#it's a hard angle to tell but his eyes do look kinda green

[queen-scribbles]

So I stumbled across an old fic I wrote circa KotET release anddddd apparently either Torian used to have green eyes or I really hadn't paid attention before writing it. xD Either way, v jarring to read now.

[sceletaflores]

A Different Kind of Compensation.

part two!

pairing: mike schmidt x fem!reader

prompt: you’ve been babysitting abby for mike nearly three months now. he constantly apologizes for not paying you yet, you constantly tell him it doesn't bother you. one night he comes back from his shift at freddy’s and has a different idea on how to compensate you for all of your hard work.

warnings: 18+, oral (fem receiving), vaginal fingering (kinda???), munch!mike.

word count: this was supposed to be a short dirty work that somehow turned into a 2.2k monster. told you i love to ramble.

authors note: remember when i said i might write smut if i was just so moved by an ask? well turns out my very first ask moved me. y'all are nasty, i love it. mike, of course, is a munch because why would he be anything else? i never, with a capital N, write smut so please bear with me if it sucks. i hope whoever requested this loves it! i wrote it instead of finishing my scientific article for bio so it better be decent hehe.

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗ ╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

The sound of the front door opening followed by heavy footsteps woke you up from where you were dozing off on the couch. You gazed at the clock on the side table near you and sure enough, 6:10 blinked back at you. Mike was finally home. You heard him shuffling around in the kitchen, most likely shedding his work vest and hanging his keys on the little hook by the door.

You yawned, trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes as you sat up on the couch. The blanket you used to cover yourself falling to pool around your waist. Mike finally made his way to the living room, sitting on the couch with a soft grunt. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice rough from lack of use. “Abby eat anything?”

“Yeah, a little,” You mutter back through a barely concealed yawn, head lolling to rest on the back of the couch. “You know how she is.”

He hums in acknowledgement but stays silent apart from that, keeping his gaze trained on the infomercial playing on TV. A comfortable silence settles over the two of you. You sit up even further on the couch, leaning against the arm rest facing Mike. The blue/green hue of the TV bathed him in light, his hair was unruly with curls sticking out at awkward angles. He had deep bags under his eyes. Just as you thought about getting up to take off, he spoke up again. 

“I promise I’ll get you the money,” he says softly, not taking his eyes off the TV, “I…I just need some time.”

You scoff in mock annoyance, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Mike, you know I don’t care about the money. I don’t mind doing this for you.” You reply, nudging his knee with your foot softly then just leaving it perched on his lap.

Mike finally turns to look at you, there's a strange look on his face that you can’t quite place, but you give him a small smile all the same. He stares at you for a few beats, you can practically see the gears turning in his head. 

“You deserve something,” he whispers, his brows furrowed in frustration. “You do so much for me, it’s only fair.” As he speaks, he slowly moves his hand off the couch to your ankle still resting on his thigh, he starts rubbing slow circles over the skin there. His eyes never left yours as he touched you, a very obvious question in them. Asking if you wanted this.

Heat instantly rushed to your belly, cheeks turning a light shade of red at his touch. You’d always thought Mike was attractive, but you never would have imagined he’d want to be anything more than friends. Since he was already so busy with taking care of Abby and his hellish new job.

You swallow once before speaking, your throat feeling dry all of a sudden. “What are you suggesting?” You ask so softly, wondering if he even heard you. Mikes’ fingers stop in favor of trailing his hand up your calf in a featherlight touch, disappearing under the blanket to seek out more of your soft skin. Your heart is beating so fast you think you might die, the sound of it echoing in your ears loudly. 

Mike's big brown eyes stare into yours with a newfound intensity, visibly shocked that you're reacting so viscerally to his touch, his pupils are blown to hell. Chocolate brown being swallowed by black.  His tongue coming out to sweep over his top lip.

“How about you,” he says slowly, scooting closer to you on the small couch. He crowds into your personal space like he belongs there. Mike’s lips inches away from yours. He smells like old leather and dust from being cramped in the security office at Freddy’s. Your chest heaves as your eyes flit back and forth from his eyes to his lips. Seconds drag by like hours as you painstakingly wait for him to finish his sentence. “Stay right there while I make you feel good.” He finally says, his breath fanning over your face hotly. You can’t even speak, afraid of how desperate you might sound, just nodding your head roughly, not looking away from his hungry gaze.

Mike’s hand runs up your leg quickly after you give him the green-light, slipping further under the blanket and higher up your leg until he reaches his destination. He rubs you gently through your shorts, your breath hitches sharply at what should be just a simple touch, but you’re still so worked up from earlier that it feels ten times more extreme. You grasp the blanket still strewn over your lap tightly in your fists, it's the only thing keeping you from seeing Mike’s hand at work between your legs.

Mike reacts to touching you for the first time like he can feel it too. His breath stutters out of his chest, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your already wet folds through your thin cotton sleeping shorts. “Fuck.” He breathes out quietly, so quietly you doubt he even meant to say it out loud. He opens his eyes again, breathing slightly rougher as he stares at you through his arousal induced haze and heavy eyelids. 

Seeing your face must spur him on because he starts rubbing with more fervor than before, his clever fingers applying more pressure making you moan softly. You cut yourself off quickly, eyes darting down the hall to Abby's bedroom door. It's still closed, there's no light leaking through the crack between it and the floor.

"Shit, Mike." You whine quietly.

Mike groans softly at the sound of his name leaving your lips, body trembling slightly with the feeling. Suddenly he wrenches his hand out from under the blanket, and rips it off your lap frantically. You gasp sharply at the cool air breaking through the bubble of warmth the blanket provided, involuntarily closing your legs.

Mike pushes up from his position on the couch next to you, knee walking over so he's kneeling in-front of your clenched thighs. You're still slightly sprawled across the cushions, leaning on the arm of the couch.

"Do you know how crazy you make me?" He asks roughly, putting both his hands on your still closed knees. It takes a second for your brain to catch up to answer him, after a few moments you finally manage a faint shake of your head.

"No?" He asks, tilting his head to the left slightly. "Let me show you then."

Mike grabs your wrist, tugging you closer to him, and leads your hand down into his lap. Your breath catches in your throat when he places your hand directly over his clothed erection, but it gets drowned out by Mike's louder whine thanks to you touching him for the first time. You drag your eyes downward, his dark grey sweatpants leave little to the imagination. He got more worked up touching you than you first thought, if the wet patch forming near the tip of his hard-on was anything to go by.

As soon as you started to rub him with purpose, Mike grabbed your wrist, halting your efforts. "No," He said breathlessly, practically panting. "No, this is for you tonight. Just wanna focus on you."

He let go of your wrist, turning his head in your direction. Both of you failed to realize how close you'd gotten when he dragged you to him. Your noses practically touch when he turns, catching you both off guard. His eyes travel down to your lips, staring at how red and puffy they'd gotten from you biting them to muffle your moans.

"How sweet of you, Mike." You whisper, leaning in just a tad closer. He lets out a guttural groan and closes the distance between your lips, claiming your mouth with his own. He leans forward, gently guiding you to lay back on the couch. His body completely covering yours as the two of you makeout, his arms on either side of your head and his hips slotting against yours, letting you feel the hard length of his cock against your cunt. You moan into his mouth, your hips bucking up to meet his.

Mike breaks the kiss with a whine, trying to muffle the noise by shoving his face in your neck. You bring your hands up to tangle in his curly hair, yanking it roughly as he starts littering kisses all along your collarbones. Nipping and sucking in-between his gasping little moans as you twist and pull his hair in your grip.

He tears his mouth away to stare up at you through his lashes, his lips are swollen and red. “Please,” He gasps out, his hips unconsciously grinding down into your thigh. “Let me eat you out. Please. Tell me I can, say I can.” He babbles, hips rutting faster every second you don’t answer him.

“Yes.” You exclaim as quietly as possible. “Do it, Mike. Eat me out.”

Mike’s whole body shudders at your words, eyes falling closed for a second before he quickly slides down your body, leaving an odd kiss here and there as he goes. He brings his hands up to grip the waistband of your shorts, pausing to take a single steadying breath, then he tugs them down along with your panties and tosses them aside. He stares down at you in awe for a good few moments before he lays on his stomach, right in front of your dripping cunt.

Mike kisses along the inside of your thighs for a bit, licking everywhere but where you want him to the most. “Thank you.” he mutters, tone way too earnest for the situation at hand but you don’t have much time to think about it before he’s diving face first into your thighs.

“Fuck!” You let your voice get way too loud in the quiet atmosphere of the house, but you can’t help it. You didn’t think Mike had lots of experience because of some late night drunken talks before, but he was either lying or holding out. He works his tongue expertly along every inch of you. Every swirl, flick, or suck has you catapulting to the edge way faster than you’d imagined.

It doesn't help that Mike keeps letting out these noises. Small needy whines or deep guttural groans that you can feel. He’s moaning like he’s the one getting head, unashamed and authentic. It’s so fucking sexy.

“Shit Mike, I’m close. I’m so close.” You whisper too quietly for him to hear with his head trapped between your thighs, but it doesn’t matter. Mike brings his thumb up to lightly circle your clit as he laps against your entrance, and you're gone.

Your thighs shake as you release, grabbing on Mike’s hair for dear life as you go through the most intense orgasm ever. He moans into your cunt, working you through the aftershocks. He laves his tongue along you until the overstimulation gets to be too much and you drag his face away by his hair.

He sits up, the bottom half of his face covered in spit and slick. That visual alone is almost enough to get you ready for round two. It’s silent except for the heavy breathing coming from you both.

After he catches his breath, Mike retrieves the blanket from behind his back somewhere to cover the lower half of your body. Your thighs are still shaking as he lays next to you, it’s a tight squeeze but neither of you seem to mind. He kisses the side of your face sweetly, throwing his arm around your waist to pull you in even closer.

You finally regain enough conscience to speak. “Are you sure you don’t want to get off?” You ask, “I mean I can’t feel my legs but I’m sure we could think of something.” Mike only laughs quietly, shaking his head. “Maybe next time, this was about you.” He said, beginning to rub his fingers back and forth on your hip. “Plus I, uh, I already sort of…” He trails off, a flush forming on his cheeks.

It took you a second to realize what he was saying, but when it clicked you couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped your mouth. You lifted up the blanket covering the two of you, and sure enough Mike had an impressive wet patch seeping through his sweats.

He pinches your hip lightly, offended by your giggling. “Don’t laugh at me,” He complains with a smile, yanking the blanket back up. “I couldn’t help it.”

You stifle another laugh to the best of your ability, though your shoulders still shake ever so slightly. You turn your head to press a kiss to his lips. It’s different from the previous kisses you shared tonight. It’s slower and softer, full of a new emotion that you both feel, but know that it can wait to be talked about later. For now you’re both just basking in the afterglow.

You break the kiss first, pulling back only slightly to lean your forehead against his. You both smile at each other for a second.

“Okay,” You give in, brushing a strand of sweaty hair away from his face. “But believe that tomorrow is all about you.”

[cursingtoji]

HI BABES I LOVED WHAT YOU WROTE FOR AKI 😭 I was hoping to request another but it’s fine if u don’t wanna do two pieces from the same person! But if you do I’d love see how you write 42 and 44 with Toji 🫣

𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓢𝓮𝔁

& ❛ Are you sure you want this? ❜ ┊ fem!reader x soft dom!toji, unprotected, raw, p in the v without c, creampie, kinda stablished relationship, sucking fingers, praising, prone bone, domestic┊ The Clichés ™

“Oh my, to what do I own the pleasure?” you become aware of the finger messing with your clit before you open your eyes, you arch your back meeting the erect clothed cock behind you.

“Huh?” his nuzzles your neck. The room was silent, you know it’s morning already, your curtains are still closed but sunshine peeks from the bottom and top giving the room enough light for Toji to get turned on by the simple sight of you sleeping next to him.

“I haven’t woken up with you by my side for weeks now, baby” you caress his arm and mewl at the slow circle movements he has on your clit, his other arm comes up and wiggles his away under your head until you’re pretty much using his shoulder as your pillow and he’s sneaking his hand into the collar of your t-shirt to feel your soft mound “Is this your day off?” you ask closing your eyes and becoming relaxed in his hold.

Toji nods slowly, “The next days should be easier too” he looks down at you with his gorgeous green orbs and starts to grind on your ass, “gotta get you used to awaking up with me again.”

“If I knew today was you day off… I would’ve made something special” you murmur between sighs of pleasure.

“Oh yeah?” his raspy voice against your ear gives you goosebumps, “Like what?”

“Mm I would’ve changed the sheets to that silk one you like…” your hand rub his bicep, “would’ve bought bacon to make you for breakfast” you turn your head slightly to kiss his jaw.

“What else?” he kisses the side of your mouth and you peck his lips in return.

“Maybe worn a more sexy camisole” he laughs tugging your old ass sleeping shirt from Disneyland, the princess print on it had faded a long time ago, toji called her ‘cursed spirit’ since her face was pretty much gone.

“You’re sexy no matter what” he presses the morning wood against you harder, the fabric of his boxers already had a patch of precum “But yeah this thing is ugly as fuck” he pushes your shirt up, hiding the print and exposing your tits to the cold bedroom.

“Also I would’ve bought more condoms” you whisper and Toji backs away a few inches to look you straight in the face.

“We’re out of condoms?” he asks in disbelief.

“I told you at least three times to get some on your way back!”

“Princess, I barely have the strength to shower when I get home, I ain’t stopping at a fucking drugstore. You should’ve gotten it” he attempts to retrieve his hand from you but you grab it back.

“Toji~” you whine looking up at him “You know…” you reach back to rub your palm against his bulge, breasts still out and nipples hard “We could go without them” his eyebrows rise at your suggestion, even his dick twitch against your hand.

“Y’wanna go raw?” he confirms.

“I mean… you’ll have to pull out—“

He snorts “Please” your hand is taken from his bulge so he can shove his underwear down and put yours to side squeezing his dick between your thighs “If I’m fucking you raw I’m coming inside” his length rubs your puffy lips, you look down to see his tip peaking from the front of your underwear as he thrusts slowly, finding comfort between your warm thighs and wet cunt.

“Are you sure about this?” you murmur carefully but yelp as he pinches one of your nipples.

“You tell me, doll, sure you ready to have my cum filling you up? ‘Cause I don’t think I will stop after the first time” he angles his hip to hit your clit with every shallow thrust of his hips.

“I’m o-okay with that” you arch your back more, pushing your breasts into his palm as he closes it around one.

Toji pushes in slowly, having played with your clit before you woken up made you pretty wet already, he drops his head to your neck stopping once he’s halfway in, your gummy walls around his cock are enough to make him cum on the spot but that’s would be too soon.

“Toji~” you whine his name wiggling your hips before he grabs it hard.

“Stay still, doll, gimme a second” his hot breath fans over your sweet spot, you cry his name again and he leaves the comfort of your tits to push two fingers in your mouth, which you take gladly sucking and swirling your tongue around, “Yer killing me” he confesses bringing you closer to him and pushing the rest of his length in.

So far you had only used condoms with each other, so the burning sensation of his dick stretching you out with no lube except your own arousal was enough for you to get lost in the sensation, Toji was no stranger to the feeling, but feeling it with you was a new aphrodisiac to him, so warm and so wet…

He pops his fingers off your mouth, turning your head to the side so he can have a taste of you while bringing the wet digits down to your clit. You moan on his lips, pushing your panties all the way down so he can have more space to touch you.

“So… full” he drinks your sounds pressing your little nub and holding it there to tease you into try to wiggle out of the stimulation.

it’s unusual for Toji to take his time like this, of course he never leaves you unsatisfied even if he has to fuck you through his own orgasm at an animalistic pace. But this morning he’s too pussy drunk to go at his normal pace, now he just wants to nibble at your ear whispering how good you feel and how gorgeous you are while having your pussy gripping him hard when he’s pulling out.

“Relax, kid, I’m not going anywhere” he lets go of your clit to hook his hand on the back of your knees raising your leg to hold it over his own, you look down and can’t stop the curse leaving your lips when you see his thick glossy cock parting you, “Take this out, will you?” he tugs at your shirt and you giggle while discarding the item.

Toji pulls out and softly pushes your hips so you’re laying on your stomach, “That’s it, good girl” he praises finding his way back inside you. With this new position his entire body weight is on top of you, he tries put some weight on his arm to not crush you.

The older man kisses your shoulder blades while moving his hips and flexing his glutes to fuck his swollen cock back into your needy hole. The air is hot and smells of sex, you can practically feel Toji’s navel against your asscheeks. With his whole torso pressing you into the mattress it’s difficult for you to touch him and he senses that, lacing your fingers with his and giving your palm a comforting squeeze.

He keeps pounding, even though he’s going light, the bed still hits the wall, a squeaking sound echoing through the dark room.

“Toji, I’m close” you press you face into the pillow, your walls have a tight hold on him.

“Doll, how am I supposed to use a condom again after getting a taste of this?” he punctuates with his hand cupping your cunt after his palm creep in between your body and mattress, feeling how it stretches to take him into your warm cave.

“Toji” you warn.

“Cum for me, doll, lemme feel you” he spreads your cheeks, cock hitting even deeper as your toes dig into the mattress. Toji squeezes your ass hard enough to leave a mark “That’s right, fuck—“ he groans with his face on your hair, his thrusts become sloppy and before you realize he’s also climaxing. Hot stripes of cum fill your insides to the point you feel like orgasming again, “Fuck… me” he lets out a breathy moan, his hand is still laced with yours, you bring it closer to your face kissing his veins while coming down from your high.

Toji groans when he pulls out, delicately rolling you over as he sits on his knees taking both your legs and spreading them to shamelessly stare at your oozing hole.

“Toji, that’s too—“ you try to close your legs but his grip is firm.

“Relax, just admiring my artwork” his eyes are glued to your pussy, he scoops the cum running down and pushes back in.

“Baby, too much~” he watches your toes curl in the air.

“Too much? I told I wasn’t stopping after the first time” he kisses your ankle, dark hooded eyes devouring his small flustered girlfriend.

“Can we at least get breakfast first?” you propose.

“Of course” he looks around the bed looking for the red fabric of your underwear and taking it, leading your feet in and delicately moving until it covers you, he gives your pussy light taps “Keep it in for me, will you?”

“I can’t, gotta pee” his dark eyes turn playful.

“And you waited until I put your panties back to tell me that?” he pushes your legs off him as he looks for his own clothes.

“Can you gimme my shirt?” you point to the ‘cursed spirit’ shirt on the floor.

“No” he takes it and makes a ball, throwing at the dirty laundry basket across the room.

“Toji! I like that shirt” you whine sitting up covering your chest with your arm.

“Shut it, brat” he opens a drawer, taking a band shirt of his and throwing at you. You bite down on a smile, noticing it was one of his personal favourite shirts.

[withahappyrefrain]

YESS the “she can take it” SO HOT..like yeah Jake is being kinda dominate..fucking you..but Bob is just barking orders, pushing around, just being IN CHARGE like..owning the whole room, taking up space, just DOMINANT

"She's not made out of glass y'know," Bob chuckles, his shadow looming over you and Jake.

Jake lets out a frustrated grunt, greatly missing the days where Bob wouldn't talk to him unless he said something stupid.

Bob on the other hand, was getting immense joy from this hands on lesson you and he were providing Jake with.

When it came to sex, the Floyd's were not the first thing that came to Jake's mind. But after walking in on you two in the Hard Deck's bathroom, the pilot was intrigued.

He also realized that despite his years of experience, he still had a lot to learn.

The latest thrust from Jake pulls a whine from your lips. His cock feels great, but it's not quite reaching the spot that makes you see stars. At least, not yet.

You give the blonde an encouraging smile, "Bob's right. You can be rougher if you want."

Your husband leaned over, just three of his long fingers easily able to grasp your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"Going by what he wants is exactly why our little friend is in this situation," Bob said through gritted teeth. Jake held back a comment on height upon recalling that Bob was in fact taller than him by several inches.

Vertical and horizontal.

"Now sweetie, tell Jake, what is it that you want?"

You looked into Jake's sea green eyes, "I want you to make me come. Without touching my clit."

Jake opened his mouth, ready to scoff at such a thing being possible. But then he recalled you and Bob in the bathroom, you sat on the counter while Bob thrust into you. He had made you come with just his cock, something Jake had yet to master.

"Can you.....help me?" Jake's voice was all but a whisper. You nodded, sending a knowing smile to Bob.

"Push her knees up to her chest, she'll feel your cock way better," Bob ordered.

"That's comfortable?" Jake asked.

Bob simply nodded, "She can take it. Plus it makes her feel dirty, which she loves. Isn't that right darlin'?"

Warmth flooded your face at Bob's nickname for you. Your husband tapped his long fingers against your mouth. Immediately, your lips parted, moaning upon feeling the digits on your tongue.

The sight makes Jake's cock twitch. Two weeks ago, he would have confidently said he was dominant in the bedroom.

Now?

He wasn't so sure. He still liked being in charge. But Bob was different. The quiet backseater had a way of commanding in the bedroom and Jake would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous.

A sharp slap against his thighs broke Jake out of his thoughts.

"Can you listen? Or do you need me to show you how she likes to be fucked? Again?"

Jake holds back a sarcastic comment. His ass is still healing from Bob's last punishment.

And he really needs to come.

So he hoists your legs up, pushing your knees to your chest. The new angle causes you to throw back your head now that you could feel Jake's cock even deeper.

"Fuck, r-right there!"

Bob smirks, "Told ya."

Jake mutters something indignant.

"What was that?" Bob's breath is hot on the shell of Jake's ear. The searing pain from his hair being pulled on went straight to his cock.

"Kiss his neck Bobby, he loves that," you giggled from underneath.

"If she's able to talk you're not fucking her hard enough. Go ahead Jake, fuck my wife."

Jake regretted every "baby on board" joke he had ever made.

[007reid]

yay! (honestly don’t stress about the adhd characterisation being perfect)

r cannot stay still during one of the cases and the other officers at the *insert state* station get really frustrated with r's hyperactive tendencies (pacing, humming, fidgeting etc) (possibly a small bit of angst)

and of course because of that we get an overprotective dr reid because he can see that r is trying to mask to appease the officers (he most likely knows the facts and all that jazz about how harmful masking can be)

masking is where we basically try and suppress our actions - ignoring what our brain is telling us to do and trying to act ‘normal’ (it is very exhausting and honestly just sucks - can also lead to mental health issues)

also tysm if you consider this <3

- 🦕 xx

HI DINO ANON!! i imagined glasses reid for this cus he’s the sassiest and spencer is def sassy here. i hope i did it okay, kinda nervous about this one. enjoy!

spencer reid x adhd fem!reader

cases involving children always stresses you out more than usual, and this one is no exception.

hotch is cruel in the way that he requested for you not to join the team. 'request' is actually him being nice. you stood your ground until he demanded you to, and you know he's right, knows why you can't be with the team this time. "you're too shaken up, y/n," hotch had said, firmly, eyes as soft as steel. "you won't benefit the team. just hang tight and keep an eye out, alright?”

penelope had gone back to the hotel but it's hard for you to muster up the will to. you need to hear the news right when the team comes back, need to know what happens to the two siblings held hostage, and the only way to get immediate information once the information comes is to lurk in the louisiana's sheriff department and wait for the inevitable phone call.

one of the assistants were nice enough to hand you a donut with a pink napkin for it to sit on and a coffee, but god forbid you have any caffeine or sugar so you set it deliberately to the side for spencer, who, predictably, comes by a second later and it grabs his attention immediately, pointing to it as if to ask "you want this?" silently. you shake your head. he stuffs the donut into his mouth and takes the coffee with him as he makes to go somewhere else.

you're grateful for spencer, and you wish that you can say something about it but your mouth's clamp shut and you don't remember the last time you've been so nervous on a case. you're no newbie to the bau, you know the procedure and you know the horrific scenes that goes on but it's been a while since there is children involved and it took you for a toll and you don't know how to deal with it.

spencer had insisted staying at the station with you and you know the officers aren’t too pleased about it, having two fbi officers strolling around in their post just because. they can't send you back, but they’re dying too; you can tell it on their disdained faces that they're practically looking for a reason to kick the two of you out.

feeling constrained by standing in the hard, wooden stool, you decide to get up and take a walk around the pace, and a walk turns into just pacing back and forth between these two desks and then humming a little song that’s been stuck in your head, trying to keep your mind distracted and off the possibilities of what could be happening to those innocent kids right now if the team hasn't taken care of everything yet. your eyes stay on the dark green telephone that sits menacingly and quietly in the sheriff's office desk. you don’t pick up the glances directed at you.

“hey, ma’am?” someone speaks up. you pause and whip your head around. you could read the man’s face as legibly as a news magazine. he’s annoyed and fed up, his lips turned at an ugly angle. you feel embarrassment bubble up inside of you. “can you sit down? we have work to take care of.”

first thing that comes to your mind is to talk back. the fuck you know about workload? you want to spit into the man’s face. i’m with the fucking fbi, jackass. you just sit at a fucking computer.

the fierce words don’t come out of you, however. instead, you just feel silly and childish, walking back to the stiff chair you had abandoned earlier and try to make yourself comfortable, mumbling a half-assed “sorry” under your breath.

“no worries, ma’am,” the man says, and it sounds saturated and sarcastic, and you can feel yourself burn a brighter red, ridiculed.

you hide the tremble in your hands by tucking it in the pockets of your fbi issued hoodie and resists your foot from tapping on the floor, looking around anxiously for something to watch.

“does her pacing ‘round a little bit distract you that much?”

spencer suddenly appears right next to you, enough bitterness on his face to give the man a run for his money. he looks strange like this, the innocent, permanently confused frown on his face replaced with a glare, harsh and intense under the gleaming of his glasses.

“yeah, it does, you android,” the man sneers, stopping his typing on the computer. he leans back on his chair. you feel the defensiveness in you rising up at the man’s words. “this place’s for business, not you kids’ playground, kay?”

“kids?” spencer says incredulously, laughing. “kids and we have a say above you as federal workers and you as state. you work under your boss who work under another boss who work under my boss. that’s three tiers, if you got lost along the way. we’re kids and we got more going for us than you ever do,” and spencer says all this so casually, as if he’s informing the man of the littleness of his worth as a fact instead of an insult. it stabs twice as deep and it shows on the man’s face.

“whatever, fucking android,” the man grumbles, continuing to type.

spencer, bless him, can’t seem to keep his mouth shut for to long and spinning around to face you, water in his hand. “here,” he press the bottle to your trembling hand, making you accept it. “don’t do that again, okay?” he says, sternly.

“do what?”

“suppressing it.” he doesn’t need to define what ‘it’ is. you get the memo immediately and look down in shame, biting at your lip. “it makes things worse, okay? you know it does.” he frowns, except his lips jut out in a pout. it’s cute. you guess spencer reid’s a little bit cute. spencer is oblivious to your little revelation as he continues his tangent, without a thought in the world. “masking can lead to anxiety or depression if you feel like you're constantly under too much stress. this isn’t a stress free job, y/n. you can’t keep piling more on top of what you already got,” he says, softly.

“i know,”

“i know you do,”

right then, the phone rings and you nearly trip over spencer’s beat up converses trying to get to the sheriff’s office fast enough. spencer catches you by the hand as you come sending towards the floor and the both of you rush, your hand in his as sheriff brody picks up the phone and press it to his ear.

a beat.

“they’re safe.”

[girafficparka]

Untitled WIP I’ve been working on off and on to help with writers block for a different fic. I kinda really liked it so here ya go!

Inspiration: mass effect 3 owes me a decent shep/garrus/kaiden love triangle, and I plan to collect.

~~~

“I don’t know what you’re in the mood for tonight, Shepard. But Vega insists that we watch something called…Hard Death?” Garrus was saying as he entered her cabin. He was reviewing the title of the vid on his omni-tool. “Scratch that. Die Hard. He said it was a traditional human holiday vid, so I thought…Shepard?”

He stopped short when he looked up and caught Shepard staring at him, silently, from her couch. Humans weren’t exactly the easiest species to read - they were expressive, but often he could never figure out what each of their hundred of expressions meant - but he’d like to think he knew Shepard pretty well. She looked…stricken.

“Shepard?” he repeated, fully entering her cabin and approaching her. He went to sit next to her but she held up a hand to stop him. He paused at an awkward angle, halfway between standing leaning down to sit next to her. She stood up, standing in front of him with her hands fidgeting before her. He had never seen her look so…nervous.

“Shepard,” he repeated, for the third time, his voice soft. Confused. “Talk to me.”

“I…I have something to tell you and I don’t…want to.”

Well this was new. Shepard wasn’t afraid of anything, least of that being talking.

Thoroughly confused, he asked, “Ok?”

Shepard stared up at him and pulled her lower lip into her mouth, biting it. He’d seen her do that before, in a very different circumstance. Here it was just further proof that she was worrying. Panicking. “You are starting to freak me out a little bit here, Shepard.”

Shepard released her lip with a POP and raised a hand, running it through her fringe - er, hair. Judging by how it was sticking up she had been doing that for awhile.

“Are you hur-” he started, reaching out a hand to touch her face.

“Kaiden came by. A little bit ago.” Garrus’ hand froze. He didn’t know why, but the way she had said it…made him feel cold. He waited for her to continue, dropping his hand. Shepard’s green gaze followed it’s movement before she dropped her own hand from her hair. Her eye flicked between his for a moment before she let out a harsh breath, turning away from him to pace.

“He…said he wants to try again. After that bullshit he pulled I almost threw him out. But…he seemed…sincere. He kept bringing up Ilium and the SR1 and…uggh.”

Garrus remained silent, and frozen, where he had paused near the couch.

“I didn’t tell him yes. But I did…agree to a date. One date. We never got closure after…I died. Not really. And I wasn’t sure if we - you and I I mean - were still, I mean you’ve been back no the Normandy for a month and we haven’t even talked about…oh my god, I’m rambling. I never ramble.” Shepard stopped her pacing, turning to look at Garrus. “If you tell me not to go I won’t go.”

That pulled him out of stasis. “What? Why is that my decision?”

And it was an easy decision.

No.

Don’t go on a date with Kaiden spirits fucking forsaken Alenko. He had his shot, and he blew it. It was Garrus’ turn now. But what had he been doing with ‘his turn’? (and how pissed would Shepard be if she could read his thoughts right now). Movie nights, quips across the battle field, platonic if lingering touches as they hung out in the battery. She was right, he’d been back on board the Normandy for a month and he had nothing to show for it. He’d had a chance - a hundred chances - to bring up how he felt about her but he hadn’t. She’d always seemed so stressed, so harried. He hadn’t wanted to burden her, to pressure her. He’d let her take the lead on their reconnection. She’d been friendly, so he’d been friendly. And every two minutes there was some damn crisis - a dalatrass to bribe, a galaxy-changing medical marvel to facilitate. He’d wanted to be the calm at the center of her numerous storms. And now it sounded like she’d been waiting for him to-

“We were, you know, together recently. So I thought-”

“Seven months ago.” Garrus clarified, unsure why he was bringing up the time frame.

“Huh?”

“We were together seven months ago. And we thought we were going to die.” What was he talking about? Why was he saying this?

Why did he sound so cold?

His tone tripped Shepard up. She suddenly looked less frantic. She stopped wringing her hands, and was looking at him with an expression he could not even begin to interpret. “You’re right. We didn’t make any promises to each other. You aren’t…responsible for me, nor I you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you about this. I guess I just…wanted to make sure you and I are…good. If I do this - the date with Kaiden, I mean.”

Garrus needed to swing by the medbay - there was a pain in his gut that had to be from something physical - a bullet wound his medi-gel had somehow missed?

Tell her to not go out with him. Fucking idiot, tell her!

“We are good Shep. You go on that date - or not! Whatever…whatever you want. We are good.” Shep? Where the hell had that come from. “If that’s all, I got to go - guns to calibrate, you know-” Garrus began making his way back through the door. He paused at the doorway just as Shepard called.

“What were you…saying about a movie?”

“Uh, oh that? Nothing. I’ll tell you later. See you in the morning, Shepard.” And before he could say something embarrassing, or pitiful, he left.

As he made his way to the elevator he stumbled. He felt off-balance - like the artificial gravity had abruptly been turned off. What had just happened? What the hell had just happened? He felt a sick, heavy feeling rolling along his veins, originating from somewhere deep in his gut. As the doors slid open on the crew deck, Garrus had had the chance to examine the sensation coursing through his body, finally setting in his chest like a heavy weight.

Jealousy.

~~~fin, for now~~~

[sol-is-the-reason]

Criminal

Character Selected:- Midoriya Izuku

Anime:- My Hero Academia

Reader:- Dom!Male!Reader

Type:- NSFW/possessive/angst kinda?

Tw:- Psychological, lemon, Songfic,    manipulation, death, killing, blood, possessive, use of property (for izuku)

Read at your own risk.

[A/n:- (V/n) :- Villain name. BTW it will be my first lemon no matter how small so I hope you enjoy! Also this is set after bkdk's fight, so their friends again. Kinda. ]

He is a hustler, he's no good at all.

He is a loser, he's a bum, bum, bum.

He lies, he bluffs, he's unreliable

He is a sucker with a gun, gun,gun

The atmosphere was tense in the room. With two of the three glaring at each other from other side of the couches. The only adult woman, in the room, known as Midoriya Inko had an unreadable expression on her face with mixture of pain, panic, sadness and (mostly) shock  as she processed the news that had reached her in the last five minutes.

She looked at the young blonde boy beside her who was busy in the glaring contest with her son.

What may be the news you may ask that had her so spooked?

Izuku, her lovable, responsible- the biggest fanboy of the no. 1 hero- son had gone out and had started dating the current no.1 villain (V/n). And the way he was he was defending him as if he were some king, she couldn't understand just what happened to her bright son to turn to that path.

Never mind that she had to make him realise what he was getting himself into.

Yes and she was positive once he saw her point of view he would realise what the hell he was doing. And surely katsuki would help her. She turned to him and pleaded silently with her eyes and fortunately he seemed to get the message and slightly nodded his head.

I know you told me I should stay away

I know you said he's just a dog astray

He is a bad boy with a tainted heart

And even I know this ain't smart

Izuku knew this would happen one day. He predicted it would go this way. But never would he imagine that Bakugou would be the one to find out first. But he guessed it's not as surprising. After all he was the first one to find out about one for all.

Though he didn't expect him to just straight out go and tell his mother. He knew this was just his way of being worried about him? or so he thinks.., but he loved (M/n) damn it! Why couldn't they just understand that. So what if he was a villain? (M/n) loved him all the same.

But Mama I'm in love with a criminal

And this type of love isn't rational,

it's physical

Moans echoed around the room. The green-haired couldn't help but let out a sob as globs of tears run down his face. (M/n) thrusted widely into him. He had izuku in a mating press as he hugged him  and changed the angle of his thrust to aim at the greenettes prostate.

"ahh (M/n)~"

"s-slow down-n pl-ease~"

"Hmm?why should I baby~ you look so cute like this, all wet and hard for me~"

As he said that he thrusted slow and hard behind him, so that izuku was moving forward with each one.

He took his red cock in his hands and started jerking him off inlink with his thrusts.

"I- love you (nickname)"

You just snickered at the oblivious boy. Was he really so delusional to think that you loved him back. Haha he really was too trusting. So heroic of him to think that he could turn you on their side just because of his love. You wondered if thats why he did everything you asked? Hmm you'll just have to see how he'll go then~.

Mama please don't cry,

I will be alright

All reason aside I just can't deny,

I love the guy

No matter how much Inko tried, he was just not ready to listen...

Why can't he just understand that this is not only wrong but who knows what those villains could do to him...

"Izuku...please just listen." He could hear the desperation in her voice.

But he also couldn't get the tiny voice of (M/n) out of his head.

" Don't listen to her, I love you...you wouldn't want to lose what we have right... Do the right thing and I'll give you a reward~okay.."

Yes, he couldn't loose him, the only person who 'loves' the real him, not now..

He is a villain by the devil's law

He is a killer just for fun, fun, fun, fun

That man's a snitch and unpredictable

He's got no conscience, he got none, none, none, none

"(M/n)!! That's enough!! Your killing her!" Izuku yelled out trying to stop the ____ haired man from killing the poor girl who had tried to flirt with him.

"Hmm, how about...No. " He said with narrowed eyes directed at the greenette. He was holding the bloody beaten girl by the neck, hovering in the air so she was face to face with him.

"I don't like sharing my property you know" he said to the barely awake girl. It seemed she was trying to say something but (M/n) didn't gave her a chance to do so as he crushed her neck with his bare hand. The sickening cracked echoed in the alleyway accompanied by a horrified gasp.

" What? Did you think that just because you know your mistake I wouldn't kill you? That I would spare your pathetic life? Don't make me laugh..No one and I mean NO ONE touches what's mine." (M/n) said with a crazed chuckle and smirk as he talked to the now dead body of the girl.

Honestly it didn't matter to him if the girl would have asked the boy out or whatever she wanted, it was just an means to the end for him. He had to make sure Izuku stayed in love with him so he could get everything he wanted from him, and the other reason, well he was simply in the mood to kill. It was a golden opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. And through his observation of the greenettes behaviour in the next few days, he knew he succeeded.

All I know, should've let go, but no

And he's got my name,

Tattooed on his arm his lucky charm

So I guess it's okay he's with me

And I hear people talk

Trying to make remarks keep us apart

But I don't even hear

I don't care

Izuku knew he shouldn't feel this way. But he couldn't help it. He didn't knew how in the pits of hell did he developed such feelings much less for a villain too.

But when he heard you talk like that, claiming him as yours, and calling him your property...he didn't knew what happened but something in him snapped. And suddenly he didn't mind that there was a dead body right next to his feet. That a pool of blood was forming around it, reaching dangerously close to his shoes. He didn't mind that it stained the boots of his UA uniform, as he approached you and kissed you deeply.

Since then you noticed how he turned into an obedient little puppy whenever you were even a little bit possessive of him.

And oh~ you can't wait to use it to your advantage.

'Cause Mama I'm in love with a criminal

And this type of love isn't rational, it's physical

Mama please don't cry, I will be alright

All reason aside I just can't deny, I love the guy......

[A/n:-I...uh...Part 2...anyone?😶😶‍🌫️]

[undreaming-fanfiction]

My Kind of Perfect

Ahaha. I finally finished my entry for @thefreakandthehair's Spicy Six Winter Fic Challenge. Well, one of them. This one is Looking for the perfect Christmas tree. Also on Ao3 because it's kinda long. Enjoy!

Steve Harrington hated the word "perfect". He hated it with passion fuelled by over a decade of unreasonable expectations, disappointed glances and stern talks about fixing his priorities, hated it even more after he saw all the pressure perfection put Nancy under. It was such a funny thing, hating something yet still feeling like a failure for not being exactly that. It didn't matter how much he tried, his parents said it was only the results that mattered, not the effort. So yes, perfection could kiss Steve's toned ass.

Steve learned to find beauty in imperfections instead. He adored how Robin sometimes rambled so much she bit her lip or her tongue in the process and then kept sticking it out to make it hurt less. He loved how Nancy sometimes laughed so hard at Robin's corny jokes that she forgot to laugh like a lady but snorted instead, making such undignified noises that it had everyone present howling with laughter. He enjoyed the annoying sassiness of the younger Wheeler, Dustin's constant but caring nagging, Lucas's stubborn nature. And most of all, his heart could burst with fondness when he saw Eddie Munson chewing on his hair, storing pens in the messy bun he sometimes pulled it into, scribbling over his arms random lyrics that had just popped into his head. This was what beauty was in Steve's world, not the constrictive perfection his parents sought.

When his boyfriend - and boy, did even thinking that word make something flutter in his chest, he sure hoped it wasn't a heart attack, but even if it was, Eddie was worth it - asked him to join the search for the perfect Christmas tree for himself and Wayne ("and you too, Steve, there's no way you're spending another Christmas Eve alone"), he really wanted to tell Eddie that any tree would be perfect because it would be for them, decorated by them, that he didn't care for the word at all. But Eddie's eyes were huge and warm, full of wonder and excitement, and Steve just bit his tongue and adjusted Eddie's scarf before heading out of the door. He tried not to think about all the times his father inspected their Christmas tree and if he found a single crack, a single imperfection on any of the ornaments, it got immediately removed and tossed into the trash. What a message did that send to young Steve Harrington.

For the better or the worse, yeah no, definitely for the better, they were here now, trying to find a...tree? Steve honestly had no idea what a perfect tree looked like, he assumed it should be green and probably not balding. That would have been enough for him. But surprise surprise, Eddie Munson, probably the messiest person on this planet Earth, could be a perfectionist. Why and to what end, Steve didn't know. They had been at it for hours already, Eddie was inspecting every single branch, measuring the tree if it would fit in the trailer, watching it from varying angles and Steve was freezing. He tried to be helpful, he really did, but he didn't understand the task and he definitely didn't understand the reason for it.

As it became darker and colder, Eddie grew more agitated. He seemed stressed, his eyes were darting among the trees and after asking Steve to choose between two nearly identical trees and Steve admitting he had no preference, Eddie snapped at him. "Really, Steve? Just pick what you like, how is that difficult? Or aren't these good enough? I'm just trying to get it right, find a perfect one, but I can't do it alone, man!"

And Steve was getting frustrated too, all too reminded of all the times when his mother pulled perfectly ironed shirts from his closet in shades so similar they could very well be the same and asked him, as if he ever had a choice anyway, which one he preferred. Maybe that comparison wasn't fair because Eddie was here, Eddie actually cared and was giving him options, but the ridiculousness of the whole situation hit him like a ton of bricks. "But why?" he asked, exasperated. He ran hand through his hair, ruining it - but perhaps not, it was full of snow and moisture anyway. "Why does it have to be perfect? And what does perfect even mean, I don't even know what we're looking for! So help me a bit here!"

Eddie just stared at him as if he grew a second head. "Why?! Because it's...it's our first Christmas, Steve. Our first Christmas together, so it needs to be perfect." When he saw Steve's blank stare, he continued, losing himself in examining yet another perfectly adequate tree. "I might not be able to do fancy stuff, but this is like, basic, you know? You just...you deserve it and more, and I want to give it to you. So excuse me if I'm going to freeze to death to find the prettiest tree for us! Because you, Steve Harrington, deserve perfection and I might be, well, me, but I'm going to do my damn best to give you that." It was looking more and more like Eddie was trying to crawl inside that tree instead of measuring its circumference.

Of course, they had talked about this already. The quick sleight of hand that Eddie performed with dirty, cracked or too used mugs, plates. The ashamed look towards every crack, every spot of peeling paint in the trailer. It might have been newer than the one they lost to Vecna, but still nothing luxurious and no matter how many times Steve told him that it was okay, that he liked their home was actually lived in, there was always this unspoken feeling of inadequacy in Eddie's actions.

Steve reached out and stopped Eddie's frantic patting of the tree, whatever it was supposed to be. "Baby. I've never...I don't want perfect. I just want you."

"Oh wow. Ouch." But Eddie's mouth corners were twitching and he finally let go of the unlucky tree. "You sure know how to make a guy feel special."

"Wait, no. I mean, I'm not taking it back because I mean it, but in a good way!" Steve was rambling now and he would feel hot with shame if there wasn't that special amused twinkle in Eddie's eyes that never felt like a judgement, only kind teasing. "Okay, it sounded shitty because to me you're perfect, but also maybe not? And that's what I like, what I love so much. I'm sick of perfection, of fancy dinners, perfectly cut and trimmed trees, shiny baubles without a single fingerprint on them. Presents wrapped so perfectly you don't even want to touch them because you'll ruin them. Do you know we used scissors to open our presents, back when my parents were still home? Tearing the paper off was too unsightly or some shit like that."

Eddie blinked and his mouth hung open, forgetting to snicker at Steve's attempt to salvage his speech about perfection. "What the fuck?"

Steve just nodded and if his smile didn't fully reach his eyes, it was only for a moment. "Right? That's where perfection gets you. It's all for appearances, no real thing under it. You can have the prettiest thing but I'm so fucking sick of feeling like I'm just a visitor in my own life. So I want something real. I want cookies that are maybe a little burnt, Christmas dinner on mismatched plates, a mistletoe that falls into my face when I kiss you because you didn't attach it properly."

Eddie gave a theatrical sigh and rolled his eyes, nudging Steve in the side through his coat. "That happened only one time and I fixed it right after, I swear to god, are you going to blame me for it forever?!"

"It has only been like a week, but yes. When Dustin decides to give us grandchildren or whatever his kids would be considered, this will be the first family story they will learn," snickered Steve. His smile grew into something more restrained, tender. "But I wouldn't trade it for the world. And if there are those stubborn bits on your ugly Christmas sweater that won't come off, and even if you bitch about it being too short or too long or too ugly which, sorry love, but it is-"

"It was on sale! And you have to admit the pattern is crazy interesting! Is it a snowman? Is it a cryptid? No one knows!"

"-shush. I'm complimenting you here, not your sweater. What I mean is - it's my kind of perfect. Anything with you is. Hell, we could throw a stone blindfolded and take whichever tree it hit and I'd think that's the best one."

Eddie leaned towards him and kissed the tip of his nose. "Way too dark for that, Stevie. Good method though." He was still joking, of course he was, it was Eddie after all and humor was his second nature. But the way he managed to tame his restless energy to listen to Steve, the way he was biting his lips and hiding his smile...maybe Steve was finally getting through to him. Maybe practice really makes perfect (there's that word again, damn it), repetition too.

"Next time then," laughed Steve. "But really, I couldn't care less what tree we bring home. It's another...temporary thing, if that makes sense? What makes me happy is how excited you are for it, but please, Eddie. Don't do this for me because you think you have to. I'm not...I'm not like this because I want to. It's because I had to be. And trust me," he said, biting his lip perhaps too hard, too deep, but there were some things he found difficult to admit even to himself, "I'd sometimes like to let go. Not shout at the kids when they dive nose first into the first muddy puddle or think about which laundry detergent would get rid of the stains because I don't want their parents yelling at them. And I know they won't because they're good people, but the thought is still there, you know? And being able to...not wash dishes immediately after dinner, not to scrub my shoes so they don't look used, it's kind of new for me, but also...I like it. It's so freeing, but it's small steps, you know. It's like you're my safe space to be more myself, more...faulty? Imperfect? Is that a word? That. Yeah, I just...with you I don't feel like I need to be so anxious all the time. So, uh...what I'm trying to say is...we can pick any tree you like?" he finished, feeling even more stupid than usual. Where did he even intend to take this speech? How did they get to this from a simple tree shopping trip?

Eddie chewed on his glove, lost in thought. And maybe it was a little bit gross and the teeth imprints on the fingers made Steve's brain do a small gymnastic number, bouncing against the walls of his cranium, but he would always manage to shush it. This is what I want, he'd tell that stubborn squishy asshole that was equally his friend and enemy, and if you don't like it, we can get Eddie new gloves when he chews through these. Compromises everywhere, with Eddie, with his own brain. "Eddie?"

Eddie shook his head, sending those pretty curls flying everywhere and stirring the setting layer of snowflakes. "We're so unpacking all of that later, Stevie. Over coffee or something. And then we're leaving the mugs in the sink for half a day. At least. What did I want to...oh. That." He finally stopped nibbling on his finger and grabbed Steve's hand instead, squeezing it. It must have been impossible to feel anything through their thick gloves, but Steve could swear he suddenly felt warmer. "So, what I'm going to tell you will sound crazy lame. Like, absolutely lame. And I know you'll claim it's adorable or some shit like that, but I'm acknowledging the lameness in advance so can kick this elephant out of the room and...yeah." He cleared his throat and maybe his face grew a little bit redder, maybe not even from the cold. "So, we normally don't get like, real Christmas trees," he admitted, watching Steve's shoes as if they were the pinnacle of the latest Hellfire campaign. "It's like, at first we couldn't really afford them, you know? It's another expense and just having Christmas with Wayne was everything I wanted. One of the guys from the plant gave him an artificial tree. Kinda small, to fit in the trailer, and it's all crooked and probably older than I am. But even when I started my...um. Side hustle. And we could afford a real tree, we kind of didn't want it anymore? Because Hubert-"

"Hubert?" interjected Steve, snorting and attempting to cover it - very poorly - as a sneeze.

Eddie waved his hand. "Yes, Hubert. The tree is old enough to have a driver's licence, Steve. Of course he has a name. I wish I could remember where we got it, but anyways, we kind of stuck with Hubert every Christmas because he's like a family. It."

"He," grinned Steve and wrapped his arms around Eddie's waist, pulling him a little closer. It was magical how well they fit together. "Don't you dare disrespect Hubert like that."

That earned him a giggle from Eddie too. "True, my humble apologies, Hubert. So anyway, I wanted to get a real tree this year because when I drove past your house in the past, it was always decorated to perfection and I just thought...I don't want you to settle for anything less, you know? So I was even ready to get some fancy baubles or whatever they call it because Hubert always wore the weirdest combination of anything and everything we could find, did you know they even sold Garfield ornaments? I got them for Wayne one year and they're so fucking ugly Stevie, it's no joke how atrocious they are, but it kind of became our thing. We'd hold competitions every year to buy the ugliest ornament possible and add it to Hubert's ever-growing medal collection. So, um..." he trailed off, pressing his lips into a thin line. "What was I saying?"

Steve stroked his cheek and laughed as several snowflakes melted into Eddie's skin. They were so going to regret just standing in the freezing night and discussing Garfield ornaments. "I believe you were just describing my perfect Christmas tree, Eddie."

Eddie shot him a disbelieving look. "You mean old, plastic, wobbly and with a flamingo topper that Wayne got as a joke one year and we never bothered replacing it?"

"Yes." He leaned in again and kissed Eddie's forehead, feeling the cool skin against his lips. "It wound be my absolute honor to meet Mr. Hubert Munson. None of these compare," he declared and waved his arm around, pointing at the perfect, even trees.

Before he could pull back, Eddie wrapped himself around Steve, like an octopus. His arms went around his back and squeezed hard enough for Steve's back to produce a mostly pleasant crunch. Eddie burst out laughing before nibbling beneath the edge of Steve's scarf, placing a small kiss on his pulse point. "Have I ever told you I love you Steve?"

Steve went for casual, shrugging and willing his racing heart and the butterflies in his stomach to take a break. "Probably, but you know my memory is shit. Care to repeat it?"

"Sneaky," smirked Eddie and then he repeated it. And again. And maybe once more for good measure.

--

When Wayne returned from his shift, he found his son (well, nephew, but the paperwork could fuck off, he and Eddie knew what they were to each other) and his boyfriend sleeping on the couch, exhausted and grasping half-unpacked boxes of Christmas ornaments. Steve was cradling the flamingo topper like a firstborn child and Eddie was wearing a tinsel crown. Wayne's heart swelled at the scene, the domesticity he never imagined Eddie having in Hawkins, but apparently he was wrong and so glad for it.

"Don't you have a bed, boy?" he asked and was treated with the glorious sight of Steve straightening up, still half-asleep, and Eddie faceplanting into the carpet, sending the tinsel crown flying. "Not the ground. Bed," he added.

"Funny. Such a funny man," mumbled Eddie into the carpet. "Glad it runs in the family. Might have thought I'm adopted otherwise. You know...because I have hair."

Wayne just gave a quiet huff of laughter and proceeded to make himself a cup of tea. Beer would have been his poison of choice, but it was cold as hell outside and he wanted to linger in the kitchenette a bit longer. His boy looked happy, so sue him. "I'm sure glad you're still sleepin', boy, otherwise I'd have to take that comment personally. You wish your head was as shiny. You okay there, Steve?"

Steve moved his unfocused gaze in Wayne's general direction. "Yessir...Wayne, I mean. Okay. Am."

Suppressing a smirk, Wayne shook his head. "Watching Star Wars again? I swear I know that weird word order from somewhere..." He stopped himself and looked around the room, narrowing his eyes. There was something missing. "Hey boys, didn't you go tree shopping or somethin'?"

Eddie had already risen from the ground and leaned against Steve's knees, the other boy mindlessly running his fingers through Eddie's ever tousled hair. "Oh. That. We tried, but...let's just say that someone was eager to meet Hubert instead. Apparently no other tree compares."

Something stirred in Wayne's chest again. He'd always known Eddie wouldn't be with him forever, that the strange little traditions they had would eventually disappear as his boy built his own life. So when Eddie suggested with poorly hidden guilt that they might have to leave Hubert in the closet this year, Wayne accepted it, as he should have. Of course things would be different now, with Eddie dating the Harrington boy.

Except the boy - no, Steve - surprised him and kept doing so. Wayne had never met a kid, rich or not, this eager to please, this kind, with such a big heart and so much to give. He tiptoed around their kitchenette to prepare breakfast for Eddie and Wayne, wasn't afraid to get himself dirty repairing stuff around the trailer, watched games with Wayne while Eddie jokingly whined in the background...Wayne had never bothered to imagine what is son-in-law or daughter-in-law would be one day, but he knew a good one when he saw them. And Steve was as good as they came.

Wiping a rogue tear - nope, more like water condensation, it was freezing outside, had he mentioned that? - he gestured towards the closet. "Well? Why is Hubert still restin' then?"

Eddie pushed himself upright and walked towards Wayne, hiding his smile behind one of those strands of hair. "I wanted to wake him up, but Steve insisted we should all be here for his resurrection. So...we were waiting for you, old man."

Well, shit. What was an old man to do with all these emotions? Wayne just reached out and grasped Eddie's shoulder, slightly shaking him. "Thoughtful. I like your boy."

Eddie chuckled and laid his hand over Wayne's. "I'm glad. But he's mine, don't get any dirty ideas!"

Before Wayne could come up with a witty response, as if he could ever beat Eddie in that, Eddie had already made his way towards the couch and knelt in front of Steve who had started slightly snoring during their conversation, sleeping upright. "Wake up, sleeping beauty," cooed Eddie and gently squeezed Steve's knee. "Time to meet Hubert."

"Hubert?!" Steve was suddenly wide awake, shooting up so fast Eddie fell back to the carpet, ass first.

"Oh wow," mused Eddie from the ground, "how come you never react to my name like that? I wish I had love like your and Hubert's."

Wayne just sipped his hot tea as Steve helped Eddie up, muttering half-hearted apologies. "Don't mind the boy, he was raised well but became a clown anyway. Now...shall we?"

Steve Harrington still hated the word perfect. The Christmas of 1986 ended up being anything but perfect in the way his parents defined the word, with the never ending fits of laughter over the Munson ugly ornament collection, the flamingo topper (after a round of arguing and lots of eggnog, the flamingo was ceremoniously named Hugo, Hubert's butler), Hubert's crooked plastic branches and cookies that might not have been decorated perfectly, with attempted Hellfire designs and sports club logos, a D20 thrown here and there, but most of them ended up being blobs of icing anyway. Despite Eddie's reassurances, the mistletoe ended up falling again, tangling in Steve's hair and resulting in Eddie shouting "THIS WAS MY PLAN ALL ALONG, NOW I GET TO KISS YOU ALL THE TIME HARRINGTON!" The turkey had to be chopped into smaller pieces because the trailer oven was too small and the mashed potatoes were somehow full of chunks.

And somehow, it was more perfect than any other Christmas Steve had ever known. With Wayne hugging Steve after unwrapping two tickets to a baseball game, the kids stopping by and filling the trailer way beyond its capacity, exchanging gifts ("tear that paper off, Steve! No scissors in this house! Not now, not ever!"), piling mugs stained by hot chocolate in the sink and avoiding them until evening, it was everything Steve ever wanted.

As they removed Hubert's medals (well, ornaments, but there was apparently some lore, Hubert was an elderly gentleman with army commendations and maybe they could get a moustache ornament next year?) and Eddie solemnly announced it is now time to lay Hubert down to his yearly rest, Steve kissed Eddie goodbye and unwillingly made his way to the Harrington household. His parents were supposed to be back that day and he felt obliged to greet them, even though they were mostly strangers to each other these days.

His mother outdid herself, she actually embraced Steve and patted his back, like a real mather would. "So glad to be home, Steven. How were your holidays?" she asked and maybe she meant it, maybe not, but Steve couldn't care less.

He looked her right in the eye and smiled, unrestrained for the first time. "They were perfect."

[keep-the-wolves-close]

Steady Heart

Chapter 25: Or Was It 26

* Pairing: Slow-burn Kayce Dutton x OFC Stella Daniels

* Rating: M

* Warnings: language, dead livestock, slight angst feelings

* Word count: 3,537ish

I would love to give credits to @dameronscopilot and @deanscroissant for being sounding boards for me during this whole process, giving outsider insight, being cheerleaders, and allowing me to screech at them about things that have happened during the writing process. I seriously couldn't have gotten this far without y'all

Author's note: I just got 6 chapters done, so I’m posting this lol. I hope everyone is enjoying so far! I hope you love this chapter as well!

Kayce walked into the bunkhouse. The wranglers and Stella milled about making plans for the week’s schedule around whatever he might have them do. He watched as Stella talked something over with Lloyd. She spotted him and abruptly stopped talking. The whole house fell silent.

Kayce cleared his throat. “We got more fences to fix. Jimmy, Stella, you come with me and Rip.” Kayce ordered as he walked out of the bunkhouse.

Stella leaned on the kitchen table closed her eyes and whispered, “why me.”

Lloyd patted her arm. “It’ll be okay, lil’ bit.”

Ryan stared at her from across the room. They hadn’t been talking ever since his discovery of the two fooling around. He struggled to believe she had done what she did, and didn’t know how to go about parenting this type of situation. He watched as she dropped her head and closed her eyes.

Slowly she lifted her head, accepting her fate. “Let’s go Jimmy.”

Stella walked the fence line behind Rip and Jimmy. Kayce was in the front. She wanted to keep herself as far away from him as possible. She hated the fact that he was technically her boss so she had to listen if she wanted to keep her income. Jimmy slowed Ray down to be next to her.

“You okay? You've been quiet.” He asked gently.

Stella knew he didn’t mean any harm, but she still got annoyed when he asked. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He frowned at her. “You know I don’t believe that, right?”

Kayce got a glimpse of them talking quietly amongst themselves and decided to break it up. “Hey, Jimmy,” Kayce called out. “Why don’t you ride ahead and look for the next break?”

Jimmy trotted ahead and kept walking the fence. Stella moved up behind him, aiming to be furthest in the front.

“I told him to go ahead, not you.” Kayce called out to her.

She spun Abigail to face him, fire blazed in her eyes. Kayce’s eyes widened at the hostility and he stopped his mustang. “Yeah, and I’m going ahead of him. What about it?” Rip watched closely for any sign he needed to jump in. “I know how to fix a fuckin’ fence,” she snarled. Turning Abigail around again, she legged her onward.

Kayce watched her trot off and shook his head. He dismounted and grabbed the tools to fix the break in the fence. Kayce pointed to Jimmy and said to Rip, “tell me about that kid.”

“Ah, he’s green as the grass. But he tries hard. He’s a good kid. Stella’s right about him.”

“If he was a good kid he wouldn’t be wearing the brand.” Kayce surmised.

“Yeah well, he’s a favor.”

“What about Walker? He a favor too? I just wanna know what I’m workin’ with.” Kayce worked on the fence, repairing the break in the metal.

“They don’t work with you, Kayce. They work for you. These are questions you should be askin’ your father.” Rip advised.

“I’m askin’ you.”

“Yeah well it ain’t my place to say.”

“I guess that says it all.” Kayce huffed.

Jimmy stopped to look at a steer that was nearby. Something about it looked off. He couldn’t put his finger on it. It looked miserable. It mooed at him.

Rip noticed Jimmy had taken on a side quest. “Hey Jimmy! He said ride the fence line.”

“Hey this cow looks kinda funny.” Jimmy explained.

Kayce, Rip and Stella all looked over at the steer. Stella tilted her head and pushed Abigail closer to see it at a different angle. The steer mooed in discomfort. Coming around the other side of it, Stella could see its belly starting to protrude out.

“Rip its bloat!” She called out.

“Shit. Bloat. Here.” Rip tossed Kayce his rein back. Kayce climbed up on Tank. The cow started to trot up the large hill, leading them. Rip and Kayce tag teamed the steer, getting him down on the ground.

“Kayce run him down so I can stab his rumen. Get the gas outta him.”

Rip and Jimmy hopped off their horses. Rip walked up and pinned the steer’s leg down.

“Jimmy, gimme the wonder dust outta the saddle bag.”

“The what kind of dust?” Jimmy had no clue what was going on. He led never had to deal with this side of tending cattle.

“The wound dust. Grab it outta the fuckin’ bag.” Rip opened his knife and stabbed the steer, releasing the gas. He clipped his knife shut and blew some of the powder out onto the wound.

“Wait what’s bloat?” Jimmy asked.

“He ate somethin’ he shouldn’t.” Kayce explained.

Rip handed the bottle to Jimmy and spoke to Kayce. “I don’t know what the fuck he’d bloat on. The grass is dried and it didn’t freeze last night.”

Kayce dismounted and walked up to the steer to untangle it from the ropes.

Jimmy continued with his questions. “They can’t eat when it freezes?”

“Jimmy, quit askin’ fuckin’ questions. Go put it back.” Rip wiped his mouth. “Doesn’t make any sense, Kayce. There’s no alfalfa in this field.”

Stella tried to think of a solution. It was in between her and Ryan’s birthdays, so it was weird that it happened at this time of year. “I’ve never seen one bloat in the fall.”

Rip skimmed a glance at her. “That’s cause they don’t.”

Kayce spotted another cow down. Rip and Jimmy followed behind him. Stella walked Abigail to the top of the hill with them. They came to the top of the hill and found the whole field of cattle down.

“Oh my god.” Kayce and Stella said at the same time, breathless. Neither of them had seen a whole field down.

Putting everything aside, Stella looked down at Kayce from her saddle. “You call your dad and I’ll get my brother and the rest of the guys up here.”

Stella made it back to the bunkhouse in record time. Abigail slid to a halt and Stella’s feet hit the ground before the mare fully stopped. She threw one of the reins over the hitching post and ran inside. “Ryan!” When he didn’t answer right away she screamed his name again. “Ryan!” She knew he was pissed at her, but they needed him.

“Woah Stella calm down.” Lloyd told her.

“What Stella?” He came out from around the corner looking irritated at her presence. Once he took in her wide eyed appearance. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

“No,” she leaned on the kitchen counter as she tried to catch her breath. “Whole field of cattle down with which I’m assuming is bloat for all of them. We need you, now.”

“C’mon guys, let’s go.” Ryan said to Jake, Ethan, and Colby. They packed up and rushed to the barn to get their horses ready.

Once they were ready they met up with Stella outside. She waved them on. “Follow me.”

Galloping through the lower pastures and up over the hill, everyone stopped and gawked at the scene before them. A whole portion of the herd laid dead in the field.

Lloyd hopped down and started to explore. He wanted to find what had caused this to happen. Ryan joined him. Stella stayed up near Rip.

“Did Kayce get a hold of his dad?”

“Yeah, should be here any minute.”

Just as Rip finished his sentence John and Jamie showed up. John walked past Rip and Stella, muttering to himself. He surveyed the horrible scene in front of him with his hands in his hips. Every cow he looked at, the angrier he became.

“Mr. Dutton! Here’s your culprit.” Lloyd walked over with alfalfa in his hand.

John sniffed it and threw it to the ground. “This is a crime scene.” John spun around to start barking orders. “Jamie! Get livestock agents out here.” He turned to the wranglers in the pasture. “Everyone walk away! Ryan, you’re not a reserve agent anymore. You’re on regular duty. You find a way to cover this area. I don’t want a fuckin’ bird landing in it.”

“Yessir,” Ryan quickly got to work figuring out how to contain everything.

“You.” John pointed at his son. “Walk with me.” They trekked back up the hill. “Now’s not the time to talk about all the fights I’m in. Right now, this is the only fight that matters.”

“You have any idea who did this?” Kayce questioned.

John grumbled. “I know exactly who did it.” He scoffed thinking about Jenkins. “Now we gotta go prove it…,” John trailed off, already forming a plan to stop the man trying to ruin his legacy for good.

The sheriff kneeled down by one of the cows, inspecting it closely. Kayce, his father and brother stood at the base of the hill. Stella sat on the hill closer to Kayce, but far enough away she wasn’t up his ass. She stared at his back and could tell he was worried. The familiar feeling of wanting to immediately go and help him bubbled just under the surface. Her legs twitched, instinctively wanting to move closer to him. ‘You’ve done more than enough.’

Ryan stepped closer to her. Stella gave him a side eye, unsure of what his intentions were. He had been royally pissed at her, with every right, but Stella was worried he wouldn’t speak to her ever again. “Yes?”

He sat down next to her with a groan. He talked softly so only they could hear. “Did you truly walk away?”

“Yes.” Stella shuffled around and Abigail leaned down to nuzzle her shoulder. Stella wrapped her arm around the mare’s large nose. “Do we have to talk about this right now? Can it be later and just the two of us?” She fully looked at him. “Please?”

“Okay, fine. I’m still pissed at you though.”

She let out a breath, and looked down unsurprised. “I know. I’m just trying to do my job and go home. I promise.”

Donnie threw a clump of alfalfa back on the ground dismissively. “So you think this was intentional?” He stood up straight. “I don’t see tire tracks anywhere. The fence is way over there,” he pointed. “Nobody threw it over. It didn’t fall outta the fuckin’ sky.”

“That’s exactly what it did.” John determined.

“So you think someone flew a plane over here, and dropped clover on your cattle in the middle of the night, John? Think about that.” Donnie talked to John like he was an idiot.

Jamie stepped forward. “We have. A King Air was designed for skydiving so it has a side door large enough and it could hold the weight.”

Donnie questioned their logic. “Why would anyone do that? Who would do that?”

“Your golfing buddy, that’s who.” John’s gruff voice thundered.

Donnie scoffed. “Alright, John. You think that. Now why the fuck am I here? I have no jurisdiction. Cattle is your department. What can I do for you?”

“I have six full time agents and four reserves. I don’t have the manpower for this investigation. I need your deputies.” John requested.

“Ah, John. I can’t spare any deputies. County has more firefighters sleeping at night than I have on patrol.”

“You keep making my point. You wanna help? Give me deputies or deputize my men. And not in six weeks, right now. Right here in this field.” John pointed aggressively at the ground.

“Which men?”

John pointed at Kayce. “Him for starters.” Kayce came down the hill to be closer.

“John, he just put that drifter on a soup diet and you want me to license him to carry a weapon?”

Stella leaned toward her brother and whispered, “the sheriff was like this with Rip and I about that bear too. I really wanna punch him square in the jaw. Is that too much to ask?”

“Just a bit.” Stella made a hmph sound at her brother’s rejection.

“You mean the one who held a knife to his throat? That drifter?” He grabbed Donnie’s arm and walked him a few steps away. “You gonna tell me that beating was worse than some of your officers have doled out? Hmm? How many times have I stood on a podium with you, Donnie? Stood for you? You think you’d be sheriff if it wasn’t for me? Maybe you haven’t noticed, but there’s a war goin’ on in this valley. Todays the day you choose sides.”

“I’ll issue the permit, but he’s gotta understand—,” John interrupted Donnie, nearly undermining him.

“Wait what’s happening?” Stella asked Ryan.

“I think Kayce’s getting deputized?” He was shocked just as much as she was.

“He’s trained to use it.” John defended.

“Well that’s just great, John. Now you train him not to use it.” Donnie fixed his gaze on Kayce. “If it comes outta your holster son, you’d better have an ironclad reason, understood?”

“Yeah,” came Kayce’s weak reply.

“If he calls dispatch for support, I expect you to give it to him.” John ordered. “Do you hear me Donnie?!”

“I heard you John! The whole goddamn valley heard you.”

“C’mere.” John spun away from Donnie so he couldn’t see them talking. He locked eyes with Stella sitting on the ground nearby. “We all know who did this.” He leaned toward Jamie. “You find the evidence. And when he does,” he leaned to Kayce but remained looking at Stella. “You drag him by the hair back to me.” It was almost like John ordered them to help Kayce. The siblings shared a look of concern.

The sound of footsteps approaching Stella and Ryan made her look up from her seat in the ground. Kayce hesitantly stepped closer to the siblings. He locked eyes with Stella. Her breath caught in her throat and she looked back down. Ryan watched and felt his heart break slightly for his little sister. She didn’t have anyone to blame but herself, but that didn’t mean Ryan wanted her to experience the dejection.

Kayce cleared his throat. “Ryan, I’m gonna need you to come with me to look at a few places. Stella, you stay here and help count how many down we have.”

“Yup.” She rose to her feet, and climbed into her saddle. Fixing her glasses, she said to Ryan, “be careful.” She turned and trotted back up the hill to let Rip and Lloyd know she’d be counting with them.

The silence in the truck was deafening. To Kayce, it felt like he’d fallen into a pricker bush. He had determined Ryan knew something had been going on between him and Stella by now. “Let’s get it over with so we can go about the work.”

Ryan tapped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. There were so many things he wanted to say and he didn’t know where to begin. He scowled. “What the fuck, Kayce? What the fuck were you thinking?” Kayce stayed quiet, knowing he deserved the berating. “You should have known better. Especially since you’re still fucking married! How dare you take advantage of my sister’s feelings for you because you knew she would help you no matter what!”

“I’m sorry, Ryan. I know I hurt her, probably way past what I can fix. She stopped things and walked away. Has barely spoken to me since.”

The confirmation of Stella’s actions gave Ryan a sense of relief that she’d followed through with her word. “Yeah, well you stay away from her. You either fix your marriage, or you choose nothing. Stella isn’t for you to use just because you’re sad and bored.”

“I know, and I want to talk to her—,” Ryan interrupted.

“About what? I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?”

“I want to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have crossed that line.”

“You’re damn right you shouldn’t have. She was supposed to be safe with you!”

Kayce looked out the window and thought hard. He knew Stella had always been safe with him and he’d gone and destroyed that. His confusion about the separation between him and Monica, and frustration at his new but old feelings for his best friend that he’d forgotten about had taken over him. Because of his muddled thoughts he wanted to forget. When he was with Stella, he could forget. He could let everything fall away and not be judged or looked at differently for his decisions and judgements. But that was gone now. He was sure of it. He’d fucked that over big time.

Kayce balled his fist. At this point he knew he had to try for his family. The life he’d worked so hard for. Then he would try to repair things between him and his best friend. If she would allow him to do so. “Yeah, man. I got it.” His phone rang and interrupted the conversation. It was Jamie.

“There’s the skydiving place in Three Forks.” Jamie offered a hangar to go look at.

“Yeah we’re headed there now.”

“And then there’s the other two, Missoula and Whitefish.”

“Nah that’s too far.”

Jamie paused. “Um, you didn’t wanna mention the trust?”

“Trust who?”

“The trust. The ranch is in a trust.”

“It is?” Kayce truly didn’t know what his brother was talking about.

“Yeah. Don’t play dumb with me Kayce. I’m looking at your signature right here.”

“I ain’t signed shit.”

“Alright. Call me when you get to Three Forks.” Jamie hung up.

It clicked for Kayce. The papers his dad had him sign the other day when he was being made an agent, must have been for the trust. Ryan glanced over at him.

Kayce ground out between his teeth. “My fuckin’ family, man.”

Stella, Rip and Lloyd trekked up the hill to the big house to tell John how many cattle they found dead. Stella winced as she thought about the number. It was hundreds of thousands of dollars that laid dead in the pasture. Stella halted Abigail when she made it to John.

The patriarch asked, “how many total?”

Lloyd pulled out his book. “So far we've found 360 more.”

“Yeah, they dropped bales all through the valley. If we push the herd down here, they're gonna get into that clover. I say we move them up the pass. Through the mountains.”

Stella cleared her throat. The men laid eyes on her. “Not to give pushback, but if memory serves, isn’t that a really rough trail?”

“It’s an awful rough trail.” Lloyd confirmed her suspicion.

John thought quickly on his feet. “Rip's right. We'll take them over the pass. You know, that goddamn clover's gonna take root. Next spring it'll be worse. We're gonna have to burn that field.”

“Just gotta be careful we don't start a fuckin’ forest fire,” Rip pointed out.

“We'll bring up water trucks. I'll have the fire department out here, just in case. I don't see any other way.” He focused on the ground. “Burn it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Closer to the barn, Rip called out for Stella. “What’re you gonna do for the night?”

“I’m gonna go home and shower. Sleep in my own bed. I’ll be back in the mornin’, don’t you worry your curly head over it, Wheelie.” She smirked at him.

He returned the look. “Be safe, ya hear?”

“Yessir!” She laughed, going to turn Abigail in for the night.

The next morning, all the wranglers were getting everything set up to go burn the fields where the alfalfa was found. It was an all hands on deck kind of situation, and Stella was just as much a part of the hands as anyone else. She helped Rip bring up the all terrains so they could make sure they were all gassed up and ready to go.

John called out to Colby while he waited on Rip and Stella. “Colby, no horses.”

Colby dejectedly grabbed the ax he had just placed on his saddle. He proceeded over to a four wheeler and placed the ax in the holder on the front. “I hate this fuckin’ thing.”

The two pulled in and Colby came over to start putting gas in the one Stella was seated on. Rip climbed off of his next to her. Noticing him stop moving, she turned and her eyebrows pulled together. The fancy silver car that was pulling up the drive to the house must have been what caught his attention. Stella got off of the all terrain and bumped shoulders with Rip. He glanced at her and walked to John, Stella close at his heels.

“Were we expecting anyone today, sir?” Stella questioned. John looked at her with confusion. Rip nodded to the car driving up the hill.

John practically growled. “No. We weren’t. You two go on up there. I’ll be behind you.”

Stella raised her eyebrows at the order. She had never been prompted to be involved in good cop bad cop. ‘I guess he was serious about involving me.’ Rip motioned her to follow him to the horses. One of the horses Colby had gotten ready was hers. She made eye contact with him and nodded her appreciation. He gave her a smile back.

Rip put on his serious voice. “Let’s get a move on, Stella!” She apparently took two seconds too long. Rolling her eyes, she spurred Abigail into action.

[vincentvalenfine]

Cupid’s Heart

A spark of interest had summoned him, but it was the wave of desire that swept him away - Cupid wasn’t expecting someone quite so bent on stealing his own heart.

Cupid!Hanzo/Reader Warnings: smut with the shakiest of plots, heavy fourth wall leaning, unprotected piv, blowjob, cunnilingus, fingering, can you tell I have the hots for Hanzo Shimada so badly read it on AO3!

An evening at your favorite nightclub has always made unwinding for the weekend a more pleasant time - taking the time to clean up and dress up before heading out to the club to relax in one of the leather-lined booths with a drink and good music? Guaranteed great start to your free time. Much as you like your apartment, the chance to people-watch while you drink and chill the evening away is another reason to go out rather than stay home. As long as you don’t drink too much or get googly-eyed over a stranger, things are great.

This evening, though... this evening your usual booth is taken, filled with a chattering, boisterous group. You eye them from across the lounge with annoyance, pursing your lips before making your way to a different booth than usual, far enough to keep their noise subdued beneath the music. It gives you a better view of the bar counter than usual, normally angled towards the dance floor instead. And that means you can watch the bartender for once, an unusual opportunity. So watch them you do.

Clean cut, a well-styled coif of blonde hair, a charming smile... honestly? Kinda cute. It isn’t too hard to imagine walking up and asking for more than just a drink, if you can work up the courage. Dating is so hard these days.

Zap!

What feels like a static shock leaps through your chest, causing you to jump a little - and then jump again when you realize there’s someone suddenly across the table from you. When had that happened? But the question flits away without an answer as you take in the stranger’s appearance, and come to the abrupt conclusion that if the bartender was cute, then this man was... well, absolutely stunning. Even in the dim light of the lounge it’s not hard to make out those brilliant green eyes, framed with a lustrous lock of brown to one side and a well-groomed beard. He has high cheekbones, lightly tanned skin tone, and a smile that’s already pinned you to your seat. The only part that’s weird is his outfit, some sort of... Roman costume, maybe? You’re a little too busy staring at his face to care about the rest of it.

“Hark!” Who says hark in this day and age? Wild. “Do I sense a quickening heart and the stirrings of desire? I am Cupid, hero of love in all its forms, guide to those who desire love down their path to fulfillment.”

Well... ‘Cupid’ explained the toga, sort of.

“... Uh huh?”

Unfortunately you still can’t stop staring. A blush has crept over his cheeks, which just makes him even harder to look away from, and he seems taken aback by the gaze locked on him. Must be forgetting his lines. “I... do not fret, mortal, you are the only one who can see me.”

So on top of staring it also looks to other people like you’re zoning out, cool.

“... So. Did you wish to win their heart?”

‘Cupid’ gestures towards the bartender you had been admiring, except your head doesn’t shift their way even a little, and instead you manage to reply, “Um. Can I win your heart instead?”

And he looks surprised again, the blush growing to cover most of his face. “Excuse me?”

“I said what I said.”

And if he can sense the ‘quickening heart’ of someone, then he should be able to tell yours is racing from being so bold. Meeting someone so incredibly handsome, regardless of weird outfits and claims of being Cupid? You have to shoot your shot, consequences be damned.

“I, uh... was not expecting that.” He definitely doesn’t know how to handle this, and you lean forward to continue pressing your luck. “It’s not every day I see someone like you. I don’t think I could even dream of looking at anyone else right now.”

And now Cupid looks even more flustered. “I do not... usually interfere with mortals so directly...”

“Give me a chance. I want to get to know you.”

“Well...”

You muster your most earnest expression, eyes locked with his until he seems ultimately too flustered to hold your gaze and looks away. “I.. suppose it would be a good opportunity for you to practice. Until you meet another whom you desire. Very well then! You may try, mortal.”

He seems to have convinced himself for the moment, and just like that the lounge suddenly fades away into darkness, causing you to blink a few times until you can see - not the club, but... a courtyard with a gazebo, scattered cherry trees with their fragrant blossoms, a large building of some kind further back. It looks... like Japan? But if he’s Cupid, why are you in Japan? This is getting absurd.

“Welcome to the realm of love,” he states, and for the third time in as many minutes you jump, turning towards him as he’s now by your side instead. “Uh... then why’s it look like-?”

“Enough questions! Now, you must practice how to engage with someone new.”

Okay then. Despite the absurdity of the situation (perhaps this is all one big... episode of suddenly blacking out in the club and having a particularly vivid dream?), you straighten yourself up, clear your throat, and make eye contact with Cupid once more, giving him your warmest smile. “Hi there. I saw you from across the club and wanted to let you know how amazing you look tonight. I wanted to ask if I could maybe buy you a drink, or have a dance?”

Oh, there he goes blushing again. Your satisfaction feels disproportionately strong, but honestly? If you are having some sort of black out episode for real, you might as well enjoy yourself right now.

“That was... very good! Let us assume that we have danced for a few songs.”

“What, we’re not going to actually dance?”

“I... do not dance,” he admits, looking sheepish, and you raise your eyebrows. “It’s not very good practice if I don’t get to show off my dance moves. And what kind of ‘hero of love’ doesn’t dance?”

Cupid looks like he’s dying from embarrassment.

“Please, let us move on. You are - quite proficient at flirting already, so you do not need practice there.”

“I wouldn’t mind practicing some more if I get to see you blush some more.”

And now he’s really blushing, flushed from ear to ear. You can’t help but grin, feeling greedy for more of his adorable reactions, and feeling even bolder than before you step closer, resting your hands on his shoulders. “Please dance with me, Cupid. I’m sure you can do it.”

Is that smooth jazz beginning to fill the air? Maybe the realm of love plays its own ambient music when it wants to. Cupid appears frozen stiff now, mouth opening and closing a few times before he can finally break free of his statue stillness. Then he turns his head away, clearly too embarrassed to look even as he hesitantly sets his hands on your waist. High school prom dance style? Well, it could be worse. You give his shoulders a squeeze, broad and well-muscled under your fingers, and begin to lead a simple waltz in time with the music floating through the courtyard. You’re careful about your steps, both to avoid stepping on his toes, and to avoid getting stepped on by his awkwardly following gait. Man, he really doesn’t dance, huh. Endearingly terrible at it.

But he does begin to relax from his earlier flustered tension, and when he’s finally able to glance at you he has a faint smile on his lips - he looks so charming with that smile, you can feel your own cheeks beginning to grow warm now. This certainly isn’t the night out you were expecting, but it’s far more engaging than what you had planned. When the music starts to fade away you slow down and finally stop, finding your gaze caught on his face once more. He’s simply too handsome to look away from, and this time he seems caught up in gazing in return.

You decide to push your luck again, and lean in to steal a kiss. He’s definitely startled, judging by his shoulders going stiff, but his lips are pliant against yours, soft and warm and utterly kissable. It’s hard not to linger for more than a few seconds, but you withdraw to make sure you don’t overstay your welcome and instead admire just how red his face has turned thanks to you.

Again, his mouth opens and closes a few times before he clears his throat and looks away.

“You have proven yourself to be... quite adept at this.”

“I don’t want to waste the chance you’ve given to me. I’d like to prove to you I’m worth your time.”

“I see...” he trails off, looking thoughtful (if still somewhat embarrassed) for a minute before he gives his head a quick toss to get his hair out of his face. “Very well then. Let us see if you can keep up with the hero of love.”

Now Cupid is the one leaning in to kiss you, catching you off-guard for just a moment before you eagerly press closer. Still soft and kissable but this time he’s confidently leading the figurative dance (a lot better than his literal dancing). His arm wraps around your waist to hug you firmly against him, giving you the chance to bask in how warm he is compared to the brisk breeze that sweeps around the two of you. You’re ready to melt by the time he pulls back, and he begins to smirk faintly, raising a brow. “You look ready to fall apart.”

“Only if you kiss me again,” you reply, taking a deep breath to try and pull yourself together. Not that he gives you the chance, closing the distance again to deliver another passionate kiss that has you wrapping your arms around his neck with a soft moan. That seems to be the only excuse he needs to lift you off your feet, effortlessly strong it seems, and begin to carry you off. Where to, you’re not really sure, honestly too busy mapping the shape of his lips against yours and the faint sweetness just past them as if he’d been eating candy before. It makes sense, you suppose, for the hero of love to taste sweet. When your feet touch the ground again it sounds less like the stone pathway from earlier and more like... oh, that’s a nice wood floor.

You have to break away to breathe for a few moments, glancing about to spot warmly glowing paper lanterns, tatami mats, a neat little cot with rich red bedding - is this where he lives? Who knew Cupid kept such a tidy little place.

“Are you sure you wish to continue?”

Your attention snaps back to Cupid, staring at you almost as intently as you had first stared at him. It only takes you a second of thought as you lick your lips, and then part them to reply, “Please.”

It’s all the encouragement he needs to lift you again, this time swept up bridal style and carried to the bed where he lays you down gently before going right back in for another kiss. Your hands are quick to pull him down on top of you, pulling at the fabric of his toga in a vain attempt to understand how it might come undone. There’s a muffled chuckle that vibrates in his throat and against your lips, his hands sliding over yours and pulling them away for the moment to pin them over your head, an action that draws a low whine from you and a slight squirm. Is he really going to make you wait? Well, he hasn’t totally pinned you down, and you hitch a leg up over his hip to pull him down against you. That draws a deep hum from him and makes your guts churn with desire, rolling your hips up for some much-needed friction. He does respond to that with a slow grind of his own, evoking a moan that’s half-swallowed by his lips still fervently pressed to yours.

You have to break off once more to catch your breath again, gulping air while he watches with a satisfied look before turning his attention a little lower down and kissing his way along your neck. You’re more than willing to tilt your head up out of his way, yelping when he decides to get nippy and starts working a love bite onto the side of your neck.

Hips still frotting up into him, it’s hard not to be impatient and wriggle your arms in an attempt to slip from from his hold. His grip’s too firm to slide out of that easily, but he laughs quietly and bundles your wrists in the grasp of one hand so the other can glide down over your chest and stomach, settling on your hip to dictate the pace of your grinding to something far too leisurely.

“Oh, come on,” you whine, and he laughs again as he kisses the reddened spot he’s made and drags his lips along your neck, up to your ear.

“Patience is a skill you should practice as well. Shall I teach you?”

You can’t help shivering at the sultry tone, especially when he nibbles at your earlobe teasingly. “What if I ask nicely?”

Cupid hums, nibbling up along the shell of your ear and making you squirm with need. He’s making this as frustrating as possible just to test you, isn’t he? Finally he speaks again in that same low, seductive tone. “Tell me what your desire is, mortal mine.”

Your heart is pounding out of your chest, stomach twisting and turning with pure need - surely he can tell what you want right now, but he’s still going to make you say it out loud. You have to take a shaky breath to make sure your voice doesn’t crack or stumble when you manage to reply.

“I want you, please.”

There’s another deep hum of his, and then in short order his hands are working to undo your clothing, deft as can be in getting it out of his way as quickly, yet gently as possible. In just a few moments you’re lying bare against his sheets, flushed with warmth and need while he just as swiftly removes his own clothing. Ah, so that’s how a toga comes off. You don’t even try to keep your gaze from drifting down to the bulge in his shorts, though he simply smirks and spends the moment removing his sandals - damn, those are cool sandals, actually. You’ll have to ask where he got them later.

Right now though he’s finally slipping those shorts off, making a brief show of his cock catching against the waistband and stretching the fabric before finally coming free with an eager twitch. Half hard, still hidden in foreskin, but he’s well-endowed; you would be disappointed if the hero of love wasn’t packing. You’re trying to be patient this time, bringing your gaze to his face with a little pout until he huffs out a laugh and nods. In no time flat you’ve sat up and wrapped a hand around his dick to begin stroking it to a proper erection, smiling to yourself when he closes his eyes and lets out an appreciative moan. He looks irresistible, finding yourself leaning in and pressing kisses against his chest and down onto his stomach before you reach shapely V of his pelvis. Even his pubes are well-groomed... and trimmed to form an upside down heart. Amazing.

Back to the task at hand though, literally. If the stroking hasn’t done the job to get him hard, there’s no doubting that the look up you give him does the trick, his brief glance down resulting in another handsome blush and an enthusiastic twitch of his cock. You’ve done more than enough waiting by now and are quick to lick the first drops of pre off his head before starting to suck on the first few inches of him. He tastes surprisingly sweet, only the slightest hints of salt on your tongue from your first lick - it’s not overbearing, but it makes you curious to see what the rest will taste like. His hand comes to rest on your head, fingers brushing through your hair encouragingly while another moan leaves his throat. Another glance up at him, his eyes half-closed with pleasure and lips parted for quick breaths, and you’re spurred to work all the more eagerly, sucking as much of his cock as you can fit in your mouth while your hand strokes in time along the base of it. It’s a perfect fit almost, probably even better if you could deepthroat him from here, but... this is only the first date. You’ll hope for a second one so you can show Cupid even more of your desire for him.

When his fingers grab onto your hair firmly you ready yourself for the load that shortly follows, accompanied by a loud throaty moan - thick and warm, but rather than salty it’s sweetly vanilla and cinnamon, far too easy to swallow. You milk every last drop until his twitches subside before finally letting him free, licking the saliva off your lips as you catch your breath and look up at him again. He looks incredible, the barest sheen of sweat on his skin as he catches his own breath, as well as your gaze with those gorgeous greens.

“Do I need to practice that too?” you ask cheekily.

Cupid only snorts in response, hands moving to your shoulders to push you back down against the bedding. Despite your wiggles inviting him to climb on top, he settles his face between your legs instead and gives you the same look you had given him just earlier. You’re pretty sure your face is going to abruptly catch fire now, but before you can say anything he’s giving your cunt a proper eating out, and all your thoughts have flown right out the window to leave you pressed against the bed, squirming and moaning. He knows exactly what he’s doing, tongue drawing around your clit in between the licking and gentle sucking, and his hands have to hold onto your hips to minimize the needy rutting into his mouth. You’re pretty sure it takes you less time than him to climax with such an experienced mouth drawing you right along over the edge. He doesn’t let up on you until you’re breathless and limp, sitting up to finally give you a moment of respite and licking his own lips with a look that tells you he’s far from done with you.

“Don’t tell me you’ve run out of energy already,” he teases, and you muster up a defiant huff. “I can keep going. I still want you.”

“Then you shall have me, if you can handle me.”

The smirk he gives you is plenty enough to send your stomach somersaulting with renewed desire, and this time he does set himself on top of you, stroking himself slowly while leaning down to kiss you. This time there’s a salty taste that you know is your own cum still lingering in his mouth, a kiss that you still press into with an eager and open mouth to give him free rein to explore. The invitation is accepted almost as eagerly, though you’re soon distracted by his hand rubbing over your mound and sliding a warm pair of fingers between your vulva, still sensitive from your first orgasm. Squirming once more, legs twitching with each sly brush against your clit, every whine and moan is muffled against his mouth in spite of your noisiest efforts until you have to surface for air, a wanton ‘please’ huffed out between breaths.

“Since you asked so nicely, mortal mine.”

He’s going to drive you crazy with that silly epithet, but at least he’s finally sliding a pair of already slick fingers inside you, just thick enough to make you moan again and clench on them needily. In and out with a few lazy scissoring motions to make sure you’re relaxed and wet enough, though he still takes a moment to grab a nearby bottle and pour some of its contents in his hand, rubbing it along his cock and then along your cunt in turn. The smell is pleasant, almost spicy, and you can immediately feel the warmth of it against your skin seeming to seep in and tingle. It only further heightens your anticipation, trying to hold still for him while he’s lining himself up. You don’t want to look away from him pressing the thick head of his cock into you, not until the stretch of his girth makes you drop your head back with an eager moan and spread your legs out. He’s the perfect size, sliding in to the full length without a hint of discomfort - the perfect lover, it would make sense.

Cupid gives you a moment to adjust to his cock buried in you, and then starts to rock his hips in smooth, steady thrusts. His dry hand finds its way along your side to your hip to keep your own movements rolling in time with his, though you’re already painfully impatient for a pace that’s harder, faster, maybe just a little bit rough. You’re certain he can tell you’re getting needy again, but it’s also clear he’s going to make you wait for it, though there is some reprieve from his lube-slicked hand rubbing over your mound in rhythm with his thrusting.

“Please, I need you,” you whine, and he still has the dignity to blush in spite of being mid-coitus. But he recovers with a smirk, voice husky and maybe just a little bit shaky. “You already have me, do you not? Shall I mark you as mine too?”

A quick adjustment of position makes it easy for him to press down against you, finding a deeper angle for his thrusts that has your legs twitching every time he buries himself all the way. This time when his lips are pressed to your neck he makes sure each bite and suck is hard enough to bruise, and the hand between your legs is ensuring a firm brush along your clit with each stroke - you lock your legs around his hips to stop them from twitching so much, but it definitely doesn’t stop you from gasping and moaning. There isn’t anyone around to hear it, so you’re shamelessly loud for him, and the pleased groans muffled against your neck tell you that he’s having just as good of a time.

The pace turns fast and hard sooner than you expected from him but you’re not going to complain, working your hips to make sure each thrust touches the sweet spot that’s making your whole body tremble with pleasure. One of your hands finds its way to the back of his neck, urging him on with fingernails digging into his skin. Almost there again, legs shaking with need until one more drag of his hand pushes you to your next orgasm, more intense than the last and making your hips spasm hard into each thrust - but he isn’t stopping yet, despite each squeeze of your muscles makes him growl with need. He’s pushing right on through your climax, though his hand is giving your clit a much needed break, at least.

No, all he’s doing is adjusting your position by rolling you onto your back. You don’t have the breath to protest at the flip, and it’s barely a moment before he’s buried in your cunt again, slick enough that he has no issue picking right back up. The new angle provides a fresh sort of stimulation that keeps you gasping, and his lips find their way to your skin again, this time working a hickey on the muscle of your shoulder.

You aren’t going to forget this encounter any time soon, not if his marks have anything to say about it.

Now he’s getting close, thrusts turning choppy and rough - his hand is back on your clit, working it mercilessly this time and forcing overstimulated cries from your throat. Trying to push you over the edge one last time you’re sure, and you’re simply coming along for the ride now as he makes his last few thrusts and presses his hips firmly to yours. His hand hasn’t stopped moving, and the pain-pleasure of overstimulation along with the heat of his cum spilling into you is just enough to drag a final orgasm from you, jerking and moaning under him helplessly. Even after you go limp he keeps you pinned in place for the time being, breathing hard but slowly starting to release the last bits of tension until he has the energy to pull out and lay himself down beside you.

You muster just enough energy to turn your head and look at Cupid - in spite of all the sweat and heaving breaths he’s still ravishingly handsome, flushed with exertion and eyes half-closed only to open properly when he realizes you’re watching him. A smirk plays along his lips, and he gives his somehow still perfect lock of hair a toss to get it out of his way.

“You did well, mortal. Better than I anticipated.”

“Yeah?”

You’re trying to sound nonchalant, but you haven’t quite caught your breath yet so it simply sounds eager. Cupid’s smirk only grows. “You still have much to learn, though. Perhaps I could be willing to assist you... at least until you have found someone whose heart you desire.”

For a moment you focus on calming your breathing down, contemplating your response. “... I liked it better when you called me yours. Though, the mortal part is a little weird.”

He huffs a little with amusement, and you can see the hesitation before he reaches over to brush his fingers along your cheek. “My heart would be no easy matter for a mere mortal to win over. You must be truly prepared to work for it.”

You tilt your head into his touch, closing your eyes with a hum. “I can be really stubborn.”

There’s a quiet chuckle from him, followed by a relaxed silence that, despite your best effort, lulls you to sleep - you think you feel Cupid wrap you in his arms before you’re effectively dead to the world from exhaustion, and the thought colors your dreams with giddy satisfaction.

But you wake up in your own bed, alone and fully dressed, head fuzzy from sleep that leaves you confused and worried. Did you dream up the whole evening? Maybe work wore you out just enough that you never actually made it out to the club, and it was just one vivid, delicious dream... either way, it’s late enough in the morning you should get up, stumbling into the bathroom to start brushing your teeth. Except-

That’s a perfectly heart-shaped hickey on your neck. And your shoulder.

“Huh...”

Here’s hoping Cupid gives you another date soon.

[pokckygamewithbatman]

I watched My Adventures with Superman

The title sounds like a porno.

Oh… It's so bad… It's so unbelievably terrible. I really wanted to have faith that it would at least be decent. Even if it was a copy paste of the 1979 animated series that would've been fine with me but this is actually trash. HIS POWERS MANIFEST WHEN HE'S A TEEN, HE'S NOT SCARED TO MEET HIS HOLOGRAM ALIEN PARENTS, HIS PARENTS ARE SUPPORTIVE OF THE FACT THAT HE'S ADOPTED, LOIS IS COOL AND AN ACTUAL PART OF THE PLANET, JIMMY IS NOT SMOOTH. What are they doing to these characters I don't care that Lois is Korean, and that Jimmy is black, I honestly don't give a shit just make them good characters SHOWING DIVERSITY IN SHITTY SHOWS DOESN'T AUTOMATICALLY MAKE THE SHOW GOOD IT JUST GIVES A BAD REP TO DIVERSIFYING CHARACTERS.

I am so sad they sped up his backstory, I'm so sad they're starting with all 3 of them as interns, I'm so sad that Clark's powers are manifesting so slowly, I'm so sad that he doesn't make his suit, why can't he control his strength that's the power he's had the longest, why are they completely ignoring his super hearing, why is Lois a tomboy, why is Jimmy so into aliens, who is the lady who stole the robots? Is she supposed to be Metallo? If not then where is Metallo? Why hasn't the superpowered character actually defeated any villains yet, why is Superman so weak?? Why does he get a black eye, why do his powers fully manifest when Lois is in danger, why so they speed up the chemistry of Lois and Clark it takes YEARS before they get close and start dating and get married. Why is Jimmy pushing Lois and Clark who hard, how old are they supposed to be exactly? Also why are they making all the superpowered villains kids with tech? That angle is so crappy and takes away so much of the awesomeness? Why is Silver Banshee a preteen with a magic helmet she's not Elmer Fudd why am I here.

One thing that super pissed me off is Ivo. THIS SHOW IS TRYING TO TELL ME THAT 1. IVO IS A DOUCHEBAG 2. HE CREATED PARASITE 3. PARASITE ISN'T THE RESULT OF BIOCHEMICALS BUT IS ACTUALLY A TECHY ASS SUIT 4. THAT RUDY JONES ISN'T PARASITE 5. THAT PARASITE DOESN'T ABSORB POWERS BUT SIMPLY REFLECTS THEM BACK AT THE OPPONENT. Also the suit itself doesn't make any sense and is a total rip off of Green Beetle's design in Young Justice, just trust me, also why does it look like an insect? Parasite doesn't have ties with insects, like kinda in the way that he's resilient I guess, but that's about it yk. But wait something that's actually interesting happens: For some reason, completely unexplained (maybe the assistant/Lois and Jimmy messed with buttons), the suit turned on Ivo and when Superman ripped it there was a shriveled man underneath omgggg BUT we don't even get to savour that bit of somewhat interesting plot bc OH MY GOD LOIS FIGURES OUT SUPERMAN IS CLARK KENT ON EPISODE 4.

Side note: the animation and art style is so lazy, and the S that symbolizes peace or sumn I don't remember on his suit is barely legible?? Also where's the S shaped hair piece because that shit is iconic.

Look at these two designs. Just look at it.

Here's why the title "My Adventures with Superman" is the worst possible title for this show: This isn't from the audience's perspective, it's from Superman's perspective, and he's not having adventures with himself, also Adventures implies an episodic series, and this is definitely trying to have a long running plot; key word "trying", also adventures with superman makes him sound like your friendly neighbourhood hero, man could crush a mountain easily he's no neighbourhood nothing and It also implies he's not even the main character; that a self insert audience character would be but like I said that's not the case. Superman: The Animated Series is straight forward, not fucking around we're doing a show about The Man, it's animated, there you go. This show however is so dumb it hurts my brain. They've done nothing right.

I enjoyed Steve. Steve is at least halfway accurate, I'll give them that.

I fucked up and deleted like half of my post and it won't come back, so even thought there's SO much more about how stupid Lois is, why Amanda Waller is keeping close personal tabs on Superman is she's the leader of Cadmus, why are there Teen Titans villains in this show (ie, Slade/Deathstroke and The Brain and M. Mallah), and why is Wheatley and therapist gorilla in this show, who are they? Are they meant to be my beloved assholes Brain and Mallah?

I had to stop watching after I saw the Brain and Monsieur Mallah, it hurt too much. They took away my machine gun beret monkey.

[siri-ike]

Green with envy

Crossover fic between DC and rottmnt

Chapter 1

"Restraint has never been Gars strong suit... and right now the painkillers were still making it kind of hard to tell whether he was speaking out loud or just thinking."

Gar said out loud in the middle of a New York street where an average-person-sized orange glowing portal had appeared.

"It would be stupid of him to rush head first into what is almost certainly mortal danger."

He continues, looking back around to the more yellowy portal Cyborg had made leading back to their base, pretending to mull it over.

"And not being able to shapeshift would leave him completely vulnerable were he to be ambushed by whomstever was daring enough to set such an obvious trap."

Gar turns back towards the unknown danger.

"It certainly looks alot like a boomtube, but it didn't make the signature boom sound and it's much flatter too. It smells weird. Like turtles and angst."

Gar inhaled deeply trough his nose

"Box turtle. Ornate box turtle."

Gar holds his hand up to the portal and closes his eyes

"There's heat coming from it. And it's kinda sizzling."

Turning his head to listen to the faint sounds coming from the mysterious circle.

"Razzmatazz"

He finally quietly utters to his communicator, leaving no time for response before jumping straight into the portal.

It's hot. Really hot but not like fire. More like a hot summer day. It doesn't burn but it's definitely not comfortable. Without thinking Gar switches to a more reptilian version of himself. Not drastically, just the basics cold blood, scales and transparent eyelids (and a tail, obviously) and with the change came a sudden shooting pain through his arm. Only a few seconds passed going from the street he was standing on to what appeared to be a green house.

_______

Restraint has never been Mikeys strong suit and the giant lizad yokai sitting in the middle of his magic circle just backs up this fact. Mikey looks in shock at Draxum, who in turn looks confused at his student and the small reptilian child clutching it's arm in pain. Did it get hurt during the summoning? No, it's already in an improvised sling and wrapped around the creature's body. You can't perform first aid inside the portal, there just wouldn't be time. Perhaps if we remain calm we might get some information out of it. Such as how it got in here.

_______

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. I just kidnapped someone! I'm a kidnapper. They can't be any older than I am and I don't want to be kidnapped! I would be so scared! They must be so scared!

Mikey thinks while doing a poor job trying not to look like he might start crying.

_______

The pain in his arm is remarkably sobering. And that's a good thing right now, who knows what sensitive information he might have revealed.

Gar sneaks a peak at the pill-bottle in his palm, disguising the action by clutching his broken arm and placing his chin to his chest. It's too high a dose. I'm smaller than the others I'm supposed to get a smaller dose than them. What was I supposed to do brake the pill in half these things are tiny. The pain is long gone but he felt so good a minute ago, maybe just one more. Gar twists the childproof cap on itself so it makes that clicking sound, it's nice, just focus on the click. And don't give yourself even more of an overdose. Focus. Where are you? Gar looks around. Greenhouse, got it. Full of weird purple plants but definetly plants. Who brought you here? Weird goat-man and a crying turtle-person, metahumans? Aliens? Other? And what angle are they trying to pull with those waterworks. Is this a different planet? Whether it is or isn't, it's definitely worth skipping the mission briefing for. Gar looks back down and notices the circle on the floor glowing a similar shade of orange as the portal he walked into. Walked into? He walked into a mysterious glowing portal without knowing anything about it, what if it had led directly into the vacuum of space? What then? Gar shook his head a bit. No, stop that, there's no time to worry about the past. Keep assessing the situation. There's one adult in the room. One who doesn't look too concerned about his presence, they must have brought him here on purpose, but then why is that kid so upset.

"Ornate box-turtle"

Gar finally addressed hazely

______

Oh-good it speaks, that should make it easier to study

______

Mikey tries his best to wipe away the tears on his face but they just keep coming back.

"I d-didn't me-mean to kidn-nap you!"

He let's out with all the grace of a drowning hippo.

"I'm so-o sor-r-ry"

He barely manages between quick gasps for air. Mikey knows it's always better to apologize sooner rather than later but maybe he should have tried to calm down first. But what's he supposed to do? Donny and Leo would know, they dabble in the occasional crimes and they never get caught. Or Raph he always knows... I mean he's great in stressful-... he could-... he's a comforting presence, ok.

"I'm Mikey"

He finally says something without stuttering. Only to gather a glare from Draxum as though he'd done something wrong. Which of course he had, he had just mysticly kidnapped a stranger. This stranger is probably so mad at him right now. And oh no here come the tears again.

______

He's crying, what kind of tactic is that supposed to be? Is he trying to appear vulnerable so I'll underestimate him. 'Cause it's not gonna work. Do you know how much Caulder would kill him if he underestimated an opponent? Neither does he, for he's never been foolish enough to find out. Gar shifts to stand up but finds his legs are sore, come to think of it; he hadn't really sat down at all in nearly 14 hours. It's just been back to back missions, training and a stupid gala where he had to be all polite and proper and not be suspicious. His speed had already been suffering during that fight with the titans in the library. Resulting in a broken arm.

______

"Michelangelo, a word."

Draxum said cold and dry as he escorts his experiment out of the room. Mikeys talent and skill with the mystic arts is exemplary, and admittedly also the reason he got away with these sorts of outbursts. And as much as it dismayed Baron Draxum, Michelangelos mystic energy tended to dampen after a scolding so for now this would be the way things were. The pair walked over to Draxums kitchen where he sternly asked.

"What were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry, it wasn't on purpose."

Oh, great he's distraught again, or still. What was the point in giving these things emotions again?

"Michelangelo."

There was audible annoyance in Draxums voice.

"What were you thinking about when you were casting the viewing spell?"

"Um... I'm not sure."

"You're not sure?"

This time a little anger slipped out and Draxum immediately regretted it. Not because Mikeys scared, no, of course not. It's because he's crying, which makes him even more annoying to deal with.

"Stop, take a deep breath. What happened leading up to the spell?"

"You were there."

"I know."

Draxum snapped before taking a deep breath himself.

"Tell me what happened from your perspective."

Restraint has never been Draxums strength, but he'd been working on it, mostly for Michelangelo (and a little bit for himself) it has yielded significant improvements in his ability to learn.

"Well-"

Mikey whimpered. Before planting his face directly into Barry's abdomen. Physical touch may not be Barons favorite, but at least the child is calming down.

______

'Everything is a lot less overwhelmingly bright and loud when you just smush your face into the nearest person who'll let you.' This was a fact Mikey had known for a long time.

"First we set up the magic circle"

Mikeys voice slightly mufled by Barry's robe.

"Then we called Leo to make sure he's ready. Wait we should call him again to tell him what happened, he's probably still waiting at that construction site."

The view spell was supposed to let them see someone wherever they were. Then later he was gonna learn a communication spell. Leo referred to it as mystic face time, Donny called it an invasion of privacy and disrespectful to the integrity of his 'fully legal and safe, non-radioactive experiments' so Mikey promised not to use it on him.

"Then we kneeled down, touched it and I thought about Leo, like you said."

Mikey backs away a bit and thinks.

"There was a noise."

"A noise?"

Barry responded

"Yeah. It was weird, I remember thinking maybe it was a wild animal that broke into the lab. Then I thought, what if it's not a wild animal but a highly trained spy, what if it's an animal that was trained to break in and watch us and what if it's aggressive! Like Donnie! And then I thought Donnie wouldn't bother braking in himself, he'd just send Shelldon. And then I remembered that Shelldon died and Donnie probably misses him and I should try harder to get him to talk about it, 'cause I gotta help... and then... I- uhm-"

Mikey trailed off muttering a bit and avoiding eye contact.

"And then?"

Barry really emphasized the 'this better not be necromancy' tone he'd gotten so good at ever since everyone nearly died. Mikey's kind-of been on thin ice when it comes to mystic training since the whole Kraang-incident and this definitely won't help with that.

"Shelldon was like Donnies son, which makes him a Hamato."

Mikey paused knowing full well the stupidity to which he was about to confess.

"Hamatos become ghosts when they die and last week we were learning how to bind a spirit to an object like a doll."

_____

Barry had known several sentences ago where this was going, the old Baron would have started yelling. 'How could you do something so stupid, I created you better than this, accidentally summoning dead souls? ROBOTS DONT HAVE SOULS!' but that was the old Barry, who would shortly after have gotten a talk with either Dr feelings or Dr delicate touch.

"I know Shelldon probably didn't have a Hamato spirit because he's not technically related to us."

Mikey said, very nearly using his entire braincell.

"Ok. Fine, we can deal with this. Next we need to find out why those things led to this specific yokai being summoned."

"Or he could be a ghost. Or a zombie."

Mikey replied much more cheerful than he had just been. Barry doesn't reply, instead giving a contempt smile at the smallest of his experiments as they return to the botany room where the small humanoid lizard looked as if it had gotten even smaller the way it hunched in on itself.

_____

'They're back- gotta be ready- danger-' Gar try sit up right, week bad. Scared. No, not scared. Never scared. Scared week. Not week.

_____

The lizard yokai let's out a whimper, a roar? Growl? Hard to tell, deffinetly supposed to be scary.

"I'm going to put down the barrier, can you stay still please? You don't look too good."

The yokai or possibly mutant didn't respond, or even acknowledge that anything was said.

"There."

Mikey said as the circle dimmed to a faint residue glow.

_____

Aww, swear words. We're not getting anything out of it now. Draxum thinks looking at the collapsed pile of reptile on the floor infront of him. Then he looks over to the pile of reptile next to him who has once again resumed crying.

_____

"They're dead! They're dead! I killed a stranger they're dead!"

Mikey screams although it's hard to tell with how high pitched it was.

Draxum walks over to the creature and nudges it. Prompting a disaproving noise of some sort to come out of them. Ok, not dead. They sound small and angry. And why wouldn't it be, who wouldn't be upset about being kidnapped, and severely injured? Maybe Drax'll be able to fix that if we can bring them to the lab. Mikey picks himself up of the floor and walks over to the others.

_____

&#*,(b% d,&ie$@ jj*d@(n*s(j

_____

"Can you fix their arm?"

He asks.

"Their? It's one yokai."

"Oh, um, well. I dunno, 'she' doesn't feel right, and 'he' seems closer, but still not it. Can you fix the arm? Is it broken"

"Appears that way bring it- them to my lab."

Mikey lights up and, with careful enthusiasm, easily picks up their guest as though they weigh nothing more than a pillow. A rather cumbersome and uncooperative pillow.

"Stop moving, we're trying to help. I know this must be a really scary situation to be in but I promise I'm not trying to hurt you."

"Ngh, nght scrr"

The creature managed to grit through its teeth. Oddly sharp teeth, maybe it is a mutant. That would also explain why its clothes are so torn up.

Next

[oblongblockofsteel]

On a small patch of wildflowers 2

Bill wants answers from Trelawny.

Part One

He stares at the tree line for what feels like days. His mind running a mile a minute, his heart seemingly trying to catch up with how fast it’s beating.

B. W.

Bill Williamson.

Trelawny likes him. The thought alone sends a burst of vertigo through his head, and on instinct his hand reaches out to grab a tree, head still spinning as he steadies himself. Trelawny likes him. It don’t seem right. Like the start of a bad joke, one that they’re about to spring on him any second.

He stares at the pocketknife.

It’s a damned expensive joke.

“I bought this for him when he'd needed one three years ago, I'd fancied the idea of giving it to him and declaring my undying love.”

And like a brittle twig, his anger snaps, whirling through him in a blaze burning up all good will as his mind slips in the pieces. Love? Fuck that man he’s absolutely fucking with me! Trying ta make fun of me! Just another joke –

That gets Bill moving. Through the trees, between the bushes and out he bursts into the camp. The sun is setting, casting the world in those bright golds and reds. Around him the gang is getting ready for dinner, bustling between tents and fire, chattering and laughing. But he can’t see Trelawny. Getting an inclination he storms to the man’s bedroll. It’s up the slope, to left and –

It’s empty. Bag is missing, as is that fine blanket the man seems to carry with him wherever he goes. Bill gnashes his teeth, his hand tightening around the pocketknife tight enough to bite into his skin.

“Hey, Bill where’s the fi– hey!“

He shoves past Morgan and heads straight for the horses. His heart pounding, hands sweating, if that snake has left –

“He thinks I’m a snake.”

Shoving the thought down, he marches on, past a startled Javier –

And finds Trelawny just sliding his foot into the stirrup, ready to mount up.

“Trelawny!” he yells, startling a few birds from their perches. He can feel the eyes of the gang on him, but he doesn’t care. Trelawny yanks his foot out of the stirrup and quickly backs up. But there is no fear in his eyes, they seem almost expressionless.

“Yes, Mr Willi-ah!”

Grabbing the man by the arm he drags him away from the horses and deep into the trees where he knows the others won’t find them. Far from patrols, from prying eyes and curious ears, and if they want to find him, and they most likely will, he’ll blow their faces off.

A good forty paces he marches them both, hand gripping hard enough to bruise, to leave marks on his skin, but Bill doesn’t care. His anger is only mounting with each step. Yanking hard on his arm, he practically tosses Trelawny forward, watching the man stumble and grab for a tree to stop from falling. And then he’s storming up to him like a raging bull, his nostrils flared, and chest puffed. With a sharp move he sticks the pocketknife under the man’s nose and –

“This some kind of joke?”

It’s really the only thing he’s been able to think of. It has to be some kind of perverse joke to make him do something stupid. Everyone knows Bill Williamson is fun to tease and to rile up, cause you always get a damned reaction.

Trelawny looks at the pocketknife then back at Bill, “Will it make you feel better or worse if I tell you it is?”

His other hand grabs Trelawny’s jacket without thought, pulling the man close enough to see the flecks of blue in his green eyes, “Don’t you fucking start! What’s your damn angle, Trelawny!”

“I do not have an –“

“Bullshit!” both hands curl into his lapels, wrinkling the fine material, “You always got some kinda fucking angle, a con, a deal, a lie, a trick, and I wanna know what the fuck you’re trying to pull!”

“I like you, Mr Williamson, that’s all there is to it.”

“Oh! So you like me do ya?” His anger warps, plucking at that dark corner of his mind that often rears its head when he’s angry enough. When he becomes spiteful, daring, ugly and murderous.

“Wanna be my sweetheart? Cuddle up at night? Make me feel good?”

Trelawny’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say a word. Taking a firmer grip on his jacket Bill grins, pressing Trelawny against the tree hard enough to make him wince.

“Then I guess you’ll just love this, won’t you Josiah?”

In the next instant he leans in and slams their mouths together. It’s stiff, and soft, and tastes like peppermint. But Bill is smiling, satisfied and waiting for him to yank away, to spit and curse at him for being so stupid. To prove to him once and for all that –

Oh.

Trelawny kisses back with a fervor that catches him off guard and he stumbles back a little, but Trelawny follows, hands now curling around his shoulders, dragging him back in against him and Bill is suddenly pressed up against his chest. Their mouths meet again wet, slick and rough, sending pulses of delicious want down to his groin.

It’s been too long, he thinks, his hands sliding up to Trelawny’s neck to feel the texture of his skin. Trelawny moans soft and sweet, his mouth sliding over his own, pulling away for a sharp breath and leans back in –

Bill turns away abruptly, stumbling back, his eyes wide, anger blown away in the aftershock of such a bombshell.

“Satisfied?” Trelawny asks, voice hard but eyes soft, almost contented. It’s too soft, too much sweetness. Bill shakes his head and staggers back another few steps.

“You’re a damned snake, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told, Mr Williamson.”

“Fuck you, Trelawny! Jumping this on someone is damned messed up!” The anger pulses and all he can think of is to shout, “You never said anything!”

Trelawny doesn’t answer right away, a rare instance where the conman seems to be at a loss, but Bill is too riled up to appreciate it. “I never even considered that you would have reciprocated.”

“I wouldn’t and I don’t!”

Trelawny shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets as if the situation was as irksome as waiting for a train that’s a little late. “Like I said, I never considered it.”

Bill marches a few paces, stops then turns back. Trelawny is watching him, the softness from before completely vanished.

“It makes no goddamned sense!” he finally settles for, grasping at the first thought that flies by. “You expect me to believe that you, a stinkin’ cockroach that rubs shoulders with high society, likes me?” he laughs, mirthless and bitter, “A big old bastard who can get real fucking nasty?”

Again, Trelawny shrugs, “Believe what you will, the pocketknife should be evidence enough.”

His eyes snap down to said pocketknife. It’s glittering in the dying sun, catching the fine feature of the bear standing by the water. The eyes are now golden. It’s still as beautiful and intricate as it was ten minutes ago when it was pushed into his hands. His anger dims, leaving him with a feeling of something he can’t quite identify. But it’s warm, and flutters in his chest.

Bill frowns, rubs his brow –

“Kieran likes you, Bill.”

Bill’s head shoots up, his heart hammering. Trelawny, arms now crossed is staring at the ground expression hidden by shadows.

“What?” Bill manages.

When Trelawny speaks again his voice is softer than Bill has ever remembered hearing it. “After he left you, he was quite distraught. I bumped into the lad, and he told me what had happened. He was quite upset, you see, because he felt like he’d ruined it.”

No, that can’t be right. Kieran had told him…

“He told me he don’t feel that way about me.” He manages, voice cracking at the edge as the memory tightens around his heart.

“Because he’s terrified,” Trelawny sighs, “You are a force to be reckoned with when you are having one of your gnashes. When you’re drunk, when you feel someone has slighted you. You are a bastard, Bill Williamson. He’s willing, but terrified of what a relationship with you would entail.”

“I’d never hurt him…”

“He doesn’t know that! All he knows is what he sees, and what he sees is a man quick to anger with a chip on his shoulder.”

“Well, gee thanks.” Bill sneers, “Glad to know what you see in me.”

Trelawny shrugs, waving a dismissive hand, “It’s what he sees,” he tucks a hand into his pocket, the other now used to gesture, “And it’s up to you to get him to see past that, see you for the man you are! Not the one you’ve molded yourself into through bitterness, resentment and drink.”

The words flash another burst of anger straight through him, and Bill steps closer, slamming a finger into the man’s chest. “Fuck you Trelawny! I still wanna know what’s your fucking angle! You just telling me this out of the goodness of your heart?”

Trelawny stares intently at his finger. Bill glances down and quickly removes it.

“I do wish to see you happy for once,” he says after a pause, “and Kieran might be that catalyst you need.”

Bill snorts, “So you don’t mind me fucking other men then?”

Trelawny looks away, and when next he speaks it feels measured, almost tight. “It’s not about what I want, it’s what’s best for the both of you.”

Bill has no idea how to respond to that. What even could he say? The man just confessed a three year old crush, just handed him a pocketknife worth a good deal of money and now he’s pushing him into the arms of someone else because ‘it’s best for him’.

What the fuck could he even say to that? It’s love if he’s ever been a judge, if Trelawny is being honest then that must be love. With a hard sigh, Bill walks a few paces glaring at the ground. How does one even handle something like this?

Should he accept?

Should he give the knife back?

Watching the sun glitter over the silver, a thought begins to niggle at him. It’s been waving at him for a while now, trying to get his attention through his anger and suspicion. Coming to a stop a few feet from Trelawny, he turns a hard glare on him.

“If you like me so much, why the hell didn’t you ever take the damn time ta get to know me? You just said it’s what I should do! Why didn’t you?”

Trelawny surprises him with a burst of laughter, “I did, I tried many times.” Bill stares at him, his anger dissipating under the rush of confusion.

“I often would try and sit with you by the fire, but you were quick to get up and leave when the others had left.” He clears his throat, “I asked Dutch to pair us up and you well, complained so much that Dutch stopped me from asking again. Then I ah, tried to talk you from time to time around camp, but you were always damned eager to be out of my company. After around two years of this, I just stopped trying.”

A sharp heat rushes over his cheeks, and he looks away. He remembers that. He remembers his own discomfort of being seen with Trelawny, remembers thinking how much he hates spending time with him. Remembers when he went and complained to Dutch that he hates going on jobs with that ‘goddamned snake’. If he was honest it was never anything Trelawny did, it was more just being associated with a man that had such a poor reputation in the gang – making him in turn look worse than he already had. He feels sick…

He gets angry instead.

“That’s your own Goddamned fault for being such a nuisance!” Bill snarls. He’s ticked off, feeling scruffy and vulnerable and he wants to beat someone, and Trelawny is standing right there. But the words felt tainted on his tongue, heavy and difficult to spit out.

 “It ain my fault that you were such a fucking …” he hesitates.

“Snake?”

“Fuck you!”

Trelawny laughs, and pats him lightly on the shoulder, pulling back quickly as if he doesn’t want to bother him. “I know, Bill. You didn’t know, and you don’t feel the same way, I can’t make you think differently, but that’s my problem. Just don’t leave Kieran for too long, the lad won’t wait forever.”

“You did.”

Trelawny freezes as if stung, and Bill instantly regrets letting that slip. “Sorry.”

Another brusque wave of the hand, but it feels sharper. “C'est la vie, but now you can give Kieran the chance to get to know you. To see in you what I do.”

The words swirl into him, landing in his chest and blooming outwards like a large pulse or wave rushing over the rubble of his soul. What does he see in me?

Trelawny clears his throat. “In any event, I believe we’ve each said our piece. I am sorry for dropping this on you, but at least you can –“

“What do you see in me?”

Trelawny freezes, the sun catches parts of his face making his expression downright murderous. The words had shot out without much thought or consent, but Bill had to know. Why someone actually liked him. Not as a joke or a few dollars pressed into a silky hand, but why they liked Bill. He had to know, what in the world could a man like Trelawny even sees in him. What had he done right?

 “Not for your social graces,” He says, voice hard. “You can be a bull in a China shop, and your insecurities can turn you into a petty, vicious man.”

Bill’s fists curl up into hammers, but he swallows and then nods, feeling his chest expand in an almost painful way. What had he expected? He shouldn’t have assaulted and attacked the man. But then, Trelawny shouldn’t have jumped this shit on him.

The shadows lengthen further as the sky darkness, swallowing the warm reds and leaving them in that cold ugly part of dusk where the colours become muted and soft. Fitting, he thinks. First he gets rejected and now he loses a man that actually liked him.

Idiot.

“It’s fine, I’ll just –“

“But certainly for your fire.” Trelawny cuts him off.

He glances up, heart racking up in beats. Trelawny, arms crossed behind his back is staring off at the bleak horizon.

“I like you because you are stronger and fiercer thank you know. Your doubt cripples you, a constant need to be what others want you to be, to fit in, to be accepted. But when you forget yourself? You are a sight to behold.”

The wind whispers, beyond the trees he’s vaguely aware of the bustle of camp but it barely registers, all sound and life fading away as his whole being focuses on Trelawny.

“You can be …fiery and fantastical, few can match your skill in battle. I’ve seen you blast a man’s face off at fifty paces with a pistol that should have been in a museum.” He smiles, faint and soft, “I also remember how little you cared of achieving that fantastical feat, as if it was a day as any other.”

“So, you just like the way I fight?”

“I like the way you are,” he says, now finally looking at him, eyes again that sweet softness that makes Bill’s throat go dry. “I like your candor and vigour, your honesty which is a breath of fresh air in a life of cons and lies. I like the fact that you care about this camp, so much so that I have seen you give up food to ensure others will eat.”

Bill flushes for the second time that night. At the time he thought no one had noticed. It had been a bad time for the gang, a drought had struck the land and soon after they couldn’t find a rabbit to shoot. He’d take his food to his tent, wait a few hours and then go back to scrape it back into the pot, giving someone else the chance to grab a bite should they need it.

“Your wish for comradery is endearing, despite how you protest about how much we mean to you, and I know for a fact that if anyone in this band of merry men was in trouble, you would race to their aide. Even myself, despite what you think of me.”

Of course I would, Bill swallows down the words.

“I care about you Bill Williamson, because despite that bastard exterior, when you stop caring about what other people think, there is a sweetness in you that’s too hard not to… care about, and a strength I can’t help but admire.”

The soft hum of the forest settles around them, and in the silence Bill realizes he’s practically panting. Taking a deep breath, it shudders out from his lungs in a jagged sigh. He feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest, but handled like a fine porcelain doll. He feels raw, torn open, bleeding but the kind of bleeding that’s good, that lets the ugliness out.

It hurts, but it’s a good kind of hurt.

And he wants to stay there. He wants to stay in this little bubble where someone is telling him that he’s wonderful, like he matters, like he’s not just a dumb fuck with more muscle than brains.

He wants to treasure it, to keep it forever.

A gentle takes his own in his, lifting it to wrap his fingers properly around the pocketknife. And Bill presses hand over his eyes to hold back what he hopes isn’t tears.

“Go to Kieran,” Trelawny says, voice rougher than before, still soft and sweet. “And go and show him the man I know you are.”

“I … waiting … tell me the ….”

 “Mm?”

Another hard breath and Bill finds his voice, “I keep waiting for you to tell me what the joke is.”

A wry smile comes as answers, “No joke,” he pats his hand. “Perhaps a little foolishness on my part for jumping this on you, but no joke.” He pauses, fingers still wrapped around his fist. Bill can feel the texture of his hands, the heat from his body –

And then they fall away, and all he can feel is their impression still burning on his skin. He swallows again, feeling lost.

“I am very sorry for dropping this on you, dear boy,” he shakes his head, “I could have handled it better, to be sure.”

“It’s fine, no one’s ever…” and his mouth slams shut as embarrassment washes over him. No has ever desired him like this. Never like this. “It’s fine.”

Trelawny eyes him for a moment, as if searching for something, and then nods satisfied. “Good. Now I must be on my way. I wish you luck with Kieran!”

Bill glances around; the sun has died, leaving them in the murky dusk. “It’s getting dark,”

“Gwydion knows the way.”

“But it’s dangerous out on the roads.”

Trelawny snorts and steps around him, “I’ve been taking care of myself since I was thirteen, I can handle myself. And you’d be surprised how far you can get with a pen knife! Good evening to you!”

He swaggers off to the tree line, confident and comfortable, as if riding at the dead of night is ordinary. That’s what I like about you, he thinks suddenly, you’re tougher than you look. And despite what others say, you really care about us.

He wonders if he’s always seen that or just tonight.

“Oh, and Mr Williamson.”

He startles and looks up, Trelawny is bathed in moonlight, his eyes shining and bright. For a moment he looks ethereal, Bill’s heart begins to race.

“In my experience, when something bothers me to the extent that I feel ashamed of it,” he runs a hand over his own hair, greasing it back, deliberate and firm, “I get rid of it.”

And with a quick bow he disappears between the trees, leaving Bill pondering a lot more then Kieran Duffy. His fist curls lightly around the pocketknife, and he feels the sudden sting of loss.

A/N I was surprised by the positive feedback for the first part, so I decided to write up a second. I'd love to know if this worked or not and get some honest feedback, as it was a surprisingly difficult piece to get down. Thank you! ♥

[miss-musings]

Because I've watched this scene and these gifs more times than I can count, I'm going to give you a quick breakdown of all the little details in this scene. (Many people already shared some of these in the tags/reblogs on this post. I just felt like compiling all of them into one, while also adding some of my own observations.)

First gif: Omega stops a few feet away from them. Hunter looks at Omega and seems to smile, while Crosshair closes his eyes, shakes his head and chuckles. My HC is that he's thinking back to their conversation in 3.05: "You're capable, but you are still a kid." He now realizes it's both: she's capable AND she's a kid -- their kid.

Second gif: Omega is looking at Hunter first. Then her eyes move to Crosshair, and then specifically down to his missing hand. This is the first time she sees that his right hand is gone. (She saw him earlier in the CX lab, but she didn't see his hand was missing because she was on his left side.)

Third gif: Hunter looks from Omega to Crosshair (and seems to specifically look down at his missing hand). Meanwhile, Crosshair almost looks like he's spacing out at first, but then he looks up at Omega. I love his expression here. I really think this is when he finally realizes their fight is over, but I just can't shake the impression of a dog/cat looking at its owner like, "So... Did I do... good?" (I think someone else said in the tags/reblogs that they look like cats who brought her a dead bird or something. LOL. I really can't unsee it now, especially with how Crosshair's expression changes as he looks at Omega.)

Fourth gif: Omega's eyes flick from Crosshair's face to his missing hand back to his face again. She then bursts into tears. 😭 (It's hard to tell with the rain, but when they stand up later, she definitely wipes tears from her eyes.)

Fifth gif: We got a lot going on in this one, so let's go left to right. Hunter turns to watch Omega hug Crosshair, and he seems to be happy or at least content to see the two of them embrace. Then, we have Omega closing her eyes and straight up throwing herself at Crosshair. (Very reminiscent of how she hugged Echo in 2.14.) If you look really closely, you can see some tears/rain flying off Omega's face as she does. Finally, you can tell from the way Crosshair's torso/head jerks back as she embraces him that he was NOT ready for that. Like girl just barreled into him with no warning. (Again, kinda like what happened when she hugged Echo the first time in 2.08.) Then, the shot switches to Crosshair's face and you can see how shocked he is: wide eyes and slightly open mouth. 😯 There's a lot of other emotions going on there, but shock is probably the biggest/most noticeable one. Also, the English-Audio Description says Crosshair’s eyes well with tears once Omega hugs him. Even with a brightened gif, I don’t see any tears in his eyes, but this would absolutely be the moment for them.

Sixth gif: Crosshair's eyes shift from looking forward to looking at Omega. His expression changes too: his mouth is closed and his eyes have softened. It's a look of pure love. Both Omega herself and the shot move to bring Hunter into the hug too. We get a view of all three of them now. Crosshair closes his eyes and leans his head against hers. Hunter, who also has a very soft and happy expression on his face, also closes his eyes and leans into Omega. He also puts his green-gloved left hand on her back. (I've seen a lot of people ask whether it's Hunter's hand or Crosshair's. It's definitely Hunter's. Crosshair is still holding his rifle in his left hand, as we see later when they stand up. Meanwhile, Hunter's free left hand is holding Omega and -- as we see in the next gif -- his right hand and blaster are against Crosshair's back.)

Seventh gif: Another angle of Hunter and Crosshair leaning into Omega's embrace. It's important to note that while Crosshair can't use either hand/arm, he is reciprocating the hug as best as he can. As I said, we can also see that Hunter has his right arm and blaster on Crosshair's back -- Hunter is hugging both of them. Omega's eyes are initially closed as she hugs them. If you look really closely, it looks like her left hand tightens around Crosshair's neck right before she opens her eyes and prepares to release them. 🥺

~end of gif analysis~

One final thing I'll add is that, while it's not in the gifs, I love how Crosshair puts his stump on Omega's shoulder as they walk away. Essentially, his reaction to/preference for physical touch is somewhere between Echo and Tech's. Like Echo (at least in 2.08), when Omega initiates a hug, he's unprepared but accepts and reciprocates it as best he can. But, when he initiates, he's a lot like Tech: he's comfortable with just putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder, because he's not really a hugger. 🥹

Anyway, I just wanted to add this, because I love this scene so much. It has lived in my head rent-free for two months now, and probably will for the foreseeable future.

Star Wars: The Bad Batch 3.15 | The Cavalry Has Arrived

[unravelingwires]

Social Ecology

A Case Study through the Lens of an Individual

I wish I could describe the forest well. I wish I could tell you whether the soil was rich or dry, whether the sky was cloudless or speckled, whether there were wildflowers or lawn-short grass.

The memories are faded, though. I can tell you this was three days after my parents learned the word gifted, though I barely noticed at the time. I can tell you that the woods were green, saturated and overwhelming, in a way you don’t get in pictures. I remember I left a knot of black hair clinging to a tree branch, though I don’t know how I managed that with double braids. The other girl didn’t walk up. I just followed a turn on the path, and there she was. She looked like Dipika, my best friend. She didn’t have to tell me she wasn’t who she looked like.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hi,” I answered. “Who are you?”

She pointed straight up. “Did‘ja see the bald eagle?”

I looked. In the time it took me to check that the bird was really a bald eagle, she was gone.

———

The next time I saw her, it had been a few years, and I’d officially started kindergarten. I was on one of the wander paths around the subdivision, shoving through the chest-tall grass behind my house and forging a path into the unknown. Instead of the road, there was a path. Instead of more houses, there was a waterfall. She was sitting just out of the water spray, her T-shirt slowly soaking through. I scrambled up and past her, staring into the pool where the waterfall disappeared.

“You’re different,” she observed.

“You’ve only met me once.”

“I’ve met you more than once.”

“Oh. I’m bad at remembering people.”

She twisted her hair around a finger. “You seem different.”

“Uh…” I searched for reasons for that. “We moved. I met some new friends.”

“Are they nice?” she asked.

“Kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“There’s—I have one friend in the class,” I said slowly. “She’s my best friend. We were friends forever, but now she’s made a new friend. She’s allowed to do that! I just don’t have anyone to talk to, now.”

“Oh.”

“And Dipika lives back in my old neighborhood, so I never see her either, so I just don’t talk a lot at all.”

We sat in silence, for a bit. The pool that the waterfall disappeared into was too deep to see the bottom. I dropped a rock down, but the water was fast-flowing, so I didn’t clearly see where it sank.

“Can’t you talk to the new friend?” the girl offered.

“I tried. It’s hard.”

“It’s not that hard.”

“Yeah it is. She likes Cinderella, and I like—” I gestured vaguely— “platypuses.”

“You could just watch Cinderella.”

“Movies are scary. I don’t want to see someone’s eyes pecked out.”

“No one in Cinderella gets their eyes pecked out,” the girl asserted.

“Yeah, they do. I read the book.”

“The other kids have moms, their Ammas. Amma wouldn’t let us watch someone’s eyes be pecked out.”

“Ursula gets stabbed by a boat.”

“Well then do something else. All the other kids have lots of friends. We’re the best at everything.”

I sat. The change in angle restricted my view to the surface of the water, making it less satisfying to brood over. “I’ll figure something out.”

Keep reading

[angry-geese]

Can I request nsfw+fluff gojo x fem!reader? (established relationships) Just gojo being horny and needy after weeks not seeing reader due to work. (Uuuu and may I add breeding kink too <3 ) Lmaooo what's wrong with me✋🏻😔 I love your works btw and just take your time💕💕 here *slides a cookie 🍪 *

YESSSS gojo + breeding kink is top tier. i got a little carried away with this one lol

When We Meet Again

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Warnings: shameless smut. oral (fem receiving), creampies, mating press, unprotected sex, fingering, fluff and smut. slight somnophilia (kinda??) fem!reader

Word Count: 3.7k

jjk masterlist

It's well past midnight by the time he gets home.

Save for a single light in the kitchen, the apartment is dark. Leftover pastries sit out on the counter, covered with a bowl to keep bugs from getting to them, alongside your keys, and an empty mug of tea. A grocery list has been stuck to the fridge. A rack of dishes sits beside the sink, drying.

You're not in your usual spot on the couch. He's not surprised. It's late. And though you don't have work in the morning, you were never one to stay up so long. You must have gone to bed already. You might have stayed up had he bothered to tell you he was coming home. But he didn't. His plans changed at the last moment, and not even he knew he'd be back so soon.

He hates being gone this long. He misses sleeping in his own bed. Sometimes he forgets just how cold a bed can be without someone else in it.

The door to your shared room is open. Though it's dark. There's a faint green glow from the alarm clock on the side table. The moon is full enough tonight to provide a bit of light; a pale silver glow fills the room. And there you are, curled up on his side of the bed. In one of his shirts. A black button up that’s a bit too big for you, with sleeves that hang well past your fingertips.

It's not like he can refuse. If he’s getting called out to help, then there's probably not someone who can go in his place. The strongest doesn't really have time to take a vacation. He’s on call 24/7. Between his teaching job at Jujutsu Tech, and the major clans of Jujutsu society constantly demanding his attention, he’s rather short on free time.

It was a tedious job. Not worth his time. Not particularly tough, albeit time consuming. But the previous two sorcerers came back with nothing. And so he was sent out. Cleaning up someone else's mess.

The first week he called every day. The job wasn’t supposed to take any longer than that. Or so you both assumed. As the second rolled through, your calls grew shorter, and less frequent. He found himself frustrated with the lack of contact. It wasn't either of your faults. Your work called for you to be out during the little free time he had. Overtime. When you did have time to call each other, you were often exhausted, and short with him. The distance was putting a strain on your relationship.

The worst part of it all; he couldn't fuck you. And for a man that could go multiple rounds in a day, that was miserable. His love language is touch. Not being able to hold you was… well, miserable.

You don't really know the extent of the effect you have on him.

He's too tired to change, and he showered before he left, so he strips to his boxers and pulls his side of the blankets aside. Tomorrow is laundry day anyway. You always choose Sundays for laundry day, because that's the day before you have to go back to work. There's just enough room between you and the edge of the bed for him to slip in.

When something makes him stop dead in his tracks.

It's your voice. You’re calling out his name. You aren't awake, and though you do sometimes talk in your sleep, tonight is different. When it does happen, it's usually nonsense. Soft, endearing babble that he can't help but listen to. He says your name, softly, but you don't respond. Enough moonlight streams in through the window to see your face. Your brows are knit in concentration—possibly frustration—and sweat beads in your hairline.

Are you having a nightmare?

The bed dips under his weight as he sits, resting a hand on your thigh. Your skin is rather warm, he notes. You roll over onto your side, burying your face in his pillow. He pulls the blankets up, tucking them around your shoulders, as you’ve kicked them down by your feet in your sleep.

There it is again. You say his name, but there's a level of desperation behind it.

There's no denying the wetness between your thighs. You squeeze your thighs together in an unconscious attempt to get some relief. Your breathing is labored.

It's only a moment later that the realization kicks in.

The grin that splits his face can only be described as malicious in nature.

His hand creeps higher on your thigh, nudging the hem of your—his—shirt up. You’re not wearing anything underneath. The sight of your slick cunt is nearly enough to make his cock stand to attention.

His gaze falls to the curve of your hips, just barely illuminated by the moonlight. He likes the light of you in his shirt a little more than he likes to admit. Though he’s never been quiet about how much he appreciates your body.

Your body freezes the moment his thumb grazes across your slit. So does he. You’re so wet. Must be a real nice dream. You roll onto your back, your legs parted slightly. The soft gasps and moans that leave you are like music to his ears. Gojo takes this as an invitation to continue, his hand moving further up your thigh, lazily tracing circles into it.

You must've missed him more than he expected.

Your body registers that someone is touching you before it registers just who is doing such. In your sleepy, dream-ridden state you don't recognize the figure in front of you. In the dim light of the room, you can make out a mess of white hair, and the reflection of dark, round glasses shoved up into his hairline. Gojo’s eyes practically reflect in the dark.

You jolt awake, sitting up. “Jesus christ-”

“‘S just me, Mochi,” he says, though it does little to settle your nerves.

If you weren't awake before, you certainly are now.

“What? You watch people in their sleep now?!” You scold. “‘Toru- you scared the hell out of me!”

You flop back on the bed. The blankets pool around your hips. You reach to pull them back up, finding your bed colder than usual.

"You were calling out my name." He says.

"Oh," you say, and though there's little light in the room, he watches your face flush, "must have been dreaming about you."

“Wanna recreate what you were dreaming?” He asks. Rather smugly, might you add.

You roll your eyes. “Go to sleep.”

"Scoot over then. I'm gonna fall off the bed."

This prompts an evil sounding giggle from you, followed by a: "fall then."

"Alright," he says, rolling over to lay on you, throwing his arm around your waist. You’re effectively pinned under him, as the awkward angle won't allow you any leverage to throw him off. He attacks the exposed part of your neck with kisses, sucking hickeys into the flesh of your neck and shoulders. His hair tickles your skin.

“‘Toru- stop!” You squeal. “Let me go-”

“Not until you apologize,” he says, planting a wet kiss on your jaw.

“Never!”

“Then I guess I won't let you go.”

His arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you flush to his chest. One of his hands finds your own, his fingers lacing with yours. His legs tangle with yours in a way that holds them in place. Worming out of his grip in this position would be a near impossible task.

You suppose there’s worse fates than this.

It would be easier to stay awake if he wasn't so warm. Or if he didn't smell so nice. Or if he wasn't softly rocking your body with each breath he takes. His thumb traces soft circles around your knuckles. Gojo’s breath is warm against your neck, making goosebumps rise along the soft flesh. The steady sound of it is almost enough to lull you to sleep.

"I missed you." You say. Your voice is almost too soft to hear.

“I know.” He says. His arms give your midsection a reaffirming squeeze. “I missed you too.”

“How was work?”

“A shitshow,” he says, leaning to nip at your earlobe, “but I get to come home to you, so it’s not all bad. How’s everything been around here?”

“Quiet.” You say. “Kinda boring without you. I wish you told me you’d be home tonight. I would have done something special.”

“It was a spur of the moment decision.” He says. “I didn't expect to be home so soon either.”

“We should do something tomorrow, then,” you say, “a new ramen place opened up down the street. You know where the old bakery used to be? They leased the place out.”

Gojo hums in response. Ramen sounds nice. Especially now. But he’s too tired and too horny to worry about food. Why have ramen when he has a meal right in front of him? Or a snack, as he often likes to call you. To which you roll your eyes, but there's no denying how he makes you blush.

You take back what you said about finding it easy to sleep. He’s moving around a bit too much for that. Gojo isn't subtle about it either. Nothing about the man is. He foregos subtly in favor of announcing nearly everything he does. Loudly. Who would dare stop him?

But you guess it's part of his charm. His dorky, sappy charm. You’ve kind of signed up for it, so you’re not complaining.

You scoot away from the edge of the bed a bit, thinking he needs more room. Gojo pulls you back to his chest, thinking you’re trying to run away from him.

“Quit squirming.” You hiss.

“Sorry Mochi,” he says, “just tryna get comfortable.”

And he really does mean it. But he’s been gone from you for so long that he's forgotten how nice your body feels against his. A little too nice, he’ll admit. Phone sex is nice, but it's not the same as the real thing. It gets old after a while. His hand doesn't quite compare to yours. Or the real thing. Something hard presses against your thigh from behind.

That's when it clicks. You just smell so nice. Your body is so warm against his. You look so nice in his shirt. Can you really blame him for getting hard?

You aren't sure he knows that you know. You shift a bit. It appears you’re only trying to get comfortable. His grip around your waist loosens, allowing you to settle a bit closer to him. You can't help it if your shirt rides up a bit, exposing the perfect curve of your ass. He prefers you in nothing at all, though the sight of you wearing his clothes is certainly a nice one. Any sight of you is. Gojo is shameless in the way he adores your body.

Once settled, his arms return to your waist. His head falls into the crook of your neck. He’s doing little to hide the tent he sports in his boxers. Maybe he thinks you don't notice. Or maybe he’s trying to ignore it.

“Stop that,” he says.

“I'm not doing anything,” you say, with the same evil giggle as before.

“Why do I not believe you?”

His lips find your neck, sucking a dark mark into your pulsepoint. The sudden sensation of lips on your neck makes you squeal. In your ear he coos every sappy nickname in the book that makes you blush.

You hardly notice as his hand trails lower. Your legs part just enough for him to slip his hand between them. He does nothing but seek out your warmth. Yet.

A familiar tension returns to your stomach. It's not unpleasant.

So that's what he was doing. Not that you’re complaining.

“Missed you, Mochi,” he says, gasping at the wet feeling of your cunt, “missed you so much. You have any clue what it's like being around all those weird old men all day? For days on end, no end in sight?”

It always surprises you just how bad the man can be with words, yet how good he is with his mouth.

His fingers find your clit, drawing lazy circles around the bundle of nerves. Your breath catches in your throat. You can't deny how nice his long fingers feel inside of you.

“Seems like you’ve missed me too.” He says, his breath warm against your ear.

“Whatever you want to think, old man,” you say. Though you have missed him. You always do. But there's some fun to be had by teasing him.

“Old man?!” He sounds genuinely hurt. “Don't be like that. I know you like having me around.”

“Oh really? What makes you think that?”

His fingers move to press into the tight entrance of your cunt, his thumb brushing across your clit. The soft gasp that leaves you is practically music to his ears. To give him credit, he is good with his hands.

“Did you think about me while I was gone,” he coos, “did you touch yourself while you did it? I did. Couldn't keep my mind off this sweet cunt of yours. I think I want a taste.”

Your only response is a soft moan. Heat pools low in your stomach, growing in intensity with each skilled movement of his hand. He moves so you can lay on your back. Your hands find the sheets, holding them in a death grip. Gojo nudges your legs further apart with one of his knees.

The kiss he pulls you into is uncharacteristically soft, and needy. He moans nearly as loud as you when you nibble on his bottom lip, hips lips parting, allowing the strong muscle of your tongue to explore his mouth.

Your hands work to undo the top few buttons of your shirt, exposing your breasts. His free hand comes up to grope appreciatively at your tits. Gojo has never been shy about how much he adores them. Or shy ever, to his credit. You’re his, and he would show you off to the world if you’d let him.

But sometimes he prefers to steal you into his domain, and hold you there. Close. Where you’ll always be at his side. The one place in this universe he can truly promise you’ll be safe.

You hardly notice as his kisses trail down your neck. Down the valley between your breasts. Working the last few buttons of your shirt open with his long fingers. What you do notice is the sudden absence of his hand.

Your legs part to give him room to settle between them. His head rests on your stomach. His warm breath tickles your skin.

"You gonna let me have a taste?" He asks, nipping at your thigh.

You swallow hard, eyes locked on him. Slowly, you nod.

You gasp at the feeling of his warm tongue, licking a stripe from your bellybutton to your mound. He's not touching you where you need him most. And that frustrates you. You buck your hips up towards his mouth, eliciting a soft laugh from him. He can't tease you too long. His cock is painfully hard, leaking against his thigh in his boxers. He can only hold himself back for so long.

You freeze at the feeling of a hot tongue against your clit.

Gojo eats pussy like a starving man, presented with his favorite meal. He does nothing short of savoring you. How you smell, how you taste, how you sound. He's shameless in how he adores this. Gojo moans nearly as loud as you at the taste of your cunt. Sweeter than his favorite dish. Meant to be savored.

You can't deny that he's good with his mouth. His tongue works circles around your clit, drawing gasps and moans from you.

Heat builds in your stomach, drawing you closer to your impending orgasm. One that comes upon you far sooner than expected.

Maybe you’re more pent up than you thought.

Your thighs clench around his head as you cum hard. He lets you ride out your orgasm on his tongue, working you through it with his skilled mouth. He’d stay with his head between your legs forever if you’d let him. Which you don't, as overstimulation soon registers in your lust addled mind, and you shove his head away.

The lower half of his face glistens in the dim light, wet with saliva, and your own slick. He’s far from subtle in the way he licks his lips, or groans at your taste. He may have gotten a bit too excited. It's not unlike him to get carried away. How can he resist a fertile cunt like yours?

“I think you should taste yourself,” he says. His hands move to cup your face as he pulls you into a kiss. You taste yourself on his lips. His hardened cock grinds against his thigh.

“‘Toru-” you whine.

“What's the matter baby?” He coos. “Use your words.”

“Fuck me.” You say. “I need you, ‘Toru. I need your cock in me.”

“Why didn't you say so?” He says, though the desperation in his voice is palpable.

He wastes no time in shoving his boxers down his hips, freeing his cock.

He’s not the most intimidating in size, but his cock is nice, and fairly thick, with a slight upward curve. The patch of hairs towards the base are soft, and white. Generally you don't need a whole lot of prep to take him. Which is helpful when he can't keep his hands to himself, and insists on fucking you in the bathroom during dinner. As much as he likes to take his time with you, he’ll take you anywhere you’ll let him. At work, or over every flat surface of your apartment. Not a single room of your home was spared. Not that either of you mind.

“Gotta work you open first,” he says, “don't want you to be too tight, do we?”

Between his saliva, and your own slick, you put up little resistance. He’s able to slide one finger in. Then a second, with no issue. His fingers curve, stroking your g-spot. His thumb works soft circles around your sensitive clit as he works you open with his fingers. Really, this is unnecessary. Your cunt is practically dripping with your own arousal.

He makes a show of licking his fingers, groaning at the taste of you. Gojo really has no shame.

The moan he lets out as he sheathes himself is truly sinful.

It's another moment before he starts thrusting.

Gojo needs a moment to collect himself. He’s been working himself up for hours if not days. All the nights he spent, thinking of what he’d do to you once he got home. He’s gone over this day in his head about a hundred times.

The sound of his hips slapping against yours fills the room. His taunts turn into senseless babble. Strands of praise mixed with Gojo’s overall dorky remarks. Pleas of your name, calling you mochi, baby, honey, and every other sappy nickname he can think of. His head falls into the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at the soft skin. He’s not going to let you leave this bed until you’re thoroughly marked up.

Tension grows in your stomach like a rubber band being stretched tight. Your previous orgasm has left you overly sensitive, and leaves another orgasm creeping up on you sooner than expected. His hand falls to your stomach, working lower until his thumb finds your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub.

He presses your legs further back, shoving them almost to your chest. The stretch leaves a pleasant burn in your hips. Your body isn't really meant to bend this way, though it’s not completely uncomfortable. It's not long before he has you into a full mating press, rutting against you desperately, fucking you into the mattress. The bed frame groans in protest with each of his thrusts. Deep, and unrelenting. Gojo’s cock curves in such a way that hits your sweet spots just right, leaving you writing under him.

“Gonna put a baby in you, Mochi,” he says, “gonna breed this pretty cunt of yours.”

You nod along desperately. You want nothing more than for him to cum inside, filling you completely.

He silences your moan with a kiss, his teeth clashing against yours. His tongue presses past your lips, exploring the wet cavern of your mouth. You can still taste yourself on him.

A line of saliva connects your lips as he pulls away.

“Not gonna ask you to take all of it,” he says, “but take everything I got.”

And with that, he can't hold back any longer, painting your womb white. Gojo’s cum is normally thick, and there's normally a lot of it. Today even moreso. Two weeks away hasn't helped with that. Cum runs down your thighs in streams, ruining your sheets.

The elders aren't going to be happy that he’s so reckless with his precious seed, but Gojo couldn't give a damn. The elders can talk all they want. That's all they're good for. He gets to cum in a warm place, and that's more than any of the others can say.

He practically collapses on top of you.

Gojo shifts so less of his body weight is on top of you. And though the room is rather warm, you find yourself nuzzling into his body, seeking out his warmth. His arms have always given you a sense of security, especially when wrapped up in them. They find your waist, pulling your back flush to his chest.

For a moment the two of you lay there, basking in each other's warmth.

You’ll have to get up in a bit anyway. To clean yourself up, and change the sheets. And get a new shirt. Probably another one of Gojo’s. He’s never been against seeing you wear his clothes. They never stay on you for long, though.

You pry his arms off, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, but he notices, and tightens his grip.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks, sounding rather offended.

“To get a drink,” you say, “I'm thirsty. Why? Do you want one too?”

“You think I’d let you go after just one round?” He asks. “You’re not leaving this bed until I’ve fucked you full of my cum.”

You're in for a long night.