darted back up the stairs, his speed a blur against the snow. 

The sight he was greeted with made his blood run cold. 

Toji stood at the top, gripping Sarah by the throat, her small form thrashing and kicking in his iron grip. Her hands clawed at his arm, her nails drawing blood and digging in as hard as she could. She may as well have been scratching at a lion.

“Put her down,” Satoru growled, his voice low and dangerous. 

Toji’s grin widened, his wild eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. “Too late for demands, kid,” he said, his tone mocking. 

Sarah, despite her situation, bared her teeth and reared back, sinking them into Toji’s hand. Toji flinched, a flicker of irritation crossing his face, but his grip didn’t loosen. 

“You’ve got fight, I’ll give you that,” he muttered. Then, with cruel precision, his hand tightened around her throat, cutting off her air. Her eyes widened, rolling back as her struggles weakened. 

“Put her down!” Satoru roared, his cursed energy flaring around him like a living storm. 

Toji only chuckled, the sound dark and hollow.

With a sharp movement, Toji slashed at Sarah, his blade cutting deep, before tossing her to the ground like discarded trash. She hit the snow in a bloody heap, her body limp. 

Satoru’s world narrowed to a point, his vision tunneling as rage consumed him. He launched forward, a strike aimed directly at Toji, but the man was ready. Toji parried the attack with the inverted spear of heaven, the blade’s cursed energy nullifying Satoru’s own. 

The two clashed with violent force, Satoru’s blows relentless, fueled by anger and desperation. Toji smirked, darting back into the treeline with an agility that left Satoru no choice but to hold his ground. 

Satoru’s chest heaved as he stood over Sarah’s unmoving form, his fists clenched so tightly they shook. He didn’t dare take his eyes off the treeline, but the sound of Shoko’s voice behind him brought a sliver of relief. 

“Let me through,” she said, her tone sharp despite the tremor in her voice. 

“Not her,” Satoru muttered, his voice tight. “Just... I'll get you to Suguru.”

Shoko's eyes widened, but she understood.

Satoru moved swiftly, his hand firm on Shoko’s arm as they descended the snow-dusted stairs toward Suguru. The air was still tense, every shadow feeling like Toji’s lurking figure. He kept Shoko close, his senses heightened for any sign of an ambush. 

Halfway down, the sickening buzz of fly heads filled the air. Satoru’s jaw tightened. He remembered this move all too well from his past life—Toji’s distraction tactics. 

“Stay close,” he snapped, pulling Shoko against his side. 

Before the fly heads could swarm them, Satoru’s cursed energy flared as he activated his Blue technique. A wave of force exploded outward, sucking in and obliterating the grotesque creatures. Shoko pressed closer to him, shielding her eyes from the chaotic display. 

With the area cleared, Satoru turned his attention to Suguru. He couldn’t waste any time. Wrapping an arm around Shoko’s waist, he used Limitless to lift them both, flying down the stairs with precision and speed. 

Suguru was still on the ground, his breathing labored but steady. Satoru landed beside him, crouching to scoop him up with one arm. He barely paused, launching them all back up toward the relative safety of the landing. 

“Shoko, do your thing!” Satoru barked as soon as they touched down. 

Shoko dropped to her knees beside Suguru, her hands glowing as she began to heal him. But Satoru could see it wasn’t easy. Her face was pale, her breathing heavy as she worked to stabilize Suguru’s wounds. 

“Focus,” he muttered, standing protectively in front of them. His six eyes scanned the treeline, every muscle in his body taut. He could feel Toji out there, moving like a phantom. 

Then he felt it—the inverted spear of heaven. A sharp, cold presence that cut through the air. Without hesitation, Satoru fired a beam of Red in the direction of the cursed weapon. The blast ripped through the trees in a deafening explosion, clearing a wide path of destruction. 

But within that explosion, Toji emerged, unscathed and grinning like a predator. 

“Miss me?” Toji taunted, closing the distance with terrifying speed. 

Satoru barely had time to react as Toji lunged, slamming into him and sending Shoko sprawling to the ground. The inverted spear slashed toward him, and Satoru raised his arms, physically blocking the hit since Limitless wouldn’t work against the cursed tool. Pain shot through him, but he didn’t let it show. 

“Cheap shot,” Satoru growled, spinning to catch Shoko before she hit the ground. 

Toji didn’t let up, his attacks relentless as he aimed for Satoru, Suguru, or Shoko—whoever seemed the most vulnerable in the moment. Satoru was forced to move like a blur, blocking, dodging, and redirecting Toji’s strikes to protect his friends. 

It was starting to unnerve him. Toji wasn’t fighting to win. He was fighting to destabilize, to push Satoru into making a mistake. 

“I’m getting real tired of this game, old man,” Satoru snarled, his tone deceptively casual despite the tension in his shoulders. 

Toji only chuckled, his movements as fluid and calculated as ever. “What’s the matter, Gojo? Feeling a little off-balance?” 

Satoru’s grin was sharp, masking the way his mind raced for a solution. He could feel Shoko struggling to keep Suguru alive behind him, and every second Toji stayed on the offensive was another second too long. 

“Off-balance?” Satoru echoed, his voice laced with mockery. “Buddy, I’m always on top.” 

With that, he slammed his hands together, his cursed energy spiking dangerously. If Toji wanted chaos, Satoru would give him chaos.

The air crackled with energy as Satoru blinked to the side, then reappeared behind Toji in a daring feint. With a quick flick of his wrist, he fired off a Red, the cursed energy tearing through the space between them. Toji, ever the strategist, raised the inverted spear, absorbing the brunt of the blast before retaliating with a vicious slash. 

The clash escalated, the ground beneath them cracking and splintering with every step and strike. Satoru’s precision and speed matched Toji’s raw, brutal power, but Toji wasn’t fighting for a clean win—he was fighting to keep Satoru on edge. His movements were calculated, darting toward Suguru and Shoko without warning, forcing Satoru to divide his focus. 

“Really? Using my friends as bait?” Satoru scoffed, his voice sharp with mockery, though his heart hammered in his chest. “Classy move, asshole. Real honorable.” 

Toji grinned, his eyes wild with the thrill of the fight. “Whatever works, kid.” 

Satoru's mind raced. He needed a way to turn the tide without putting his friends at risk. A domain expansion would be a surefire win, but it would trap Shoko and Suguru along with Toji—and Shoko couldn’t stop healing Suguru for even a moment. 

The memories of his first battle with Toji clawed at the edges of his mind. The lack of preparation, the overconfidence, the way Toji had completely blindsided him. This fight felt eerily similar, except now, Satoru had more than just himself to worry about. 

Gritting his teeth, he used Blue again, clearing a swath of the surrounding woods and forcing Toji back into direct combat. He drew the man in, deliberately letting him land a hit with the inverted spear. Pain flared as the weapon sliced through his defense, but Satoru’s counterstrike was swift, his cursed energy slamming into Toji and sending him flying. 

Or so he thought. 

Toji’s smirk was the first sign that something was wrong. Satoru barely had time to process it before Toji let himself be flung backward—straight into Shoko. 

“NO!” Satoru roared, his voice echoing in the icy air. 

The inverted spear drove into Shoko’s back, and she gasped, choking on the impact. Her hands glowed faintly as she immediately tried to heal herself, but her movements were sluggish, her breath shallow. 

Satoru moved to block Toji’s next move, but the man was already ahead of him. With a brutal kick, he sent Suguru’s limp body tumbling down the icy stairs. 

“No, no, no!” Satoru’s heart dropped as he watched Suguru’s form bounce down the steps, blood trailing behind him like a crimson ribbon. 

Fueled by a mix of rage and desperation, Satoru turned back to Toji, his six eyes blazing. “You’re dead.” 

But Toji was already retreating, a satisfied grin plastered across his face. He disappeared into the shadows of the trees, leaving Satoru to pick up the pieces. 

Satoru was at Shoko’s side in an instant, his hands hovering uselessly as she worked to stabilize herself. “Shoko, stay with me. You’re okay, you’re okay.” 

She gave him a weak glare, her voice barely audible. “Focus... on the fight... you idiot.” 

Her words spurred him into action.

Satoru barely spared a glance behind him. He trusted Shoko. She was tough, she was brilliant, and she wasn’t about to let Toji’s cheap shot take her down.

The cold wind cut against his face as he moved, his limitless barrier shimmering faintly as it carved a path through the forest. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, his Six Eyes locking onto Toji’s presence even as the man darted through the trees like a shadow. 

“Oh no, you’re not getting away this time,” Satoru growled, his voice laced with uncharacteristic venom. 

Toji turned to face him, that infuriating smirk still tugging at his lips. Satoru’s jaw tightened. The ground trembled beneath them as Satoru attacked, his cursed energy surging in blinding bursts of power. Toji dodged and countered with precision, his inverted spear striking fast and hard. But this time, Satoru wasn’t holding back. Every blow he landed sent shockwaves through the air, every burst of cursed energy forcing Toji further on the defensive. 

Toji's speed was undeniable, his movements almost impossible to predict. But Satoru wasn’t just fast—he was relentless, and his Six Eyes calculated every shift, every twitch of muscle with pinpoint accuracy. 

Toji swung the spear, aiming for Satoru’s barrier, but the sorcerer dodged effortlessly, flickering out of range before reappearing behind him. A brutal kick to Toji’s back sent him stumbling forward, his footing faltering for the first time. 

“You’re losing your edge, old man,” Satoru taunted, his grin sharp and wild. 

Toji’s smirk flickered for a moment, replaced by a glint of something Satoru rarely saw in his enemies: surprise. Just a flicker, but it was enough. 

“That’s the look,” Satoru said, his voice low and dangerous. “That’s the face I wanted to see.” 

Before Toji could recover, Satoru brought his hands together, his cursed energy swelling around him like a storm. “Let’s see how you handle this up close.” 

The air crackled, a vibrant mix of blue and red energy converging at Satoru's outstretched hand. Toji’s eyes widened slightly as the realization dawned. 

“Hollow Purple."

The explosion of energy was deafening, a blinding burst of violet light that ripped through the forest, obliterating everything in its path. At point-blank range, Toji had no chance to dodge. The wave of destruction tore through him, the sheer force sending his body careening into the trees before slamming into the ground with a sickening thud. 

Satoru landed lightly, his breath visible in the icy air as he surveyed the scene. The trees around them had been stripped bare, the ground scorched and littered with debris. And at the center of it all was Toji, crumpled and motionless. 

In a heartbeat, he was at the bottom of the stairs, kneeling beside Suguru’s broken body. His best friend’s breathing was shallow, his face pale against the blood staining the snow. 

“Come on, Suguru,” Satoru murmured, his hands trembling as he assessed the damage. “You’re not leaving me like this. Not now.” 

Above them, the sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a cold, golden glow over the carnage. Satoru’s jaw clenched as he felt the weight of his failure pressing down on him. Toji had outmaneuvered him again.

Satoru’s heart was in his throat as he sprinted back up the stairs. His chest heaved, but it wasn’t from exertion—he couldn’t remember the last time he felt genuine panic like this. The forest around him blurred into streaks of gray and white, but his focus was razor-sharp. 

When he reached the top of the stairs, the sight knocked the breath out of him. 

Shoko was crumpled on the ground, her hair splayed across the blood-streaked snow. Her chest rose and fell faintly, but she wasn’t moving. She wasn’t conscious. 

“Shoko!” His voice cracked as he dropped to his knees beside her, his hands shaking as he grabbed her shoulders and gently shook her. “Come on, get up! I need you!” 

She didn’t stir. 

“No, no, no, this isn’t happening,” Satoru muttered, panic rising like bile in his throat. He shook her harder, his usual composure shattered. “Shoko, wake up! Suguru needs you! I need you!” 

But there was no response. 

His head whipped around to Suguru, lying so far away. He was so pale, too pale. The blood pooling beneath him was a glaring red. Satoru’s chest tightened. Carefully lifting Shoko, he brought her closer and laid her beside Suguru.

He crawled over to him, pressing trembling hands against the deep gash on Suguru's chest. There was nothing he could do. He wasn’t a healer. He couldn’t close wounds like Shoko could. 

“Damn it,” Satoru hissed, his vision blurring. “You’re not allowed to die. You hear me? You’re not allowed.” 

Suguru’s eyes fluttered open briefly, glassy and unfocused. His lips moved, but no sound came out. 

“Save your strength, okay?” Satoru’s voice was frantic, the words spilling out like a prayer. “You’re going to be fine. Shoko’s... Shoko’s going to fix you. She always fixes us.” 

But even as he said it, he knew the truth. His Six Eyes could see the faint flicker of life in both of them, like a candle guttering in the wind. Too faint. Too far gone. 

Satoru clenched his teeth, his hands curling into fists against the frozen ground. “No. No, no, no!” He struck the snow with his fist, the icy sting biting into his skin. “This isn’t how it ends! It’s not supposed to be like this!”

But the world didn’t care about what was supposed to happen.

For the second time in his life, Satoru Gojo—the strongest—felt powerless. The weight of that realization crushed him, suffocating and unbearable. His friends were slipping away, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.

A hollow laugh bubbled up in his throat, bitter and broken. The silence around him was deafening, the cold gnawing at his flesh as the wind whispered through the trees.

He stayed there, kneeling between his two friends—the strongest sorcerer in the world, completely and utterly helpless.

⤶ Prev Main Next ↪

[user2718273]

Terrorheads r always dunking on goodsir for the moral absolutism & then having absolutely no nuance in their own conceptions of good & evil. Like when goodsir finally snaps & poisons the mutineers ppl are like "oh see hes a bad person cus he couldnt forgive them cus he only thinks in black & white!!!!" but like bro. If somebody kidnapped u and forced u to carve up your coworkers' bodies for consumption u would not feel too friendly toward them i think. Or just how ppl talk abt goodsir in general. Like yeah he believes in colonizer shit, he was raised by colonizers. Every1 on the ships believes in colonizer shit i fear. But he gets more shit abt it than anyone else bc theres this weird conception that its worse to try and do good and get it wrong than to just straight up act out of vanity or greed. Not that goodsir should be absolved of anything, but its weird how ppl have so little empathy for characters whose desire to do good is tainted by ideological conditioning. Like bro i hate to break it to u. We all have ideological conditioning. If u act like thats some inherent moral flaw and not the inevitable product of living in a society and absorbing that society's beliefs, u will have a very hard time recognizing it outside of tv shows where people are just characters.

Also theres a difference between having no empathy for franklins men bc ur pissed at them and having no empathy out of principle. I feel like theres some recognition of personhood that comes w putting someone on the receiving end of a human emotion like anger, whereas if ur just like "logically i know colonizer bad, so empathy for colonizer = bad," ur putting them on a subhuman level out of the reach of emotion. U dont feel anger or empathy for them. U never find out what u feel toward them bc without accepting the possibility that u might reach muddy, nuanced, morally frustrating conclusions, theres no wiggle room to feel what u feel. But then u never get to feel the anger either. U cant understand things from either side bc once u start trying to sort everything into concrete moral categories, then ur not understanding individuals, ur defining variables, and everything becomes theoretical. I feel like thats part of the reason why when ppl put the expedition on the level of the subhuman, they often elevate the netsilik to the superhuman. Like ppl have a weirdly hard time conceptualizing that silna has complex motivations & is capable of developing complex relationships w other characters? Theyre just like "oh wow shes being so nice to goodsir, she must have stockholm syndrome or be wayyy too forgiving." Cus if u imagine franklins men as having one pure and self-contained nature that opposes the pure and self-contained nature of the netsilik, then theres no way they can genuinely interact. They can only touch each other under the guise of something else. Silna must not adequately understand goodsir's role in the fuckery ripping up her world. Which is ridonkulous to me bc her first interaction w him was when his party shot her father & then goodsir prevented him from dying on the ice. Like. She is not under any illusions that this man isnt part of the hurt and destruction. She just finds a way to care abt him anyway. Not bc she's some fountain of forgiveness, but bc despite the things she must hate about him, there are also things she loves. Same w crozier. Idk if she feels affection for him in the same way she does goodsir, but she def doesnt just save him bc shes a saint. She feels anger and bitterness just like any other person, and if she wanted to, she couldve left crozier to die like des voeux. Personally i think she saved him bc he was the only one left who had seen what she'd seen and she didnt wanna have to bear it alone but idk. She had her reasons. Anyway goodsir is literally a butch buttom so the wokes cant even get her. #She positionality on my moral puritanism til i absolve

[avengerscompound]

Shared Experience - Epilogue

Shared Experience - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings:  none

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Rose Astor

Word Count: 590

Summary:  Rose Astor met her end in 1920, joining the ranks of the living dead two years after the birth of Steve Rogers.  A century later the two meet in battle - a beacon of light clashing with a creature of the night.  Despite their differences, the two bond over their shared life experiences.  Can a vampire become an Avenger?  Can two such different beings create a life together?

Epilogue

Rose sat on the roof of her house, watching the sunset over New York City.  Since returning to the city, Rose felt like she’d restarted her life.  She was still a night owl even with the amulet that had returned a sense of life to her.  She tended to sleep in and stay up late.  She always took time to watch the sunset though.  Something about watching the sun dip behind the horizon reminded her of how good things were now.

And oh - they were good.

The lightbender amulet had changed her life.  She was a new person. Person being the operative word.  Before the amulet, she felt like a monster.  Now, she felt human again.

Yes, she still needed blood to live, but it didn’t call to her anymore.  She felt hunger like she remembered feeling it before any of this happened.  She’d eat, and the hunger went away.  She did sometimes partake in blood drinking during sex - Steve liked to do it, but the draw she had to bite him every time they made love was gone.

The best part wasn’t just that she felt more like a person but that she felt less like a vampire.  She showed up in mirrors and photographs.  She could go out in the sun.  She was a more effective Avenger and her relationship with Steve felt more even and real.

She and Steve were better than ever.  A real couple who could go out on dates and sleep in the same bed.  She’d never imagined that a relationship could be like this, not for her, not for anyone.  Now she had it and she couldn’t imagine what life would be like without it.

For her - there was no life before this.  Just walking death. But now… now - 

She was alive.

She closed her eyes, stretching out on the deck chair as she basked in the last rays of the sunlight, completely and utterly content.

The door opened behind her.  She didn’t look.  She knew who it was and when large hands were placed on her shoulders, she tipped her head back in time to capture Steve’s lips as he leaned down to kiss her head.

Steve hummed and softly sucked her bottom lip before pulling back.  “I thought you’d be out here,” he said.  “How was the sunset?”

“As magical as ever,” she replied, slowly opening her eyes.  “I’ll never get tired of it.”

He kissed the crown of her head again.  “You ready to go inside?  We have an engagement party to get to.”

She looked up at him and nodded.  This was the best change of all.  She was going to marry him.  Sweet, strong, amazing Steve Rogers had proposed at dawn on a beach in Hawaii.  She’d never have risked going somewhere so tropical and equatorial in the past.  It was perfect and the yes came before he’d even managed to finish asking the question.

They were getting married.  She thought it was impossible, and yet, they were on their way to celebrate their engagement.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she said, tilting her head back so she could kiss him once more.  She stood up and took his hand. His thumb brushed over the engagement ring.  Something that might have burnt her in the past just because of people’s belief in them.  Now, it just sat on her finger, a symbol of their love and commitment to each other.  It felt good.  Life felt good.

They headed inside, ready to celebrate the fact they could finally share their lives.

~The End~

[valleymyristica]

what would hazel and dev's favorite pokémon be? i highly doubt peri, cosmo and wanda know what a pokémon is, but you can say theirs too!

Hazel

_ Chespin _

Her first ever Pokémon game she played was X and Y, she played with Anthony on his 3DS. He let her make all the fun decisions and said Chespin reminder him of her. It's so cute! It made her so happy!

So, in their first game the player was Hazel, and the starter was the Chespin named Nut. That way, they together made, "Hazelnut"!

She really likes the normal colors of it, but she's always wanted to find a shiny one. It looks so cool! Especially when fully evolved. Though, she's unsure over if she would actually ever want to evolve such a special Chespin.

Oh, so many hard decisions

Dev

_ Umbreon _

The first Pokémon game he played was Pokemon shield, when that was new.

He was happy for it.

He got to route 4 and wanted to catch a Pikachu, but when he ran towards it, an Eevee popped up right in front. Making him loose the Pikachu.

At first he wanted to kill- faint it. Like revenge, but then when it was in the red, he thought, why not? If it was though enough to survive his attack, them maybe it could be a valuable member of his team?

So he made it a part of his team, named it "Survivor", not the most creative, but it fit.

It fit really well actually.

At one point he had sent it out like fodder, just spam sand attack until so he could prolong the inevitable. But, the moves, they kept missing, like they couldn't even touch his Eevee. It was pretty cool actually.

So, he actually tried to attack, he needed two more hits. Survivor was in the red, but so was the other party. If the attacks missed, he'd win, if they didn't, he'd lose.

He won.

He actually won.

He was so happy!!

It had been such a hard fight. He hadn't been prepared at all.

So, of course he was happy he won.

He was so happy he almost missed that Survivor was evolving.

It was pretty late.

When he saw it.

It was perfect.

Survivor looked so cool!

After that, Umbreon became his favorite and the more he learns about Umbreon the more he likes it. Just the simple fact that the yellow rings on it glows, it makes him happy. He likes to imagine having Survivor light up the room and helping him through the night.

Like his own special little night light.

Not- Not that he'd need a night light.

He's a big boy. He's strong.

It's just- It would be cool to have a real Umbreon by his side. Like, who wouldn't want a cool Pokemon by their side?

Winn

Is a hard one, feels like they would like most that one may consider "cool". Though, if there was a choice to be made, Archeops is a pretty good contender, along with Gigalith.

I imagine that their favorite generation would be gen 5.

Jasmine

_ Skitty _

I imagine she might have gotten an GBA or DS from a cousin or similar, with Pokemon dungeon, were she got skitty as her main. She can be a bit hasty at times after all. Her second favorite is Pikachu, as that was her partner

Peri

Well, Dev choose Umbreon, so it would only be fitting for Peri to choose Espeon. Plus, it's pretty purple, just like him. (No, it's not pink, you're blind)

Though, if he had seen the movie, then

Cosmo and Wanda

Well, nither of them really know too much, but they've seen some images of the creatures and they have pointed out some that they like.

For Cosmo, Politoed

It's just- Hard to say for sure, but it just called to him when he saw it and he decided right then and there that Politoed was his favorite. He has not relented yet, though, he does agree with Wanda that her's is pretty cool too.

Speaking of

For Wanda, Lurantis

It looked intimidating and when Hazel explained how hard it was for her to beat. She couldn't help but feel like it was a good one. Always nice to be able to give the kids a nice challenge.

░░░░░

_ Jirachi _ It's so cute! And it is indeed important to think of wishes made For one day, they can't make any more And you just have to hope they're better than before