#like call me limp dicked or whatever but I genuinely need to get off my ass and do something for once. lmfao

[higgs-the-god]

Very cool for my aunt to ruin my good mood streak 👍 again

[makoodlesarchive]

daisy chain

oop, back at it again with dragon dick kiri

thank you SO much to @brattyquirks and @shoutogepi for looking over this for me when i was sick of looking at it, and @ramen-rambles​ for the fun idea!! i appreciate the help so so much !! 🧡

pairing: kirishima x reader x bakugou

word count: 8.3k

warnings: explicit penetrative sex, M/M/F threesome, dildos, dragon dick kiri

this is part of the dragon dick kiri series

tip jar!

It had started out as a joke, a throwaway comment that you really hadn’t put all that much thought into. You didn’t expect it to grow into anything more, but maybe you should have; it was pretty typical of Bakugou to take an innocent comment and interpret it as a personal challenge, after all.

���I hate my life.” You announce to no one in particular, your voice echoing off of the bathroom tiles.

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugou snarls. You can’t take the vicious heat in his voice seriously, given your current predicament, so you just opt to ignore it. “Will you just- ow! That hurts, you stupid, shitty-”

“Fuck off, this is not my fault!” You snap back. Your patience is frayed and barely hanging on by a thread, and you feel safe enough snapping back at Bakugou considering you’re confident that he’s in no position to try and kill you if he does happen to take issue with your tone.

“We’re not playing the blame game!” Bakugou snarls, which means that he’s definitely aware that he’s at fault here but doesn’t want to admit it. “All you have to do is-”

“I’m trying!”

“You’re not trying hard enough!”

You swear viciously and get to your feet, clambering out of the bathtub. You nearly slip on the wet tile floor, but just manage to keep your balance.

“Wait,” Bakugou says, and his tone has changed significantly. He sounds a little panicked now, as if he thinks that you’re about to abandon him to his fate, “Where the fuck are you going?”

You decide not to answer him, just because you’re feeling kind of petty, but when you remain quiet he tries to climb out of the bathtub after you. You notice the movement out of the corner of your eye and turn to look at him, scowling. “Will you stay where you are!”

“Where are you going!”

“I’m right here, I’m not leaving!” You go back to peering into the bathroom cabinet, thoroughly irritated by just about everything right now. “This is so stupid.”

“This was your idea.” Bakugou murmurs sulkily. His voice is quiet and resentful, and you’re probably not even supposed to hear it but you do hear it, and you whirl around.

“What?” Your voice comes out louder than you had intended, but you’re angry now. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You came up with this all by yourself!”

Bakugou’s face is scrunched up in a mixture of pained discomfort and embarrassment, but he still manages to level you with a cuttingly annoyed glare. He opens his mouth to speak, and you ready yourself for whatever no doubt pathetic excuse is about to fall out of his mouth when your bickering is interrupted by a knock on the bathroom door.

“Hey,” Kirishima calls, concerned, “Are you guys okay in there?”

“Everything’s fine!” You yell at the same time as Bakugou practically screeches “Yes, fuck off!”

“Uhhh..” Kirishima remains unconvinced. The floor creaks as he shifts his weight around in front of the door. “What’s going on?”

You can’t blame him for being worried; both you and Bakugou have been locked in the bathroom for nearly twenty minutes. You and Kirishima had been relaxing on the couch while Bakugou showered when the shower had shut off abruptly and Bakugou had started roaring your name. You had gone running instinctively, leaving Kirishima wide-eyed and startled on the couch as you went crashing into the bathroom. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight of Bakugou leaning over the ceramic edge of the bathtub with his fingers up his ass, red-faced and visibly panicking.

“It’s nothing to worry about, babe,” you call out to Kirishima, finally finding what you had been searching for and banging the cabinet shut. “We’ll be out soon, promise.”

After an excruciatingly long moment, Kirishima decides to take your word for it and retreats. You let out a breath, then turn back to Bakugou. He’s kneeling down, but his back is almost unnaturally straight and his jaw is clenched tight. His discomfort is obvious, but you really can’t bring yourself to feel all that sympathetic towards him - you still can’t believe he had the nerve to try and blame this on you.

You take a deep, fortifying breath, and slide your shoulders back. “Okay,” you say, “Bend over, ass up.”

Bakugou looks at you as though you’d just taken out a gun and threatened to shoot him. “What the fuck?”

“There is literally no other way to fish out the dildo that you lost up your ass, so just do it!” You hiss, your patience officially reaching its limit thanks to a healthy mixture of anger and embarrassment. You would rather be literally anywhere else right now, and you imagine Bakugou feels the same way.

The anger and embarrassment on his face only gets worse when he catches sight of the bottle of lube you’ve managed to fish out of the cabinet. He stays quiet as you climb back into the bathtub and situate yourself behind him and then, miraculously, he bends forward and braces himself on the rim of the bathtub with his ass jutting out towards you without saying a word. 

“Okay,” you breathe. Now that his ass is actually being presented to you, you’re at a loss for what to do. “Um.”

“Just get on with it!” Bakugou hisses over his shoulder. The embarrassment is only fueling his anger, and you have a feeling that the only reason you haven’t been murdered so that no one else can ever learn about this is because the dildo lost somewhere up Bakugou’s rectum is hindering his movements.

“Okay!” You kneel down and squint at his ass. Though the shower is off, the tub is still wet and the moisture seeps through the knees of your jeans. You ignore the temporary discomfort as you pet awkwardly at Bakugou’s back to try and calm him down as your other hand slips towards his asshole. “God, this is awkward.”

“You don’t have to fucking point it out.” Bakugou grounds out through gritted teeth. His fists are clenching the edge of the tub so tight that his knuckles strain against the thin skin on his hands. 

You uncap the lube and drizzle it all over your fingers. It might be a little overkill, but you’re already so far out of your comfort zone that you figure it’s better to be safe than sorry. The last thing you need is Bakugou snapping your head off because you accidentally hurt his ass. “Remind me why you shouted for me instead of Kirishima?”

Bakugou grumbles a little bit at that, but before he can answer the question you take the plunge and stick your fingers in his ass. It obviously takes him by surprise, because he lunges forward a bit and can’t quite bite back the strangled noise that’s punched out of his throat. “Fuck! Warn a guy before you go sticking your fingers up his ass!”

“You have a whole dildo up there, I doubt my fingers are gonna make that much of a difference.” You say, maybe a bit uncharitably. His asshole is lubed up pretty well, so your fingers slide in with ease, but he is pretty tight. You can totally see how his asshole slurped up the dildo as if it was suction powered. “Hey, you never answered my question.”

“What fucking question? Jesus-!” He jerks away from your fingers a little and bares his teeth at you over his shoulder, “Fucking take it easy!”

You glare at him, but don’t rise to it. “Why did you call for me instead of Kirishima?” It’s hard to keep your questing fingers gentle when you’re searching for something inside an asshole, but you do your best to try and keep Bakugou’s complaints to a minimum.

Bakugou exhales forcefully, the line of his shoulders tense and rigid. “I don’t know,” he says through gritted teeth, “I wasn’t thinking.”

You hum thoughtfully, but then your fingers brush the base of the dildo and you lose your train of thought. “Ah!” It’s difficult to get a grip on it, because of the copious amounts of lube and the awkward shape of the base. Everytime you almost catch a hold of it, you accidentally push it further in. “Fuck! Why the hell didn’t you use a dildo with some kind of flared base?”

“How many fucking dildos do you think I have on hand, huh?” Bakugou says. He’s obviously angry, but it’s a little difficult to take that anger seriously when you have several fingers stuffed in his anus. “This whole thing is your fault, anyway.”

This is roughly the third time he’s said something along those lines, so you remove your hand and sit back on your ankles, squinting at his upturned ass. “Okay, explain.”

Bakugou squirms, clearly antsy now that you’ve stopped trying to help him. “We talked about it last week!”

You just stare, at a loss. “Huh?”

He glares back at you, but when it becomes apparent that you genuinely don’t know what he’s talking about he’s forced to grumble, “When I asked you about Kirishima.”

You think for a long moment, mentally raking through every interaction you’ve had with Bakugou over the course of the week. You don’t remember ever saying anything that could have been construed as- oh. Oh, he’s gotta be joking.

One day last week, after a round of enthusiastically messy sex, you had been limping just a little. Bakugou, being the little shithead he was, laughed and prodded at you the whole way to the kitchen, and you had responded with an eye roll and an irritable “I’d like to see you take his dick, asshole.”

No reasonable person could ever have picked up your offhand remark as an actual challenge, but you weren’t dealing with a reasonable person right now. You go to cover your face with your hand only to remember that it was up Bakugou’s ass only moments previously, and quickly divert it away from your face. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

Bakugou is flushed from the tip of his ears to his chest, a fetching shade of red. “You said you’d like to see it.”

“Oh, don’t pretend this is about what I want!”

“Well, obviously I want it too, but I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought you didn’t want it!” Bakugou snaps back. The two of you are irritable and embarrassed and your patience is at an all time low, but then Bakugou draws back and shuffles around on his knees so that he can actually see your face. “Do you want it? Fucking tell me if you don’t.”

You stare back at him dumbly, a little mesmerised by the vulnerability in his face. Bakugou has never presented himself as anything other than invincible in your presence, so this little sliver of emotional honestly has you melting a little bit. You glance away and allow yourself a moment to really think about what he’s proposing. You know that what he’s really hoping to do is prove that he can take Kirishima’s ridiculous dick better than you can.

It’s like he’s come to the conclusion that because he has no chance of beating Kirishima in the dick size contest, he has to compete with you for the best ability to take it. Honestly, you’re okay with that -- mainly because you’re pretty secure in the knowledge that he’s gonna lose. 

You’d also be lying if you said the idea of getting to watch Kirishima fuck Bakugou didn’t cause you to heat up in between your legs.

“Hm.” You keep your face intentionally blank, watching Bakugou as he visibly fights not to fidget against the discomfort of both waiting for your response and the dildo up his hole. At last, you say, “Yeah. I want to see it.” Bakugou exhales, slow and steady, and nods. You don’t give him much of a chance to relax though. “Now, I need you to bend over properly. Face down, ass up. I need a better angle.”

Predictably, Bakugou doesn’t take that suggestion well, and it takes several more minutes of mingled arguing and coaxing before he finally sinks down into the requested position (though not without throwing a particularly venomous glare over his shoulder at you). You have to fight not to swear at him, because he’s the one that asked you for help here! It’s not as though you’re holding him hostage just so you can fish around in his asshole!

When he’s assumed the position, he buries his face in his arms. “Just get it fucking done.”

When faced with Bakugou on his knees in front of you, face down, ass up, with his back arched, you’re forced to face the rather irritating revelation that his ass is, like, perfect. It’s probably the perkiest damn thing you’ve ever seen in your life. You scowl at it, feeling both resentful and kind of turned on, before finally turning your attention to the task at hand. When you reach down to his asshole again, your fingers slide in with ease thanks to the lube and the fact that he’s already pretty well stretched.

Your fingers aren’t as long or wide as his are, but he still jerks against you as you poke around. His hips hunch forwards and he hisses like an angry cat as your fingers bump the base of the dildo, accidentally sliding it in a little further. “Fucking hell,” you murmur, brow scrunched in a deep frown, “How deep did you manage to get it?”

Bakugou bares his teeth in a grimace. “I ain’t blind, I’ve seen the size of Kirishima’s cock. I’m not stupid enough to go in without stretching myself out.”

“Just stupid enough to lose the dildo up your ass.” You mutter under your breath.

“The fuck did you just say?” Bakugou whips his head around to glare over his shoulder.

“Nothing!” You say hastily, deciding that you’ve probably pushed your luck far enough already. Your fingers jostle the dildo again and Bakugou lurches forward again, an odd pained sound leaving his lips. “Sorry, sorry!”

“Just-!” Bakugou’s voice is strained, and he’s buried his face in his arms again so that you can’t see him. “Fucking take it out!”

“I’m trying.” You grumble, trying not to sound petulant. If it were that easy, then surely he could have done it himself without your assistance! Bakugou grunts again when you finally manage to hook your fingers around the base of the dildo, but you barely notice as you excitedly say, “Hey! I got it!”

Bakugou braces himself, the whole length of his back flexing impressively as you begin to gradually pull the dildo out. It’s slow-going, mainly because you have to keep adjusting your grip so that it doesn’t slip right out of your fingertips, and Bakugou definitely doesn’t appreciate the slow speed. His fists are clenched tight and the flush has spread all down his neck and over his chest. His jaw is rolling constantly, and his eyes are squeezed shut. You actually feel kind of sorry for him, and you try your best to keep your movements as gentle and unobtrusive as possible.

That is, until you bump the dildo a little awkwardly and a downright filthy moan is torn from Bakugou’s throat. You both freeze, but Bakugou tensing up means that you nearly lose your grip on the dildo all over again. “Stop clenching!” You shriek, fingers scrabbling desperately against the hard plastic as you fight to keep a hold of it.

“Fuck you!” He yells back, but it seems like more of a reflexive response than anything else.

You shift backwards to try and get a better angle, and then you notice for the first time that his dick is hanging hard and heavy between his legs. “Bakugou Katsuki,” you say softly, watching as his back goes rigid at both your tone and your use of his full name, “How are you still hard? Are you seriously getting off on this?”

“No!” Bakugou snaps, his voice an octave higher than usual. “Fuck off! As if I’d get off to your grubby little fingers!”

“Grubby?” You sit back on your heels again, irritated. “Well, maybe I should just leave you here to take care of this little problem yourself, then. I don’t know why you called me in if my touch is so gross-”

“No!” Bakugou reaches behind him in an attempt to grab at your thighs to prevent you from moving, despite the fact that you haven’t made any real move to leave. “Just-!”

While he’s distracted, you give one quick tug and pull the entire length of the dildo out all at once. Bakugou’s whole body spasms as he lets out another strangled groan, and you don’t miss the way his dick twitches between his legs. You have to bite your lip to prevent yourself from laughing, because you have a feeling that Bakugou would not take that well. “It’s out!” you say, a little redundantly, and hold up the dildo.

Bakugou is still hunched over, his chest heaving slightly as he regulates his breathing. “Fucking hell.” He mutters without looking up. His hole is still loose and wet from the lube, and you have to look away as you feel yourself heating up with embarrassment.

You clear your throat pointedly, and raise your eyebrows when he finally turns to scowl up at you. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?”

“Hah? No.”

You scowl back at him. “I just did you a favour, dickhead.”

Bakugou totally ignores you as he climbs to his feet, wincing a little at the movement. You follow his lead, grumbling irritably, and when you’re both standing facing each other you’re hit with the realisation for the first time that Bakugou is very naked and still wet from his shower. “Okay then!” You say, probably too loudly. “Well! I’ll leave you to, uh, finish up?”

His dick is still hard, and you feel like it’s pointing accusingly at you. Bakugou is frowning thoughtfully at the dildo that’s still clutched awkwardly in your hands. “I’m still horny.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” You wonder if he’s asking for his dildo back, and then you realise that you don’t want it yourself so you shove it into his chest. 

He takes it absent-mindedly, his frown transferring to focus on you. “Are you turned on?”

“What?”

His gaze drops to your legs, and you’re embarrassed to realise that he’s caught your thighs rubbing together. Before you can say anything, he says, “I’m not judging. If you get wet from playing with my ass that’s your own business.”

“You’re such a dickhead.” It’s not really an answer, but you both know that he really doesn’t need one.

His gaze moves to the door, thoughtful, as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I’m ready if you are.”

It takes an embarrassingly long moment to catch on to what he means. Your gaze flicks from the door to the dildo. It is, admittedly, fairly large; it’s probably about ten inches long, and decently thick. It’s a small miracle that it ever got lost inside Bakugou’s ass. And yet; Kirishima’s dick is definitely larger.

There’s no way of telling Bakugou this without inadvertently starting an argument, so you let it go. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Bakugou grins, wild and anticipatory, and hops out of the tub. His erection swings heavily between his legs in a motion that’s almost obscene as he swaggers towards the bathroom door and flicks open the lock. When you move to follow him, he sticks his arm out and frowns at the length of your body. “Take your clothes off.”

“Huh?” You glance down at yourself. “Right now? Why can’t I take them off in the bedroom?”

“Because we’re going into this fucking ready, come on.” He tugs impatiently at your shirt.

“Okay, okay.” You slap at his hands before starting to tug your clothes off. It takes a bit of extra effort to get the damp jeans off because they’ve started to cling to your legs. Bakugou’s tugging hands are significantly more hindering than they are helpful, but eventually you’re standing naked with your clothes strewn all around your feet.

It takes effort not to comment on Bakugou’s impatience, and even then the main reason you don’t comment is because now there’s no dildo hindering his ability to murder you. When he yanks open the door, his shoulders are high and tense with anticipation, and he sets off down the hall towards the living room at a speed far too quick to be casual. You scurry after him, having the presence of mind to feel a little embarrassed and self-conscious at your total nudity as you both emerge into the living room. Bakugou, naturally, owns his nudity unrepentantly.

“Oi.” he says sharply, as eloquent as ever.

“You guys finally done? What happened, did Bakugou fall into the toil...et?” Kirishima’s voice trails off and pitches high as he turns his head from the couch, his eyes flying wide when he catches sight of you and Bakugou standing totally nude in the mouth of the hallway. “Uh. Whoa?”

“Let’s go, asshole, we’re ready to fuck.”

“What?” Kirishima looks vaguely as though he’s been hit by a metaphorical truck, but he jumps from the couch despite his obvious confusion. “Now?”

“Obviously, come on!”

Kirishima’s bewildered gaze flickers from Bakugou to you, and the most you can offer him is a companionably confused shrug. “Okay.” He starts to grin, as willing to go with the flow as ever. The front of his sweatpants is already beginning to tent, and you can’t help but chuckle at how easily aroused he is. “Yeah, okay. Great.”

Bakugou turns and marches back down the hall towards Kirishima’s room, securely confident that both you and Kirishima are following behind him. He’s right, obviously, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his cockiness. Still though; walking behind him like this you get a great view of his ass, and what a great view it is.

When you glance up at Kirishima, you see that he’s already staring at your bare chest. “What the hell happened in the bathroom?” He asks quietly. He’s still grinning, his arousal obviously unaffected by his confusion.

“I’ll tell you later.” You promise. You know you’re only adding to his bewilderment, but you really don’t think you can succinctly explain the situation in the time it takes to get from the living room to the bedroom.

As always, Kirishima just takes the whole thing in his stride. “Okay.” He agrees with a ridiculous amount of cheer, then claps and rubs his hands together like a cheesy movie villain. “Let’s get going!”

When you enter Kirishima’s room, Bakugou is already spread out on the bed; his cock is laying hard and proud against the gloriously defined contours of his stomach, and his bicep bulges as he cushions his head with one arm. He looks positively pornographic, and you falter for a moment. The act of simply looking at him seems indecent.

Kirishima, naturally, just bounds right up and leaps onto the bed. “Lookin’ good, bro!”

“How many times do I have to tell you to not call me that when we’re about to-” Bakugou begins furiously, but the rest of his complaint is lost as Kirishima practically tackles him into the mattress. You have to admit, as you watch the two of them grapple like children on the bed, you’re begrudgingly impressed by Bakugou’s unflagging hard on; he must be really excited for what’s to come. You suppose you can’t blame him, really. Considering the slimy feeling between your thighs, you know that you’re just as excited. After a moment, Bakugou successfully shoves him off. “Idiot,” he says, completely lacking any sort of heat, “Are we doing this or what?”

“You’re so impatient br- uh, dude.”

“Dude is not an improvement, you fucking-”

Kirishima ignores the beginning of Bakugou’s rant and turns to you, making ridiculous grabby motions. “Get over here, gorgeous!”

A slow, coy grin begins to spread over your face as you look slowly between Kirishima and Bakugou. They both seem to puff up just a little under your gaze; Kirishima squares his shoulders and grins unrepentantly at you, a very obvious wet patch beginning to form under the conspicuous bulge in his sweatpants, while Bakugou’s stomach flexes as he acts as though he had forgotten that you were there. You hum, stepping forward but stopping just out of arm's reach. “Not yet.” You decide, tilting your head to meet Bakugou’s gaze head on.

He grins, wide and challenging. His eyes are dark and excited, but he doesn’t speak up to clue Kirishima in on what he’s planning just yet. Kirishima, meanwhile, is pouting. “Aw, why are you teasing? Can’t you see we’re eager to go?”

“I can see that,” you admit, because honestly if you had somehow managed to miss the blindingly obvious evidence of their arousal there would have to be something seriously wrong with you. “But we’re going to try something different tonight.”

“Take these off.” Bakugou finally says, reaching out and snapping at the waistband of Kirishima’s sweatpants.

Kirishima jumps, startled, as the elastic smacks into the skin of his lower stomach. “What?” he says a little dumbly, looking from you to Bakugou. Even though he’s a little slow on the uptake, he begins wriggling out of his sweatpants until he’s left in his special supportive jockstrap. The jock is already pretty wet with precum, and even though it’s been specifically designed with large and unusual penises in mind, it’s having trouble containing his straining erection.

Bakugou gazes at the overworked fabric, his gaze intense and unwavering. “That, too.”

“Okay.” Kirishima agrees, breathless. He seems to have come to the conclusion that it’s best to put aside his confusion for the time being and simply go with the flow, which is probably the best for the time being. When Bakugou decides that he wants something, you just have to go with it; to do otherwise would be like trying to fight a force of nature. Apparently anything longer than instantly is too long for Bakugou, and he lunges forward to help Kirishima take off the jock. Bakugou’s idea of helping seems more along the lines of ‘tearing it off’, but Kirishima seems to find the urgency flattering. 

Once Kirishima is appropriately naked, Bakugou sits back and just looks at him. You understand that particular reaction all too well -- it’s easy to look at Kirishima’s dick and think that it’s super hot (because in all honesty it is) but it’s another thing when you’re looking at it when you know that it’s going to be inside of you imminently. Kirishima’s cock has a rather unique way of inspiring a fight or flight instinct in even the bravest of men, and you’re rather gratified by the fact that even Bakugou Katsuki isn’t immune to that little frisson of unease and self-doubt.

“Uh oh, second thoughts?” You ask, teasing softly. You know he’s not really second guessing himself, you know that he’ll push through every single one of his own personal hesitations just to prove a point, but you can also see that he doesn’t know how to actually go about initiating what he wants.

Predictably, he shoots you a scathing look. “Hardly, dumbass.” He says, but still makes no move to do or say anything else. Kirishima sits in front of him, also unmoving, looking innocently perplexed other than the enormous hard on eagerly leaking onto his lower belly.

Idiots, you think, impossibly fond of them both. “Eijirou,” you begin softly. Both of them look to you, and you don’t miss the poorly concealed look of relief in Bakugou’s eyes when you take control of the talking part. “You’re going to fuck Katsuki tonight.”

Bakugou makes a soft noise as Kirishima’s eyes shoot wide, though you don’t know if it’s because you’ve finally spoken his desire into existence or if it’s because you used his first name. Either way, it has his hand reaching between his legs to tug at the hard, unwavering length of his erection. Meanwhile, Kirishima looks utterly thunderstruck. His mouth hangs open, his jaw slack, as he slowly turns his head to look at his best friend. “What?” He says stupidly, his thought process clearly struggling to keep up. He always seems to be slower to catch onto things when he’s horny, and you wonder if it’s because of all the blood being diverted away from his brain to fill out his ridiculously enormous dick.

It’s usually pretty endearing, but you can see the way that Bakugou begins to shift a little nervously the longer it takes for Kirishima to properly react. “Yes or no?” You say quickly, before Bakugou’s antsiness gets the chance to manifest into outright impatience or embarrassment. 

“Yes!” Kirishima says quickly, but then his gaze darts down to his own hard on and back to Bakugou. “But- I mean. Can you- are you sure that you’re able to- I mean-”

It’s pretty funny watching him flounder to ask Bakugou if he’s sure he’s physically capable of taking him without saying something that Bakugou may take offence to, especially as Bakugou’s eyes begin to narrow. “What?”

“He’s already ready for you.” You decide to pipe up. Bakugou whips around to glare at you for offering that particular bit of information up, but you ignore it because it’s not as if Kirishima wasn’t about to find out as soon as he reached around to touch him, anyway.

“Really?” Kirishima asks, quietly awed. 

“Yeah, I’m not dumb.” Bakugou says with a quick wave of his hand. “And I’m also not a total masochist.”

“Okay.” Kirishima says. His face is slowly starting to light up as he finally seems to come to terms with the fact that this is actually happening. “Wow. Okay, wow.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever! Let’s go.” Bakugou snaps, his cheeks stained a pretty pink colour. “Stop fucking saying wow.”

You laugh, giddy excitement beginning to bubble up in your chest. You move to lean against the wall so you can watch from a fairly unobtrusive vantage point as Bakugou turns around so that his ass and back are facing Kirishima. They’re both excited for this, that much is obvious, but you still can’t quite shake off the belief that Bakugou has bitten off a little more than he can chew in this particular situation. Oh, well. Bakugou is the kind of person who learns by doing, you suppose.

Bakugou drops forward onto all fours, his back lightly arched and his face set and determined. If it weren’t for the fact that he was naked and hard as hell, you might think from his expression that he was about to beat down a particularly heinous criminal. Kirishima shuffles forward until he’s pressed flush against the back of his thighs, still looking vaguely as though he expects Bakugou to turn around and tell him that the entire situation was an elaborate prank. “You’re sure?” Kirishima says, his hand landing lightly on the outside of Bakugou’s hip and sliding gently up over his ribs.

“Obviously.” Bakugou drawls. Impressively, he seems to have wiped any trace of nerves cleanly out of his system. He looks like he always does when he’s about to face a challenge that he expects to crush; cocky, confident, and utterly single-minded. That particular look of sheer determination falters slightly as his gaze darts over to you, where you’re slouching against the wall watching. “The fuck are you all the way over there for?”

You raise your eyebrows. It hadn’t quite occurred to you that they might want you to take an active role in this, but Bakugou is frowning at you as though you’re a total idiot and Kirishima is making those silly little grabbing motions towards you again, his grin blinding. “Well, where do you want me to be?”

Bakugou narrows his eyes, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. “Under me.” It’s phrased as an order but his voice ends in an almost imperceptible uptick, so it comes out sounding uncharacteristically unsure.

You hum as you climb up on the bed and slip underneath him, so that his arms are braced either side of your head and his knees are positioned in between your spread legs. You grin up at him, but he looks away with a little huff -- within seconds Kirishima’s head appears over his shoulder, and he offers you a grin so wide that you can see just about every single one of his sharp, shiny white teeth. You laugh at his goofy face, and feel hot liquid excitement settle in your belly and begin to simmer there as the reality of the situation begins to dawn on you. Bakugou’s hard on brushes against your navel as he shifts, leaving a little trail of precum on your skin. You’re startled to find yourself marveling at how little precum he produces; it’s kind of startling how quickly you’ve become used to Kirishima’s little sexual quirks as normal. 

“Get on with it, shitty hair.” Bakugou snaps, the old nickname falling out of his mouth almost unconsciously. Kirishima’s hair is ungelled today, hanging loose over his brow and around his ears, although neither of you care to point this fact out. “Do you need me to draw you a map?”

Kirishima rolls his eyes. “Damn, man. Cool it with the attitude.”

You have no doubt that Bakugou is ready to snap back with another comment, but before he gets the chance to Kirishima’s large palms plant themselves down on Bakugou’s incongruously tiny waist as he ruts his hips experimentally against Bakugou’s ass. From your new and very comfortable vantage point, you get to see the look of realisation begin to sneak across Bakugou’s face; there is, after all, a pretty significant difference between deciding that you’re going to fuck Kirishima and actually feeling his cock press against you. The creeping cognizance of exactly how big Kirishima is can be nothing short of alarming, and nothing drives home that realisation faster than feeling the tip of his dick pressing against you.

If anything though, Bakugou’s initial moment of anxiety just seems to turn into more arousal. “Fuck.” He breathes quietly, his voice gone a little choked.

“How’s it feel?” You ask, half-teasing. You reach up and pet reassuringly at his shoulders and the side of his neck, feeling the solid muscle shift beneath your palm.

“Big.” It’s more of a groan than anything else, his scarlet eyes going a little glassy.

Behind him, Kirishima rumbles a low, genuinely amused chuckle. “I thought we already covered that.”

“Shut up. Just put it in.” Bakugou cranes his head over his shoulder, reaching to try and maneuver Kirishima himself. “Come on. I’m horny as hell, and I’m not gonna break. Stop fucking treating me like I’m [Y/N].”

You stiffen at that, and narrow your eyes. “I haven’t broken yet, asshole.”

“Whatever.” Bakugou rolls his head around to meet your scowl with a cocky smirk, “I’m gonna take it without whining like a bitch.”

Your irritated expression melts into a slow, anticipatory smile. “You’re gonna eat your words, Katsuki.” you croon up at him as Kirishima hooks his chin over his shoulder, biting his lip to stifle his own smile, “You’re gonna choke on them.”

Whatever Bakugou was planning on saying in return is interrupted by Kirishima dipping both thumbs into his ass and marvelling at the stretch. “Wow, you really did get yourself ready.” He says, and Bakugou exhales heavily as Kirishima grinds into him again. “Can I…?”

“Yes, just do it!” Bakugou unsuccessfully tries to shove his own hips back, his impatience written clear across his face.

Kirishima meets your gaze over Bakugou’s shoulder, his eyes wide and excited. ‘What the fuck!’ he mouths silently, still grinning. You smile back at him, trying hard not to laugh because Bakugou is also looking down at you. Being beneath the two of them is intimidating because they are both extremely large men, but also because they’re both staring at you and the weight of their combined gazes is really intense.

You can’t see what’s happening, but you know when Kirishima begins to press into Bakugou because both of their faces contort; Kirishima’s mouth drops open and his forehead crinkles, a ragged little moan escaping him, and Bakugou’s eyes shoot wide as he inhales sharply through his nose and apparently forgets to breathe out. “Oh god, oh fuck,” Kirishima whimpers, his head dropping down onto Bakugou’s shoulder. He’s trying to hold back to give Bakugou time to adjust, that much is obvious, but he seems a little more impatient than he usually is with you. While he’s being slow, his hips keep rutting forward in little aborted motions that lack the level of consideration that he usually takes with you -- but then again, Bakugou had insisted that he was able to take it.

You wonder if he’s beginning to second-guess himself; his jaw hangs slack and his eyes are wide and a little out of focus, his back beginning to hunch slightly as Kirishima presses forward. “Oh,” he grunts. His hands flex and fist into the sheets by your head, and he breathes hard through his nose. “Shit.”

Kirishima stills, though it’s clear that it takes a huge amount of effort. “Are you-” he pauses just short of asking Bakugou if he’s alright, and instead says, “Can I put in the rest?”

“The rest?” Bakugou says quickly, his voice several octaves higher than usual. “It’s not in yet?”

You start to laugh, and not even the murderous glare that Bakugou shoots your way can dampen your amusement. “Oh no, are you having trouble with just the tip?”

“I will kick your ass, dickhead. He’s entering somewhere that’s usually an exit, let him take it slow!” Bakugou plants his palm over your face and shoves you away so that you’re not looking directly at him before saying, “Whatever, put the rest in!”

Kirishima pays him no mind, instead peering at you over Bakugou’s shoulder. “I want you to feel good too.” He tells you, even though you can see the tension in his face and neck from forcing himself to stay still when every nerve in his body screamed at him to move. “Can Bakugou make you feel good?”

“I don’t know, can he?” You ask coyly, casting an eye down the length of Bakugou’s rigid body hovering above you; you doubt that Bakugou will have the presence of mind to pleasure you when Kirishima’s entire length is fucking inside of him. 

As expected, Bakugou’s nostrils flare. “Don’t ask stupid fucking questions.” he snaps, one hand already slipping between your legs to tease at your clit. He blinks in surprise when his fingers slip along your slit. “Huh. You’re drenched.”

Your face heats up in embarrassment, but Kirishima’s face lights up with a wicked smile. “Is she?” he asks. His hand winds around the front of Bakugou’s hips, and you think for a moment that he’s going to touch you too. But then it’s Bakugou who stiffens with a bitten-back moan as Kirishima wraps a hand around his neglected hard-on and guides the tip of it to rub against your slick, eager pussy. Both you and Bakugou go still, surprised, as Kirishima quietly asks, “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” The word comes out on a moan as your head drops back to the sheets. You shift your hips and feel the tip of Bakugou’s cock slide just barely inside you. “Please!”

Bakugou swears, loud and vicious, as his hand comes to clamp down on your hip to keep you from fucking yourself onto him. “Fuck! Don’t do that, I’ll come-” he begins, but Kirishima chooses that moment to buck the rest of his own cock into Bakugou’s ass. The sudden harshness of the movement starts a chain reaction as Bakugou’s entire body is jolted forward, inadvertently pressing his own dick all the way inside you. He makes a sound like a wounded animal, his breathing ragged and heavy as his clutches at your hip. “Oh-! Shit, fuck, you absolute motherfucker-!”

Kirishima laughs breathlessly, his forehead dropping down to rest against Bakugou’s shoulder. “Taking too long.” he says, his words coming out syrupy and almost slurred. “God, feels so good…”

You can’t stop yourself from squirming a little, trying to get Bakugou’s dick just a little bit deeper; you had gotten used to the obscenely large size of Kirishima’s dick, and while Bakugou’s dick felt good, it wasn’t enough. Your squirming doesn’t get you very far though, because Bakugou’s grip on you tightens until he’s holding you firmly in place. “Stay still,” he grounds out, his voice ragged. His shoulders are hiked up around his ears as he breathes, and you wonder if it’s from pain or if he’s just so close to cumming right now that every touch straddles the line of too much. He swears again, and his head drops down onto your shoulder. “Feels like I’m gonna split in two.” He murmurs, voice tight.

“Poor baby,” you say, running a hand up along his shoulder blades. With his face buried into the crook of your neck like this, he’s unintentionally given you a perfect view of his arched back and raised ass. Like this, you can just about see where Kirishima is buried inside of him, the only part of his cock visible being the swollen, squishy area at the base. “If it’s too much, tell us, Katsuki.”

“S’not too much,” he mumbles into your neck, all the usual sharpness leached from his voice. “I can do it. It’s just… a lot. And you’re really fuckin’ soft inside, which isn’t fucking helping.” As if to emphasise his point he rocks his hips forward into you and then makes a weird little warbling sound into your ear.

Kirishima leans up and drapes himself along the length of Bakugou’s back, sending a wobbly grin your way. “I can’t- I have to-” His hips twitch, building into slow, rolling thrusts. “Bakugou- I need- Can I, Katsuki-?”

“Yeah.” Bakugou pants into your neck, the condensation of his breath gathering wetly against the flesh of your throat. “Yeah, fuck me.”

That’s all the permission Kirishima needs -- he lets out an excited little whimper before pulling out and shoving himself back inside all out once. The movement sends a jolt up Bakugou’s spine, and he sucks in a sharp breath but doesn’t move his face from your throat. Kirishima begins a rough, quick pace, his muscled thighs flexing as he drives into Bakugou again and again. Every thrust seems to drive the breath out of Bakugou’s lungs, and he wriggles his arms under your shoulders and clutches you to him as the force of Kirishima’s fucking sends his whole body rocking into yours.

“So big, shit!” Bakugou manages to gasp out, finally regaining the presence of mind to breathe properly. 

“Yeah?” Kirishima whimpers, looking proud. “You look so good like this, man, you feel so nice wrapped around me. Does it feel good?”

“Uh huh.” Bakugou dips his head so that his face is buried in your tits, his ass raised even higher. “Fuck!”

Everytime Kirishima fucks into Bakugou he pushes Bakugou’s hips sharply into yours, until all three of you are essentially fucking each other in a daisy chain reaction. You writhe beneath Bakugou, squirming and working your hips back and forth along the length of Bakugou’s dick as he fucks you to the same rhythm that he’s being fucked to himself. “Harder.” You beg, hiking your legs up over Bakugou’s hips and squeezing tight as you’re both rocked by Kirishima.

Bakugou makes a muffled noise that is possibly encouragement. His hips oscillate wildly between thrusting back to meet Kirishima’s snapping pelvis and forward into your own wet heat, like he can’t decide between the two. There’s something impossibly intoxicating about being able to watch Kirishima positively ploughing into Bakugou’s ass, hunched over his back and clutching his waist and panting from the exertion, and simultaneously being able to feel how hard and fast he’s fucking him. You know you’re clenching up from the way Bakugou moans brokenly into your tits; your chest feels suspiciously wet, and you have a feeling that he’s actually being fucked so good that he’s drooling on you.

Despite the fact that Kirishima is jackrabbiting his hips into Bakugou so hard that Bakugou’s whole body is bouncing with the speed and force of it, Bakugou’s hips grind into yours at a slightly slower pace: his cock rubs insistently along every inch of the inside of your pussy every time a thrust knocks him forward again, grinding unrelentingly deep. Kirishima is visibly starting to fall into that mindlessly horny haze that means he’s getting close to cumming, but he still has the presence of mind to reach down and intertwine one of his hands with yours, the other gripping Bakugou’s hip as he guides him back and forth on his cock.

Neither of them are going to last long; it’s obvious from Kirishima’s desperate open-mouthed panting and the way he hunches over as his thrusting starts to turn messy, and it’s obvious from Bakugou’s raggedy breathing and his equally messy attempts to fuck further into you as he messily sucks at one of your tits. 

What you’re not expecting, however, is how quickly your own orgasm is creeping up on you. This particular position isn’t super conducive to your own pleasure, but being fucked like this while having such strong visual stimulation is nice -- the pleasure isn’t bright or burning or all-consuming, but it’s building, and rapidly. Kirishima turning Bakugou into a gasping, sweaty mess on top of you is apparently a massive turn-on for you, which comes as a mild (but very pleasant) surprise, and you can’t stop yourself from jamming a hand down the middle of you and Bakugou so you can rub frantically at your clit.

The heat and weight of Bakugou plastered to your front is blistering, and every time Kirishima whines and fucks him forward into you it sends little jolts of pleasure shooting through you. Bakugou moans into your breastbone, and it sounds like he’s choking, as if he’s being fucked so thoroughly that his body has forgotten basic functions like how to breathe, and you find it so ridiculously hot that you let out an answering moan.

To your honest surprise, you cum first. Your orgasm rips through you with an intensity that leaves you genuinely startled, your body convulsing and arching as your mouth drops open soundlessly. “Oh!” is all you manage to gasp out, your hand clenching tight around Kirishima’s.

“Yes, baby!” Kirishima pants, his face bright and excited and extremely aroused, as delighted as ever at the chance to watch you lose yourself. “Oh- shit, I’m gonna- I’m close-!”

Bakugou’s head snaps up from your chest all of a sudden, his eyes blowing wide. “Is it getting bigger? Fuck, is it getting bigger?”

The extra inch Kirishima’s cock tends to grow when he comes is a sign that he’s just about to spill, though you could have guessed that from the way that his eyes have gone unfocused as the motion of his hips stutter and falter. You realise that this is Bakugou’s first time experiencing it, since he’s only ever seen Kirishima come when he’s buried inside of you.

Kirishima, meanwhile, is babbling away about how good he feels, about how good you and Bakugou feel and how good you two look. He lets out a high-pitched keening sound and then his whole body locks up as he strains against his orgasm, his hips spasming wildly. Bakugou makes a muffled sound into the sweaty, drool-slick skin of your chest, as he comes inside of you in turn, apparently driven over the edge by the combined sensation of Kirishima’s engorging cock and the veritable buckets of cum being emptied inside of him. You can feel the sticky, gooey slickness of Kirishima’s cum dripping onto your skin and the bedsheets. As always, it makes a mess, but the three of you are slumped boneless against each other, with no energy left to spare to so much as move a muscle, never mind to clean up.

Finally, after an indeterminable amount of time, Bakugou reaches around to shove Kirishima off of him with a groan. A visible wince passes over his face as Kirishima pulls out, accompanied by a veritable gush of cum as it spills out onto the bedsheets. “Shit. goddamn, that is so much fucking cum.” Bakugou mumbles, slumping over into the sheets and twisting away from the mess. 

Kirishima worms his way over between the two of you so he can cuddle you both at once, his expression joyfully blissed out and lacking any sort of embarrassment. “I love you guys.” He says, nuzzling at the side of your sweaty face and patting affectionately at Bakugou’s shoulder.

You know from experience that the aftermath of taking Kirishima for the first time is uncomfortable at the least. You only have barely a moment to feel sympathy for Bakugou and his asshole before he looks down and grins hazily at you. “Told you I could take it.”

Your sympathy practically vanishes on the spot. “The only reason you could take it that good is because I practically fisted you beforehand.” You point out, totally irritated by the fact that he’s chosen to apparently forget about all your hard work.

Kirishima’s gaze jumps between the two of you, exhausted and bewildered. “What the hell happened while you were in the bathroom?” He asks, his curiosity finally getting the better of him. His gaze travels lazily over the cum staining all three of you, and obviously thinks of the way you two had arrived naked into the sitting room together to practically corner him. “Actually,” he amends, stretching his arms over his head. His dick is rapidly softening, though it doesn’t look any less intimidating; you catch Bakugou staring at it, his expression visibly awed as he clearly marvels at how it had ever fit inside of him. “I don’t think I want to know. You two are so weird.”

[is-it-art-tho]

Summary: A mission gone awry, too many memories, too much blood, and not enough time. Bruce races to save a son he couldn't save before.

Prologue, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8

_________

Then.

“Who’s the bat now?” a young voice shouted.

Bruce paused halfway through the foyer and looked up. “Get down before you hurt yourself,” he called back.

Twelve-year-old Jason was hanging from the second-floor banister with his legs curled around the handrail, grinning impishly. “You sound like Alfred. We do way more dangerous stuff than this like every night.”

“That’s not the—” Bruce began, but the boy’s eyes zeroed in on the bowl of chocolates he was holding under his arm.

“Are those truffles?!” Jason stuck out his hands and grasped at the air between them. “Gimme gimme gimme!”

“You can have as many as you want once you get down.”

This, of course, was a lie. The first and last time Bruce had made a promise like this had involved a three-tiered cake left mostly untouched after a company party. He had been expecting Jason to have maybe three slices, max. The kid had instead eaten almost half of it, then proceeded to spend the rest of the night gagging and moaning over the toilet. (Alfred had laid into Bruce for that one: “What sort of promise is that to make to a child? Honestly!”)

A bright smile flashed across Jason’s face as he started to sit up before pausing then letting himself flop back upside down again with an accusatory frown. “Wait a second. You did that thing.”

“What thing?

“That thing with your eyebrows that you do whenever you’re makin’ stuff up.” Jason tried to demonstrate, scrunching his face around cartoonishly. “Liar.”

“All right, all right. Fair enough,” Bruce conceded, making a mental note to work on that particular tell. “But the point still stands. Leave that stuff for the practice mats and patrol.”

“Okayyy. But can you just throw one in my mouth? Please?”

Despite trying to maintain some semblance of sternness, a small grin tugged at the corner of Bruce’s mouth as he took in Jason’s pathetic excuse for puppy dog eyes. “Jason…”

“Just one?”

With a resigned sigh, Bruce plucked a single truffle from the bowl. “Alright. Just—”

***************************

Now.

“—one,” Bruce grunted over the pouring rain, adjusting the weight of Jason’s arm slung across his shoulders. When had he gotten so big? “C’mon, Jay. One step. There you go. One foot in front of the other.”

Jason’s head lolled forward as he struggled to remain upright, dragging a boot forward, then the other, his feet barely leaving the slick cobblestones. “I…hate Germany.”

“I know. We’ll be home soon.”

“Liar,” the young man rasped. He lifted his head enough to grin at Bruce, and it was a gruesome sight—his helmet was long gone, and now long trails of blood hung from his nose and mouth, his teeth a row of red—but it was somehow encouraging all the same.

“You can’t even see my eyebrows.”

“Don’t have to.”

Bruce feigned alarm. “Don’t tell me I have another tell.”

“Loads of ‘em.”

“Now who’s the lia—" he started then stopped abruptly.

The two of them heard it at the same time, muted in the downpour, but distinct—a series of quick and careful steps rushing up from behind.

Jason’s head swiveled first, and his eye that wasn’t swollen shut flew wide. Before Bruce had time to react, he was being shoved out of the way, stumbling on wet stones and falling hard as Jason spun to face the man in the balaclava that was charging towards them.

The assassin’s black uniform was barely visible in the shimmering dark of the rain, but as lightning tore through the clouds, he was lit in blinding relief, as was the ornate dagger in his hand.

And Bruce watched Jason spot the weapon too, but the young man's body was in no state to react the way it needed to, and in the span of a single breath, the dagger was gone, plunged deep into the young man’s abdomen.

The following crack of thunder was rivaled only by Bruce’s own roar.

***************************

Then.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” Bruce stepped aside to let Jason shuffle past him and into Bruce’s personal quarters on the Watchtower, noting with a small pang of sympathy how the young boy started to limp as soon as the door closed behind them and there was no chance of one of the others seeing.

The boy flopped onto the bed with his face flat against the sheets. “Do what?”

“Go through all those drills with us,” he said, tugging off his shirt with some difficulty—already he was beginning to get sore. “It’s not an easy training routine. Even some of us tap out sometimes.”

“Wanted to.”

“Hm.” Bruce glanced at his bare torso in the mirror where bruises were already beginning to form. “Can I ask why?”

When Jason didn’t answer, he glanced at the boy in the mirror. “Jay.”

Still nothing. Had he passed out? Bruce turned, ready to rush him to the infirmary, only to find Jason perfectly awake and apparently furious. He was glaring at the ceiling with such an intensity Bruce had no doubt it would have melted if he’d had heat vision.

“This is about what Diana said,” he surmised, leaning back against the dresser. “You’re aware she wasn’t trying to offend you.”

“She said I wasn’t good enough.”

“No,” Bruce corrected patiently.

“She said I wasn’t as good as him.”

“She also said you had heart, which is something she doesn’t throw around lightly.” Bruce bent to pull a water bottle from the mini fridge and tossed it onto the bed beside Jason who made no move to grab it. “And you have to keep in mind Dick was almost sixteen the first time they met. He had a lot of experience under his belt by then. You just turned thirteen.”

“But it’s not just that,” Jason explained, openly exasperated. He sat up and pulled his domino off to cradle it in his hands like a living thing. “It’s everybody. Everybody thinks he was better than me. He’s the real Robin and I’m just…the replacement. I wanna show them that I’m the real thing, too. And that you didn’t make a mistake when you…”

He stopped short, but the rest of the sentence rang in the air anyway as if he had shouted it: You didn’t make a mistake when you chose me.

Bruce struggled to find the right words to say, to find that balance between sincerity and what Jason would certainly read as coddling. It was a fine line, and one he often stumbled over, and precious seconds ticked by in silence until at last Jason’s demeanor shifted.

The young boy’s face twisted into a stubborn smile, and Bruce knew instantly that the window of opportunity had passed.

“But who cares what they think anyway?” Jason smirked. “I know who I am so whatever.”

Another moment fumbled due to Bruce’s own ineptitude. He was no good at these conversations—not the way Clark and Alfred and even Dick were—and he cursed himself for it.

“Okay if I shower first?” the boy asked, scooting to the edge of the bed where he started unlacing his boots.

“Sure,” Bruce sighed. “Towels are in the drawer.”

Jason was nearly to the bathroom with a towel in hand when a knock came at the door and Bruce called, “Come in.”

The door slid open, and Clark stepped in, already showered and changed. In his hand was a pair of clippers.

“Thanks for letting me borrow these. Hey!” he beamed, turning to Jason. “Well, look at you!”

“What?” Jason shot back defensively, looking himself over. “What?”

“Nothing. Just happy to see you up and around so fast. You know, the first time we trained together as a team, this guy,” Clark held up a hand to block the fact that he was pointing directly at Bruce—Bruce saw it anyway—“came back here and slept for about eight hours. Everyone thought he was dead.”

“Seriously?!”

“No,” Bruce interjected.

“Alright. Five,” Clark allowed.

Bruce’s voice dipped threateningly. “Clark.”

“Did I mention he puked?”

By the time the deodorant left Bruce’s hand and exploded against the wall, Clark was already grinning mischievously from the other side of the room, his cape settling back around him.

Meanwhile, Jason was bent double, laughing harder than Bruce had seen in a long time. “You puked?” he wheezed.

“Like a fire hydrant,” Clark chimed, eliciting another roar of laughter. It was as innocent and contagious and perfect a sound as Bruce had ever heard, filling the small space easily.

The two men exchanged a quick knowing glance while Jason laughed, confirming what Bruce had suspected from the moment the other man had arrived—one way or another, Clark noticed that something was wrong.

Clark raised an eyebrow—a question—and Bruce nodded: He’ll be okay and Thank you packed into the quick dip of his chin. Clark smiled.

Setting aside the clippers, the Kryptonian crossed the room to pat Jason on the back, saying earnestly, “Good work today. Really.”

“Thanks,” Jason said, and this time the smile that slid across his face was genuine.

After Clark had gone, Jason whispered, “Did you really do all that stuff?”

“He exaggerated.”

“But?”

“Yes, I vomited,” Bruce offered at last, more than willing to fall on this sword if it meant hearing that sound again. After a moment’s consideration he added, “Flash slipped in it.”

And again, Jason was howling, letting himself fall back against the wall and as he gripped his ribs. “I can’t breathe!” he gasped between peals of laughter. “I—"

[gojos-sidepiece-69]

Tokyo Tech Training- Chapter 4

How was it only Tuesday? You groaned and put your hands over your eyes, slowly sitting up in your bed. You had just had a nice, dreamless sleep: no blindfolds, no stupid jokes, no stupidly moisturized lips (that belonged to a certain man whore) anywhere to be seen. You racked your brain trying to figure out how any of this could have possibly happened within the span of your first four days in the Jujutsu world. The whiplash from the most eventful weekend of your life started to kick in, heavily.

Your feet dangled over the edge of your bed, and you sighed deeply, touching at the bruised flesh on your hips. You pulled the band of your pajama pants down slightly, gaping at the state of your thighs. You couldn’t tell whether the crescent-shaped indents and the violent branding of love bites were from Gojo or...Sukuna. You let out a small laugh at the insanity of the situation.

To your luck and great relief, the higher-ups had ordered a restful “team-bonding” day. From what you had heard, Megumi and Nobara had taken quite the beating as well. Their mission with Nanami to exorcise a certain high-grade curse with patchwork skin proved to be unsuccessful, as the evil thing escaped without a trace into the sewer systems. You pushed your door open and joined your fellow first-years in the hallway. There was a certain comfort in seeing the four of you together, all tired and scarred and bruised, but still smiling nonetheless (except for the ever-deadpanned Megumi). “Hey, I know what we can do today!” Nobara suggested excitedly. “Let’s go movie-hopping!”

Yuji started jumping up and down quickly. “Yes, yes, let’s do it! What movies are they showing today?! Hopefully something with Jennifer Lawrence in it,” he drooled. Megumi rolled his eyes, but nodded. “If I see any curses, though, I’m going to be upset. This was our day to recover.” You agreed with the movie-hopping idea, glad that you could have just one more day to yourselves, doing normal teenager things.

Half an hour later, you met up with your classmates at the front gates of Tokyo Tech, and started on your stroll downtown. “Hey, Y/n, what’s with the limp?” Nobara chuckled as she took in your pathetic attempt to walk straight. “The curse get you that badly?” You nodded at her, sheepishly thinking about how the damage from that curse was the least of your concerns. Yuji immediately patted himself. “Hop on,” he told you, signaling you to jump onto his back. “You want to give me a piggy back ride?” You smiled and teased him; his sincerity and concern was genuine, and it made your heart warmer.

You climbed onto his back and he continued walking as though he was weightless. Damn, you thought enviously. How did he recover so quickly? Yuji animatedly and dramatically described yesterday’s encounter to his friends. He was talking so fast you could barely keep up: “...and there were spikes, and the finger was caged between the teeth, and ... and, then I had to switch with Sukuna or we would’ve died! !! !!! And I can’t remember a thing after that. Oh, did you guys like your Mickey Mouse keychains?” Nobara gushed about how cute the souvenir was, and the two of you discussed how much you loved being in Tokyo. You took in the street vendors around you, the big flashing, neon lights, and the vibrant storefronts. Everything you laid your eyes on was so interesting and new, but couldn’t help but find yourself thinking about the view from above...38 floors above.

You shook your head and tried to forget about him. Why did your mind always have to wander back to him? No, you still didn’t care. “We’re here!!” Yuji shook you out of your intrusive thoughts as he announced your arrival in front of the Toho Cinema. You gaped at the marvelous glass building, serotonin boosting by the minute. “What are we watching?” You asked after you all pushed inside. Of course, it only took a second for the three get into a heated argument about which movie they would see first.

“We’re watching the showing of Back to the Future!” Yuji pouted, and Nobara was quick to yell, “Hell no! The freaky old man scares me!” Then Megumi suggested, “How about Fight Club?” and Nobara stamped her foot. “No violence today. I don’t need to see a skinny Brad Pitt with blood spurting out of his nostrils for two hours straight,” and you nodded in accord. After two more minutes of heated debate, you settled on Fast and Furious, because of its perfect blend of early-2000s tomfoolery, corny dialogue, and sexy (but ridiculous) car chases.

You sat sandwiched between Nobara and Itadori, and made the regrettable decision of holding the food tray in your lap. You could barely hear the furious engines revving over the sound of Yuji and Nobara greedily scooping popcorn and dropping sour gummy worms everywhere. Yuji repeatedly slurped his coke (which he for some reason preferred watered down) at maximum volume. Megumi was intently staring at the screen, and you made eye contact with him a few times and exchanged friendly eye rolls. The four of you exited the theater after the movie, and were about to commence your second round of argument for the next choice when your eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Sukuna’s devilish mouth made an appearance on Yuji’s right cheek. This couldn’t be good.

Before Yuji could slap it away, it spoke. “Y/n has a little secret to tell you guys. Go on, tell them,” he provoked you. The three turned to you, looking slightly confused. “Huh? I-I have no idea what he’s talking about,” you rushed. “Come on, you don’t want them to know how much fun we had together yesterday? Oh, maybe your friends don’t know that side of you yet; surprising, because I could tell just from the redness of your cheeks how much you enjoyed being called a slut. Anyways, if you don’t tell them, I will,” Sukuna’s mouth continued in a bored tone. You went to sharply slap your hand right across Yuji’s face, but his reflexes were too fast.

“He’s talking nonsense, guys,” you pleaded with their eyes. Before any of them could speak, Sukuna laughed and yelled, “I fucked her! And she was screaming and arching her back for me like she’d been deprived of dick her whole life! Don’t let her innocence fool you, she’s nothing but a whore!” He laughed once more and retreated back into Yuji’s skin.

You were so shocked that you couldn’t move. “What the fuck,” Megumi said, his usually half-lidded eyes widening. “Is it true?” Nobara asked. “Is that why you could barely walk today? Was it that big?” While those two were quietly asking questions in shock and utter disbelief, your pink-haired companion went completely ballistic. “I CAN’T REMEMBER ANY OF THIS. WHY WOULD HE DO THAT?!!! I DON’T UNDERSTAND...I’M NEVER SWITCHING WITH THAT IDIOT AGAIN!” He continued to have a system malfunction and babble, but your shame and embarrassment grew. You felt a slight pinch of anger forming as you realized that Gojo hadn’t explained anything to Yuji yet, even though he said he would. Yuji didn’t know about Sukuna’s deal yet.

“Was it...did you want to do it? I have to make sure. Because if you didn’t, I’ll kill that bastard right now with my own two hands” Nobara said. You swallowed the growing lump in your throat and nodded shamefully. “I wanted to.” “He’s taken so many innocent lives,” Megumi said quietly, and looked away. “Who’s side are you on?” Your shoes began to look really interesting, and you managed a weak, “I...didn’t want you guys to find out. It’s okay, you don’t have to worry about me. It’s extremely hard to explain, but I-you’re just going to have to trust me when I say I’ll be okay. There’s a...a reason I’m doing it.” Even saying it out loud sounded ridiculous. You had no guarantee that you would leave this arrangement unscathed, no guarantee except for...whatever Gojo’s protection had to offer.

There was no guarantee, either, that keeping up your end of the bargain would even save lives. “DID HE HURT YOU? DID I HURT YOU?” Yuji grabbed your shoulders and forced you to look up. “No, no. I’m good,” you answered. You were glad that your friends had your back, but extremely ashamed that you had let all of them down for your own selfish reasons. To play a game and keep a certain person jealous. What made you feel even worse, though, was the fact that you secretly didn’t want that game to end.

Yuji, sensing the tension, broke the silence. “All right, no more arguing. We’re going to go watch World War Z and forget that ever happened.” You were so grateful when him and Nobara took you by the arms and dragged you into another theater, Megumi following behind. Even if it was a zombie apocalypse movie, you needed the escape. “And more popcorn!” Yuji enthusiastically suggested, bolting to get another large bucket and then coming back within two seconds.

You tried, again, to focus on the movie but this time you weren’t distracted by you’re friends’ prodding elbows and crunching noises. It was the looming fear of what Sukuna was going to do to you day after tomorrow. The thought of his evil grin and sheer strength sent chills down your spine, and you sat up straight. You looked at Yuji for a minute, wondering if the king of curses was watching you writhe with nervousness right now. He was probably enjoying feeding off of your fear, you thought. And you were right. He was.

🌹

[kopikokun]

Pity Party Crasher༄ nakamoto yuta

↳ Just great. You’ve just been dumped at this stranger’s party and all you want to do is curl up in a corner and cry, which is... exactly what you do. To your surprise though, there’s been an uninvited guest to your pity party.

pairing: nakamoto yuta x reader

content: fluff, comfort fic, alcohol consumption

wordcount: 1912 words

author’s note: ehehe can you guys guess who yuta’s supposed to be? also, this is a little rushed which i hope you can forgive me for since it was supposed to be short but turned into a full oneshot

— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝.

They don’t seem to stop. No matter how many times you swipe at your puffy eyes, the tears keep pouring down in a constant stream, falling in droplets onto the fabric of your costume and no doubt smearing your makeup beyond all repair.

  People are starting to stare, you realise which does nothing to boost your crumbling self-esteem at the moment. Nobody even bothers to approach you and ask you what’s wrong. All they do is ogle at you like you’re some sort of strange creature at the zoo. But then again, if someone walked up to you right now and asked you what’s wrong, you’d probably start bawling like a baby and humiliate yourself further. Even so, you wish at least someone here bothered enough to ask you if you were okay. Call it selfish, but you really wish you had someone to turn to right now.

All this extravagance does not faze you though. The second the toilet door locks with a click, shielding you from everybody’s eyes, you make a beeline towards the toilet--well, one of the two toilets--flip the lid shut and fall into it. You tuck your knees to your chest, burying your face as you finally allow a sob to wrack through you.

In the back of your mind, the self-assured, rational part of you knows that this is dumb. That foul man doesn’t deserve your tears after what he’s done. He doesn’t deserve even another ounce of your energy or another second of your time. He deserves absolutely nothing from you, and you know that for a fact, yet the tears are still hot and wet as they continuously trickle down your cheeks.

In the back of your mind, the self-assured, rational part of you knows that this is dumb. That foul man doesn’t deserve your tears after what he’s done. He doesn’t deserve even another ounce of your energy or another second of your time. He deserves absolutely nothing from you, and you know that for a fact, yet the tears are still hot and wet as they continuously trickle down your cheeks.

How embarrassing, you think. Here you are, looking nothing short of stunning in your Halloween costume, isolating yourself in some stranger’s bathroom, mascara running down your face all because your no good boyfri--ex-boyfriend,  stood you up and proceeded to dump you over text, leaving you completely alone at this party filled with people you’ve never met because he had pleaded for you to go. God, just thinking about it makes your blood boil.

  Your very own pity party is swiftly sabotaged when you hear the unmistakable sound of a shampoo bottle dropping and a barely whispered, “Crap!” coming from none other than the bathtub.

  At this sudden intrusion, you immediately lunge to your feet, grabbing onto the nearest available weapon (which is a hairbrush in your case) and soundlessly tiptoe towards the source of this mysterious sound.

  You pause, swallowing dryly. “Hello? Is there somebody there?”

  The shower curtains almost immediately slide open in response and a scream gets caught in your throat as you raise the hairbrush menacingly over your head, in what you think is the best position to strike this person in.

  “Woah! Oh my God, calm down!”

  The identity of the culprit is revealed, although upon seeing his face you still have no idea who he is and, more importantly, why he was hiding in the bathtub. The stranger has his hair dyed a bright, almost neon pink, and little equally as pink antennas sticking out of his head. It’s painfully obvious they’re handmade by how asymmetrical they look, but you applaud the effort. He has his hands up defensively as he peers at you with caution, like you’re some feral, untamed creature, though to be fair, you probably look like one. All this while, this weirdo is still perched in the bathtub.

  “What are you doing in here?” you hiss, letting the hand which was holding your makeshift weapon fall limp to your side. The man’s shoulders visibly loosen.

  “Look, I know how weird this looks--”

  “Yeah, no kidding.”

  “But I genuinely didn’t mean to be here and listen in on you,” he says. “In fact, I was here first.”

  While that statement is true, his argument just leaves you with more questions. “Okay, but why the hell were you camping out in the bathtub of all places? Who does that?”

  The man smiles sheepishly. “Look, I have my reasons.”

  You expect him to explain himself, but oddly, he keeps quiet. You tap your foot impatiently and cross your arms like a disappointed mother reprimanding their child. “Okay, well, do feel free to explain these reasons.”

  “Okay, well, you might want to take a seat for this one,” he says, gesturing to the toilet you were previously sat on, and you can’t help but snort. Nevertheless, you take this peculiar man’s advice and sit back down on the cold, hard toilet lid. “So, long story short, some guy out there really wants to kill me.” He pauses for extra affect. “In the most agonising way he can come up with.”

  You physically recline back in what can only be shock. “Oh, wow. You’re serious?”

  “Excuse the pun, but yes, I’m drop-dead serious.”

  You furrow your brows. “Well, that’s dumb. Why’d you choose to hide out in here of all places then? Why not just go home?”

  The man’s mouth hangs open, almost like he’s about to say something in retaliation before he promptly shuts it. “Hey, you know what?” he says, head tilted. “I didn’t think about that.”

  You roll your eyes at his confession, though you can’t wipe the amused smile from your face. You briefly wonder exactly why this man is on someone’s hitlist. But you think that asking that question would only lead to equally--if not stranger answers.

  “What about you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why are you camped out here in the bathroom?”

  You chew on your bottom lip, sudden anxiety beginning to grip onto you. You didn’t expect him to ask that. No doubt he had heard your heaving sobs through the flimsy material of the shower curtain, but you didn’t expect him to ask any further questions. Really, you were sure he was just going to brush it off and pretend like nothing ever happened, and that you were just in the toilet for more normal toilet-like business.

  “I mean,” he leans on the wall behind the bathtub, “you don’t have to tell me anything. I totally get that. But if you want to say something, I’m willing to listen. I’ve got a lot of time to kill. Excuse the pun. Again.”

  You smile softly. You’re not sure what exactly compels you to confide in this stranger, maybe it’s the genuine concern present in his voice, the delicate look in his eyes behind those green-tinted glasses, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s somehow made you at least chuckle, just moments after your breakdown, which in the moment, was something you thought you’d never be able to accomplish, at least for another week.

  “I--” you start, searching for the right words to say. “I got dumped by text by my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend,” you correct yourself. “And I didn’t even want to be at this dumb party to begin with. The guy had the gall to beg for me to come, and fucking dumped me after I dressed up and everything. Through text.” Crap. You can feel them coming. Another onslaught of fresh tears bombards you. You try your best to suck them back in, but a few stray ones stream down your cheeks.

  “What a dick. Without a doubt, I can tell that you’re way above his league. He’s just a fucking prick.” Somehow, him dissing your ex-boyfriend makes your chest feel a little lighter. “But hey, are you okay?”

  You angrily swipe your tears away with the back of your palm. “Yeah, whatever. I’m over it.” You know that’s a lie. But it’s more of a lie to fool yourself into believing than the man before you.

  “If it makes you feel any better, the guy who’s trying to kill me is actually my girlfriend’s boyfriend.”

  “What?” you sputter. You blink back your visible shock. “You mean you were seeing some girl who’s already in a relationship?” You can’t hide the evident disgust on your face.

  “No! No! Of course not. I’d never do that!” he almost yells, appalled you’d ever accuse him of such a heinous act. “You know me better than that.” Again, his antics bring a humoured snort out of you. “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. I thought she was single. At least, that’s what she told me, but obviously, she was lying. She didn’t think I’d be at this party, so she brought along her boyfriend and now he’s found out and he’s trying to murder me, hence why I’m in the bathtub.”

  You grimace. You should definitely offer him some consolation. It’s the least you can do after what he’s done for you. “Are… Are you okay?” you find yourself repeating his line of question back to him.

  The man grins lopsidedly. “Yeah, I’ve drowned all my sorrows in alcohol and,”--He reaches into the bathtub before pulling out and entire bottle of some expensive looking champagne--“I’ve got more.”

  You snort. “You stole the alcohol?”

  “In my defence, this is so little compared to what’s out there that I really doubt anyone noticed.” He shrugs. “Plus, have you seen the size of this house. I mean, take this bathroom for instance. There’s two sinks! Who the hell needs two sinks? Even if I stole a truckloads worth of alcohol--which trust me, I was tempted to do--that would barely scratch the surface of this guy’s no doubt massive alcohol collection.”

  You slump in your seat. “You know what? A truckload of alcohol sounds really nice right now.”

  “Is that you telling me that you’re willing to help me in my alcohol heist?”

  You laugh. “What? I didn’t say that… Although, my little hands could probably hold a bottle or two…”

  The man leaps from the bathtub, outstretching his hand to you. “Alright then, come along my partner in crime. I’ve got some crisps in my car and we’re getting wasted tonight.”

  “You’re just inviting a stranger into your car?” you tease. “What if all of this was just some extravagant ploy to get me close enough to kill you?”

  The man grins cheekily, rouge beginning to dust his cheeks from the alcohol he’s consumed. “I wouldn’t mind being murdered by such a pretty girl.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” you scoff, a bit taken aback by this brazenly flirtatious comment. Admittedly, you’re not opposed to it.

  You place your hand in his, and his smile broadens as his hand tightens around yours. His smile is infectious, you find.

  “And what might be my partner in crime’s name, may I ask?”

  The man laughs as he tugs you from your seat, and it’s the nicest laugh you’ve ever heard.

  “Nakamoto Yuta. My name is Nakamoto Yuta.”

  “Well, Nakamoto Yuta,” you grin, “lead the way.”

[snesdudes]

FIST FIGHTING WITH FIRE

chapter III

Pairing: Mason x f!Detective (Alice Santos)

Warnings: Book 3 demo SPOILERS!!! Cursing, some angst, mentions of sex, a guy being a creep™, I guess. Sorry if there are any mistakes!

Word count: ~1.8k

Summary: A week after that scene on Haley’s Bakery, Mason deals with the aftermath of his words... Or has he been dealing with it since the very moment he said them?

Read on ao3

chapter I �� chapter II ⭐ chapter IV ⭐ chapter V

                                         ☾  一一一一一一一一一   ☽ 

Outside the bar

"Can we just… not do this?" Alice spoke into the phone, her free hand running through her red hair and messing the waves she had carefully done that evening. A sigh from the other end of the line indicated her mother's reluctance to let it go.

"You seemed to be perfectly integrated with the Unit some days ago, and this week you made up a meeting with the Captain just to avoid coming to the warehouse."

Alice cringed, not her finest moment. "Look, I'm with them now, having a drink together. We're fine. Everything's fine."

"Does this have anything to do with what's been going on with Mason?"

Hearing his name made the detective snap. "Wait, is this you being a mother or being a boss?" She spat, venom on her every word. "Because you've barely gained the right to meddle in my life as either of those things."

The silence was deafening, and Alice's heartbeat kept getting faster and faster. "You weren't there when Bobby broke my heart, you don't have to be here now." Her voice cracked as she finished the sentence and she had to clear her throat.

"Is that what happened? Mason broke your heart?" Tears threatened to spill out of her green eyes at the genuine concern on Rebecca's voice.

"No, he didn't." She answered with a whisper, rebuilding her carefully placed walls.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am. I have to go, they are waiting for me."

"Alice, wait, tell me -"

She finished the call and stared at the phone's screen for a few seconds, taking calming breaths and trying to swallow the tears. The Unit would pick up on any change in her mood so she better calm down fast.

"Detective Santos. That looked intense."

She turned around quickly, finding the bearded man they were discussing inside before her mother called. Alice cleared her throat and offered a wobbling smile. "Kinda. Mr Rogers, wasn't it?"

"Please, call me Owen." He said, a wolfish smile on his lips as he offered his hand to her. Alice couldn't help but think of all the times the smirks Mason threw her way had seemed wolfish to her, and how different the chill she felt going down her spine was to the one she was feeling now.

Still, she was the detective of this town, so she shook his hand as professionally as she could. He took advantage of the situation to pull her slightly towards him, making her stumble on her heels and gaining a frown from her.

"I couldn't exactly walk up to you inside, surrounded by those guys. Popular, aren't you?"

Alice pulled her hand away and took a step backwards, creating some distance. "Those are my friends. And I would carefully think about what you say next if I were you, because so far you're doing a terrible job at flirting with me."

Owen blinked, slightly taken aback by her brashness, but recovering quickly and assuming she was challenging him. He didn't know he had picked the worst moment to annoy the detective, who usually was rather friendly and generous with her smiles. But the night had been a whirlwind of emotions and she was feeling irritated, miserable and ready to either go home and curl into the bed or get back inside and get shit faced drunk. Definitely not in the mood to deal with this man.

"I'm just saying you've probably let some of them get a taste." His grin widened, eyes travelling down her body. "Thought maybe I could be next. I'm sure I could teach you a couple of things… or maybe you could show me what you can do."

She opened her mouth to reply when a low growl interrupted her, making Owen turn around and allowing Alice to see Mason standing there, fists clenched and eyes narrowed, lips curled in a snarl. He looked dangerous, even more so than he usually did, and Alice tried to look at him from a stranger's eyes. Everything in his body and expression was screaming 'predator'. It would be the kind of situation where your body asks you to run even if you aren't sure about why you should be running. You just know you should. But she didn't feel fear, his anger was not directed towards her. She felt a thrill going through her body at his presence, forgetting her bruised heart for a moment.

"What the fuck did you just say to her?" The words were still growled as he stepped forward, and Owen took a step backwards, nearly colliding with the detective, who moved aside and around him. Mason reached out a hand to her, not moving his stormy gaze from the bearded man. Not even thinking, she slipped her hand into his and he gently moved her closer until she was tucked against his side. The detective had expected Mason to push her behind him, not keeping her by his side. She felt both of their bodies relaxing slightly at the touch, as if being close to each other was the only thing they needed in the world.

Owen looked at them with slight fear in his eyes. He could swear he had seen a glimpse of inhumanly big fangs when the long-haired man snarled. Mason's hand rested on her waist and her manicured one grabbed his shirt, his dark hair falling down his face and getting mixed with her red locks, tickling her cheek. He looked at him as if he was about to rip him apart, and the look on the detective's face let him know she would very much allow it… maybe even help him.

"Look," he croaked, "I didn't know she was with you. No harm done, okay?"

But his words didn't have the desired reaction. Another growl, and his snarl widened. It was taking all his self control not to pounce on this guy, but he knew he shouldn't. "So it was okay to be a creep to her when you didn't know? But suddenly a bad idea now you know she's my girl?"

Mason didn't miss the way her heart leaped inside her chest at his words and a pang of satisfaction almost made him shudder. If he hadn't been so fucking angry at the man standing before them he would have probably gotten goosebumps at the way she subtly pressed herself closer before speaking.

"You gotta learn how to treat women like human beings, you fucking dirtbag. If I see you creeping on anyone of this town I'll have you arrested for harassment."

The man nodded enthusiastically as he took another step backwards. Mason rolled his eyes with a huff.

"One of us is gonna kick your ass if you don't get lost. Now."

That was enough, and in a few seconds they were left alone in the street. Mason relished on her closeness, the scent of her honey scented shampoo tickling his nose, the warmth of her body expanding through their clothes and seeming to reach inside him. But she cleared her throat and he lost it all. She took a step away from him and the hand that had been resting on her waist fell limp to his side.

"Thank you. It would have been awkward if the detective of the town punched a newcomer in the dick." She chuckled awkwardly. "So, you know, thank you."

"You already said that."

She met his eyes and his forced grin let her know he was trying to mess with her to lighten the mood.

"Right. We should, uh, go back." She moved to walk past him, but his long fingers curled around her forearm and she spinned around to meet his face, now suddenly serious. He opened his mouth and closed it, his brow furrowed as if what he was about to say was too difficult to say it out loud. His fingers loosened their grip and Alice thought he was going to let her go. Of course he was going to let her go. He wouldn't face the way he hurt her because that would mean he accepted they had something worth saving. Her eyes dropped to his grip, wanting to watch, forcing to accept, he was never going to make her stay.

But his fingers tightened with new force, and her gaze snapped back to his face.

Grey eyes, tempestuous with emotion, stared at her, moving wildly through her features before he finally found the words.

"Don't go."

Her breath caught on her throat at the thought that he wasn't just talking about going inside.

He feels those things, alright. You gotta be patient while he figures them out.

Felix's words echoed inside her mind. The seconds that went by seemed to last an eternity, before she nodded slowly. Mason's shoulders dropped as he exhaled, as if a great weight had been lifted off them.

"Okay, Mason."

Meanwhile, inside the bar

"Maybe one of us should have gone outside to mediate." Nate sighed, staring inside his glass of scotch. "Those two aren't exactly good at sharing how they feel."

"Who knows." Felix shrugged, a grin widening in his face. "Maybe they're already back at Allie's apartment."

"Why would they…? Oh." Nate realised, eyes widening.

"They say the bigger the fight, the best the make up sex gets." Felix wiggled his eyebrows. "If that's true, they're in for a hell of a night."

Nate cringed, very much wishing Felix hadn't put that image of his friends inside his brain. "Ugh. I just hope Mason finds a way to fix whatever he's done without hurting her anymore."

"She knew what she was getting into by getting involved with someone like Mason." Adam said matter of factly. "He doesn't really try to hide his brashness."

Nate nodded, Mason was all sharp edges and bluntness, while the detective was much softer, gentle. It was easy for someone like her to get cut while trying to hold on to someone like him. Maybe it was a matter of how many cuts and wounds she could resist before letting go. But he liked to believe that wouldn't happen - instead, her softness would envelope his sharpness, showing him a side of himself he didn't even know it existed. A small smile bloomed on Nate's face as the thought.

"I think they both have to learn how to be around each other now that their relationship is changing."

Adam shrugged, but Felix let out a dreamy sigh. "You're such a romantic, Natey. Mason would learn so much from you if he didn't get nauseous every time he thinks about love."

Nate chuckled. "You know, maybe that's about to change."

                                     ☾  一一一一一一一一一   ☽ 

A/N: Let me know if you want to be tagged in the future! Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated 😍

TAGLIST: @agentnatesewell @gloynporslen @sunchipz @agentmasonjars @msjpuddleduck @utterlyinevitable @kat-tia801 @oxjenayxo

[americankimchi]

ok and I GET the concept of attachments leading to vulnerability and therefore weakness but to impose that on a CHILD who so desperately needs a family, someone he could bond with, its honestly tragic. and since qui gon isnt there to do it anymore it falls on obi wan, whos basically a kid himself, whos dealt with rejection his whole life, and how can you expect him to provide anything, much less mentor a padawan?? idk i just have so many FEELINGS abt this and can’t put it into proper words lol

okay you know what i think that’s on qui gon because why!!! would you make the decision to rip a child away from his home like that so quickly!!! i get that they were making a movie and thus needed to speed things along for pacing reasons but COME ONNNNN

i feel like if it wasn’t restricted for movie reasons it would have gone down very differently. difference being: hey, maybe we don’t rip anakin away from his mom and leave not only his mom still in slavery but also punt a tiny child directly into a warzone.

hear me out

so assuming qui gon decides not to take anakin with him (at that moment in time because anakin is still going to be heading to the order just in a more meticulous fashion) right after meeting the skywalkers on tattooine, he still needs to get off planet. so he does the whole race thing yadda yadda he gets the engine and they take off

so here’s where it diverges: anakin stays on tattooine and never goes to naboo.

(bro this got so long i had to put it under a cut omfg)

but cindy!! you might say, leaving anakin on tattoine??? stuck in slavery??? how could you!!!

YES, but this is a temporary thing, just stay with me for a second

padme disagrees but relents because qui gon says he’ll come back for the boy when he’s not, you know, neck deep in the middle of tense wartime negotiations that could trigger a full scale onslaught at any moment. that’s no place to bring a small child into no matter how powerful in the force he is.

qui gon heads back to the council, gives his report, and then mentions anakin. mentions his fuckin. midichlorian count. which is still so ridiculous to me oh my god the midichlorian is the powerhouse of the force i GUESS

anyways

the council still disapproves, but qui gon makes the case that even if they don’t believe him about the chosen one thing it’s still dangerous to leave such a powerful force user out there untrained and vulnerable to the stresses and traumas of slavery. what if he turns to the dark side??? he’ll have ample reasons to if he’s stuck there, and the amount of destruction he could unleash by being untrained and powerful is unspeakable!! qui gon, being the master diplomat he is, even if he is constantly butting heads with the council, could probably convince them of the importance of at least meeting the child. hell, it’s not as if they haven’t broken people free from slavery before it’s honestly jedi basic training at this point

so the council agrees on the condition that qui gon is not allowed to personally mentor the boy because as it stands now he’s too close to the situation, too eager which honestly??? might have been a good chunk of the reason why the council was so against it in the first place. qui gon pushed for it too hard and for no real solid reason. and for fuck’s sake qui gon your padawan is right there

obi wan, awkwardly shuffling on his feet like..... yeah i’m here too master

SPEAKING OF OBI WAN

imagine how gutting it must be to hear that your master wants to get rid of you for the newer, younger model. like at this point obi wan is so used to this shit. abandonment? by qui gon??? it’s more likely than you think,

and obi wan’s ALLL ready to be like “yeah okay. i’ll just. go over here then i guess. fuck me for thinking that you respected me as a person or anything lmao right”

and qui gon’s just “ah fuck. i can’t believe i’ve done this”

anyways hand waves qui gon explaining his reasoning to obi wan and saying that he just wants to ensure that the boy gets the training he needs and obi wan understanding but asking if he really thinks he’s ready to be a knight genuinely or if he’s just saying that to get him out of the way and wow that thought actually hurt a bit lol!!! no problem though qui gon whatever you want haha i’ll just... be in pain. over here. ((:

and qui gon being like, “honestly obi wan the only reason you’re not actually knighted is because i cherish your companionship and i don’t want to let you go” because ANAKIN ISN’T THE ONLY ONE WITH ATTACHMENT ISSUES CASE IN POINT: MY MANS JINN

let’s be honest obi wan could’ve been knighted ages ago. the only reason he hasn’t been is because the master dictates when that step should be taken and qui gon wasn’t ready to let his surrogate son go.

anyways RECONCILIATION WHOO kicks that insecurity off of obi wan’s already weary shoulders because that gnarly bit of tension could’ve been avoided so easily with just a simple conversation!! wow!!! communication can do wondrous things who! would! have! known!!!!!

anyways

they get to naboo. how do they beat the trade federation without anakin? the force works in mysterious ways alright it happens they win boom.

now, onto qui gon. in this au qui gon lives because of that healthy bit of communication up there that went down. see that conversation? where they affirm how important they (qui gon and obi wan) are to each other? and how that bond was repaired and confirmed between their leaving coruscant and fighting maul on naboo and thus their harmonious fighting wasn’t impaired by that underlying resentment and betrayal and tension??? TELLING YOUR KIDS THAT YOU LOVE AND RESPECT THEM CAN DO AMAZING THINGS WITH YOUR ABILITY TO COORDINATE WITH THEM IN THE FIELD IMAGINE THAT

coughs

so they fight maul and maul gets turned into maul 1 and maul 2 and qui gon almost gets got but is saved just in time by his padawan who is!! right there with him!!! because qui gon WAITS 5 SECONDS FOR HIM TO CATCH UP so they can F I G H T  T O G E T H E R. qui gon has a permanent limp and an ache in his spine that never really goes away but he’s ALIVE TO SEE THE NEXT SUNRISE BABEY

celebrations happen. and the most important bit of all here: palpatine never meets anakin on naboo.

why would he? anakin’s not fuckin there mate!!! maul wouldn’t even know anything about anakin because qui gon never bothered to take him with them to coruscant and maul was chasing the delegation from naboo, not going hunting for babies in the tatooinian sands

/kicks the palpatine was anakin’s experimental force daddy theory to the curb because. i don’t like it that’s why. suck it dickpatine.

ANAKIN NEVER MEETS PALPATINE!! ripples in the fucking pond babey

qui gon and obi wan ask a boon of padme, that boon being “hey can you give us truly disgusting amounts of money so we can go free those delightful people we had to leave behind on tatooine due to the fact that we were on a time crunch and also ripping people away from a familiar environment without a stable plan of action to provide them a better quality of life is actually called, as the professionals say, a dick move.”

and padme’s like “um fuck yeah here’s some cash let me know how this goes and give anakin and shmi my love”

SO OFF THEY GO TO TATOOINE TO FREE THE SKYWALKERS. shmi tags along to the temple because why wouldn’t she. she wants to see where her son is going to be going. she also pesters qui gon and obi wan constantly about the order and its philosophies and etc. etc. and subsequently gets a crash course in jedi doctrine that anakin also gets to sit in on and you know, educate himself on.

“we want you to know that being a jedi is a choice. being a jedi is a religion unto itself.” they say

“but it’s a set of philosophies that are meant to at its core help others live happy and free lives?” anakin (and shmi) ask

“that’s a very very very large generalization but i guess for the purposes of this conversation that could be seen as true. from a certain point of view,” they respond. qui gon then lets obi wan loose on his musings about the code because the code is simple, and complex in its simplicity, and how the beliefs of the jedi should be taken very seriously because it reflects their connection to the force and by extension the world around them etc. etc.

anakin makes it to the temple. anakin knows (at least a little) what it means to be a jedi. it’s not all light sabers and noble battles and fighting the good fight. it’s about sacrifice and humility and nobility and above all kindness and empathy and loving all things, great and small, and not letting your personal hatreds cloud your judgement even if it takes all your strength to do so

and most importantly to anakin: no attachments.

and that’s what anakin struggles with the most. that never changes. but this time shmi is there to explain it to him, and coming from shmi, the most important person in the world, makes it stick

“it doesn’t mean you love me less,” shmi explains. “it just means you don’t love everyone else less because you love me. it means not loving me to the exclusion of all else. it means love, but for everyone. for everything.”

and then the two jedi reaffirm that it’s a choice. it’s always about choice. you can’t be a jedi without choosing to be one, it’s not something that can be forced. either you believe in the lifestyle, or you don’t. simple as that.

“can i leave if i want to” anakin asks.

“yes. of course you can, any time.” qui gon responds.

“not sure why you would want to though, being a jedi is kind of super cool” obi wan adds, with a wink.

but anakin isn’t a jedi yet. he’s not even an initiate. he doesn’t want to leave his mom, not until he knows she’s safe. he wants to be a jedi he burns with the need to be a jedi, but he’s not sure if he can be a jedi. not the way that was explained to him anyways. but that’s okay because he has the time to decide!!! there are no sith lords breathing down his neck!!! he has two (2) in the flesh examples of what jedi can do, what jedi are, what they can accomplish in the world!!! most of all he has his mother there, supporting him either way!!!

maybe he does go into the order. maybe he does ultimately choose that life for himself. maybe he does manage to untangle himself from the snarls of attachment and apply himself wholeheartedly to the ways of the jedi. he might even succeed this time since palpatine has no fucking CLUE anakin’s even there!!! he’s not nine years old and freshly braided and attached at the hip to a mourning brand new knight, he’s nine years old and trying to figure out how the fuck you levitate off the ground with your legs crossed under you while his crechemates balance things onto his nose!!!

and you know what!! maybe he chooses to leave the order because it’s not for him, but this time he’s got enough stability in his life, in the way that he manages and examines his feelings, that he’s not a threat to himself and those he loves. maybe he becomes a mechanic and lives a nice, simple life with his aging mother and becomes penpals with a pretty girl from naboo. WHO KNOWWWSSS

and that’s important for anakin: knowing that it’s always a choice always his choice and that he never has to have anyone tell him who he can and cannot be because he is his own master now he has full autonomy and the jedi cannot and will not take that away from him

this got so long oh my god i just have so many THOUGHTS

qui gon taking anakin like that in tpm was such a rushed decision my man can you CHILL AND THINK

anyways,,,,, that’s all thank u for coming with me on this journey,,,,,,,

[storiesforallfandoms]

same problem ~ yennefer of vengerberg;the witcher

word count: 1771

request?: no

description: after struggling with infertility, she decides to go to a mage to try and see if she can solve of problems

pairing: yennefer x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of infertility

masterlist

She anxiously waited outside the Mage’s hut. She was told that this Mage, Yennefer, was the one to see for any sort of sexual problems. She figured infertility classified as a sexual problem, and this was her last shot at possibly being able to bare a child, to finally be able to be wed and become a mother.

A young couple exited the hut, giggling happily and unable to keep their hands off of one another. They passed (Y/N) without giving her a second thought and raced off, most likely back to their home. Yennefer came to the door to see who was next. She looked so young, almost as young as (Y/N), but also like she had lived a dozen lifetimes. Her bright purple eyes looked (Y/N) over.

“Are you by yourself?” she asked. (Y/N) nodded. “Come in then.”

(Y/N) followed Yennefer into her hut. The place was filled with things she had never seen before, all sorts of magical items and potions. If her parents had known she was there they would definitely get very angry at her, if they hadn’t already cast her out due to the very reason she was there.

Yennefer sat at a table nd gestured for (Y/N) to sit in front of her. “I assume you have the correct payment.”

(Y/N) produced a bag of silver and held it out to her. “I wasn’t sure how much this would be, I brought all the silver I had.”

Yennefer tipped the bag over, letting the contents spill onto the table. She began to count the silver, encouraging (Y/N) as she did, “Tell me what it is I can do for you.”

(Y/N) looked down at her lap. She took a deep breath and willed the words to come out. “I...I struggle with...conceiving a child. I was hoping you may be able to help with that.”

Yennefer stopped mid-count. Her eyes travelled up to (Y/N)’s face, as if trying to see if she was serious. Upon seeing that she was, Yennefer collected the coins and put them back into the bag. “I cannot help you with that, I’m sorry.”

“What? You’re not even going to try?” (Y/N) asked in shock.

Yennefer rose from her seat and turned her back to (Y/N). “There is no magic strong enough to reverse infertility, no potions or elixirs either. It is best if you know this now instead of spending you life looking for a solution. You will never be able to have a child.”

(Y/N) watched with a broken heart as the Mage crossed the room and opened her door. “Now please leave, I have other customers who I can help that will be waiting for me.”

(Y/N) shook her head as tears started welling up in her eyes. “No, no I will not leave. I refuse to take that as an answer when you have not even tried! There must be some solution, some answer to my problem.”

“There is not,” Yennefer responded, her voice still and calm. “Please leave.”

“No!” (Y/N) stood, her whole body shaking with anger and sadness. “No, I will not leave. You haven’t even tried! Just because you were told there’s no spells to fix or reverse infertility doesn’t mean it’s true! Please, I came all this way, I saved up on silver for months. I was told you were the best, you have to try something!”

Yennfer’s face became red as she slammed the hut door closed with such a force that it shook the entire hut, causing some of her potions to rattle and fall onto the floor. (Y/N) jumped and backed away as Yennefer turned to her and began to advance.

“You think I want to turn you down?!” she snapped. “You think I want to be the bearer of this bad news? The truth is, girl, there is absolutely no reversing infertility. If there was, I would have done it a long time ago, and I wouldn’t be here in this grimy town helping limp dicked men to get an erection long enough to try and satisfy their women!”

(Y/N) cowered away from Yennefer in fear. The Mage sighed heavily and ran a hand through her long, black hair, backing around from (Y/N). When she was at a safe distance away, (Y/N) relaxed and looked at Yennefer, curiously.

“You...you are infertile as well?” she asked. “But I thought...can’t Mages have children? Isn’t that how magic is passed down?”

Yennefer scoffed. “Some of the time, yes. Sometimes it just happens, without any former magic genetics, like me.”

Yennefer sat at the table again. (Y/N) knew she was overstaying her welcome and that it would be best to leave, but she couldn’t help herself as she sat across from the Mage again. Yennefer looked up at her and they locked eyes. (Y/N) was caught staring into her beautiful purple eyes, and she wondered if this was some type of magic that Yennefer was about to use on her, or if she was really juts hypnotized by Yennefer.

“Before I became a Mage, I was very ugly,” Yennefer admitted. “So much so that I was mocked mercilessly by my peers. My father was a pig farmer, so they called me the Piglet. I was found by my mentor, Tissaia de Vries, and she took me to learn magic.”

“Is that how you...” (Y/N) started.

Yennefer raised an eyebrow at her. “How I became infertile?”

(Y/N) shook her head quickly. “No, how you became so...beautiful.”

Yennefer smiled at the compliment. Of course, she had heard it numerous times since her transformation, but there was something about hearing (Y/N) say it that made it seem more genuine. Whenever men called her beautiful, it was in an attempt to get her into bed, when women did it, it was with a sneer of hatred as their husbands would usually be staring heavily at Yennefer.

“It is,” she confirmed. “I met with a charmer during my initiation and demanded to be made beautiful. The price was my ability to bare a child. At first, it seemed like such a small price to pay; my life was devoted to my magic, I had no intentions of being wed or having children. However, once I became the Mage for ungrateful wives of power who wished not to have their children, I realized how much I wished to have children.”

Yennefer wasn’t sure why she was telling (Y/N) all of this. She had never told anyone before, let alone someone she had just met. But there was something about (Y/N) - maybe it was the fact that she struggled with the same problem, maybe it was the way she was looking at Yennefer with wide, interested eyes as she spoke, or maybe it was something more - whatever the case, Yennefer felt safe in telling (Y/N) her biggest secret. She trusted that the young woman wouldn’t tell anyone else of the plights of the most powerful Mage in the town.

“I have tried for years,” she continued. “I have yet to find a solution, because the truth is, there isn’t one. Some are blessed to have many children but are so ungrateful to not want them, and some, like us, are cursed with the inability to conceive at all, despite how much we wish to.”

(Y/N) had been sat on the edge of her seat. When Yennefer finished, she sat back, looking heartbroken and defeated, as if finally realizing that there was really no solution to her problem, and maybe she was finally coming to terms with this.

“I was born this way,” she admitted, blinking away the tears that were threatening to fall down her face. “I was never able to have children. I was so late in beginning to bleed that my parents took me to a doctor. There, we learned that if I were to never bleed, it meant I would never have children. All these years later...I have yet to shed one drop of blood. My family...they believe I have done something to allow this to happen. They cast me out on my eighteenth birthday, saying that there was no need for them to keep me around if I would never be able to be married and bare them a grandchild. No man wants to settle down with me. Plenty are happy to take me for a night or two without the repercussions of a bastard child, but no man who wishes to settle down and be married would dare look in my direction. I...I just want to be...useful. I don’t want to be viewed as worthless anymore.”

Yennefer reached across the table to take hold of (Y/N)’s hand. (Y/N) looked up at her, the tears finally rolling down her cheeks. Yennefer gave her a slight smile and squeezed her hand.

“You are not worthless,” she said. “Your ability to have children does not define who you are, and you shouldn’t let it define who you are. That’s why I say come to terms with the fact that there truly is not a solution to this problem, so that you can move on once you know that. Once you move on, you’ll be able to accomplish great things, and you’ll no longer have to worry about what others say or think due to your infertility, because it doesn’t matter. What matters is you and your own happiness in life.”

(Y/N) smiled and wiped the tears from her eyes with her free hand, and squeezed Yennefer’s hand again. “I suppose you are right. If there is no way to fix my problem, then there is no reason to dwell on it my whole life.”

Yennefer smiled back. “Exactly.”

The two women sat in silence for some time. Yennefer realized she was still holding (Y/N)’s hand when she felt (Y/N) run her thumb along her knuckles, however Yennefer had no desire to let go. Instead, she reached another hand across the table and used it to cup (Y/N)’s hand.

“If you do not have anywhere to stay, I would be honored to let you stay here,” she said. “For however long you would like to stay, I’d like to have you here.”

(Y/N) smiled brightly. “I would love to stay here with you.”

And just like that, an unlikely alliance, as well as an unlikely romance, formed between the two women.

[dangan-meme-palace]

Do you find Saihara's characterization weird in chapter 6? Because I do :( He's become super confident, optimistic, and leader-like too fast, especially if you compare to ch5 and before...I understand that in the last chapter all protags get pumped up to end the killing game but...he's quoting Momota and he also developed a 'hunch' like him...even Harukawa says 'sometimes you're so much like Kaito' pls no I like Saihara the way he is, meaning, not like Momota :( but that's just my opinion! ^^

Shuichi's characterization is all over the place. It's not even like... "he's inconsistent because humans are inconsistent" or whatever, it's literally just that his personality changes whenever the narrative needs it to without anything but loose, barely-there excuses to try and justify why it happens.

Chapter 1:

No problems with believing in his detective work, he's actually quite shockingly confident in them for how much he downplays them.

His actual problem is not thinking his skills are where they should be according to professional standards, which is an accurate assessment if the rest of the game is anything to go by actually.

Calls Kaito a reckless idiot for doing something reckless and idiotic. This is the only time he does this.

Learns a lesson?? I guess?? The lesson was apparently supposed to be "don't be afraid to reach for the truth" but it came off more like "you shouldn't let everyone die just because you liked Kaede the most, picking favorites and having bias is bad because you have a duty to remain unbiased so everyone doesnt die"

Then everyone conveniently forgets that he was willing to let them die.

Chapter 1 was the best for his characterization except for the trial. I wish he had acted like this throughout the entire game.

Let him investigate. Dear god why doesn't the detective investigate, or even cast doubt?

Chapter 2:

Kaito is starting to become his Bro now. He's not super biased like in later chapters, but you can start to see it happening.

This is the chapter where he tells everyone not to let their biases get in the way of logic, which is funny considering what he's like in other chapters.

Big sad about Kaede, but a few of the characters (Ryoma, Tenko) comfort him so he's choosing to turn this tragedy into a growth moment. I guess it's kinda like what Chihiro did, except a girl had to die for it and he didn't get brained with a dumbbell at the end.

He's the nicest to everyone in this chapter. Don't worry, it won't last long :)

If he had kept the weird sort of optimism he had during this chapter plus the logical thinking instead of leaning into the angst he might've actually developed and Kaede's death might've been worth a damn.

Chapter 3

Maki gets the spotlight so there's not much to say except for the fact that he's gotten super awkward and is getting progressively dumber.

Honestly Maki is kind of right when she keeps calling him a dumbass for asking questions with very obvious answers.

Literally how the fuck did he ever solve infidelity cases when he can't even figure out shit that's this basic.

Smh.

Oh yeah, the odd hopefulness is gone now. It's buried next to my hope of him turning out to be an interesting character.

Put your hat back on if you're gonna angst again emo boy.

Investigation? Dont know her. I only know the Grind 💯 and hanging out with the Bros 😤👊

Chapter 4:

One of his worst chapters. I fucking hate this chapter.

Everyone patted him on the back before the trial and it felt shoehorned in. I'm not even sure why they did it honestly?

Kokichi = Evil

Kaito & Maki = Good

But dont worry guys, he's totally not biased or anything! (/s)

He's mega biased.

During the trial he has a lot of confidence, like the good kind he had back in Chapter 2. Especially when he lied and when he stood his ground against Kaito. He'll be punished by the narrative for going against Kaito, but for now I'll enjoy his limp-dicked rebellion.

Apparently he cares for Gonta except he never once talked to him during the main story and even insulted Gonta in his head during their FTEs. When did he start to care about Gonta? He didn't, but now he does I guess.

Chapter 5:

Another bad chapter. Hate this too

Officially graduated from Kaito's Bro to Kaito's Simp.

Also his confidence is entirely dependent on Kaito. When Kaito wants him to do something, he's sure Kaito's plan will work and gives him all of his support. If Kaito expresses displeasure, he's ashamed of himself and has no confidence. I-... y'know sometimes I genuinely worry about their dynamic.

Kokichi = Evil ×2 combo

No detective work or reasoning. Why would the gofer project want a cosplayer to go to space and preserve humanity? Or an ex murderer? Or an assassin? Or a detective? Are they going to be solving space crimes? Shuichi should have been so god damn suspicious- the MOST suspicious, even- but he's practically braindead at this point in the story.

Investigation skills, when will you return from the war?

Goes from suicidal to "uwu I'm a hopeful student of Hope's Peak Academy" way too quickly for someone with supposed confidence issues.

Seriously, how did he go from "the world has been destroyed and I cant fix it so I might as well die" to "yeah! we will definitely fix it! we dont know how yet, but we'll totally do it because we're Ultimates even though in Chapter 1 I didnt even think I deserved to be an Ultimate but shhhh" so quickly?

Kiibo and Shuichi kinda sounded like Kaede when they saw the Hope's Peak Flashback and it's so fucking weird because there's no justification for it

Chapter 6:

Literally what was this chapter

Why did it take Kiibo threatening to blow up the school to get him to investigate the mastermind again? 9 people have died since Chapter 1, but he acted as though he couldn't do anything about it. He even says he "can only help after people die", but Chapter 1 disproved that because he literally almost caught the mastermind without anyone dying so-

At least he investigated, I guess. It's sad that a detective investigating is considered a miracle, but here we are.

During the trial he's rapidly switching from hopeful to suicidal to hopeful again and it gives me so much whiplash, like god damn. Chill out a bit, buddy.

Much like the now-late Kaito, Shuichi tries to convince everyone to die with him to make some sort of stand against TDR. Somehow this worked and they also somehow didn't die and we aren't given justification for either.

The confidence came from the fact that the narrative needed him to be confident. That's it. There's literally no justification for this. There's no justification for anything, honestly.

What even was that ending, like what the fuck was that? None of their arcs got wrapped up at all...

So basically

Shuichi is confident but he's not but only when Kaito believes in him but he can stand against Kaito when he needs to and also he's not actually confident and Kaito needs to baby him. Shuichi is also not biased because he learned a lesson about that, unless your name is Kaito, Maki, or Kokichi, in which case he is incredibly biased to the point of putting the lives of other people on the line, but he wants everyone to survive because he learned a lesson about that. He's also incredibly dismissive of most of the cast in his head, to the point of being cold, but it should be noted that Shuichi really cares about his friends and is really nice and supportive of others. He's a big doormat except for when he doesn't want to be, unless it involves Kaito, because then he is always a sidekick except for when he isn't.

Hope that cleared things up! As you can see Shuichi is a very consistent character :) (/s)

-tech

[ill-skillsgard]

I bet the first few times Faith and Faust have sex, it still hurts and she spends the first half of it being uncomfortable. But when they finally get to a point where she’s comfortable, she makes the most angelic noise Faust has ever heard in his life and he wants to ram into her more than ever.

Warning: 18+ smut, sex-related pain, a brief mention of weed, one mention of blood, one spooky boy falling deeper in love.

Faust x Faith Masterpost [x]

When Faust returned home with Faith in tow, a living room full of his buddies, a floating layer of thick smoke and screeching heavy music blaring through an abused speaker system greeted them. Empty beer bottles littered the coffee table, and the ashtray overflowed onto the glass. It wasn't an abnormal occurrence, but the appearance of half his band and several of their friends changed their intended trajectory. Before stepping into the chaos, Faust had sported the makings of an impressive hard-on that disappeared the moment he smelled weed in the hallway. Faith pressed to his side, little fingers still meshed with her boyfriend's. 

"Faust! Fuck yeah, bud, what's up?" Ola called over the music. 

Faust didn't return the greeting. He scanned the living room, then looked at Faith with perked shoulders. 

"What do you wanna do?" He asked her. 

Faith didn't want to be the buzzkill girlfriend who pulled Faust away from his friends, but they had been talking dirty to each other the entire ride to his place, and she was feeling the same capsized arousal he was. 

"Uh, I don't know. Should we stay?" 

He swiped his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip, then backed out of the apartment, followed by a chorus of displeased hollering. He closed the door and pulled Faith back toward the elevator. 

"Where are we going?" Faith asked. 

"I don't know... Your place?" 

Faith paled. "I share my dorm with another girl."

"Fuck," Faust whispered. "I really need to get my own place."

He pressed the button for the basement when they entered the car, and Faith looked up at him with confusion pinching her face. He stared ahead at the metal doors as they descended. 

When the elevator opened, Faust pulled her out into a mostly empty corridor. On one end of the hall there was a door leading to a stairwell, and on the other side was another door affixed with a nameplate that read boiler room. Faust led her to the right, toward the heavy, fireproof door. He reached into the inner pocket of the leather jacket, still draped over Faith's shoulders, and pulled out a folded pocket knife. The point was almost needle-sharp, and Faith wondered about the legality of the weapon her boyfriend carried on him, then decided she didn't care. By the dented and scratched look of the door handle, it was not the first time the door was subject to intrusive treatment. Faust picked the lock with ease, then pushed the door open with the toe of his boot. 

The room was dank and musty. A network of metal pipes clinked and dripped as Faust guided Faith inside and shut the door behind them. In the darkness, she clutched the flaps of his coat around her until the light from a single swinging bulb revealed their dirty surroundings. Faust stood in the center of the room, staring at her with a menacing smirk, face obscured in shadow. 

"This place is... nice," Faith hesitated.

Faust ignored the comment and went to her, pushing the coat from her shoulders and lifting her off the ground. He carried her across the boiler room, lips locked, then sat her down on a cold metal workbench covered in sawdust and shavings. She yelped from the chill touch on the backs of her thighs, and Faust chuckled.

Before she complained further, Faust dropped his bullet belt to the floor, and it landed with a grating clank against the hard cement. Faith watched him unzip his jeans before lifting her thigh and stretching her panties to one side, moaning when he saw the tiny slit between her legs.

"Still want it hard?" He asked.

She bit her lip and looked up at him with a nod. "Mm-hmm."

"Well, all right. But don't get mad at me tomorrow when you're limping."

"I won't," she said.

Faust paused just as the tip of his cock grazed her opening. He snatched his hips back, grabbed her face and looked down at her with a stern expression. "Tell me if it's too much."

"Okay," she whispered.

He squeezed her cheeks tighter. "I'm serious. I don't want to hurt you."

Faith nodded, eyes large and shiny in the dull light. Faust studied her face for a moment longer. His heart twinged whenever he looked into her eyes and saw the endless love that lived there. He kissed her hard while easing his way inside her. 

The pressure was still fierce. Faith's body resisted, but the whimper she made helped him set aside his fear of hurting her. Faust crushed his bottom lip between his teeth, rolling his head back as he allowed himself to indulge in her heat without moving.

Faith yanked her panties farther to the side and leaned back to encourage some movement. He pulled out and thrust back in once at a quarter of the power he planned on giving her. Even that was enough to make her wince.

"Oh my God, Faust, you're so fucking big."

"I know, baby. You can take it. It's a lot, but you can handle it, right? You asked for this."

He thrust into her again, but only made it partially inside before brushing up against a wall that would allow him no further. Their anatomy didn't match up, but Faust wouldn't let that stop him from giving her what she wanted. Picking up speed, he kept his eye on her face to watch for signs of genuine pain. 

"Oh... Oh!" She cried out after a deep dive.

"You good, baby? Want me to keep going?"

"Yes, Faust. Please don't stop."

Faust couldn't understand why his concern held him back. Any other girl he'd made squeal from his girth only excited him more. When they wailed from the brutality of his propulsions, he had laughed and kept going, raking his hand through their hair or stuffing two fingers down their throats to keep them from getting too loud. Faith was different. Although he wanted to shove something in her mouth, he liked to watch her lips instead. Liked to see her biting and gaping, running her tongue along the peaks of her cupid's bow before he kissed her.

"Harder," Faith whispered.

Spurred by her challenge, Faust obliged and increased his velocity. The damp air caused him to sweat, but he couldn't stop to remove his shirt. He pressed into her, and she ran her hands up his back, through his hair and over his broad shoulders.

"Fuck, I love your pussy," Faust murmured.

Faith smirked and rutted against him, wincing against the questionable sensation of his cock meeting her cervix. Then, one deep pulse forced a cry from her mouth. Faust resisted checking in on her again, but she noticed he leavened his movements to avoid brushing too hard against her insides. His reduction provided some relief, and she let out a breath she didn't notice she was holding.

"Breathe, baby. You got this. I know you want to be all slutty and eager for me, but it's okay if you can't take it all the way."

"But I want it," Faith whined.

"You're just too little," he reasoned.

"You promised to fuck me hard."

Faust had enough of her arguing and lifted her off the table to give her a few harsh thrusts just to drive home his point. He pressed her face into his shoulder and let her moan out and cry while he ravaged her. While suspended in air, Faith felt smaller than ever as he wrapped his arms around her tightly.

"Yeah? You wanna get railed? Want me to wreck that little pussy until you bleed all over my cock? Is that what you want?"

Her crying echoed off the metal pipes, and though they were in the basement, Faith thought the entire apartment building could hear her getting fucked. 

One moment, she was vertical, and the next lowered to the ground where she sat astride his hips, full to bursting and clenching her teeth.

"Ride it. Ride my fucking dick if you want it so bad," Faust challenged.

Faith's panties snapped over as she struggled to move and hold back her gasps. He growled and pulled the material until it ripped, elastic bands ripping and hanging limply around her groin.

She pressed her hands to his chest, leveraging herself up until she wasn't agonizingly full. Faust gripped her sides, leered, and flipped her onto her back.

"Didn't think so. I knew you couldn't handle this. You like to talk a big game, though. It's pretty cute."

The truth was: Faust didn't want to hurt her. Where he used to take pleasure in a girl's gasps and whimpers, he now saw no appeal in making Faith sob. Her moans were exquisite, but when she seethed and pulled back from him, he felt it like a punch in the chest. 

When Faith finally showed more signs of pleasure than distress, he felt better about spreading her thighs and delving into her with shallow but frequent thrusts. And maybe he'd never be able to go balls-deep in her, but she clenched around his shaft so tightly it didn't matter.

With a few minutes of wheeling his fingertips around her clit, and a little more encouragement, Faith's body shuddered as she came. Her walls clamped on him, and the sounds of her breathy gasps had him coming shortly after. Faust pulled out at the last second and spilled an ample load of cum on the floor before tucking himself into his jeans and helping Faith to a wobbly stand.

"Looks like this might be our new spot," Faust laughed.

Faith shot him a warning look. "Um! No thanks! I mean, I had fun, but I don't want to know what kind of homicidal things have gone down in this creepy-ass room."

He bent to scoop up his jacket, then wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Nothing homicidal on my part."

"Oh, really? And what exactly do you use this room for then? You popped that lock pretty quickly. It seems like you know your way around."

Faust opened the door, and they both squinted from the fluorescent hallway light. 

"Sometimes, I come down here to smoke."

"And fuck girls?" Faith asked.

"Not me, but my friends have."

"Gross," Faith muttered.

“Whatever, babe. You just got fucked down here too. Guess you’re just as gross,” he bumped her with his hip but didn’t allow her to stumble.

The next morning, while Faust laid awake next to his girlfriend, he noticed bruises on her inner thighs and sighed. If it weren't for the dreamy smile inhabiting her face while she slept, he might have felt guilty. The blotches served as little reminders of their boiler room fuck, and Faust sank back into the pillows, wearing his own soft grin.

[zodiyack]

Cautious

Requested by anon: Honestly just in need of more Richard content, he’s too underrated 😭 so ig if you could just do something angsty where he meets the reader for the first time but feels like need to push her away and treat her like he treated Jonas at first but eventually they are warming up to each other and he starts to tell her how he feels about her and honestly idk how to continue so its up to you 😭 im just in need for some Richard content whenever you have the time 💞 💞

Pairing: Richard x Female!Reader

Warnings: Slight angst, fluff

Words: 1,846

Note: Okay so like slight inspiration from Babydoll’s crying scene in Sucker Punch, and I listened to Asleep and Where Is My Mind (Sucker Punch OST Versions) while writing so those are some recommendations of mine 😅

Taglist: @matth1w​, @redspaceace​, @darling-i-read-it​, @fandom-puff​

Masterlist | Cody Fern Masterlist

Ever since Jonah was discharged, Richard had gone back to how he was before. No one was there to help him. With anything. So what was the point of trying? What was the point if it would be the same every time? He built his barrier back up, blocking out everyone. 

So when a new girl arrived, no one was surprised at the thought that he would shut her out as well. She didn’t even notice him until her second day. Walking over to the chairs and tv, Y/n stretched her arms up with a yawn. She looked around, studying the people who were up already.

It was odd, she could admit, but it was one of her favorite things to do. Just, observe people. See what their expressions said when their words were blocked out by the sound around her. However, this little activity of hers caused her to stumble upon the one and only, Richard.

She found that he interested her beyond anything or anyone ever had. Entranced with him, she made her way to the armchair he sat in. “Hi. I’m Y/n.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at her. Something in her felt hurt by this. Y/n felt agitated with the fact that he was ignoring her.

Shifting on her feet, she tried again. “Uhm... What’s your name?”

“It’s no use.” A girl on the floor mumbled, eyes never leaving the tv. “He’s like a mute. Only, he can talk...just chooses not to. Ever since Jonah left, he kinda...”

“Who’s Jonah?” Y/n turned to face the girl, walking over and sitting beside her. Her interest in Richard became interest in Jonah, interest in Richard’s past.

They talked for a while, the girl explained how Jonah was the asshole of the place, how he had begun to grow kinder as he hung out with Richard, how they’d been caught in bed together. It took Y/n by surprise, her eyes immediately finding Richard, but the girl laughed and told her that her “dirty mind could ease up” as nothing happened.

Y/n made it her mission to warm up to Richard. She continued to watch him, allowing her eyes to see every detail about him, even the ones he probably never noticed. That was one of the many things about being a “people watcher”. She could notice the unnoticed.

One day, she finally broke through his barrier; just not in the way she wanted.

“What is wrong with you?!” He’d pushed past her in the hallway, ignoring the call of his name until she snapped. “You don’t talk, you don’t acknowledge, you don’t even blink! I try, like really try, to be your friend but you-”

“Maybe I don’t want friends.”

“Well- I- ...Jonah was your friend.”

By the fact that Richard stumbled, hesitating with his words for a moment, Y/n could tell that she’d caught him off guard. “Don’t talk about him.”

“He was a dick. He was a dick until he became your friend. So why do you just let a guy like that into your life but you won’t let a girl, who genuinely wants to be your friend, anywhere into your social life?”

Richard backed her into a wall, glaring at her as she bent her knees, cowering with wide eyes. “Don’t. Talk. About. Him.”

“I’m not scared of you.” To prove her words, she took a sharp inhale of air before standing up fully, furrowing her eyebrows and swallowing. “I want to be your friend. I get that you may not be used to that, but please. All I’m asking is that you give me a chance.”

He stopped. His eyes darted around the room, a tell that he was thinking. “Okay. I’ll give you a chance.” With his final words, he left the hall, leaving her alone under the flickering light.

His chance wasn’t as much of a chance as Y/n liked. All he really did was allow her to sit by him and exchange hellos or good mornings. It wasn’t much, but it was progress. And progress was what would lead to the goal.

But the progress was stuck at the same spot, proving that his chance really wasn’t a chance.

Richard walked past the bathrooms, headed for the men’s. That’s when he heard it. Distinct sobbing from the women’s. He knew he shouldn’t be in there, but he went anyways, brows scrunched with concern and confusion. Normally, he wouldn’t think twice; but it was late, he was too tired to shut out his emotions, and he couldn’t help but feel empathy for the mystery person.

Opening the door slowly, as to not scare the person, he walked in. Surprise met his features when his eyes came across Y/n, practically huddled up in a ball on the bathroom floor. One of her knees was up, in front of her chest, and the other was lying flat on the floor. One of her arms ran through her hair as the other laid limp by her side.

Richard didn’t talk. He just walked over, sat next to her, exchanged eye contact with the puffy eyed girl and pulled her in his chest as tight as he could. She cried into his shoulder, holding him to herself just as tight as he held her. They stayed like that for awhile, just holding each other as Y/n cried.

When the time came, she pulled away and wiped her eyes. “Thank you, Richard.”

“You’re welcome...”

They had a rendezvous every night, Richard sneaking into the women’s bathroom and holding her close to him as her shoulders heaved, tears streaming down her face and wetting his night-shirt.

Their relationship outside the bathroom was the pretty much the same as it had been prior to his late night discovery. The same greetings and silence. The same everything... but one thing had definitely changed. Richard allowed Y/n to get closer to him, as she wanted, and said goodbyes and goodnights, exchanging smiles and slight lingering eye contact.

Despite their public life being shy, their bathroom-meet ups had grown into something...beautiful.

There was a night where Y/n couldn’t sleep, as usual, but felt like a drained battery. So, Richard extended his legs and patted his thighs,

“You can sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

“But- ...For what?”

“Workers, other people...monsters.” He smiled teasingly, ignoring his own demons subconsciously.

And that night, as his hand rubbed the top of her head soothingly, he swore he felt his heart stop.

He looked at her, furrowing his eyebrows and inhaling shakily. There was just something about her. Something he was just now noticing as he scanned her sleeping face. She turned slightly, breathing strangely- rushed.

Richard recognized the breathing pattern as a nightmare, tears of his own rushing down his cheeks as he pulled her close to him. Staring at the wall, he smiled to himself.

Then there was the night she noticed something herself.

Eyes trained on the smallest divots of the floor, her head resting on Richard’s shoulder as his rested on hers- she knew it.

She leaned closer to him, tears flooding her face again. Only, this time, they were tears of joy. Content. Love. Thinking he was asleep, guessing by the calmed breathing leaving his lips and the stillness of his body, she laughed to herself softly.

“What have you done to me, you quiet bastard?”

Richard was conscious though. And it brought a smile to his lips that he tried to fight back. Luckily, with the redness of his cheeks, it also gave him a goal of his own. Flashbacks of the night he realized his feelings for her zipped in and out of his head.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

This was the night he’d do it. The red in her eyes was slowly fading; Richard had shown up earlier tonight and calmed her down, hugging her until he told himself to stop being a chicken.

But he couldn’t do it. His eyes met hers, mouth opening to confess- but he couldn’t do it. They drifted back to the floor. He didn’t have the confidence nor the faith that she’d say yes. Richard, knowing he couldn’t chicken out, not after weeks of preparing himself, took a deep breath. Then he did it.

Eyes slowly meeting hers again,

“Richard? What were you going to-”

He lunged in and kissed her. His hand gripped the back of her head as their lips moved in synch. Surprise ran through him as she kissed back; her hands combing through his locks and holding him close to her.

They pulled away, chest heaving as their lungs roped oxygen back into their bodies.

Y/n touched her lips, her eyes flicking back up to his as her mouth formed a smile and a giggle escaped it. Richard chuckled along, a slight nervousness coursing through the adrenaline rush, which he could thank their kiss for.

They stopped laughing and avoided eye contact with each other. An awkward tension, new to the two, formed between them. Richard felt responsible for it, as he was the one who initiated the kiss. “I’m sor-”

All of his worries were shot down when she pushed her lips back into his.

Richard may not have been great with words, but his feelings were known by Y/n. Soon enough, their bathroom progress turned into public progress.

Sometimes Y/n in front of his chair, by his feet, or on his lap as they watched tv. Sometimes Y/n would be found in Richard’s room, either cuddling or giggling as he tickled her, or drew her, or as he or she drew on the other while they listened to music- just whatever “cute couple” kind of things they could do.

Their nightly meetups were ongoing. Most of the time it was in the bathroom, but there were times when Richard snuck Y/n into his room. He often was the big spoon, but when the nightmares came despite her presence, she turned and got him to turn as well, promoting herself from small spoon.

But the time they feared came.

She was talked to by one of the staff members, told she was able to leave now. Her heart told her to make a choice, and when she was pulled into a hug, arms wrapped around her torso as the person pulled her onto their lap and allowing her to see her boyfriend’s face, she decided to do it.

Just as everyone thought the clinic was about to discharge her, Richard sitting in his chair and looking around with confusion, she walked back into the room and plopped into her boyfriends lap.

“Where were you? They- they said you were le-”

She pecked his lips before snatching the remote and clicking through the channels. “Nah. They’re not gonna get rid of me that easily.” Y/n smiled, feeling Richard, lips formed in a smile of his own, kiss the back of her head. A silent thank you, I love you, and response all at the same time.

Once again, someone had finally broken the barrier of the quiet, cautious boy. And he was grateful.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

25. Not Fine, But Better

Previous

Word Count: 6239

Simon went to his father’s to recover. He was on an official break from school (hopefully, no longer than a year), and because of the nature of his injuries, was forced to move back home temporarily. His former employer was reluctant about giving him another position, though they worked out a few things for him to be involved in a freelance capacity, that way they were hiring him for certain projects, but not keeping him on their regular payroll. He planned to enroll in some online studies in the fall, and in the meantime, focused mainly on his ongoing project - the virtual reality social media.

A few things happened. Aside from regular visits to the doctor, because he was doing too much and reopened stitches, or for the extensive treatment that some of his more severe wounds were going to take, not to mention the healing of his spleen, which he was supposed to be taking extra care not to upset, but he was just so restless in bed and so anxious at the house, he kept getting up. The first night, he was content to lay down, primarily due to physical pain and exhaustion. 

The trauma doctor had suggested not getting on a plane, which meant that Mr. Laurent would have to stay at Simon’s and take care of him… which meant to Simon that his father would be in his personal space, contaminating it and his thoughts of it AND, he would know where he lived. He absolutely rejected that notion and said that he would hire someone for in-home health… Then he thought about the upcoming legal fees of his fights, potential jail time, even, the way that he abandoned his job, and he decided that maybe he would just go back to the Bay with his dad, against the doctor’s suggestion, because that seemed to be the least agonizing solution for him.

Of course, he re-injured himself, and spent all day in an ER, to receive word that his treatment would take longer and was ordered to bed rest for the spleen healing. He laid down in his old bed, as uncomfortable as it was and fell to sleep almost immediately. Outside of the hospital, where the medication and immediate professional help were, his nightmares became blatantly strong. He kept dreaming of laying in a pool of his own blood, on the cold ground, looking at a manhole, ready to die… and then the Void came out of it, about to swallow him whole and everything went black. He jumped up and immediately held himself. Maybe he needed to be strapped to the bed, as to not hurt more. He took a deep breath and reached for the cane that he would need to walk for a bit… and there was a white cat, resting on his old desk.

“Samantha?” He looked around the room, wondering if this was another dream, about his teenage years or something. But, he came closer and touched the cat and she pleasantly allowed it. It abandoned the cane to pick up the animal and nuzzled her. “Is it really you or did that jackass go find another white cat?” He snuggled her and limped out of the room to go get some water. He froze whenever he got into the kitchen and both of his parents were sitting at the little table. 

“Simon!” His mother said. She looked… different than he remembered. She looked younger, somehow, but extremely tired. She came over and tried to take Samantha from him, “Sorry. She must’ve snuck…” He jerked away and almost lost his footing. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Your dad said that you were here, so I stopped by and brought Samantha.”

He glared at her, “You’ve had Samantha this entire time?”

She chuckled and shrugged, “She’s MY cat, Simon. Whenever I was a little better, I stopped by and picked her up one day.”

“And you didn’t think to let me know? Leave a note? Nothing?? I thought she was dead!”

“You seem to be more upset about losing a cat than you’ve ever been about losing one of your family members,” she said. There she was. He knew that tone. He knew those eyes. She hadn’t changed. She was just better at seeming normal. 

“Don’t,” his father warned her.

Simon kept Samantha in his clutches as he went to pour himself some water. “When are you leaving?” 

The woman sat back down and looked at Mr. Laurent. “Your father thinks that you need us here. That us not being there for you is how you got to be this way.”

“What way is that, Faith?” he asked.

“Don’t,” his father warned the woman whose anger appeared to be rising, again.

“A little shit,” she hissed, despite the warning.

“Goddammit, Faith!” his father said. Simon snickered, wickedly. “Can’t you see that he’s just a hurt kid, acting out?” Now, Simon frowned. 

He wanted to storm over and punch his father in the face. He’d done so before, whenever he was a teenager and his father was drunk and complaining about his stupid memorial or whatever. But, Simon was in too much pain to even walk straight, much less, fight. He started angry crying and muttered, “Fuck both of you,” before taking Samantha back into his room, shutting the door (which hurt his side to do) and climbing back into bed with her nestled against himself. “I can’t believe that bitch took you away from me.” 

His mother was gone back to her mom’s by the time he got up again. He panicked whenever Samantha wasn’t there and rushed out of his room, clutching himself and neglecting the cane again to question his father about her whereabouts. Then, he heard her meow, excitedly, like she had something to tell him. Many things to tell him! He collected her and brought her back to his room. He kept her in there with him, scared that if she went outside, his mother might steal her again, even though his father assured him that it wouldn’t happen. “I won’t let her,” he had said. When the hell had he ever stopped her from doing anything?

He called “Dick for Brains” and asked if it was possible for him to use video conferencing to schedule an appointment. Dr. Richard was more than willing to accommodate this and seemed genuinely pleased that Simon had decided to try to resume therapy. 

However, in their first session back, Simon babbled on about this idea that he had for work. Of course, the therapist was going to let him speak about what he wanted to. It was a huge thing for Simon to even seek out help without being forced, and he was uncharacteristically excited about something. “A VR that serves as experimental experience based therapy. The premise is that you would be able to take these pick your adventure journeys, but each of the decisions would have either rewards or consequences and every choice that you make would take you down certain paths, giving you certain training to deal with your problems and conditioning your decision making, even one day could grant you diagnosis based upon your choices and solutions to said diagnosis…”

“So… you want to replace actual therapy with a virtual reality video game?”

“NO! You do the therapy to help you get better at the game. It’s like… it goes with it… unless you’re not so bad off that you NEED therapy, and then it’s just a tool in character education…”

“Okay. That sounds interesting. How is that coming along for you?”

“Ugh. It’s shit. You know… I don’t have the best gauge for reasonable decisions. So, I’m trying to program a lot of things, but I’m depending on various algorithms, and the things that I need to be more specific about, well - I’ve been reading a lot of psychology stuff to sort of help me out. Also, Grace had SO MANY resources available in her featured links on her website…” Simon’s eyes glossed over whenever he started talking about Grace.

“How is your relationship with Grace, Simon?”

He gave a sad smile and shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t have a relationship with Grace. She gave me another chance at life and I told everyone about all the messed up stuff I did to her. We haven’t spoken or seen each other in the weeks that I’ve been out of the hospital.”

“I read about that. It was really big of both of you to make the decisions that you made…”

“This isn’t about Grace,” Simon said. He began typing on one of his other laptops. “I’m not going to do that this time, Dr. Richard. I’m trying to think about treatment, but in a way that appeals to people more like me. I’m not one to sit in a room and talk about my feelings. You know how much I hate that. I AM one to sit in MY room, for hours, playing the same computer video game for weeks. As a kid, I used to create these figures. I have a ton of them at home. More recently, I’ve done robots…” Simon sounded all over the place, but Dr. Richard didn’t interrupt him. “In most games, there is a specific goal, and people tend to think… This isn’t anything that I’m used to, but the principle is fine. I want people to be able to feel like they are walking into their own worlds, and that their adventures are things that they can navigate to practice existing in the world. To get things out of their system that they should never do here, or to give them options that their minds might not automatically compose! You’re a therapist… do you think this sounds stupid or crazy or… just impossible?”

“It sounds like you’re enjoying your work and exploring more empathetic aspects of your talents. This project could be extremely good for you.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. But… do you think it would work? Do you think it would help somebody?”

“Are you making this to help other people or to get better at helping yourself?”

“DO YOU THINK IT WOULD DO EITHER?”

“There’s not enough information for me to know if it will help other people, but I think it’s already helping you and that’s the most important thing that you need to focus on. Getting better, yourself.” That was all that Simon needed to become completely obsessed with his project.

So, what happened was that he began to work on it a lot and neglect certain things he needed to do during his recovery. His father had to remind him and sometimes try to physically force him to let him check his healing, cleaning wounds, and getting ready to go have bloodwork done, etc. He was extremely irritable whenever Mr. Laurent would interrupt his work. Whenever it was more pressing medical concerns, Simon got a call from Grace.

“Hey,” she’d say casually. He’d smile immediately when he heard her voice, then frown, because he knew it meant that his dad had bothered her.

“Grace… I don’t know WHAT he’s said this time, but you need to stop doing this. How does he manage to even get to call you anyway?”

“Hazel gave him her phone number for emergencies. That is now the backup phone. Had to get her another. She’s too damn friendly, but I’ll never discourage her. She’s gotta be herself, you know. Listen. So… I’m told that you need to have an angiography. I looked it up and sounds like you gotta do this thing, and yet… Your dad can’t get you to stop playing video games?”

“No! That’s not what’s happening at all! I’m working and he just barges in! Doesn’t even knock. He’s obnoxious.”

“Orrr… you’re tired of being on somebody else’s timetable, and that’s understandable, but whenever I was in the institution, I was constantly on a formatted schedule that I had no control over. It was one of the downsides of getting myself in there. One of your downsides of starting fights that get you stabbed is doing whatever you’ve gotta do when you’ve gotta do it to get better. I’m gonna be pissed if your dad calls Hazel again because you’re acting like a child.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“Thank you. Have a good day.”

That was the last time he was cantankerous with his dad about appointments. He just had to suck it up and go when it was time. He had to listen, because he knew Mr. Laurent wouldn’t hesitate to bother Grace, as unfair as that was. Simon was furious that his dad did this. He called it harassment. Mr. Laurent didn’t seem to mind, even when Simon yelled aggressively about how Grace was always the person picking up his pieces when they were kids and he’s coming to a better understanding of how unfair that was to both of them, plus he has Samantha back and he is guilty about imposing on Grace. He sent her a message asking her to promise not to come running again for his father calling but agrees for her sake that if a real emergency comes up that she’s welcome to check in on him. She never replied, so he didn’t know if it was sent and he didn’t want to keep bothering her in her inbox. So, the months passed and he did what his father needed him to do to get better. Whenever he was able, he travelled back home, taking Samantha with him.

He was working full time and enrolled back in school part time, at a less prestigious college, but one that was comfortable for him, at this point. He still got up to MIT to see Professor Hughes and talk engineering with her. She was impressed by how well he seemed to be doing, but she would never tell him that. And he never missed an appointment with his therapist, or his physician. For the most part, he recovered. There was a little lasting damage that he would have to deal with, such as multiple surgeries to correct various problems connected to disrupting the body’s normal with multiple stab wounds, but it was manageable and he was… feeling okay. Whenever he wasn’t, he had better ways of coping than before, most of the time. Every now and then, he’d definitely lose it and break things and rage… but… it wasn’t as frequent as it used to be, so he at least felt good about that much.

Plus, he got to see Grace be SO happy with Hazel online and he wasn’t blocked from everything, so anytime anyone tried to give her trouble about him, he was able to step in and take whatever blows that they tried to throw her way. That was another thing… He had been diligently sticking to the truth about her, no matter what people asked or how guilty, ashamed, weak, cowardly, or whatever else these things made him feel. He went onto shows and conducted interviews and made videos to counter any negative feedback that Grace had ever done anything wrong. “Besides being a neglected kid with some issues related to that, Grace was a really good friend and I was a bad friend to her. Turned out my neglect issues were much deeper and I made her suffer for that, but she shouldn’t have to anymore.” 

.

Grace woke up with the sun most mornings. After she and Hazel returned to New York, it occurred to her that they had barely started living there before their little adventure in Mass. SO, they immediately made certain to try to start setting their routines and building their home style. Hazel’s room was the fanciest room she had ever had, excluding the chambers at the Monroe Estate. Grace let her have her own TV in her room, with a system that she had access to most of the apps, several games, and her favorite movies and shows. There was a housewarming plant that Grace’s friend had bought for Hazel whenever she moved in (and had to come over to look after whenever they were out), and that was in Hazel’s room, right by the window, for its sunshine. 

Hazel had gotten to the point where she was no longer sure if she wanted to hold on to having a leaf in her hair, so Grace bought her some cute hair accessories that looked like leaves - hair clips, headbands and stuff… and if Hazel ever wanted to stop, she had options, to sort of keep with her tradition that was sort of a large part of the identity she had carved out for herself. Now, though, she had a changing identity. 

She was Grace’s daughter and she didn’t know if keeping a leaf meant that she was holding on to a parent or parents that abandoned her when she had one who had fought to call her her own right in front of her. The last thing she wanted to do was possibly hurt Grace’s feelings, and she knew that Grace probably wouldn’t tell her if she did. She would just smile and make her feel good and meditate later or something. Hazel kept the hair leaf, for now. 

The room had bookshelves with Hazel’s favorite books, toys, and keepsakes, her jewelry rack and a very large quartz crystal sphere that Grace bought her “for good energy” whenever she was at her last home. It sat on a little sphere holder and Hazel generally set her singing Tuba right near it, whenever she wasn’t carrying it with her or sleeping with it. There was a framed photo of the Monroe trio - her, Grace and GlamMother, on her wall, as well as a mirror with her name on a plaque against its expensive wood. All of the furniture was well made and personalized in some way. 

For instance, her dresser had a cartoon stylized version of her smiling face on the sides and her name in lights across the top of the vanity. The colors of the room were hazel, ivory and green, and her headboard had a turtle magnificently carved into it. Grace got her the same type of products that she purchased herself. She still used the same natural beauty brands that she swore by as an influencer (and recently was reconnected with many of them) including a rebirth campaign for her own line of products. It really was like rebirth, but this time, she was living on her own conditions. She also was building for her daughter, as well, but in a different way than what her mother did. She would always ask Hazel her opinion of things, what she wanted to do, if she liked or approved of certain things that she wanted to do for her. The emblem on Grace’s products would be from a drawing that Hazel did of Grace as a tree, sitting in a lotus position, her hair as the leaves and Hazel falling from the tree into her outstretched arms. It was a pretty good drawing for a 10 year old, and Grace wanted it to stay just as it was for their emblem. 

Grace made meal prep for if Hazel had turtle days. Half the time, Grace wound up throwing the greens into a smoothie, because Hazel was fine for the most part. But, she would keep up this practice of being prepared for a long time. 

She generally saw Hazel off to school herself, instead of putting her into a car with a driver or getting her to learn public transportation like she often saw kids doing while she was out and about in the city for her first few years. She wanted Hazel to be as protected and seen as she could without being that over sheltering type of mom that she sometimes felt like she was probably being. But, Hazel liked the attention. It was nice to have somebody always having her back and ensuring her safety. It was nice always having someone waiting for you when you step out into the world, to guide you back home. 

They’d had most of the summer to settle in and the new school year was Hazel’s favorite EVER. She was finally going to be somewhere that she was getting herself to believe wouldn’t be temporary… she might actually make friends! She met a couple of people that were really cool the first week - Lucy and Lindsay. They knew each other from before, but Lindsay had recognized her from the internet and invited her to sit with them at lunch. Lucy wasn’t allowed to get onto the internet, but Hazel noticed that she had a Tuba watch and they admitted that they both still watched/loved The Mighty Tuba and Her Musical Friends. Lindsay made fun of both of them, but it was in that way where Hazel could tell that she still liked them and was gonna be their friend. Hazel LOVED it and asked if she could invite them over soon for a tea party.

Of course she could. Grace rarely told Hazel no. If it was doable, safe, and harmed nobody, she didn’t see any reason to refuse her things that she was interested in. Plus, Mrs. Monroe had bought a very expensive tea party set for the girl that Grace had to get assembled on the balcony, because she had no idea where to put it in her place… which meant that the balcony basically belonged to Hazel’s tea set. Getting that woman to understand that her space in New York is nothing like the space that they had in California was almost impossible. Her mother couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t just seek out a bigger place. Like… just because I have my own money, I have to like… spend it like that?

But, Hazel began having her tea parties the second week of school. Mrs. Monroe wanted them to come to visit the weekend of the 23rd of August. “Mom. We’ve only been gone a couple of months. I told you that Hazel and I aren’t going to be coming back and forth like this.”

“I’m thinking if you catch a flight in the evening on Wednesday, Hazel won’t have to miss school that day. But, you definitely need to be here by Thursday evening’s dinner.” 

“Ugh. Mom.”

“Grace, this is important.”

She sighed. “Fine. But you aren’t seeing us again before Christmas break. Hazel has limited days off and I have things planned for my 23rd.”

“Yes, well… Julia or Gabriel, or whatever the hell this assistant’s name is will send you the list of things you need to pack.”

“Why would I need to pack things?”

“We’re going to take you to Belize, since you won’t be here for your birthday.”

“Ugh… I wish I could argue with a free trip to Belize… okay, fine. Tell ADRIENNE to send me the information.”

“Adrienne? That doesn’t sound right… oh, really? Huh. She says that is indeed her name. Well, she’s sending it. We’ll see you soon.”

Grace hung up and stretched, sputtered air through her lips and peeked out at the girls at their tea parties, with their hats and some of Grace’s good tea. “Hey, Haze… GlamMother wants to see us next week, so I’ll be packing our stuff and I’ll email the school to get your work for Thursday and Friday in advance so we can turn it in on Wednesday.”

“Yes, Mother,” Hazel said in her tea party voice. “Will we be seeing Mr. Laurent and his Sad Sorry Son Simon when we go to California?”

“I’m not planning on it. Just giving you a heads up.” The three girls raised their teacups to Grace and she smiled and went back inside to pack. Simon was back in Cambridge, as far as she knew. She had seen him around online, but never hovered, so she couldn’t be sure. But… that week was the week of his birthday. She wondered if her mother had remembered that information, or if her body was simply falling back on old habits of the season by wanting to do something around this time of year. It was a very random time to Grace for them to just want to go to Belize… though, usually Simon’s birthday was paired up with hers. The significance of his actual birth date would only matter to Grace, not her parents, as the things that they did typically occurred AFTER August 22nd. Grace shook her head and opened the email of things to pack, so that she could prepare early.

.

The Monroes had some guests, Grace could tell. Not a lot, so she wondered if this was like some politician’s immediate family or what, and she resigned herself to the thought that if for one little second her mom even tried to give her hell about taking a flight today, instead of last night (to come in all late in the night and throw off hers AND Hazel’s sleep schedule), she would take her ass right on to her old bedroom and wait for the call to go to Belize. She didn’t play that mess with her mom anymore. Hazel ran to the door and tiptoed a little to use the knocker. There was a doorbell, but something about that fancy old knocker always intrigued her.

A butler opened the door and tried to take Grace’s bags, but she struggled with him, knowing that she could do it herself. “If you won’t let him, let me,” she heard a familiar voice say. Simon. She froze. He was standing. Obviously in good enough health. He was smiling, but it became worried when she stared at him. He put his hands up and she noted that he was in some type of… weird coat draped over his arms, instead of wearing it, that she could see the top of his apology tattoos, and that his parents were at the table with hers.

Her mother got up and rushed over, “Don’t be silly! It’s his job.” She collected Hazel into a tight hug and Grace still stood there, in the open door as Hazel rushed to the table, hand in hand with her grandmother, to pass hugs around. “Surprise!” Mrs. Monroe cheered. “It’s Simon’s birthday dinner… and a therapy idea thing…”

“Therapy told you to surprise me by bringing me here, with these people, under the guise of a free trip to Belize?” Grace asked, very much not okay with this.

“No. We’re having a sit down, between all of us, as adults, to settle everything once and for all. There’s cake!” 

Hazel cheered, “Yayyy! Cake!”

Mrs. Monroe sighed and folded her arms, “My God, Grace, we really ARE going to Belize. Just sit down and enjoy dinner.” Grace pouted her way over to the seat next to Hazel. Simon returned to the one next to that one. His parents were across the table from them, and Mr. and Mrs. Monroe were on the opposite ends.

“This is messed up,” Grace muttered.

“All of us are messed up,” Mr. Monroe said. “It took a while for us to realize it. We spoke a few times when Simon was in the hospital, and we thought that eventually, both of you needed apologies from us and attempts for us to do better. Now, Grace… you had some things to say to Mr. Laurent the last time you were together…”

“I said it all. Nice to finally meet you, though,” she said to Mrs. Laurent, and her tone indicated that it wasn’t nice to meet her at all. Simon reached out and rubbed Grace on the back. She smiled a little at him, then looked confused and wondered why they were acting like nothing had ever happened. Then again, they had “gotten over” what did happen, and she guessed she was kinda touch starved, because it was nice to get physical comfort from somebody that wasn’t Hazel, for a change.

“Simon had many things to say to his parents before you arrived, too. Now that we’re all here, really… say whatever is on all of your minds. Simon… you’ve been sulking for two hours, but whenever Grace walked in, you immediately brightened up.” Simon blushed as Mr. Monroe made this extremely embarrassing announcement. Hazel cackled about it and ate a mouthful of potatoes. 

Simon shook his head, “I’m not sure what you mean by saying this, Mr. Monroe.”

“Just that we never really discussed the night that you came back into our lives, wanting to see Grace and apologize… You didn’t actually apologize until a while later and… we’re all curious about the journeys it took to get from where you were to…”

“No, Dad.” Grace shook her head. “No. Simon and I used to be best friends. I loved him. There was nobody in the world more important to me. When we broke, I broke. You don’t get to just have reflection on what led us all here, to possible health and contentment. Just… No. Where is the cake? I’m having some on the terrace. You want in, Si?” His eyes widened and he got up to follow her. The butler was bringing out the cake, and she took the whole tray. “Momma’s got you, Haze,” she said without breaking her stride. She went outside and Simon smiled as she set the cake down. “Cut my baby a piece of cake. I’ll get her dish.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Grace rolled her eyes at everybody in the room, grabbed Hazel’s desert plate and the bottle of wine from the table. She went back out and Simon was ready with Hazel’s slice. Whenever Grace gave it to her, she said, “I’ll be right out there if you need me.” Grace was… tired. She had been on a long flight, and to be faced with the Laurents AND her parents? And to have them acting like this was just okay to spring on someone? “They’re still messing up, but I guess at least they’re trying,” she glanced around. “I didn’t get glasses.” She frowned.

“S’ok. I don’t drink.” 

She smiled and said, “Neither do I, but remember whenever we were 14 and we said that we’d have our first drink together?”

“Yeah. We said on your 21st birthday.” He smiled and she felt warm in his gaze. She set the bottle down. “At any rate, they don’t need any wine. They’re being weird enough.”

“RIGHT?” Grace and Simon laughed awkwardly. “To be honest, I think that they realized that the only way to get me here was to hide their intentions from me. I wouldn’t have showed up if they had told me that they wanted to have dinner with your family.”

“Funny… I wouldn’t have come if they hadn’t told me, “Grace will be here for your birthday,” Simon admitted and leaned on the balcony rail. “All I wanted was to see you again. It’s all I could think about all month.”

“You’ve known about this all month? My mom called me last week!” She leaned next to him, her back against the rail, so that she could keep an eye on Hazel. For a moment, she had a flashback of the last time that they were out here together. The pain stung, but there was a numbness there… like that part of her that hurt was more like a limb that fell to sleep. “Hazel is the same age as we were when we met. I’ve been so paranoid about her running into trouble because I’m not present enough…”

“Is that what you think us meeting was? You running into trouble?” Simon asked. He didn’t seem offended, like he might have normally been. Just… curious.

“Don’t you think so? For both of us…”

He frowned and looked out at the Monroe yard. “I think that the people who messed up the most are all surrounding your kid right now.” 

“She loves them, though. I want her to have a good relationship with them. Not just because I didn’t, but because they’re the only grandparents she has.”

“Yeah, well… at the moment, MY parents are there too…” Grace stood up and folded her arms, looking at Hazel. Her parents had arranged for her and Simon to have their first joint birthday celebration since they were 16, and even arranged a sit down with the Laurents about everything that went wrong… Simon was also thinking about how messed up this was, because he added to her thoughts, “I feel weird about our parents finally talking, when we ourselves have finally gotten to good places in our lives and development.”

“I think it’s… A good thing, but just for them. For me… I think that the best thing has been that I survived. I thought that I was gonna die after everything. Nothing felt real. My whole life was just staring into nothingness and crying. I really did become the void…”

“No. You were NEVER that!” Simon said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “You always mattered. I was just too toxic to see that. The best thing for me has been that I realized how wrong I was…” Grace threw her arms around his neck and Simon relaxed in her arms and held her close. Every time was like the first time, but this was DIFFERENT different. This was the first hug that they had in some time and maybe even the first genuine one that they’ve had. Simon was caught up in his emotions, but quickly tried to keep them in check, “Wanna grab the kid and get outta here?” Simon asked, looking at her. They were still in the hug, but let some space in between their bodies.

Grace chuckled, “I mean… you know that my perfect birthday celebration is lowkey, with the closest people to me, some dogs and a walk around the creek. But, it’s not MY birthday.”

Simon turned and leaned back on the terrace this time, “If I had just done that with you for our 16th, things could have gone very differently.” 

“I think things would have eventually gone wrong anyway. We were both… beyond our own help. You seem fine now, though.”

“I’m not fine, but I’m better.” He shrugged his shoulders. 

“Grab the cake, I’ll grab the kid,” she said with a smile. Simon obeyed, as she went inside and he followed. “Haze, grab your bag. We’re headed out.

“Headed out?” Mrs. Monroe asked. “To where?”

“Simon and I are taking Hazel to our old stomping grounds.” Hazel jumped up excited. All four of the parents exchanged worried looks, which Grace ignored and put an arm around Hazel to guide her towards the door. “Hopefully… the rest of you will get whatever you need out of… this…”  They checked out early, giving their parents time to sort through their guilt.

The trio left the mansion, all three laughing and talking. Hazel about how she had heard so much about their adventures, though Simon was certain she only heard the sweet and not the… other stuff. He was just glad that Grace was willing to spend time with him again. It was the best birthday present he could’ve gotten. He didn’t deserve it, but he was going to be grateful.

Neither Simon or Grace had revisited much of their old places, so they wound up spending time well into the night taking Hazel to their childhood spots from when they were her age. Eventually she got so sleepy that she dozed off on the train and Simon had to carry her around. Grace told him that she could do it (she was pretty practiced in it and Hazel was a tall 10), with Simon still technically being in recovery for his injuries, but she guessed that his pride was still stubborn, because he insisted. 

They caught a cab back to the mansion, he put Hazel to bed, and Grace offered to walk him out. “Your parents have us in the guest house,” he said. 

“Excuse you?”

“We’re going to Belize… They didn’t tell you that EITHER?”

“What’re they trying to do? Get us back together??” She joked. 

He laughed, “Like you’d ever do that. You didn’t want me the first time.”

“That’s not true. I actually liked you way more than you liked me, because my feelings were selfless and pure.” He stared at his hands and nodded. She sat down in front of the front door and he sat next to her. “I wasn’t kidding whenever I’d say that I had the perfect relationship already, or whatever the hell I said that day. I can’t remember word for word, but I remember that all the words were true.”

“Yeah… If only I had been better.”

“Well… You said earlier that you’re better now.”

“Yeah…” He turned to look at her and she smiled and took his hand into hers. 

“We don’t have to talk about it. We can just live in it,” she said. That was always how she had been about them. No questions or comments about their feelings for each other, titles, etc. They were together and enjoying each other’s company again. The rest of the details were background noise. No things were not fine, and she didn’t know if things would ever be fine between them, considering the stuff that happened back then. But… things were better.

Next

[ehstarwar]

to what we wildly do (one shot)

It works for them.

It’s not the safest or most conventional method, but one that works for them and has probably been used by everyone at least once.

And it does works for them... until it doesn't.

-

Ben and Rey utilize coitus interruptus. (Otherwise known as the pull-out method.)

-

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3K

Read on A03

A/N: idk where, but i recently saw a meme that informed me that the Actual Scientific Name™ for the pull out method is actually coitus interruptus and i have not been able to stop thinking abut that.

p.s. thank you all so much for all your comments. i read them and it genuinely fills me with so much joy, you have no idea. i promise i'm getting to all of them soon, so thank u thank u thank u

p.s.s. i'm not going to kid u guys, this is a rough piece of work. i've had a string of Very Bad Days™ and writing this has been a slight escapism for me, but it is patchy and needs a lot of editing that i do not have the heart to do. i still wanted to publish it bc its feels good to put something out there that hopefully others will enjoy so... enjoy!

-

It works for them. 

It’s not the safest or most conventional method, but one that works for them and has probably been used by everyone at least once.

They’re both relatively vocal so it’s easy, too. (Ben more so than Rey, even.)

Of course they talked about it beforehand, when they’re still high off the thrill of something that feels new and fresh and right. They were much safer when the relationship first began, going through enough condoms to put catholic rabbits to shame. Ben even ordered a whole industrial sized box off of amazon, uncaring about the embarrassment Rey definitely would’ve had.

But then, one early morning, when the box is on the other side of the room and Ben’s cock is right here, hot and hard and already so close, she says the fateful words.

“Just pull out,” She whispers, and Ben winners against her skin and slips inside of her the next second. 

And it’s so. much. better.

They can feel each other better, actually feel the quivering and veins and the heat. It never takes particularly long for either of them to come, but both Ben and Rey gets there so much quicker like this. He pumps into her slowly, like she’s a decant desert that he can only have once. He grunts and moans and whimpers, breathing right into her skin. Rey is boneless from the pleasure.

Before either of them know it, Rey comes all over him, breath catching in her throat. It’s the unmitigated feeling of her orgasm that brings Ben to his peak, giving him just enough time to slip his hand between them, sliding out of her just in time, spilling onto her inner thigh. He holds her close still, while his come cools on her skin. They’re both asleep, not even bothering with clean up.

And thus, their routine is born.

-

“Rey... so good... perfect baby...” Ben grunts into her mouth. She’s working herself on him, grinding herself on his cock. Her hand guides his to her clit, a wordless request, and Ben immediately goes to work. His thumb presses at her as she bucks into him and he can feel her quiver around him. 

“Ben....” she whines. Ben can only moan gasp at the feel of her, mumbling praises and sweet endearments.

“Baby, I’m getting close,” he says, after a particularly hard clench on him. Ben presses his fingers harsher, willing Rey to beat him there, and is rewarded with her fingers digging into the meat of his pec. She grasps after him, fingers pinching the skin, as she comes, head tossed back and voice breathless. Her cunt holds Ben’s cock like a vice, and he has to physically lift Rey’s hips off him so that his come falls spurts on himself, coating his shaft and upper thighs in creamy white essence.

When he’s done, Ben slowly drops her hips to him, and lets Rey collapses on his chest. There’s a sickening squelch when her skin meets the pool of come in his lap, but it only makes his dick jump.

“We should be... more careful...” Ben says, still breathless. Rey just hums as she nuzzles into the crook of his neck.

-

The problem is that it is unbelievable hard to be careful when you’re already taking such a huge risk.

He’s pounding into her with barely contained vigor, in the grime of whatever dive bar Poe and Finn dragged their friend group too. She’s been a brat all day, refusing his morning kiss and his coming home kiss, not responding to his texts and calls, and rolling her eyes at his every suggestion. All this comes to a head when they’re in the middle of a group discussion over something inane when her hand snakes to his crotch, purposefully rubbing for a few minutes before he grabbed her hand and hauled her to the bathroom. He does it to teach her a lesson, he would swear, but it just so happens that her punishment is exactly what she wanted.

“Bein’.... so bratty....then goin for my cock... like you’re... not about to be... punished..” Ben say, face pressed into the side of her neck. He has her pushed against the wall, cock setting a bruising pace as he pistons into her.

After a particularly hard thrust and rough grab of her ass, Rey comes with a wordless cry, shaking in his arms. Be speeds up, overwhelmed with pleasure and rapidly approaching his own orgasm.

“Rey...” he warns, voice gruff. His eyes frantically search her person, trying to figure out a good place to come. Her shirt is black, so no, and her jeans have only been pushed off one leg. “I’m going to- where can I come?” He asks, voice nearing desperation.

Rey is too lost in the throes of her orgasm to respond, her body hangs in his arms, only supported by the behemoth that is Ben. He repeats the question again, finding it harder and harder to hold back. “Rey...”

Suddenly, Ben feels her hand grasp the hair at the nape and her mouth move to the side of his face. At the first brush of her lips against the shell of his ear, she whispers “... inside, please.”

Ben is overcome.

His body shudders as he comes inside of her, feeling her hot and unbearably tight around him. He stutters and jerks erratically inside of her, his come pulsing into her. She holds him through it, giving him soft caresses and whispering sweet words.

When he’s spilled everything he could, Ben drops his head to Rey’s shoulder, breathing heavily. They sink to the floor, uncaring for the disgusting state of their surroundings. Bens cock is still sheathed inside of her, and he can feel his come start to drip back down between them.

“We....” he starts, with no real plan for his words.

“I know,” she responds, fingers soothing his over-heated neck.

It’s the most either of them will day on the subject.

-

But pulling out isn’t nearly as convenient as… not.

It’s been three whole weeks since they’ve seen each other in the flesh. Ben had some business trip that he’d been putting off, that called him across the sea. It’s the longest they’ve ever gone without seeing each other since they’ve met. His homecoming is, by Rey’s estimation, something to be celebrated immediately. (Ben wholeheartedly agrees).

They’ve only just made it to the carpet behind their front door. His bags are strewn on the side, forgotten in their reunion. He’s only got the bare essentials off, the fly of his pants down, and tie loosened. Her dress is flipped up to her hips and she didn’t even bother with underwear. 

Rey’s back is against the carpet, giving her rug burn that is well deserved, and Ben is huddled over her with his whole body. 

“Don’t leave me that long… ever again,” She pants into his kiss. Their mouths are sloppy as they clash, spit and tongues all over. Her hands find purchase in whatever surface of his she can touch, and his are holding her hips as he slides into her. 

They both get there in an embarrassingly fast amount of time, but neither of them care. They missed each other. So, so much. They’re both on the verge of orgasm when Ben realizes that pulling out really isn’t an option right now. Not that he ever actually wants to pull out, but the carpet they’re on is custom and hard to clean and his parents will be over in a couple hours to welcome him back too and he’d rather not have the discussion of why the small white stain by the door is soaking. Instead, he asks Rey for permission.

“Rey, I need too- can I, please- can I come in you?” He asks, voice whiny and breaking. 

“Yes! Ben, yes please-” Is all Rey can manage to say before Ben looses it. His last powerful thrust drive Rey deeper into the floor as his mouth hangs open against her skin. He can feel Rey mewl under him, using his now limp body to get herself off, and Ben can’t think of a better job. She pulses around him shortly after that, clenching hard and making him twitch within her. 

Ben is only just able to breathe when he goes back to kissing her again, planting his lips anywhere he can reach. Rey is soft and sweet under him, bodies melting together like a lump on the carpet. 

“I don’t like it when you’re gone,” She says after a while. Her hand cards through his hair as he presses kisses to her face. Her hand catches the tip of his ear and Ben’s whole body shivers. It reminds them that his come is in her, soaking into her core.

“I don’t like being away from you, either,” He says, voice muffled by her skin. “I do,” Ben begins, kissing his way up her jaw, “like coming home to you, though.”

Rey smiles, warm and sated and happy, and Ben vows right there and then, to make her smile like this every day. 

-

Not only is pulling out less convenient, but it’s decidedly less hot. 

Because when Ben is beneath her as she rides him with all her might, Rey wants to have all of him. Every muscle, every hair, every drop of him consumed within her. And god, Ben wants that too. Rey can’t be bothered to think of how he’ll slip out of her in time. All she can think of is how nice the new, sparkly weight on her left ring finger feels; how good it looks when her fingers are intertwined with his, how much nicer the word fiancé is than boyfriend, and how Solo will be such perfect last name. 

She swivels her hips slightly just to see Ben gasp. He’s such a breathtaking sight, a powerhouse of a man, and he’s submitting to her, to his future wife. 

“You’re going to marry me,” She says, voice breathless but still proud.

“Yes- yes I am,” He says, teeth gritted. She moves faster now, willing herself to see him come before she does.

“You’ll be my husband.” Just saying the word makes her smile.

“And you’ll be my wife-“ Ben’s voice chokes off as she clenches around him. Ben’s hands fly to her waist holding her down as he come. He fills her and fills her, his whole body rigid. The feeling of warmth spreading within her, the power she feels from having him between her legs, trapped within her; it’s a drug. 

She come soon after that, the high of his hot come coating her insides. She holds his left hand while at it, brining it to her mouth and kissing at the finger that will, one day (hopefully soon), be ordained with a ring she gives him too. 

-

The problem with not pulling out while relying on the pull out method isn’t something Ben and Rey consider until it’s too late.

And, like most things in life, realization comes a perhaps the most inopportune time.

Rey is sitting at the kitchen bar, next to Leia, and Han and Ben make a flurry of movements around the kitchen. Rey loves seeing Ben like this; messy with food stuck in his hair, but with a concentration that would rival a dog when it smells meat. Han helps, mostly by staying out of the way, but makes a good-hearted attempt at helping Ben contain the beast that is Thanksgiving dinner.

Leia ogles at the ring on Rey’s finger, a growing weight on her hand that Rey has come to love the past few weeks. It does seem, however, to be getting tighter and tighter, but Rey just attributes that to the various cake testing she’s picked up recently. And potential dinner courses they could have at the wedding. And brunch options for the day after the wedding.

Basically, Rey has been eating a lot. (Even for Rey.)

She currently has one hand reaching for the fried olives that Han bust out only during the holidays, the other still being held in Leia’s grasp.

“Oh, I just can’t get over how perfect it is! I always knew Mom’s ring would look so good against your skin tone! Ya know, I tried slipping the ring to Ben after you guys had been dating for two week. I just knew you were the one!” Leia exclaims. The excitement of their engagement hadn’t worn off on Leia quite yet. (Ben worries it never will.)

Ben shoots Rey a shy smile and she returns one of her own, still unused to all the attention. 

“So are you sure you want a summer wedding? I mean, it will be beautiful, of course, but fall colors are, in my opinion, significantly better for photos- and bridesmaids dresses!” Leia prattles on. 

“We want to do a summer wedding because then it will be winter where we are honeymooning, Mom,” Ben explains, for the millionth time.

“I really don’t care when we have the wedding, as long as Han makes these fried olives for it,” Rey says, reaching for another handful. 

“Then it’s gotta be holiday season, Kid,” He says, dumping a fresh batch onto the plate. Rey pouts at him. “No, no faces. Fried Olives have only ever been a Holiday Tradition; if I start making em’ willy nilly, I’ll have Lando up my ass for every party he hosts!” Leia rolls her eyes, and Ben laughs, no doubt imagining his uncle and father going at it over fried food.

“Well, that’s not entirely true, Han” Leia says, popping a fresh one onto her plate. “You made them in the dead of winter, once, when I was pregnant with Ben. Fried olives were the only thing I could eat for a solid two weeks! Ben wouldn’t stop kicking me until I finally at them.” 

Leia puts on in her mouth and begins talking again, but all Rey can hear is static.

Rey looks at her plate, her third of the evening, piled high with fired olives. She thinks of her tightening engagement ring, and tightening underwear and pants. She thinks of the bout of ‘food sickness’ she went though last week after she ate a gas station burrito. She thinks of her clear skin and hair that just. keeps. growing. Of her mood swings and appitite.

Then she thinks of Ben and how they defiantly haven’t been pulling out recently. In fact, Rey can’t think of the last time she’s even seen his come. (while the’ve defiantly been having sex.)

Leia is still talking when Rey lifts her head over to Ben, who’s back is to them, but Rey knows he’s connecting the same dots she is. He stands statuesquely still for a moment, frying pan gripped so tightly by his fist that she’s afraid he’ll break his hand, before slowly turning around to meet her gaze.

In his eyes Rey finds shock and terror, but also (overwhelmingly so) warmth and joy and ohmygodwemdeababy. 

“Ben? Ben, helloooo, did you hear what I asked. About the caterer I told you about?” Leia ask, none the wiser to the life-changing moment they’re experiencing. After a moment, Ben looks towards his mother.

“Do you think they could do a spring wedding?”

-

Maé Solo is loud.

She’s loud when she was born, screaming into this world with a fury that only a Solo-Skywalker-Organa could possess. But she was also pink and beautiful and healthy and Ben and Rey couldn’t find it in their hearts to be anything less than adoringly in love with her.

Maé is loud when they bring her home and Daddy leaves the room for a few minutes to make food for Mommy. She wants them in the same room, together. She’s loud when she drinks and makes a mess down her whole body. She’s loud when it’s tummy time and she really, really hates tummy time. She’s loud when its 2A.M. and Mommy and Daddy just got to sleep but she just misses being held by them. She’s loud when she starts teething and naming on everything that can fit into her pink little mouth (including Daddy’s fingers.) She’s loud when Mickey Mouse Clubhouse comes on and she can’t quite figure out how stand up quite yet, but she’s getting better with the crawling.

In short, Maé Solo is a very loud baby.

Including right now, when Ben has just come up for air, his wife’s juices still dripping down his chin. Rey is blissed out, coming down from orgasm, has her hand stroking the shell of his ears. Ben is hard and aching agains Rey’s thigh, cock leaking precome all over her still-stretched out skin. He was moments away from entering his wife, of being able to slide home into the body of the woman he loves so, so much, the mother of his child.

Who is currently screaming her guts out for any number of reasons. 

They both peak at the monitor to see if anything is wrong, but Maé is just reaching for the pacifier that is now on the floor of the nursery. Because she threw it there. And now can’t get it back. No one ever said Solo’s were the brightest.

Ben’s head falls to the center of Rey’s uncovered chest. “She’ll go back to sleep eventually,” He says, kissing down the valley of her breast.

“I don’t think she will. Our girl’s got lungs like an opera singer,” Rey says. As if on cue, a particularly harsh wail comes through the monitor. They both sigh, resigning themselves to the trials that are parenthood.

Ben rolls off Rey so that she can get up and go to their daughter. Ben practices deep breathing techniques that he learned during the years of anger management, and wills his erection to fade. It doesn’t matter that it’s been three weeks he reminds himself, babies don’t care about that sort of thing. 

Rey tosses on a nightgown before pressing a sweet kiss to her husbands face as he does his breathing exercises. He envelops her in a deeper kiss before she can move away, but their daughter won’t have it. Ben sighs into Rey’s mouth.

“Coitus interruptus,” He says, for no particular reason. Rey quirks a brow at him. “The proper name for the pull out method- our method,” Ben explains. 

“Coitus interruptus?” Rey repeats. Ben makes a noise of agreement. “A very apt name,” She concedes.

“It should have been Maé’s middle name.”

-

come say hi on twitter!

[screensirenfic]

Black Leather - Chapter 16

No one even bothered cleaning up the glass; all three of us too tired and jagged from words better left unsaid.

Not even a word had been spoken since; Eleven refusing to leave her room, and me ducking into my own soon after the ordeal.

Not that it mattered.

Dad didn’t even try to talk to us; still wound up too tightly to say anything but cutting remarks.

I’m pretty sure he’d fallen asleep on the couch, refusing to leave his post out of pure spite; and what do you know? When I peered our from my room, he was still there.

I edged out of my room, having already memorised every creaky floorboard and loose nail in true teenage renegade fashion.

Step by step, I made it across the living room, tiptoeing through a gauntlet of shattered glass and upturned furniture just waiting to trip me up.

I lost my footing; my heel falling down on a particularly large shard of glass; the sharp crunch cutting through the air like a gunshot.

Dad snorts, and my heart stops in my chest.

I dared a glance up at him, dreading the conversation we’d have if he woke.

To my relief he remained dead to the world; half drunk bottle of beer still gripped in his hand. He lets out aloud snore, lazily lifting his wrist to run at his nose, before falling limp once more.

I let out a sigh of relief, thanking whatever God was up there was too preoccupied to humiliate me.

I then lifted my foot, holding back a hiss as the motion finally stirred my pain reflex; the glass feeling as painful as the metaphors might suggest.

Balancing rather deftly on one leg, I raised my foot up, allowing me to get a better look at the cut.

It had bled a lot, but it wasn’t deep; the bloody shard that caused it still wedged in my skin.

I pulled it out, wincing when the jagged edges caught on exit, but still; it would be fine.

I’d had splinters worse; I swear.

After that I was more careful, rising up on my tiptoes so only the barest amount of my foot touched the floor as I made my way across to Eleven’s room.

I reached it without further injury, lightly rapping my knuckles on the door.

“El, it’s me; Lola. Can I come in?” I asked in a hoarse whisper, leaning in close to the wood lest dad might hear me.

Silence.

“I know it’s late, but I thought you could use some company...” I continued; not entirely sure that the kid wasn’t fast asleep and I was talking to thin air.

Still nothing.

I tried one last desperate attempt, hoping that somehow she’d be listening.

“I bought Eggos.” I said, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. I’d fished them out of the trash when dad wasn’t looking, guessing I might need some bargaining chips later, and hid them underneath my mattress where dad wouldn’t find them.

The door clicked as it unlocked, swinging open ever so slightly.

It seemed my ploy payed off.

I snuck into the room, making sure to make as little sound as possible as I shut the door behind me.

El was sat on the floor, knees tucked up to her chest in a position that was universally recognisable as upright foetal; a clear sign she wasn’t quite over what dad had said yet.

Tear stains streaked her cheeks; her eyes still red and puffy from crying, and dried blood crusted beneath her nose from where she’d attempted to wipe it away with her sleeve.

Overall; she looked a sorry state, and my heart cried out in sympathy for her. It wasn’t easy going head on with Jim Hopper’s fury, especially not at thirteen years old with no experience.

“Hey El...” I smiled, slowly approaching her much like you’d approach a startled horse; all soft words and gentle movements.

“Can I sit down?” I asked, slowly lowering myself to her level.

She nodded, and I sunk down beside her, sitting with my back to the wall so she didn’t feel pressured to look me in the eye.

“Y’know; all that destroying things with your mind stuff, that’s pretty badass...” I remarked, grasping for something to break the silence.

“I could think of a few situations I could use that...” I continued, giving her a sly look, because it was true. I could use that; especially if it meant scaring the shit out of a certain pretty boy who couldn’t seem to keep his hands off me.

But this was about Eleven; not me.

“Do you want an Eggo?” I offered, reaching into the oversized pockets of my shirt where I’d hidden my haul.

El nodded, managing a small smile that licked at the corners of her mouth.

I pulled out the Eggos, slightly regretful that they’d become so crushed in transit.

“They’re a little squished. Had to hide them from the fun patrol...” I joked, pulling the cellophane wrapper from one before handing it to her.

“But they’re still good.”

El took a bite from it, before smiling and nodding.

“Still good.” She agreed, taking another bite.

I watched her eat for a moment, savouring that small satisfied smile that stretched across her face every time she took a bite.

I knew I was gonna have to talk to her. At least try to foster some forgiveness between her and dad before sunrise. God knows the pair of them were too pigheaded to do so themselves, but still; the challenge seemed daunting in its own way.

“You know; all that shit dad said earlier, he didn’t mean it.” I began, fixing my gaze on the door opposite, because I wasn’t sure I could do this if she was looking straight at me.

“You’re not...”

“A brat?” She finished my sentence; no hint of accusation in her words, just pure curiosity.

“No; you’re not a brat.” I confirmed; my voice dropping low, because I really didn’t like to use that word for the kid; not after all she’d been through.

I reached out for her, grasping my hand around her own and interlacing our fingers, if not for her sake then for my own; because I wasn’t good with emotions and shit; I was gonna need some moral support for this one.

“It’s just... sometimes he gets real mad and doesn’t know what he’s saying and he does stuff that can really hurt...” I tried to explain; the confession coming harder than I thought it would.

“Hopper hurt you?” She asked; though her phrasing made it seem more like a statement than a question.

“What?” I replied; confused on what made her think that.

She reached across with her spare hand, fingers gently tracing my wrist where deep purple bruises decorated my skin in the shape of fingerprints.

“Hopper hurt you?” She repeated herself; her intention clearer now than before. My stomach sunk again at the realisation.

She thought dad hit me; the genuine concern on her face laced with resentment a more cutting tool than any weapon. She honestly believed that my dad would hurt me; physically and not just with words. It made my heart break in my chest.

“No, sweetie; no.” I corrected with a sad smile, pulling gently on her head till it rested on my shoulder in some strange hybrid of a half hug.

“Dad would never hurt me; or you, for that matter. Not ever”

I felt her body relax after that, tension bleeding out of her as if her only fear was what I might’ve went through. That I might’ve suffered just a smidgeon of what she had; bless her heart.

I didn’t deserve El; her honesty and genuine enthusiasm. Being around her was like seeing the world through fresh eyes, and being as jaded as I was; that was an experience I could never underestimate.

El was an incredible little kid, and dad should buck up and see that before it’s too late.

—————————————————

The next morning I’d woken up to the sound of hammering just outside my bedroom; the dull thump of metal on wood ridiculously loud in the wood’s serene silence. Seems like dad had started cleaning up the mess.

Good for him; I heard cleaning builds character.

I forced myself out of bed and began to get dressed, eager to get to school, because as much as I hated having to listen to rumours there; at least I could drop kick someone if they really pissed me off.

Here, I’d have no hope; tensions already high enough without the threat of physical violence rearing it’s head.

I was still pissed at dad; more for Eleven’s sake than my own.

Yes; she’d acted recklessly and put herself in danger, and that was childish, but guess what? She was a child, and I’d forgive her a multitude of sins for that very reason, and the fact that beneath it all, she was a pretty good kid; if not a little messed up.

But so was I; I guess that’s why we related so well.

Dad, on the other hand, had been completely out of line.

He’d berated and belittled her at every opportunity, before downright threatening her with what was virtually abandonment; and I couldn’t condone that, not after the bullshit she’d already been through at the hands of so called responsible adults.

He knew what he’d said had been wrong, but I wasn’t gonna be the one to spell it out for him; he was old enough to do that for himself.

So when I left my room, I didn’t say a word to him, making a beeline straight for my keys on the kitchen counter.

“Well; lookie who it is, if it isn’t the caped crusader emerging from her cave...” Dad drawled; no trace of affection in the dry nickname.

“Had fun gossiping with Robin; Batman?” He asked sardonically, but I wasn’t about to sink to his level.

Instead, I just shoved on my leather jacket, ignoring how he stared at me expectingly, as if that question deserved an answer.

“The silent treatment; huh?” He continued, following me as I stalked across the room to find my backpack.

“Well good for you for setting a great example for the kid. I bet that attitude goes down real fucking peachy with the kids at school...” He continued to gripe, but that was it.

That was the last straw, and I wasn’t about to shut up and take it whilst he dragged me through the mud like a fucking martyr.

I marched up to him; eyes burning with a subtle fury as I stared him down, not a hint of submission in my posture.

“You know what; I did talk to the kid last night, and yes; it was about you, but only because I was trying to convince her that you weren’t a total dick.” I spat; not even flinching at the sprinkling of expletives finding their way into my speech.

“But apparently I’d been wrong and stupid, and I know; ‘we are not stupid.” I finished, throwing his words into his face, before storming out of the cabin.

“Lola; wait...” He called out; regret already colouring his voice, but you know what; fuck him.

He was the one so set on the fact that actions had consequences, so now he could fucking drown in them for all I cared.

[bradfordarchive]

clicks my fingers to no humanly discernible rhythm as i strut bk onto the dash w chara number two!! (it’s me nai bk again bt this time wearing a stick on moustache). bradley’s pinterest is HERE n u kno the drill mre abt her under the cut n like this fr those Sweet Sweet plots!!

MARGARET QUALLEY / CIS-FEMALE — don’t look now, but is that bradley milligan i see? the 23 year old psychology student is in their junior year and she is a rochester alum. i hear they can be brave, resilient, destructive and ruthless, so maybe keep that in mind. i bet she will make a name for themselves living in off campus. ( nai. 23. gmt. she/her. )

aesthetics: singeing a hole in your fishnets with the cherry of a menthol, spitting a pistachio behind the bar just to hear it ping off the nozzle top bottles, lemon in a fresh cut, a war torn poppy standing alone in an empty field, poking bruises, stomping over flowerbeds when there’s a path right next to it, dangling over ledges just to feel your chest jolt, a snarling rottweiler that should be muzzled, limp feet poking out behind a door, ‘I PROMISE I DON’T BITE’ scrawled on a name tag, slapping a bald head in front of you at the cinema like it’s a bongo, not owning a single jacket that isn’t stolen, driving a stolen car in the wrong lane against the traffic, blowing coke in someone’s face after asking “hey, does this smell funny to you?”, hair more feral than a wolf cub and eyes smudgier than a coal mine.  

BACKGROUND:

father runs a gang n strip club in queens called ‘no angels’ tht fronts an affluent drug trade, primarily coke. his name is tony milligan n his gang is p infamous around there fr being jst like…. completely cutthroat n awful. they were nicknamed ‘tony’s rottweilers’ by locals bc he bsically has all of these trained dogs on leash at his command n they’re still a growing organisation tday

he’s pretty much the worst human being alive n bradley hs like….. a lot of issues with herself as a result of years of toxicity n abuse

in terms of more family bkground info her mum’s name was alyssa n she vanished when bradley was 12. jst like…. into thin air. nothing. no note. zilch. gan! n when bradley asked her dad abt it his response was essentially “guess she didn’t love us enough to stay”. as bradley’s got older tho n become (without intention) more involved in the business side of things, it’s become pretty clear there was far more to the story.

they had a horrible marriage n tony ws quite violent at the best of times, which didn’t help the fact tht alyssa ws struggling a lot w severe depression n rly just… not in the mindset to b dealing w anything else on top of tht, even where motherhood ws concerned. bradley p much… would look after her a lot n they’d both b scared of her dad n it was just a whole mess.

anyway im rambling bt basically tony (bradley’s dad) gt wind of alyssa sleeping w men tht worked fr him n he just… got rid. bradley’s kind of worked out over the yrs tht her mum didn’t jst leave on her own accord n tht something must hav happened to her bt she’s too scared of her dad to ever directly accuse him

when her mum went all of her dad’s cruelty pretty mch got channelled straight onto her. it ws diluted between two before bt as u can probably imagine her upbringing was jst…. a steep downhill decline frm tht point onwards

she learnt ways 2 deal w the incurring trauma bt they weren’t healthy ones at all! bsically jst. will do or take anything fr the distraction. chases a thrill like it’s the only way to remind her she’s alive. has absolutely no regard fr her own wellbeing n sometimes gets other ppl in trouble too bc she’s so insatiably reckless

she hd….2 separate stints of psychiatric hospitalisation n she never tlks abt it. like ever. acknowledging she’s been vulnerable is her worst nightmare n bc of the way her dad raised her she always thinks any sign of struggling within herself is weakness. truly does…. not kno how to properly emotion

CUT TO!!!! huntington beach. she’s currently living in a spacious loft above a rly busy bar tht i picture like. p close to campus so a lot of students prob frequent it?? she loves it bc she can sit on the window sill smoking n argue w ppl tht walk past drunk. jst randomly callin out like. nice chest hair Loser. i feel like she hasn’t even paid fr wifi she jst uses the bar’s free one n like. goes in there expecting free drinks all the time?? is jst like erm? i live here? let me drink? this is my house? aka she’s. a lot.

her dad’s opening up a new strip club (also called no angels bc he’s trying to lowkey make it like a chain) n he’s only allowed her to make the move bc she’s overseeing it kind of???? as well as a few guys tht worked fr him back in queens. one in particular called billy hs made the move n he’s a menace so. three cheers fr anarchy!

PERSONALITY:

the kind of sour cherry only certain people have a taste for

once drank a bottle of whiskey, insisted she could still do a cartwheel and accidentally kicked an old man’s front tooth out in the process. proceeded 2 collapse into a flower bed and laugh so much abt it that she cried

barely takes anything seriously 50% of the time and is angry the other 50%

if she was a coffee she’d be black with five grains of sugar that you couldn’t taste until the last sip

high functioning alcoholic. if u ever see her w a coffee cup u jst kno tht one sniff will confirm high alcohol percentage. honestly idk hw she does it her liver must b yellin

loyal to a point of fault. if she cares abt u and u murder a man in cold blood she’ll brawl anyone that says ur guilty

honestly wld probably fight a person over anything. sometimes she’ll jst be having a bad day n she’ll burst n take it out on whoever says the wrong thing. a minefield!

has the worst luck in romance…. ever. the majority of her past bfs hav been absolute beasts n as a result she kind of has the ‘romance is dead n love is a lie’ mentality

speakin of which i feel like she’s bi bt wldnt have dated a girl or anythin. like guys r probably…. her preference just bc historically theyv treated her worse n she hs a very self destructive personality like that. sexy!

dresses like courtney love, 2014 sky ferreira and a character from this is england had a baby. mostly wears stolen clothes from strangers and jackets that swamp her. hair is p much always a wild mess n she usually hd kind of smudgy/smoky makeup bcos apparently she’s allergic to combs and generally looking presentable… relatable content

she’s v sarcastic. sometimes blunt. kind of has a habit of…. assessing a person n she’s quite perceptive bc she’s been trained to b by the way she always has to monitor her dad’s expression fr the slightest emotion change. she’s quite confident n can p much mke a conversation out of whatever. sort of independent too like she hs a bunch of friends bt she doesn’t care abt going out places alone if she’s in a certain mood n jst wants…… to get into chaos. she’s probably kind of known around campus bt itd b a 50/50 balance between bein known as intimidating n bein known as that one girl tht always gets into anarchy

likes: fishnets, stealing cars, throwing watermelons off rooftops and whiskey

dislikes: amy schumer, honesty, yellow tulips and going home

PLOTS:

someone tht got a job at the new strip club her dad opened up in town?? either as a dancer or bartender or whtever. just a forewarning it’s probably gna b a pretty..... seedy and Not That Pleasant environment bc it’s like. a crime hotspot inevitably bc it’s a gang hangout so. ur chara wld truly be in fr a rollercoaster ride to say the least

she deals coke fr her dad’s gang bt it’s more like. a hobby than a steady source of income tht she Needs bc she just likes the thrill of the fact tht encounters in tht line of work can turn sour tbh. a Thrill Seeker! mayb she deals to ur muse??

anyone….. she’s brawled in the past like. she’s literally a menace i cnt express this enough. wil jst randomly throw a drink in someone’s face fr no reason bc she’s bored. she’s probably pissed off 1000 diff ppl in 1000 diff ways. the possibilities r endless n i jst think tht’s a sexy prospect!

fwbs perhaps??? exes??? (probably ws a tumultuous relationship wtever…. ur muse is like like bradley is. a handful)

mayb someone tht she met at an aa meeting when she hd to go fr a court mandated thing one time after bein arrested fr public indecency. i feel like there’s probably a rly expensive statue somewhere thts fancily Sculpted n she like. did a flying kick n kicked the dick of it off n gt arrested fr it

ppl she……. Goes Wild Goes Crazy w. truly jst the most self destructive person alive so anyone w a similar mindset wld b a hellish bt fun combination

on the contrary a gd influence cld b nice perhaps? like someone tht genuinely cares abt her n she jst doesn’t kno hw to compute it

um. honestly the world’s our oyster. hmu n we cn brainstorm if none of tht catches ur eye!

[touchmycoat]

kinktober: day 28

day 28: writing on the body

this wasn’t meant to be sickfic, much less incomplete sickfic, but here we are. I’ll finish, clean, and post to AO3 later.

The rendezvous was on a summer island once more, the air so superheated this time that even Ace wanted to run around fully nude. He couldn’t feel excessively hot or anything, what with literally being fire and all—it was just the atmosphere the whole island brought about. It made him want to sweat and run for a dunk in a freshwater lake or wrestle someone for an icy shower.

Others didn’t have it so easy. Thatch’s hair had gone fully limp since day zeroth, whatever he used to keep up the ‘do melting and dripping off his forehead in nasty milky trails. Marco was okay, though little licks of blue fire keep getting spotted on his exposed skin, healing the sunburns he swore he didn’t get.

Sabo, when he got to the island, promptly took off all his clothes.

“Don’t,” he ordered, dunking his hands into the tub of water that had gone tepid in a matter of minutes after Ace prepared it, “touch me, ‘cause I won’t be held responsible for what I’ll do.”

“Aw, babe, I’ve missed you too,” Ace replied, tone as dry as Sabo’s hair was wet, now that he’s gone and sank his entire head into the water. “Aren’t Revolutionaries supposed to be hardier? You’re gonna let a little heat wave get you down?”

“I may also be running a little fever,” was Sabo’s admission. Ace scanned him in alarm, and now noticed an unnatural pink flush under his skin. “Everything is unpleasant and I’m dying.”

“I’m assuming that’s hyperbole.”

“Well I don’t keep sucking a doctor’s dick for no reason—where the fuck is Marco?”

Exploring, was the answer to that, and Sabo looked as impressed with it as Ace expected him to—which is to say, not at all.

“The one time I need him,” Sabo cursed in blatant mistruth. “That’ll teach me to ever trust again. There’s no way around it then—Ace, we have to go old school.”

“Unless you’ve brought your own eel’s blood, I can’t help you there,” Ace answered warily.

“I meant—”

“Nor do I have ginger root and all the necessary needles.”

With a sigh of frustration, Ace approached and hovered his hand about Sabo’s forehead, taking heed of Sabo’s warning against physical contact and hoping, sometime in the past five minutes, his fruit has given him some miraculous sensitivity to temperature in air convection. It hasn’t, but Sabo heaved a sigh of his own, and sullenly leaned his head into Ace’s hand.

“...Yikes.” It took a moment for Ace to translate the sensation on his hand to a normal human context. “You’re really burning.”

“If you truly love me,” Sabo muttered, peeling his head away with a grunt, “you’d go hunt an eel.”

“If I truly love you,” Ace corrected, pulling a den den mushi out of his bag, “I’d call Marco.”

One of Marco’s division members picked up.

“Hey Commander!” was Aoi’s cheery greeting. “Gimme a sec, our Commander’s left us a bit behind.”

“Just put me on the loudest volume,” Ace advised. As soon as she did, Ace yelled into the sparse canopy of trees in the broadcast, “hey Marco! Sabo’s dying!”

A beat. A burst of blue flames. A familiar face emerging with a frown.

“I’m assuming that’s hyperbole, yoi.”

“How would you know?” Sabo complained, not even looking at the den den mushi, so bleary-eyed he was and swaying on the spot. “You’re not here to anally probe me with a thermometer or anything.”

Giggling, and a cough. “Thanks, Aoi, I’ll take it from here.” Marco took his den den mushi and walked off down a more secluded path, waving his exploration team ahead. He wove between thick purple tree trunks until finally settling against one, staring into his side of the projection with overt concern. “Are you feverish? What symptoms are there yoi, and when did they start?”

This time, when Sabo opened his mouth to speak, a pallor suddenly washed across his face. He ended up tossing his head back in determined swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing as the tendons in his throat stood out in stark relief.

“Well,” Ace took over in dismay, “I think it’s safe to say he’s experiencing nausea. No coughing or sniffling so far. He just came in with a fever and didn’t want me to touch him.”

“Oh?” Marco took in the sight of Sabo standing completely nude, presumably assessing the cause. “Sabo, is it just general sensitivity, or does contact with your skin actually hurt?”

“Hurt is relative,” Sabo said, because even halfway to incoherent he needed to be difficult, “but I’m guessing you’re not telling me to compare it to being burned alive by actual fire.”

“Good guess yoi, I’m not telling you to do that,” was Marco’s flat reply. “Just compare being touched right now to, oh, your regular old knife wound.”

“Then sure, it hurts.”

“Okay any wounds, potential infections? Insect bites?”

“Not that I can see,” Ace reported, after an inspecting circle around Sabo. “Do you think he was poisoned then?”

“I mean, maybe?” Neither Sabo nor Ace had a response to Marco’s bewilderment. “But if he’s not saying anything about being poisoned yoi, we should just assume it’s a regular cold.”

Ace frowned. “How do you mean?”

“How do you mean, how do I mean?” Marco asked slowly.

“Well someone must’ve done this to him,” Ace argued logically. “How else could he contract an illness?”

“He could be immunocompromised for any number of reasons, and just—germs, viruses yoi. I don’t—” At Ace’s unyielding moue of incomprehension, Marco scratched frustratedly at the back of his head. “Honestly, if you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, then that actually makes the possibility of Sabo being poisoned higher. How about it, Sabo? Any possibilities?”

“Yes.” Sabo blinked, and almost actually collapsed, knees buckling for just a tiny moment. Ace darted out to catch him, but refrained at the last moment from actual contact when Sabo managed to stay upright. “Okay I confess, I wasn’t listening to anything you guys were saying.”

“Lie down, for goodness sake,” Marco hissed, more out of worried sympathy than anger.

“It’ll hurt.”

“It’ll hurt a lot worse when you fall on your face, and I gotta carry you over to the bed,” Ace pointed out. He waved his arms about to herd Sabo in the direction of the mattress. “Just—lie flat on your back, and don’t move.”

“Breathing hurts too,” was Sabo’s whimpering complaint. But he did shy away from Ace’s hands and start moving toward the bed. His movements were stiff and obviously pained, and when one knee sunk into the mattress, Sabo made a sound of such utter distress that Marco flinched, all the way on the other end of the line.

“Okay yoi, I’m on my way back. But in the meantime Ace, grab the first aid kit I brought.” The tree trunks started to blur behind Marco as he jogged, then sprinted down the mountainside. “There should be a jar in the top right corner full of thick dark red paste.”

The first aid kit was a sizable buckle-up box that Marco brought onto every island landing. Every doctor and nurse practitioner in his division carried one.

“Looks like chili? Yup, got it.” The jar was larger than Ace’s fist and densely packed. He popped the top and sniffed it, expecting a punch of spice. What he got instead was an herbal sweetness, not overwhelming at all.

“Water down the paste a little bit, but leave it thick enough to paint with. There should be a pretty big brush in the kit as well yoi.”

When Ace found the brush and wielded it up in the air, Sabo’s eyes widened.

“You better not be planning on touching me with that thing.”

“At this point,” Ace commented with a side-eye look at Sabo’s awkward positioning, three limbs braced on the bed with the fourth still pending pain, “would it be worse?”

“Hopefully it’ll relieve the discomfort.” Marco made an unhappy noise, aimed at himself. “I gotta hang up—I’ll get there faster if I fly. But yes Ace, paint the liquid on any surface of the skin that’s in pain. It should be absorbed pretty quickly, and it’s fine if you paint over the same spots yoi. If it hurts worse, stop, and we’ll figure it out when I get back.”

“Got it.” Ace offered Marco a little smile meant to reassure. “We’ll see you soon then.”

Marco hung up with a rush of blue flames, and Sabo let out the most agonized groan yet, settling fully back onto the mattress. He’d tossed the pillow on the floor, and now held himself so rigidly against the soft sheets. Ace busied himself with the preparation of the water and paste in the basin he had given first to Sabo, but could barely take his eyes off of Sabo’s expression, eyes screwed shut and lips pressed into two pale, bloodless lines.

“Sabo,” Ace said lowly, in comfort, “the medicine’s ready. We’ll start with a small spot, okay? Where does it hurt worse?”

Sabo’s hands couldn’t even clench into fists—they were flexed tightly, like even touching himself was out of the question.

“Chest,” he bit out through teeth gritted so hard, Ace was genuinely keeping an eye out for blood spots along the gums. “Over my heart.”

The paste that Ace has mixed up looked like Thatch’s signature berry reduction, dripped with the consistency of that same dessert topping. With just one corner of the flat brush (the kind used for painting planks of wood and walls), Ace soothed a spot of it on Sabo’s left pectoral, watching in fascination as the color immediately soaked into the skin, drying until it sat like a tattoo.

“Can’t feel a thing,” came Sabo’s grudging admission. “You might need more.”

“Alright,” Ace agreed, soaking the entire width of the brush bristles. They were soft-ended and flexible, as if Marco prepared it for this very purpose in mind—minimizing pain in hypersensitive skin. “Here we go.”

Sabo’s breath came ragged and harsh when Ace stroked the brush more fully down his chest. The moment the paste started soaking into the skin however, a keening cry of relief left Sabo’s throat.

“That,” he demanded. “That. Just—everywhere.”